[Learn more about “ghosts” here: https://www.septembercfawkes.com/2021/01/giving-your-protagonist-ghost.html]

The 5 Commandments of Storytelling According to The Story Grid

The Five Commandments of Storytelling come from The Story Grid approach to writing, which was created by Shawn Coyne, who has worked in the publishing industry for over thirty years now and has edited hundreds of books. Drawing from the influence of Robert McKee (best known for writing Story) as well as from his vast experience, Coyne came up with concrete ways to measure and understand story. His work has helped thousands of writers find success, and I’ve personally turned to his approaches several times.

Which brings me to today’s article. I recently had some questions that led me back to his work, and specifically to The Five Commandments of Storytelling. Now, I admit, I don’t love the name “Five Commandments of Storytelling” because all five elements have to do mainly with plot and structure, and not the other elements of storytelling. But as I’ve talked about time and again on here, what we call it doesn’t really matter, as long as you understand the concept. Coyne also says on his site that it’s comparable to the ten commandments Moses got, in that, when boiled down, these are the five things you absolutely need to guide you when getting started in storytelling. 

Some of these items will sound familiar because we’ve talked about them from other angles before, but I’m covering them from Coyne’s angle today, while also throwing in my own thoughts and approaches (don’t worry, I communicate which is which).

First off, these five elements are structural elements, and like most structural elements, they work within any structural unit: scene, sequence, act, or the global story. Each of these units really have the same basic parts. For an explanation of how that works, read my post, “Scene vs. Sequence vs. Act.”

1. Inciting Incident

I’ve talked about the inciting incident numerous times on here, but as a quick recap, the inciting incident is either an opportunity or a problem that disrupts the established normal. The protagonist is going on, living in his Ordinary World until bam an opportunity or a problem comes up that will (at least eventually) change the direction of the story–within the narrative arc it essentially kicks off the story. Harry gets a letter from Hogwarts and later learns he’s a wizard and can attend a magic school (opportunity). Nemo gets kidnapped in Finding Nemo (problem). Two love interests meet in a romance (opportunity).

In a smaller unit (such as an act, sequence, or scene, as opposed to the whole story) this will be a smaller disruption.

“No matter the unit of story (beat, scene, sequence, act, or global Story) what the inciting incident must do is upset the life balance of your lead protagonist/s. It must make them uncomfortably out of sync…for good or for ill.” - Shawn Coyne

While I prefer dividing these into “opportunity” or “problem,” Coyne divides this into two different types:

a. Causal

This happens from an active choice. The example he gives is a wife leaving her husband.

b. Coincidental

This happens (you guessed it) from a coincidence, such as a plane crashing and forcing the protagonist to survive in the wilderness.

For what it’s worth, the reason I prefer dividing the incident into “opportunity” or “problem” over “causal” or “coincidental” is because I feel that whether it’s an “opportunity” or a “problem” affects the story and protagonist more (and helps you better infer how to write what happens next), whereas many inciting incidents that are causal could be changed to coincidental or vice versa without much effect. For example, Harry could have just as well coincidentally found out about Hogwarts, Charlie in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory could have just as well been given the Golden Ticket, Frodo could have just as well stumbled upon the Ring, and the stories would largely be the same. However, if Hogwarts or Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory were viewed as a problem or Frodo getting the Ring was viewed as an opportunity, that would be a very different protagonist with a very different story. 

Nonetheless, I admit that “causal” or “coincidental” can make a significant difference in some stories–a wife choosing to leave a husband is different than one “leaving” after happening to get hit by a car. And there is no reason you can’t use both types of categories, and label Harry’s as “opportunity, causal” or someone stuck in the wilderness after a plane crash as “problem, coincidental.”

Coyne also reflects what I’ve read K. M. Weiland and a few others say: “the inciting incident of a global story must make a promise to the reader…the ending. The ending must be a perfectly reasonable and inevitable result of the inciting incident.”

The inciting incident will give rise to a new desire or goal within the protagonist–or at least a more specific or refined one.

Learn more about Coyne’s perspective of the inciting incident.

2. Progressive Complication

This is what we call the rising action, where the conflict escalates. The protagonist faces opposition from antagonistic forces. And the struggles should get more difficult, the stakes should get higher, and the costs bigger.

Coyne suggests giving each complication a number 1 - 10 for how serious the conflict is. A one means it’s not that big of a problem and a ten means it will bring the protagonist to her knees. If you find most of them score pretty low, then the stakes aren’t big enough in your story. (For what it’s worth, I feel like this approach relates to and complements James Scott Bell's three types of death–the stakes need to get big enough to feel like death in some form or another.) This is also a good way to check that, overall, the story is escalating, not de-escalating.

Keep an eye out for “Points of No Return”–this is when a decision or an action cannot be undone (like death). “Ask yourself the simple question…how difficult would it be for my character to reverse his decision?” Coyne suggests. If most of your character’s decisions can be easily reversed, and without significant ramifications, your complications and stakes aren’t strong enough. "You’ve hit the Point of No Return when no matter what decision the character makes, he will be irrevocably changed by the experience.“ Either his world, life, or himself will not be the same.a. The Turning Point

While Coyne actually doesn’t talk about it in the above article (though it’s talked about here and here), the complications will hit a turning point. Like the inciting incident, we’ve talked about this a few times on my blog. A turning point can only be one of two things (well, or both of them):

i. An action (a character takes an action or an event takes place)

ii. A revelation (new information enters the story)

The turning point turns the direction of the story, meaning it changes the story.

(Keep in mind it’s possible to hit multiple turning points within a structural unit, but there should always be at least one, otherwise the unit probably isn’t important to the story.)

When reviewing and researching this approach, I liked the way the Writer Ship Podcast explained the progressive complications:

"In pursuit of the goal, the protagonist (or POV character in a scene) can encounter four different types of people, places, and things, and events: - obstacles (which appear to be negative), - tools (which appear to be positive), but also- elements within their environment and beyond that seem to be irrelevant to the protagonist’s pursuit, and- unexpected events The unexpected event is one that arises from the elements that seem irrelevant, but means that the protagonist won’t be able to reach their goal—or at least not in the way they originally intended. This event forces the protagonist or scene POV character into a dilemma (Crisis)… .These progressively complicating agents of conflict can be internal (conflict within one’s self, like competing values or desires), interpersonal (conflict with another person or people), or extra-personal (conflict with something the character can’t have a relationship with, like the environment or society). These complications create a gap between what the character expects will happen and the result of their actions.”

Learn more about progressive complications.

3. Crisis

This is the part where things can get a little muddy depending on what you’ve been taught and what writing approaches you use. See, the whole reason I started reviewing Coyne’s approach was because I was confused about the crisis (also called a “dilemma” in other approaches). Some people seem to put the crisis before the climax (like Coyne), others during it, and others seemingly after, so I was wondering more about it and where it fits exactly, and does it matter exactly where it is?

I think I discovered why this was confusing to me.

But so I don’t confuse you, let’s first talk about Coyne’s approach.

At the end of the progressive complication, the character takes another action toward a goal, and reality responds with something unanticipated–an event or new information (a turning point).

This throws the character toward a loss that raises a question from the audience, “What will the character do now?”

This puts the character in a crisis.

A crisis (also known as a dilemma) is when the character has to make a choice between two bad things or two good things, and she can’t have both.

a. The Best Bad Choice

The character has to choose between two negative options.

b. Irreconcilable Goods

The character has to choose between two positive options.

The crisis is essentially a moment to lay out the stakes.

If the character chooses path A, then this will happen.

If the character chooses path B, then that will happen.

The character can’t have both paths.

For example, Katniss either needs to kill Peeta and become the victor, or she needs to risk suicide so there is no victor. Neither sound like great options.

Alternatively, you may have a character that has to choose between getting the job of her dreams or the man of her dreams. She can’t have both.

This is one of the most effective (if not most effective) ways to reveal character, because what the character chooses will reveal who she truly is, because it reveals her value systems. Will Katniss sacrifice someone else to get gain (and become just like the antagonistic force, the Capitol)? Or will she be willing to sacrifice herself to possibly save someone else (like she did when volunteering for Prim)? What she chooses under intense pressure will prove who she really is.

Now, it’s worth noting that in some cases, inaction may be a “path,” but it must have significant consequences itself (otherwise it’s not a true crisis). In some cases, there may be more than two paths. And in some situations, the paths may not be obviously good or obviously bad–life isn’t always so black and white. The point is that the choice is difficult, because whatever the character chooses, she risks losing something significant. This can create a Point of No Return. Once the path is chosen, the character can’t go back (of course in a small structural unit, like a scene, or at the beginning of a story, this will be less dramatic).

Writer Ship points out that the crisis must be relevant to the character’s goal (or one of their goals, depending on how you look at it) in some way. It should also be specific.

Coyne also writes:

“The crisis is the time when your protagonist must make a decision. And the choice that he makes will determine whether or not he’ll get closer to or further away from his object of desires (both external and internal). Often a particular choice will move a character closer to one object of desire while moving him further away from the other…”

I think a lot of the time, this is the choice between what the character wants vs. needs, and that’s probably what Coyne really means about “closer to one object of desire while moving him further away from the other.” For example, Katniss is often tempted by the want of personal survival. She wants to survive so bad. But what she needs (theme), is to sacrifice herself–that’s the only way to not be a piece in their Games. So her crisis moment, is the moment she chooses the need and lets go of (or at least risks) her want.

What the character picks will reflect the character arc.

A negative arc protagonist will choose the want over the need at the main crisis point.

A positive arc protagonist will choose the need over the want at the main crisis point.

If you are writing a story where the protagonist changes, then you will show them at the beginning of the story picking the opposite within a smaller unit (scene, sequence, act).

If you are writing a story where the protagonist remains steadfast, then you will show them at the beginning of the story picking the same thing within a smaller unit (scene, sequence, act). 

Generally speaking of course (there are always exceptions).

When you show this on a small scale in the opening scene (or one near the opening), you essentially introduce the character’s most important feature, the character arc. (And it should be said, you can do all this with more characters than just the protagonist, of course.)

For example, in Frozen, Elsa is faced with a dilemma: either let Anna into her life and risk hurting her, or isolate herself to keep Anna (and others) safe. Neither are great options. In the beginning, within scenes (and sequences and acts) she chooses the second (her want). But at the end she chooses the first (the need which informs the theme).

(However, please note that not every single crisis in a story will necessarily be a reflection of want vs. need or character arc. It may be almost entirely plot driven, though still innately reveal character.)

I also want to acknowledge, that on the global level (within the story at large) often the crisis will call back to the inciting incident and the protagonist’s response to it. In The Hunger Games, the inciting incident is when Prim’s name gets called and Katniss volunteers. At the crisis, she’s asked if she’s willing to potentially sacrifice herself again for another innocent. In a strong change arc, the responses will be opposites–the protagonist responded one way to the incident, and now chooses the opposite response in the crisis.

Where does the crisis fit?

Back to my initial confusion. Does the crisis come before the climax, during, or after?

As is often the case in the writing community, some of this confusion comes from ambiguous writing terminology. Coyne defines the “climax” as the choice and action the character makes after the crisis. So by his definition, of course it comes before the climax. For many people, the “climax” is much bigger than a single moment, and in that sense, the crisis fits within the climax. In other approaches, it may appear to come after, but I think this is more an issue of smaller structural units working within bigger ones (more on this in the future).

Then we get to the confusion of turning points. Some people refer to the climax as a turning point–but how does that work if the turning point supposedly is what leads to the crisis? 

This is because Coyne’s approach actually works more like this:

Turning point –> Crisis –> Turning Point

And to get even more specific, it works like this:

Turning point (outside the protagonist) –> Crisis –> Turning Point (from the protagonist)

The turning point that leads to the crisis, is something that comes from outside the protagonist–someone or something else is taking the action or providing the information. This backs the protagonist into the corner of the crisis. The protagonist chooses a path, and acts on that path, which means taking an action or sharing information with others, which in itself is a turning point.

Does the crisis always fit here? 

Well … yes … and no.

Sometimes the crisis isn’t obvious. It can be subtle and implied. There may not necessarily be a moment where it's on the page. We just see the protagonist acting on his or her choice.

Similarly, sometimes the character acts without fully appreciating or understanding the meaning behind the crisis. Sometimes it dawns on them only after the fact–their action leads to a personal revelation that is thematic (need). They now realize the “truth.”

But while the crisis doesn’t have to be on the page (or on the screen), I think it’s often more effective if it at least gets its own beat–this is the time to emphasize plot, character, and often even theme (the holy trinity of writing). This is not to say it needs to be blatant. Instead, think about what’s most effective in your story for this moment. Is it more powerful to put it directly on the page so the audience feels and appreciates the weight of it? Is it more effective to indirectly imply it through the text? Or is it more effective to let the audience fill in the blanks? 

Learn more about the crisis.

4. Climax

Coyne views the climax as the action the character takes in response to the crisis. This technically forms another turning point, because it changes the direction of the story. Coyne emphasizes action, but I want to acknowledge that the protagonist revealing information could be considered the “action”–since a turning point can be based on action or information.

The climax shows true character. We all say things we don’t actually do or live up to. The climax will reveal who the character really is. It’s the character’s actions, not his words, that show who he is or who he has become. Katniss initially considers shooting Peeta, but ultimately acts on choosing to consume poisonous berries (to put it simply). Frodo has planned the entire time to get rid of the Ring, but ultimately chooses to keep it, showcasing the Ring’s corruption of his innocence. 

When the pressure of the crisis happens, inner character is revealed. Intentions are usually not as truthful as choices and subsequent actions.

Unlike the crisis, the climax almost always needs to be front and center on the page, otherwise the audience feels robbed. And frankly, the plot, character, and theme all get robbed.

For character arcs, as touched on above, if you are writing a change arc, the action in the final climax will be different than what the character did within Act I. If you are writing a steadfast arc (also known as a flat arc), the action will be more or less the same–but more is hinging on the action at the final climax. Negative arcs choose wants over needs. Positive arcs choose needs over wants.

The final climax needs to be lifechanging. If this is a change arc, it will for sure be lifechanging internally, and maybe also externally (change the environment). If this is a steadfast arc, it will likely change the external (environment) more than the internal (the character). But this is all generally speaking, simplistically speaking.

This is (almost always) the biggest Point of No Return in the story. If it’s not a Point of No Return, then that’s likely a major problem in the manuscript.

Within the smaller structural units, overall, generally speaking, both the crises and the climaxes should be getting bigger and bigger–the crisis and climax of Act II needs to be bigger than the crisis and climax of Act I, for example (again, escalating, not de-escalating).

Learn more about the climax.

5. Resolution

This is the falling action. The character made a choice, took an action, and this turned the story (i.e. changed the direction of the story). What is the outcome of the character’s action? Does she succeed or fail? Receive the want or the need? Both or neither? If there is change within or without, we need to see it. If there is steadfastness within or without, we need to see it. Validate all this.

Coyne mentions that the resolution is a good time to reinforce what changed (or what was learned) at the climax, and this can be done with a metaphor or fable. You may mention a similar situation that reinforces the theme discovered at the climax. For example, in a story ultimately about family vs. fame, a positive change protagonist may choose “family” at the climax. In the resolution, we may mention a similar situation that reinforces the concept that “family is more important than fame,” by showing a little girl choosing to miss her talent show in order to help her grandma. Or, alternatively, we may show a local celebrity who chose a new opportunity for stardom, and lost his family as a result.

Now, this isn’t the exact same language Coyne uses to explain this concept–he uses some terminology related specifically to The Story Grid and looks at things from a different angle. But this is more or less the basic idea. (You can read his actual words and approach here.) I wanted to keep it simple and more cohesive with what we’ve talked about previously on my blog.

Coyne writes, “What the resolution moment does is it tells the reader exactly what the climax of the story MEANS. How the worldview has shifted.”

While we want to validate and reinforce what happened in the climax, Coyne emphasizes we don’t want to be repetitious. The audience knows what happened in the climax: They saw it. Instead, focus on the effects, don’t restate the same information.

Learn more about the resolution.

So at this point, I was planning on talking about this all more, in relation to scene structure specifically, but (unsurprisingly) this article is already pretty long! (What can I say? I love to go deep!) Best save that for a future post.

Nonetheless, there you have it. The Five Commandments of Storytelling according to the Story Grid. 

In the writing world, there are a lot of writing “rules”: “Show, don’t tell,” “Don’t use flashbacks,” “Only use ‘said,’” “Avoid adverbs” … While they can certainly be helpful, they aren’t law. And if you’ve been with me for a while, you’ll know that I love figuring out how to properly break just about any writing rule. I mean, I only have a whole section in my Writing Tip Index dedicated specifically to rule breaks.

Lately though, I’ve been thinking about two rules of thumb that can be used to justify breaking almost any writing rule. And really, they merit their own article.

Rule of Thumb #1: It Conveys More Than Itself

A couple of times I have mentioned that one of the key differences between beginner writing and professional-level writing, is that professional-level writing is frequently (if not almost always) conveying more than itself. There seems to be subtext all over the place.

If whatever you are doing conveys more than itself (and whatever content it conveys strengthens the story), you are more likely to get away with bending rules. It’s doing double duty, and anything doing double duty is more important to the story and more interesting to the audience.

Let’s look at some examples where this may apply:

“Show, Don’t Tell”

Two of the most obvious examples related to this rule are POV penetration and introspection. We are told all the time to show the story, but if you are at Point 4 on the POV penetration spectrum or have a passage of introspection, it’s likely you’ll need to utilize a bit more telling. People think in telling sentences. We don’t think in showing sentences. That can sound unnatural. 

If you want to get strong viewpoint on the page, then you need to use some telling. This is doing double duty because it’s not only conveying whatever the sentence says, but it’s conveying character voice. 

The sentence, “It was freaking hot outside, like the devil’s butt crack” is a telling sentence–we’re telling the audience it’s hot, instead of showing it’s hot, but it also relays the viewpoint character (or narrator’s) voice and perspective, which tells us more about them. They’re the type of person who says “freaking” and maybe compares things through a spiritual lens (“devil”) and uses cruder language (“butt crack”). Therefore the rule break is doing double duty. 

… And I would even argue that, in a sense, this is actually showing and telling simultaneously, because we are showing how the character views things (which, in a round about way, is what Rule of Thumb #1 is all about, doing at least two things at once.)

“Avoid Adverbs”

Ah yes, adverbs–a great way to make any writing sound weak, and in the right (read: wrong) situations, threaten to turn it into purple prose.

While there are a lot of reasons to not use adverbs, there are a lot of reasons to make exceptions and use them. 

But a quick example for our rule of thumb today would be something like this: “She smiled coldly.”

Smiling is one thing. But smiling coldly? That is something completely different. Saying she simply smiled or simply was cold toward someone doesn’t do as much as saying she smiled coldly. Either she gets pleasure out of being cold. Or she’s trying to pretend to be something she isn’t.

In any case, it’s doing double duty–conveying both what is happening and the character, so I would argue you can keep that one.

Rule of Thumb #2: It moves Forward Character (Arc), Plot, or Theme

At its heart, story is about character (arc), plot, and theme. Yes, setting is very important too, and even more important in stories about a setting, but any such story will ultimately feel empty without a strong character (arc), plot, and/or theme to go with it. Now, these three elements do not need to be perfectly balanced to write a great story. Some stories will emphasize character more, others maybe plot more, and others may seem to be almost entirely theme-driven. The point is, that any good story will do a good job in at least one of these areas, most will do a good job in two, and some types will nail all three.

But this can all lead into a whole other topic for a whole other post.

The point is, character (arc), plot, and theme are the holy trinity of story. 

If something progresses, deepens, expands, or develops one of these three elements, it probably needs to be in the story. It probably makes the story better.Let’s look at some examples where this may apply to rule breaks:

“Don’t use Flashbacks”

Many writers, especially beginning writers are discouraged from using flashbacks. For one, beginning writers tend to overuse them, and use them in the wrong places and in the wrong ways. For two, because flashbacks happen in the past, they inherently run the risk of taking the immediacy (and therefore tension) out of the story.

So when is it okay to use a flashback?

Flashbacks are most powerful when looking back is effective because of what we know or suspect in the present or predict for the future. 

Flashbacks are most powerful when they connect to the present story. 

When the flashback progresses, deepens, expands, or develops the audience’s understanding of the current character (arc), plot, and theme, they can work great.

When it comes to character arc, one of the best things to put in a flashback, is the protagonist’s “ghost” (also known as a “wound”)–a past, significant, often traumatic event that shaped the protagonist’s worldview or lifestyle. Even though the audience may not learn about the “ghost” until later in the story, the event sets up the protagonist for his or her character arc. It’s also almost always thematic (because the way the character arcs helps make up a story’s theme)

A flashback may also be important in plot. In order for the audience to understand what is currently happening in the plot or what could soon happen in the plot, they may need a flashback to fill them in on an important action or event that took place prior. While I feel that a purely plot-based flashback is less common, it can be a good reason to break the rule and put one in your story.

(I just wanted to throw out, that in contrast to these things, one would almost never be able to pull off a flashback that was only about setting.)

“Never Open with Introspection”

Like with flashbacks, opening with introspection can be a poor decision. Many writers, especially beginning writers, overuse introspection, and in the wrong places and in the wrong ways. Introspection can also suck the immediacy (and therefore tension) out of the story.

But you know when introspection is great?

When it progresses character (arc), plot, or theme.

When it deepens or expands the audience’s understanding of those three things–particularly in the present or near future of the story. 

Opening with strong introspection can immediately alert the audience to how the character starts his or her arc. Strong introspection can get the audience thinking about the theme. Strong introspection can get the audience worried or hopeful about what could soon happen in the plot. It’s a great way to get significant stakes on the page.

What makes something “significant”? It either has deep, personal ramifications, or broad, far-reaching ramifications. If what the character is thinking about affects that in regards to arc, plot, or theme, you can probably get away with it more, and get away with it in the opening of a story. (That’s also true with flashbacks–if it’s “significant,” you are more likely to get away with it.)

There are lots of reasons to break specific rules (for example, choosing to tell or to use adverbs can go a long way in improving pacing, while using to-be verbs or filter words can make a passage more reader-friendly), but these two rules of thumb can be used in regards to breaking almost any writing rule.

If what you write does double duty or progresses character arc, plot, or theme, you are more likely to get away with it. And in some cases, you may even need it.

When writing a story, selecting strong symbolism, motifs, and image systems can empower any narrative and bring themes home to the audience in a more tangible, even archetypal way. Yet for many authors, symbolism can be an afterthought (if it’s even a thought at all). And some instructors in the writing community actually caution against putting it in a story intentionally. But like with most writing elements, that’s usually only dangerous if you don’t know what you are doing.

As a “young” writer, I admit I was easily impressed when authors used symbols and motifs–that they put in that degree of thought into the concrete world of their stories. But a few years into my own journey, I realized as a writer, I had to pick content for the concrete world regardless, so rather than pick something random, why not take a second and pick something meaningful? Something symbolic? Next time you go to grab something random, consider if choosing something symbolic would be more impactful instead. (But always use good judgement—anything taken too far can become annoying.)

What Symbolism Actually is

Many people associate “symbolism” with decoding, as if there is a secret message you can only get if you can interpret special icons accurately.

But mostly, at its heart, symbolism means communicating something abstract in a more concrete way.

Take the U.S. flag for example. Literally, it’s just a piece of fabric with some stars and stripes. But notice the ideas the U.S.A. is founded on are abstract: liberty and equality. How do you show respect to abstract concepts? You can’t very easily. So you have to give it concrete form. It’s not the fabric that actually matters. It’s the abstracts the flag represents.

Symbolism can also communicate multiple things at once, more quickly. For example, we could open a rodeo with a long speech about liberty and equality. Or we could just raise the American flag, which communicates that.

Boiled down, symbolism is simply another form of communication, of conveying something that isn’t a literal, present, or concrete thing. In some sense, it’s another way to show rather than tell. It takes abstract and subjective experiences of the human existence, and puts them into something more familiar and tangible, which makes it, on some level, archetypal (and easier to digest).

Symbolism is Strongest When it’s Thematic or Subtextual

So, you want to implement symbolism into your scene… . You sit down to write the scene. But how do you know what should be symbolized? And in what way?

Remember: Symbolism communicates the abstract in more concrete ways. And the most important abstract element of your story, is the theme. Becausetheme comes out of the story, it can be tricky to get on paper accurately. It’s something we have to show the audience through the story. This is exactly the sort of thing symbolism is made for.

If it’s too difficult or too early to wrap your head around your story’s theme, focus on the protagonist’s character arc. How does he change or remain the same throughout the story? What worldviews or belief systems does that embody? One of those will usually be your story’s theme–because character arc is one of the secret ingredients that make up theme.

For example, in Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games prequel, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Coriolanus is exposed to two belief systems, which make up the thematic argument: Does humankind thrive when they are free from authority? Or does humankind become dangerous without authority? (Collins directly takes these arguments from John Locke and Thomas Hobbes.) Coriolanus comes to believe in the latter and eventually becomes President Snow.

To make such an abstract, weighty argument more accessible, Collins chooses songbirds–which thrive when left alone–to represent Locke’s argument, and snakes–which can be dangerous and poisonous when uncontrolled–to represent Hobbes’ argument. Throughout the novel, birds and snakes are handled and observed in various scenes to drive home the powerful themes. This allows the audience to witness how the arguments play out in a more tangible way.

Consider how your character arcs and where she is in that arc in a given scene. What might you put in that represents or taps into that concretely? Choosing to symbolize the theme or character arc regularly through a story, will often be more effective than choosing a different or even random concept. Symbolism works best when it resonates through a piece, and if you are choosing to symbolize something different in every chapter, it makes it harder to discern what’s symbolic, if anything. Just be careful that whatever you choose, you don’t render it too heavy-handedly. (Anything done poorly can be annoying, so use good judgment.)

Another powerful way symbolism can be used is to convey subtext. Like theme, subtext isn’t on the page directly. It comes out of the story. So symbolism can be an effective way to communicate it more clearly to the audience. Remember, the point is to make the abstract more concrete, not more complicated. An example of this comes from The Office when the characters find a dead bird after Michael discovers his old boss, Ed Truck, died. The treatment of the bird, including its funeral, becomes subtext for Michael’s fear he’ll die alone and unremembered, like Ed Truck. Something abstract becomes clearer and more accessible through the bird.

Making the Most of Motifs

A motif is a recurring element, and often that element is a symbol. In the example of Songbirds and Snakes, birds and snakes are not only symbols, but motifs, as they reappear throughout the story, in different contexts. Again, the strongest motifs tap into theme, and often have slight variations that relate to the protagonist’s arc.

For example, in Frozen, doors are a motif. They appear regularly throughout the film, but in slightly different ways. At the beginning, Anna is constantly opening doors, which conveys she’s very open to others and to love. On the other hand, Elsa is constantly closing doors, which conveys her yearning for isolation. As the characters follow their journeys, their interactions with doors reveal their personal state.

Just as a theme should be explored through the story, so will the motif, as it shows up in different contexts. At the end, it will be used to convey the final thematic statement (i.e. Elsa says the kingdom’s doors will stay open because she’s now open to love).

Find ways to evolve the motifs, if only by changing the context. Repeating the exact same thing over and over to the audience can get annoying. We don’t simply want to see the songbirds always flying free, we also want to see what happens to them when they are caged. We don’t want to always see doors in a positive light, we also want to see how they can invite in danger.

You can learn more about motifs in my article, “Mastering Motifs for Thematic Power.”

Broadening Symbolism with Image Systems

While motifs can be used repeatedly with variations, you can also broaden the scope of your story’s symbolism through image systems. In his book Story, award-winning screenwriting teacher, Robert McKee talks about creating an image system for your narrative. Rather than selecting one specific symbol (such as birds and doors), select a category of imagery. For example, I may choose the category of water to represent repentance, and by extension, the protagonist’s relationship with that. For one scene, I may choose to show rain cleansing a gutter. In another scene, I may choose to emphasize chlorine floating in a swimming pool. In yet another, I may describe the relief that a glass of water brings to the dehydrated. And elsewhere, I may simply show an ice cube melting.

It’s worth mentioning that within our culture, water is associated with cleanliness, so I’m using an element that already has symbolism associated with it–this is sometimes referred to as “external” or “universal” symbolism. Alternatively, I could pick something with no associations, and use the text to create the symbolism–this is sometimes referred to as “internal” or “personal” symbolism.

For example, instead of choosing water, I may choose jewelry. What does that have to do with repentance? The same thing a thimble has to with a kiss in Peter Pan–the text creates the association. Or perhaps I want to choose something that the audience can infer a little more easily with a nudge, but something not quite so obvious as water, like perhaps plants–a seed sprouting, a rose blooming, a tree healing, which relate to new beginnings and growing into something different.

In the end, symbolism is about making the abstract more concrete, and it is stronger when used in relation to theme or subtext. Motifs empower symbolism by creating resonance through repetition and variation. And image systems broaden your ability to select meaningful symbols.

I read *a lot* of scenes that happen around food ‍ As much as I love food, I think a lot of times the writer doesn’t think about what to use as a backdrop to dialogue, and so just picks eating. And eating. And eating. I’m not opposed to meals, but make sure to change it up

… unless of course the story is ABOUT food.

Many of us are familiar with the “Show, don’t Tell” writing rule, but few of us realize how vital it is to writing our stories’ themes. In fact, one of the most common problems that come up with theme, happens because the writer tells the theme more than shows it. So, when you learn how to show your theme, you are well on your way to writing a stronger one–which means writing a stronger story. Let’s briefly review the “Show, don’t Tell” writing rule and go over why telling theme alone is rarely effective. Then we’ll follow up with why and how to show your theme.

The Meaning of “Show, don’t Tell”

The “Show, don’t Tell” rule usually relates to the actual prose of a story. In short, it means to dramatize what is happening in a scene, in a way that allows the reader to experience the story, instead of just reading as a spectator. This is often done by imagery (aka, appealing to the senses). When a writer simply labels and explains what happens (tells the story), it’s almost always less effective.

For example, read this telling sentence:

Emily was tired.

It simply labels Emily’s state. And we don’t really understand what kind of tired she is. Is she physically tired from running a marathon? Is she tired in the sense she needs sleep? Or is she tired because she’s bored? We don’t know. It’s vague and general.

But when we show that Emily is tired, it becomes more concrete and specific.

For example, read this showing passage:

Yawning, Emily dragged her backpack on the way to her bedroom. Her eyes drooped shut with each step. She fell into her bed, and her shoes blackened the covers. She rubbed her eyes–mascara gritted against her skin–then flung her arm over her face to block out the light.

Now the audience has a specific image and experience of Emily being tired. Now they feel more tired, like Emily.

And that’s more impactful.

Of course, telling isn’t always bad, and there is a time and place for it. 

To learn more about the “Show, don’t Tell” rule, including when to break it, check out “Breaking Writing Rules Write: ‘Show, don’t Tell.’”

But showing extends beyond the prose itself, and sometimes when we extend it beyond that, it can make the definitions a little more blurry. 

Luckily, when we apply it to theme, it need not get too blurry.

Telling Your Story’s Theme

The theme is an argument about how we should be living our lives, and just like with prose, the theme is most effective when you show it more than tell it. Yet, perhaps the most common problem with theme happens when the writer tries to consciously superimpose one by putting in monologues, sermons, or long passages that teach preach how we should be living our lives and what the meaning of the story is.

When a writer tells their theme more than shows it, it’s exactly the sort of behavior that leads professionals to share the erroneous idea that you can’t write with a theme in mind. You can. But just like with any writing element, if you don’t know what you are doing, you’re more likely to handle it poorly. In this case, it shows up as what people call “preachiness.”

Preachiness happens because the writer is telling the theme way more than showing it.

Or worse, they are only telling it and never showing it.

Or worse, they are telling a theme that actually doesn’t coincide with what the story showed.

Almost always, a story’s theme is determined by these elements … 

The Critical Pieces:

1. Your protagonist’s dominating qualities, worldview, and/or lifestyle
2. Your protagonist’s arc
3. The antagonistic force
4. How the conflict between the antagonist and protagonist is resolved.

The Supporting Pieces:

1. The Influence Character
2. The supporting cast
3. Secondary plotlines (conflicts)

(For more of an explanation on these and how they work, check out “How Theme is Your Story’s Shadow.”)

This means that if you try to pick a theme and overlay it on a story, it will ring false. It will sound fake. And it will sound like a lecture. Because the critical and supporting pieces don't prove that theme true, you’ll likely succumb to simply putting in sermons and preachy passages. 

On some level, it feels like a lie. 

Because it’s not what the story shows.

The theme comes out of the story, you don’t slap it on top at the end. You can’t put makeup on a pig and tell the audience it’s a human. They can see through the makeup. And it’s annoying if you go on long trying to convince them it’s something it’s not.

(As a side note, another way preachiness can slip in is if the author doesn’t fairly consider or represent the opposing argument (the anti-theme). If a theme is an argument about life, then it needs to have someone or something arguing against it, and if you want a strong theme, that argument needs to appear fair and convincing.)

In truth, we’ve probably all encountered stories where the theme was told more than shown. I’ve seen it show up in stories where the writer tried to shoehorn a theme about “strong women” with dialogue or a monologue, when the character arc, plot, and antagonist actually had little to do with gender roles. I’ve seen it show up in passages about how humankind is bad because we are destroying the planet, in an arc, plot, and antagonist that had little to nothing to do with the environment. It usually comes off as very on-the-nose.

Why?

Because it doesn’t come naturally out of the story itself, the author can only shoehorn it with a lecture or the like.

If you want to write about how women can be strong, you need to write a story that demonstrates that. You need to pick a character, arc, opposing forces, and secondary plots that explore gender roles and prove it to be true at the end. And to do it effectively, you need to show a convincing counterargument, (even if you don’t personally agree with the counterargument).

If you don’t start there, it will always feel to the audience like makeup on a pig (even if they can’t pinpoint exactly what’s wrong), no matter how beautiful the makeup is. If you can change the “theme” by deleting a few passages or monologues from your story, it probably isn’t the true theme.

In order to change and manipulate theme, you need to do it by changing and manipulating the critical and supporting pieces.

Showing Your Story’s Theme

Instead of listening to someone tell us what we should or should not be doing (which often naturally leads the human mind to search for exceptions or even inspires rebellious spirits), it’s more resonating and effective to facilitate an experience that helps the audience draw their own conclusions of the truth(theme) you are arguing.

We do this by making sure the critical pieces and supporting pieces of the theme explore the theme’s topic and then prove the argument true. We show the theme through the story.

We don’t want to start the story sounding like a stuffy know-it-all, i.e. “Well of course women can be strong! Duh! What kind of terrible person would think otherwise?!”

In order to prove an argument true, it needs to be tested. We can’t just say it’s true. Again, we need to show it.

How might we do this?

For the topic of strong women or gender roles (which I feel like I see get shoehorned more than others in modern films), Mulan is a great example. (The animated version. I haven’t seen the live-action one.)

There is no long sermon or lecture about how women can be just as significant in society as men. Or about how both masculine and feminine roles are important in a culture. There is no lecture, because we need no lecture.

We start out with a girl who struggles to live up to her gender role, and then runs away to pretend to be a man in an army. This is already, naturally, a story about gender. But as she faces opposition, the idea of a strong woman comes into question. Can a woman actually make it as a male soldier? It looks like the men are doing better than her (counterargument). Through the middle, the story fairly explores each side of the argument (and some arguments in between). The relationships she has with the men around her (Influence Character(s)) explore the theme topic of gender roles as well.

In the end, the film proves the argument true by showing how a woman saves all of China by defeating the antagonist. It also simultaneously proves true that both masculine and feminine gender roles are important, by having the male soldiers dress up as women (after Mulan has spent most of the film doing the reverse) to get into the palace.

Neither the Emporer, Shang, Mulan, nor Mushu needed to give a big monologue about how these things are true and correct–they didn’t need to because the story “proved” (i.e. “showed”) it was true, and because the audience experienced it vicariously, they feel that it is true.

Any powerful theme is shown more than told.

In Les Miserables? We are ultimately shown that mercy can do more to change hearts than justice. It’s shown through Jean Valjean’s qualities and worldview and his character arc. It’s shown through Javert’s loyalty to justice. It’s shown in the relationships and secondary plotlines and supporting cast. It’s shown when Javert takes his own life because–due to his loyalty to justice–he cannot live with having been shown mercy by his adversary. The story doesn’t just tell us mercy is more powerful than justice. It shows us.

One more example (because they say three proves the point). The Hunger Games argues that sacrificing yourself to benefit others (which is what Katniss–despite temptations–ultimately does on multiple occasions) is better than sacrificing others for personal gain (which is what the Capitol, Games themselves, and President Snow do on multiple occasions). Is this ever said point-blank? Not obviously enough to easily pick out. Instead, it’s again shown through the protagonist, antagonist, climax, relationships, supporting characters, and secondary plots.

Showing is stronger than telling. Especially when it concerns theme.

And just like the rule in relation to prose, this doesn’t mean it's never okay to tell your theme. There is a time and place for everything. 

Just make sure that if you do, you are showing it much more than telling it.

Otherwise you may inspire eye rolls more than a change of heart.

We all doubt ourselves at one point or another. We don’t think our work is good enough, we get frustrated, instead of constructive criticism sometimes we receive hate, we can’t get our thoughts into words, we’re too tired to write, we just don’t like the way your own writing sounds… whatever it may be: there are so many reasons to quit. Here is why you shouldn’t.

1) It’s an escape and everyone needs their own space. Everyone’s home life is different, but we all could use a vacation. Writing can take us places we want to be. Even if you’re doubting your work, write for yourselfand for that pleasure of being elsewhere. You don’t have worry about the quality of your writing, just enjoy the escape. Editing and fixing can come later if you want to share/publish your work. 

Stephanie Meyer wrote Twilight purely for herself at night after the kids were asleep, not expecting to write a novel at all, but rather to explore further into a dream she had— publishing never even crossed her mind at first!

2) Go back to the reason you started: it’s fun. Like any sport is to an athlete, writing is a hobby that we all started because we enjoyed it. It may take rocky schedules, failure, and days where you just want to skip practice (and probably do). But there will also be days where you feel like you’re the star player and everything is coming naturally to you. No matter the ups and downs, at the end of the day— we write because it’s fun. Don’t let writing become a chore.

3) If you do publish your work, it could become someone elsesescape. How many books have you read that transported you away from stress and work? It’s a lovely thought that your story could do that to someone else (if you want to publish)— only if you keep writing!

4) It’s a place where you can purely be yourself. Where else better than to let all your fantasies, thoughts and expressions come to life than on a blank sheet of paper? A place where, while writing, no one will judge or tell you what to do— because you’re the captain of this story.

5) Writing is a creative outlet to express yourself. Some people sing, dance, play a sport, paint, cook, bake, you name it… and some of us write. Don’t bottle your creative urges up, let them loose onto the blank pages and create. If you gave up writing, where would all of that creativity go?

6) The writing community! Whether you post content (tips, WIPs, memes) or prefer to just read them, the community can offer you amazing friends that you wouldn’t have found if you gave up writing. 

If you’re feeling like quitting, take a break or try to find your initial inspiration again through reading, watching shows/movies, or connecting with other writers. Never give up completely because at the end of the day, you started writing for a reason. Remember that reason.

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☕ Official Blog: www.byzoemay.com

Here are some interesting reasons why you might want to kill your characters! Of course there are also reasons why you shouldn’t murder them, but that’s for another post! This one will focus on reasons why you should bring your characters to a permanent end.

Some reasons to kill your characters…

1) It can serve as poetic justice.This is when the bad guys are punished and the good guys are rewarded. When the antagonistic force finally gets what they deserve, it can satisfy the reader. If you’ve ever watched Game of Thrones, you know how angering it is when the bad guys always preserver. Giving them a well-deserved demise can be like lemonade on a blistering hot day for your reader.

2) Does killing them tie into your theme? Death is a pretty universal thing that can fit into a lot of stories. Does putting it into your story add to the lesson/theme you want to leave your readers with? For example, a story with the theme of survival could be intensified if it’s shown that not everyone cansurvive. Or a dark romance with the theme of betrayal… she still loves the vampire even if he kills… but what if he kills someone close to her? Can death be used to intensify your theme?

3) Killing certain characters can bring closure to their story/arc. Sometimes death can be the best way to end an arc. Depending on who the character is, after they’ve served their purpose to the story, is it better to let them linger or kill them? If a character is suffering, would it be more merciful to kill them?

4) Deaths can build tone. If your tone tone is happy and lighthearted then this isn’t for you. However, if the tone you’re going for is dark and dreary, adding in some deaths can really intensify that vibe.

5) Deaths add realism. Loss is apart of life (sadly). If you’re writing an epic fantasy, is it actuallyrealistic for everyone to survive at the end of the journey? Especiallywhen most of them are learning along the way? Adding in deaths can make the story more realistic… whether it’s a spear through the heart or an untimely illness. Death comes and goes whenever, wherever. 

6) It can develop your protagonist and advance the plot. While you might not want to necessarily kill a character for the sole purpose of hurting your protagonist, if the deathdoes achieve that, you’re developing them! Does this death motivate them to push forward, does it put a hole in their plan, does it create new conflict? Deaths can be great for moving the plot forward.

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☕Official Blog: www.byzoemay.com

There are tons of ways to create suspense in your novel, here are just a few to get your brain jogging:

1) Withhold things about a characters backstory. Why does he walk with a limp? Why is she so untrusting? When did he get those scars and why do they glow? When you slowly reveal your character(s) backstory, it leaves the reader intrigued to figure out the crucial details about them.

2) Make promises and keep them. When you reveal a question to the readers, you’re promising them an answer. Delay the answers for suspense. If your character encounters a mysterious, magical box that they feel an intense pull towards, you’re making a promise that it will be opened eventually. This creates suspense: what is in there!? 

3) Take away your characters weapons/defenses. They sprain an ankle while running, their weapon breaks during battle, they have a panic attack before going on stage, they freeze in terror while face to face with the antagonist. How will your character improvise and get out of this situation?

4) Create a time constraint. They have to do something in X amount of time. To make this suspense even more intense, you can cut the time in half right when they think everything is going as planned.

5) Leave problems unresolved. Instead of solving a problem at the end of a chapter or scene, delay its resolve. Add interruptions, delays, new issues, puzzles, reversals, etc. The reader will have a hard time putting the book down because they desperately want to see how the problem gets dealt with. (I would advise not to drag something on for too longthough.)

6) Make things worse for your character. Why make something go bad for your hero when you can make it go horrendous. If they’re afraid of snakes, have them fall into a pit of them. If they’re afraid of heights, place them on the top of the Eiffel Tower. The true personality of characters are revealed during their hardest moments. 

7) Add suspense through romantic scenes. Suspense doesn’t have to just be action and danger, it can also be intimate and warm. An intense stare, the longing for touch, little notions of care (hugs, reassurance, words of affirmation) that lead to the intense kiss and confession. 

8) Secrets. Is there a character withholding something? Did something go missing? Is there an enemy disguised as an ally? Drop little hints to your reader (and red herrings) that someone has a secret, and if they notice the clues, they’ll try to piece things together. The unrelenting desire to know the answer will create suspense!

Pt. 2 — Coming Soon!

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☕Official Blog: www.byzoemay.com

You may have heard of these conflicts before, maybe in school or while browsing the web. Wherever you learned it, these base conflicts are extremely common in literature. Ask yourself: which of these conflicts appear in my story?

1) Man vs. Man

This is probably the most common external conflict there is. Nearly every story you read will have some kind of character vs. character conflict. This type of conflict can range anywhere from arguments, physical fights to a massive hero vs. villain battle.

This is Katniss vs. Cato. This is alsoKatniss when she gets angry at Peeta for “making her sound weak” in their interviews. This is every Tribute trying to be the last one standing.

2) Man vs. Society

Does your story include a dictatorship? A corrupt government? Is there an organization trying to shackle your character? Typically your character will work against them to bring their lies to light or completely tear them down.

This is Katniss vs. The Capitol. This is when she shoots the apple during her display of skills. This is where she destroys the dome in Catching Fire.

3) Man vs. Nature

Mother Nature can be brutal and unrelenting. This type of conflict usually forces the character to survive against the odds of earth. Is your character lost in the wilderness and on the verge of starvation? Is a massive tsunami about to crash into their homeland?

This is Katniss surviving the climate, hunger and animal conditions of the Games. 

4) Man vs. Supernatural

Is your character facing something that is unexplainable by their definition of logic? Ghosts, witches, mythical creatures, aliens? An angered God who wishes to smite all of humanity? Perhaps a demon who has crawled his way up from hell to devour your characters soul.

This is Sam and Dean Winchester as they fight to eliminate the supernatural creatures of the world. This is the vampire hunter vs. the vampires.

5) Man vs. Technology

Have robots taken over the world? Is your character glued to their phone/computer/VR all hours of the day and as a result it’s affecting their personal life? This conflict can be as huge as murderous androids roaming earth or as mundane as your character not able to crack the password of the bad guys computer.

This is Neo and the survivors of The Matrix fighting against the Machines and Programs of their universe.

6) Man vs. Self

This is an internalconflict. This is when your character is having an inner battle with themselves. They’re questioning their beliefs, their fatal flaws are messing everything up for them. They hate themselves or they want to change but can’t.

This is Katniss not wanting to kill anyone, because that’s just not who she is, but choosing to for her own survival. 

7) Man vs. Fate 

The chosen one, the prophecy that your character will bring forth the end of the world, the tragic reality that your character was born to be sacrificed to the Gods. This is when your character fights against fate and for their free will. They refuse to accept that their only reason for existing is totally out of their control.

Harry Potter—the boy who lived. The one who is destined to defeat Voldemort.

Okay, Bean, but how many of these conflicts should I include into my story?

That’s up to you. Every author will have a different opinion. You should at least have one of these for sure, but you could have all seven if it works with your story. One of these conflicts could be your main one, while a few others are attached to subplots or minor situations!

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☕Official Blog: www.byzoemay.com

Synonyms for Color in Your Novel

Here are some synonyms and things that match the said color to help with setting, clothing and appearance descriptions! These are great for if you want your descriptions to be more flowery or immersive. 

Black 

• Onyx
• Jet black
• Coal / Charcoal
• Inky
• Ebony
• Obsidian
• Raven / Crow / Panther
• Void / Nothingness
• Night
• Bleak
• Obscure
• Shadow / Umbra

“His hair was as dark and smooth as a raven’s feather.”

Blonde

• Strawberry blonde
• Fair
• Animal Hide
• Platinum
• Champagne / Chardonnay
• Bleached
• Sandy
• Golden
• Honey
• French fries
• Flaxen
• Ashy
• Straw

“She hadn’t a care in the world as she leaned her head out of the window. Her golden hair was wild and unruly like popping a bottle of light champagne on the best day of your life.”

Brown

• Honey
• Chestnut / Hazel
• Oak / Wood / Trees
• Chocolate / Caramel / Cocoa 
• Roasted Almonds
• Sepia
• Tanned
• Sunburned
• Bronze
• Worn
• Dusky
• Earthy
• Umber

“Her hazel eyes were nothing special, in fact, they were the last thing you noticed about her. But to me, they felt like home— like roasted almonds and dark chocolate.”

Green

• Honeydew / Dewdrops 
• Emeralds 
• Grass / Leaves / Nature
• Viridian
• Olive
• Sage
• Lime
• Poison
• Sea Green
• Moss / Seaweed
• Lush
• Jade
• Mint

“Two shiny emeralds glittered back at me beyond my doorframe, getting bigger and bigger as he lurked into the room.”

Blue

• Sky / Sea
• Azure
• Cobalt / Cyan
• Sapphire
• Cerulean
• Navy
• Indigo 
• Royal
• Depressed (any sad synonyms)
• Electric
• Blueberries
• Turquoise / Teal

“Her eyes that once held ocean’s mysteries were now dull and empty— lost at sea.”

White

• Pearl
• Pure
• Snow
• Dove
• Alabaster
• Pale / Fair
• Translucent
• Ivory
• Chalk
• Silver
• Milky
• Angel / Holy

“His translucent eyes were like snow on a sunny day— reflective of everything around them including my fear.”

Red 

• Blood
• Cardinal
• Wine
• Maroon / Burgundy 
• Scarlet
• Brick
• Chestnut
• Amber / Auburn
• Rusty / Burnt
• Ruby
• Vermillion 
• Crimson
• Cherry

“Lighting shattered the sky as his two scarlet eyes were pulsating like a beating heart, badump, badump, dadump. This is where I die.”

Pink 

• Bubblegum
• Flamingo
• Strawberry 
• Blush / Flushed
• Coral
• Rose / Rosy
• Salmon
• Roseate 
• Sakura / Cherry Blossoms
• Delicate / Pale / Hot
• Bloom

“She had bubblegum hair, a cigarette in her mouth and the fierceness to take the world by storm.”

Pt. 2 — Coming soon! With rest of the other colors!

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☕Official Blog: www.byzoemay.com

Info dumping… ah, yes. It’s one of the reasons why writers are always talking about how you need to show, not tell. Info dumping is that dreaded tellingthat you might accidentally be doing in your novel.

Info dumping is when the author drenches the reader in a tonof information all at once in a big clump of text. Our first drafts are probably cluttered with info dumps here and there because we’re exploring our own world and still figuring things out— but when editing, it’s important not to let these chunks of information slip by.

Here are some ways to avoid info dumping:

1) Whenever you catch yourself in a lengthy description of backstory/worldbuilding, ask yourself this question:

 “Does the reader really need to know all of this right now?” 

Only write what your readers need to know for that specificscene. If your protagonist lands their spaceship onto a new planet, onlytell the reader what they need to know for the scene to make sense— don’t start explaining the origin of everything on this new world. Not only does withholding extra information add suspense and intrigue, it balances the story. 

2) Watch out for info dumping in dialogue. Dialogue is a greatplace to reveal world building and backstory, but make sure to break up your lengthy conversations with action. It can be very easy to spot an info dump when page after page is all solely dialogue. Scenes should have a mix of action, dialogue, introspection, etc. 

I once read a book (and the info dump was so bad I still remember it clear as day) where a character was nonstop talking for literal pages. No actions nor dialogue tags, no thoughts of the character or anything. Just paragraphs upon paragraphs of them explaining the history of the war that was going on. It was interesting history but I KNEWI was reading an info dump and started to get tired. I felt kind of cheated… like it could’ve been done better.

The attention of the reader can and willdrift if you have lengthy info dumps!

3) Don’t hold your readers hand. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m guilty of doing this and it’s something I need to fix. It can be tempting to overexplain or reveal tons of information because you’re afraid your audience won’t understand what’s happening otherwise. However, humans (especially readers) are very intellectual creatures and can figure things out on their own. Drop some hints and context clues, tell them only what they need to know and sprinkle the rest as it comes and you’ll be good.

4) Let yourself info dump in the first draft. Umm, bean, hello? You’re going against the title. Yes… well, your first draft will be messy. While you should find different ways to relay information, it’s okay to have some dumpage in the first draft. One of my favorite writing quotes is: “the first draft is just you telling yourself the story” and if you need to dump info to do that, then do it. Just make sure that you knowyou’re info dumping and put a note next to it that it needs to be fixed later.

5) Be extra careful at the beginning of your story. During your set up and introductions to your characters, it can be very easy to let information get out of control. This can be boring and annoying to a reader because they don’t yet care about your characters! So why would they care about all their backstory? Reveal it slowly over time. We want a drizzle, not a downpour. 

6) If you need to reveal a lot of information, consider dedicating a full scene to it. Instead of dumping all the context out in dialogue or explanation, maybe find a way to reveal it through the actions of your characters. Instead of going into great detail about how “the cursed amulet poisons the wearer and has all these nasty side effects” showit happening to your character and then have your other characters react to this— thus spreading the info out in the form of action, dialogue and introspection. 

7) Some backstory is best left untold. As the author, you know everything there is to know about your world. For some of us, this means days, weeks, even years of research and worldbuilding. Don’t try squeezing that all into your first book. I’m shivering just thinking about all the info dumps. 

Think of an iceberg. The tip that you see above the water is your book and the massive underside that hides below the murky water? That is all your research that never gets to see the light of day. Without it your story wouldn’t function, but that doesn’t mean the reader needs to know it all (sadly). Your research will shine through regardless, giving your story structure and a backbone.

Pt. 2 — Coming Soon! (Because I refuse to info dump everything there is to know about info dumping )

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First consider the type of betrayal you want. Will it be minor to the story or absolutely earth shattering? Will you be leaving little breadcrumbs/hints for the reader to piece together, or will it come out of no where and blindside both the reader andcharacters? Be careful though because the latter can feel unrealistic or make the reader feel cheated.

Here are some tips on how to write betrayals in your story:

1) Set up the betrayal in a way that isn’t obvious. Leave tiny clues, use foreshadowing, drop hints in the background. Body language and dialogue can be great places to add subtle hints. 

2) Make your readers invested in your characters. If the reader doesn’t care about the protagonist or even the betrayer, they won’t feel anything when the big deception happens.

3) The betrayer needs a motivation. Why are they betraying your protagonist?

4) It has to have an effect your protagonist. Usually the betrayer is someone close to the protagonist, so when they are deceived, it hurts like crap.

5) Do some research on the craft of lying. It can be hard for a character to keep up a mask for the entire story. Google some real-life betrayals in history, or in famous literature/movies. Study how the betrayals are hinted at and effectively revealed.

6) Play around with POV. A fun way to build tension is to have certain characters know things that others do not. Or perhaps your readersknow about the betrayal-to-be before the characters do. This could put them on the edge of their seats waiting for your characters to figure it out before it’s too late.

7) Betrayal isn’t black and white. I don’t think betrayal is as simple as good and bad… it can get muddy. For example, what if the betrayer is being blackmailed? Mind controlled? Manipulated? Here are a few betrayal pathways to consider:

• Evil from the start to the end, was never truly a friend.
• Manipulated into betraying their friends
• Wants to be on the “winning side”
  
• Is offered gold or safety of their family for the betrayal
• Blackmailed or threatened into the betrayal
• They’re lesser or a “loser” in the beginning and can obtain power through this betrayal
• Conflicted and stuck in between— this betrayer doesn’t know which side to pick and is constantly being tormented between the choice
• The betrayer feels cheated/overlooked by the protagonist and choses to switch sides.
• They’re betraying the protagonist to secretly protect them
• They have no choice— literally. Mind control or magically forced
• Theythinkthey’re genuinely doing the right thing
• A remorseful betrayer who realizes his mistake but it’s too late, he is too far gone or the damage has already been done.

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No writing tips today, my brain is super tired! But here are some interesting words and their meanings! Maybe they could help to inspire names, cities, clans or creatures in your story. 

Flyspeck — a tiny stain. 

“Look at that flyspeck on your shirt! Ugh! You’re so dirty.”

Guffaw— a loud, unrestrained burst of laughter. 

“He guffawed like no one has ever guffawed before, and it was a beautiful sight to see.”

Nesh — sensitive to the cold. 

“She was the most nesh person I’ve ever met, shivering at the slightest drop in temperature.”

Riffraff— a group of people who are regarded as disreputable or worthless. 

“You guys are nothing more than riffraff off the street.”

Ephemeral— something that lasts a very short time. 

“His love was ephemeral, yet she still chose to fall head over heels for him. She had convinced herself that a fleeting love was better than none at all.”

Uniped— a person or animal having only one foot/leg. 

“The uniped pirate had lost his left leg in a war he never wanted to fight.”

Wuthering—wind that blows strongly with a roaring sound. 

“The wuthering wind challenged the lion, it’s roar much louder, much scarier.”

Vicinal— a person who has special knowledge or skill. 

“She was vicinal in the art of mind control.”

Beamish—bright, cheerful, optimistic. 

“She was beamish in everything that she did, always a smile on her face.”

Fika—of Swedish culture meaning to take time to slow down and appreciate the smaller things in life.

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A metaphor is a figure of speech that describes an object or action in a way that isn’t literal. Here are some reasons why to use them in your writing and how you can improve them!

1) Metaphors can make your writing lyrical or add style/voice. The style of your writing is your own unique way of communicating with words, similar to how musicians sing differently. If you’re using a lot of metaphors, your style can become more poetic, flowery or distinctive.

For example, an excerpt from John Greens: The Fault In Our Stars:  “My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.” This is much more stylistic than just saying, “my thoughts are all over the place.”

2) Metaphors can aid in your readers understanding. Metaphors are excellent at creating vivid visuals for your audience and helping them to understand an abstract concept. Maybe you want to show how terrifying a creature is: 

“It’s mouth was a row of knives and it’s eyes were pits of crumbling coal” is much more descriptive and emotion-inducing than: “the creature had sharp teeth and black eyes.”

3) Metaphors help with showing instead of telling. Instead of “she was really nervous” let’s try something like: “Her foot was a jack hammer, slamming into the concrete over and over. Kyle was convinced that the ground would crack beneath her four inch black heels.”

4) Metaphors make for more memorable content. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve swooned over a beautiful metaphor. Adding metaphors can deepen the experience of the reader because it indulges in their senses and emotions. How many times have you highlighted a beautiful metaphor or reread a poetic line? 

5) They can induce thought and wonder into the reader. For instance: “love is a battlefield” can spark curiosity. Why and how is it a battlefield? Maybe the reader even ponders on their own experiences and can actually relateto the narration. This just deepens that connection again.

6) Metaphors can be stronger than similes, thus making your point more impactful. This is not to say that similes are bad or that you should remove them— they have their places and their strengths. Unlike a simile (which uses “like/as” to compare one thing to another), metaphors directlyrelate things. In some cases, dropping the “like/as” can make the description more powerful. 

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None of these are required and doing them allis not probable— but, adding a few of these into your novel could really elevate your first page! Here are a few different ways to open your story in a way that makes it more intriguing! Lesssgooo:

1) Consider grounding your reader on the first page. No… not in the sense of sending them to their room (), but rather— place them in a setting and make sure they know where they are from the start. You don’t want to confuse your reader by waiting too long to describe the setting. Make sure they know where they are so that they can vividly see the scene in their mind. Plus, if it’s a breathtaking fantasy world, that could be your hook.

HOWEVER, make sure you’re not ONLY describing the setting. Try to mix some narration, action or dialogue in there.

2) Have a clear, distinct voice from the start. Voiceis the mixture of tone, POV, word choice and punctuation that an author uses to tell their story. Essentially, it’s their writing style (similar to how musicians all sing differently). Some writers have such a unique voice that you can tell it’s their writing right from the get-go. If your unique voice/style comes through strong enough on the first page, it could very well be one of the major things that captivates your reader.

3) Allude to something that’s about to happen. My favorite example of this is The Hunger Games. In the very firstparagraph, The Reaping is mentioned. This compels me to read more because I want to know what it is and why it has everyone stressed out.

4) Consider showing who your protagonist is. If your character is a hothead, maybe the plot starts while they’re extremely angry. If they’re an assassin, maybe they’re planning a hit, already on one… or just finished one. 

5) Introduce tension and conflict. Conflict can be huge (a car chase) or super minor (running out of milk). If you do not want conflict on the first page, consider alluding to future conflict. Make the readers feel like something is about to happen (drop hints) and that whatever it is… will change the protagonist’s path— thus beginning their journey.

6) Based on your audience/genre, create a hook. For example, if you’re writing a fantasy, you could tease the magic of your world. You don’t have to explain your magic system and all it’s rules (in fact, the first page is way too early for that) but you could rather allude/hint at how: “her fingers felt hot, like when she burned them on the stove as a child. She couldn’t wipe off the heat, it was like they were on fire.” 

7) THINGS NOT TO DO:

• Don’t let your character(s) wander around aimlessly. Give them something to do, put their goals and wants to use right away.
• Don’t info dump backstory
• Don’t start too early. Only go as far back as the reader needs to understand the inciting incident.
• Don’t overwhelm the reader with a ton of names or locations 
• Don’t start your story in an overly generic way that editors have seen too many times (waking up, dreaming, running from something, etc.) The exception is if you can put your own unique twist on it.
• Try not to tell, but rather show.

Pt. 2 — Coming soon!

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If a scene, conversation or an idea is not working in your novel… here is why you should not delete it, but rather save it away somewhere else. Taking out scenes that don’t work can be healthy for your story, but you should move them to a spare document instead of deleting them permanently. Here’s why:

1) You can use it in a different story. If it’s not working in your current novel, it could fit into a future project.

2) It can inspire new ideas. Saving your writing and looking back on it every now and again can inspire a completely new perspective on it. This could give birth to new ideas to write in your current novel… or even bring to life a whole new story idea!

3) You can fix the scene/idea later. Whether it’s writers block or just lack of sleep… maybe you just need to come back to it later with fresh eyes. 

4) It might not be as bad as you think. If you’ve been working on your project every day for hours at a time, you might begin to overthink and nitpick your writing. Rather than delete stuff you grow to dislike, save it elsewhere and look back on it a few weeks later. You might realize that you just needed a break and it is actually a damn goodscene.

5) Maybe it’s not the scene that is broken, but your structure/backstory. If your scene feels out of place or like it’s not working, consider asking yourself whyit feels wrong. Maybe you need to figure out the bare bones of the scene and flesh it out more to make it work.

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Here are some ideas on how to make a characters death heartbreaking. Hopefully they can be used to inspire a creative death in your story! (I swear I’m not a sadist).

1) Have them die right before they obtain the one thing they have always wanted. No… really, like minutesbefore. Not only can they see what they want want just out of reach, but they see someone else take it.

2) Kill them before they could make amends.

3) Stabbed in the back by someone they loved. Or by the one person they knew was untrustworthy but no one would listen to them.

4) Give the character a false-death and the relief that comes along with it… and then kill them for real right after.

5) Kill them while their walls are down and they finally let themselves be vulnerable.

6) Kill them right before their one-sided love interest returns their affection.

7) Make their death essential for others to live even though your character desperately doesn’t want to be left behind.

8) Have them find irony in their death. A dry, painful laugh as tears are pouring down their face.

9) Make them believe that they have failed everyone just before they die, while in reality the did the opposite. But they’ll never know that.

10) Give them a phobia and have them die from it.

11) Make their death an accident. Just after the huge battle is won and everyone is relieved, a weapon malfunctions and kills them.

12) Give them a slow death and prevent your other characters from being able to help or save them.

13) Make their death fully preventable, but it happens because of the neglect of everyone in the story.

14) Make them go somewhere they didn’t want to go in the first place and then have them die as they wish “they would have just stayed home.”

15) Kill them at their happiest hour.

16) Have them sacrifice themselves for someone who would neverdo the same for them.

Pt. 2 — Coming Soon!

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Tone is the authors attitude towards a specific subject. Perhaps they are writing in a very lighthearted and cheerful way as they tell the story of two bestfriends exploring NYC together. Or maybe they’re writing in a very dark and scary tone as they take you on the journey of a woman lost in the forest with a strange man. 

Tone is not to be confused with mood which is the atmosphere or overall feelings that your story conveys to the reader. You may write in a humorous tone and still make the readers feel sad or angry through the events of your story.

Give your readers a tone promise.

Does your beginning chapters relay the correct tone of your story? Brandon Sanderson believes that the first chapter of your novel should promise the reader the tone that they will be receiving as they continue to read.

Imagine you’re writing a comedy and your reader picks up your book expecting it to be a funny and lighthearted read… and then your story starts with a horrifying eerie tone and an axe murder who instills fear into the reader.

Maybe your storyis a comedy… but because you started the book out in the wrong tone, you risk the reader putting the book down. 

Sometimesprologuescan be used to convey the correct tone when the beginning of your story doesn’t.

The readers mood does not have to match the authors tone.

For instance, in a dark romance novel, the main characters could be enjoying a sensual moment. The authors tone and writing might be romantic and fluffy… but because of your genre (vampire fiction), setting (dark castle) and context clues (he bit her neck a little too hard), the reader could be feeling a more tense and scary vibe. 

Ask yourself what tone you want for your story. 

If you’re writing a romance do you want it to be humorous and cute?

“He had the stubbiest fingers that wrapped around my own, and while they were great at opening a pickle jar… they were even better at keeping my hands warm.” 

Or maybe mysterious and dark?

“His fingers were long and boney, like branches of the dead trees that circled the manor. Yet when he took my hand into his, all I could think about was how he chose to love me with them instead of kill me.”

These two tones are completelydifferent. Figure out what tone you want for your story (you can have multiple).

The Cold Opening

Hollywood does a common tonal promise called The Cold Open. It’s when you join the characters in the middle of a miniature adventure that foreshadows the bigger adventure your characters will be going on.

An example of this is a story that starts in the middle of a small heist to steal some gold from the town’s bank. Then, the actual plot is a bigger and longer version of this. After being caught, this group is so skilled that the town representatives task them with breaking into the usurpers castle to steal a magical item that threatens the freedom of everyone.

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Source:Brandon Sanderson’s Creative Writing Lectures on YT andMasterclass

Are you writing a scene (or maybe you abandoned it) that just isn’t working? Does it feel slow or empty? Are things not connecting right? Here are some quick ideas that you can consider implementing into your scene. Keep in mind these are not things that are required for a good scene (in fact some might not fit into your story at all), but rather inspiration.

1) What is at stake? How can you make the readers worry?

2) What are you character(s) goals?

3) What conflict is happening in the scene?

4) Is there romantic tension as a result of a subplot? Is someone jealous? Are two people swapping daring gazes?

5) What could the characters lose or gain from this scene? An object, self-dignity, friends… a life?

6) Is there room to add red herrings? What little hints can you sprinkle around to mislead your readers? Prepare for that twist you got coming.

7) Is someone being deceptive? Who is lying to the group? 

8) Can you increase the drama? What do your characters disagree about? 

9) Is there enough dialogue? Can you start an argument or discussion about something that is vital to the story? 

10) What can you delete that has no meaning or impact on the story? Do we really need to know about how your protagonist rolled out of bed with a messy bun the size of Jupiter and how she brushes her teeth with Crest? Or can you skip mundane routines?

11) Take away something that your characters need. Have them frantic about finding it— it’s time for a new game plan.

12) Is it time for someone to die? Someone important to the protagonist?

13) What can you keepfrom your readers? Leave your readers asking questions. Who is that guy? What does this object do that they need to find? Why does the protagonist always get headaches?

14) Is it time to reveal what you’ve been keeping from your readers? 

15) Do something that your readers would never expect.

16) Can you start a fight— a big one? One that changes the story’s direction completely. Does someone change sides or get severely injured?

17) Where’s the antagonist— what’s he doing? If he’s busy elsewhere, is it appropriate timing to raise tension around the idea of him? Are your characters talking about their plan to crush him, or is your protagonist having nightmares of him?

18) Is there a big choice that your characters need to make? One that changes everything. Which road do they take? Was it the right road? Your protagonist decides to open a door that says do not enter. A beast escapes that kills someone in the group.

19) Is your protagonist active or passive? Did a dragon fly up to your protagonist and place her on his back (passive), or did she search for the dragon and mount him herself (active)? Neither is wrong, but passive characters have potential to slow down the story.

20) Can you limit the time your characters have to do something? Do they have five minutes to steal an item from the antagonist’s castle before he comes home? 

Pt. 2— Coming Soon!

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If you’re feeling lost in your 2nd Act, or noticing that things are getting slow, saggy or unraveling, here are some things to consider:

Are you weaving in your subplots? If so, can you thicken them up?

Do you have a love subplot that you’ve been progressing? Are you using it to create tension and drama? Subplots (especially romantic ones) can create juicy conflict and motivation for your characters in the main plot. Add in a training subplot if your protagonist needs to know a certain skill or master a power while on their journey. Add in chaos— an axe murder moves to town, a tormented beast breaks free from their eternal prison, an ex-girlfriend comes back into the picture. Explore other subplots and how they could beef up your middle.

Do your characters have goals? Motivations?

I’m not talking about small goals, but the big ones that completely change your characters as they try to accomplish them. Do they want to defeat the evil villain, or do they have a murder to solve? Are they in search of their soulmate? If you don’t have a clear direction of your characters goals, your 2nd Act can become hard to navigate through. 

Have you teased the Antagonist?

Some bad guys don’t ever meet or face off against the protagonist until the end, and that’s okay as long as you weave them throughout the story. Voldemort is a good example of a villain who is sprinkled throughout the story seamlessly. Add rumors of them, strange flashbacks or visions, their evil grunts doing their dirty work and so on. Make sure to place bits and pieces of your villain throughout the story, otherwise there is no suspenseful build up. 

Do you have a MacGuffin you could add?

An object, item or idea that your characters need to obtain, thus giving them motivation. Some definitions say that the MacGuffin should be insignificant to the characters/audience and only be used to trigger the plot into motion. We don’t necessarily have any emotional ties to the Horcruxes in Harry Potter. Instead, all seven of them serve to solely propel the plot towards Voldemort and it’s end.

George Lucas, creator of Star Wars, believed that the audience should actually care about the MacGuffin as much as they do the characters. In Episode IV, the MacGuffin is the plans/blueprints of The Death Star— a planet-destroying weapon. The characters need to steal the plans before the weapon is built. We don’t want to see planets full of our favorite characters obliterated, therefore this type of MacGuffin pulls on our emotions more than the previous definition.

Could you introduce a twist?

What secrets can you reveal? What surprises can you spring on your characters and the audience? In Harry Potter, we’re caught off guard when Sirius Black is revealed not to be a bad guy, but instead an ally of Harry’s all along. Make sure you’re sprinkling in red herrings and hints along the way so that the reader doesn’t feel totally blind sided, cheated or confused at the sudden change in events.

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1) Give them a goal. Just like your protagonist, your side characters will become more complex if given a motive or agenda. Make sure you treat them like real people who have desires. What propels them forward, why are they in this story… what do they hope to accomplish?

2) Let them make an impact. Have their actions directly or indirectly effect the main plot and your protagonist. If the side character means something to the protagonist, they will mean something to the reader. Perhaps they gave your protagonist a shoulder to cry on, which then aided in the their journey.

3) Give them a theme. What lessons will this side character teach your protagonist (and the reader)? Take Redemptionas an example: does this side character cause trouble for the protagonist the whole story, only to have a change of heart in the end?

4) Give them at least one unique quality. Something to remember them by, something that makes them easily distinguishable. A lavish accent, a brutal scar, a bad habit, an obsession with something. The list goes on and on.

5) Have something they did effect the ending. No matter how small of an impact they have on the ending, give them a part of it. Did they say something to the protagonist that gave them courage in the end? Did they steal something that would’ve made the ending easier? Did they alert the bad guys of the protagonist’s incoming?

6) Introduce them twice. First introduce the character passively, in a conversation or as a passing shadow in the background. Then formally introduce them a second time into the story officially.

    [Passive introduction]

    “We’ve all heard rumors about the The Day Walker, but no one has ever seen him before. They say he freezes anything he touches.”

    [After some time has passed in your story, introduce them formally]

The temperature suddenly dropped, our breath forming thick clouds that floated up towards the flickering lights. I tangled my fingers together, tried grabbing at the warmth that was fading away quickly. It was then that the door began to rattle, then shake, and then bust open with violent intent. Shards of the wood flew past us and in walked what we could only assume to be The Day Walker.

7) Give them a small arc. You already have your main characters to worry about when it comes to arcs, but you can easily deceive readers into believing that a side character has changed throughout the story. Your side character who was shaky and nervous on page 50, now stands tall and confident on page 230. They’ve changed, we just didn’t get to see how in great detail. You can add small scenes and details in between those pages suggesting the change.

8) Give them their own special setting. We all have places we prefer hanging out: a coffee shop, a street corner, the roof of a school, the mall. Anchor some of your side characters to a specific setting, that way it helps with your worldbuilding as well. Next time your main characters pass by that specific location, the readers might think of that side character. 

9) Allow some side characters to be forgettable. Sometimes it’s okay for a character to exist for one purpose and then to never be seen again. Don’t stress yourself out trying to make all your characters serve a higher purpose, because some people only exist in our lives for a short period of time. That’s just life.

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Slowing down the pace:

1) Confuse your protagonist.Is there a puzzle or obstacle that your characters have to solve in order to proceed? Can you make it harder for them? Or does solving one problem lead to an even bigger one?

2) Steal something away from your protagonist that they need for their next step. The dragon rider can’t find his dragon. The knight that is about to ride into battle broke his sword moments before.

3.) Add subplots. For seamless pacing, jump back and forth between your different plots. Just when something big is about to be revealed in the main plot, steer your readers off course into a subplot so that they’re on the edge of their seat waiting for you to return them to the main plot. Do this with your subplots as well for a back and forth game of suspense.

4) Make your sentences longer with more details. For a scene or moment that you want to highlight, drag it out with heightened details. Think of it as a slow motion scene in a movie. 

5) Introspection. Have your character think, reflect or consider their next steps. Inner monologues and consciousness can help the reader to understand misbeliefs, flaws and motivations of a character as well. (Doing this in the middle of a fast-paced scene will slow it down, so be cautious where you use this).

Quickening the pace: 

1) Set up a real ticking clock. The time is counting down and your protagonist needs to finish something in a limited amount of time. A tomb raider has only five minutes to find the relic and escape before they’re shut in the cave forever. 

2) Increase the pressure on your protagonist. Put obstacles in between them and their goals, have an ex return to town, cause drama between them and their friends, place their biggest fear right in front of them, increase the romantic/sexual tension between them and a love interest.  

3) Shorten your sentences/details. Quick action scenes should have short and to the point descriptions. The more details you add, the slower it will feel. Picture an action scene in a movie… punches flying left and right. There is no time to think or observe tiny details.

4) Add a loose cannon. A character who is unpredictable and that the characters worry most about. The tension of what they might do next can help drive your pacing, make the story feel more unyielding.

5) Balance your elements. Make sure you don’t write in huge chunks of just one element. Scenes need to be balanced with dialogue, narrative, action, setting, character, etc. Your pacing can get thrown out of wack if one whole scene is purely a monologue and then the next is solely dialogue. Weave them together!

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Source: Plot Perfect by Paula Munier | Writersedit

☕ Official Blog: www.zmwrites.com