One of the most important writing lessons I ever learned came, surprisingly, from my college trumpet instructor.
“Michael,” he’d say with a heavy sigh, pulling off his glasses and rubbing the lenses with the bottom of his shirt. “You know I hate to mow the same grass twice.”
It was a phrase he used a lot, in band and private lessons, whenever someone made a mistake he’d already told them to correct. Because in his mind, once he’d identified a mistake in your performance, you needed to do everything you could to keep it from happening again, for two reasons.
First, because as he said, he doesn’t like to mow the same grass twice. And second (and more importantly), because if you let yourself repeat a mistake, that mistake will start to become a habit.
A bad habit.
And the more you let yourself repeat that habit, the more deeply ingrained it becomes, making it increasingly difficult to fix and slowing your progress as a musician (or artist, or writer). So his suggestion was this: Identify what needs to change, and firmly commit to fixing it now.
So. I was a very average trumpet player. My instructor and I had a great rapport, but he had to tell me to mow the same grass twice, three times, and more often than he ever would have liked, because I just wasn’t focused or passionate enough about trumpet to fully commit to his advice.
But I was focused and passionate enough about fiction to commit to his advice when it came to writing. So I applied his mindset in my creative writing workshops, particularly when I started my MFA.
And I tell you what, everybody. It worked wonders — helping me improve enough in that first year alone to win our MFA program’s top fiction prize and to earn a teaching assistantship.
With my trumpet instructor’s advice in mind, I put a 3-step process on loop throughout my time in the MFA:
Share a short story with your fellow writers. (A workshop is great, but online writing friends work too.)
Sift through everyone’s feedback to find one high-priority “bad habit” in your writing that they seem to be honing in on.
When you sit down to write your next story, commit to breaking that habit at any cost, even if it means making other mistakes because of it. (New mistakes are better than old mistakes.)
The first short story I shared in my MFA workshop had a clear issue: the narrator was passive and underdeveloped. One of my classmates called him a “window character,” someone through whom we could observe the other, more interesting characters who actually drove the plot. The rest of the workshop agreed, and looking back at some of my past stories, I realized that passive narrators had become a deeply ingrained habit of mine.
So the next time I wrote a story, I strictly committed myself to writing a more active narrator.
A moderately active narrator. Not perfect, but better than I’d done in a long time. It was progress — me chipping away at the bad habit.
The next story I wrote showed much more progress. It had a highly active narrator, and so did the story after that. And that’s when a new, better habit formed: writing active narrators without even thinking about it. And that let me shift my focus to improve upon something else (such as making all my narrator’s actions stem from their core emotional struggle). And something new again after that (using more figurative language, loosening up my writing voice, etc.).
And that’s how you can improve, too. The goal, again, is to use peer feedback to identify habits in your writing you don’t like, and then to mentally commit to replacing them with habits you want, one by one.
It’s a slightly different way to approach feedback. We tend to primarily use feedback as a way to help us improve an individual story — but it’s also a fantastic opportunity to improve your future first drafts.
You’ll be surprised how quickly your writing improves when you do this.
The key, though, is to commit to tackling just one major habit at a time. Why? Because writing is hard, friends, and fiction is a complex tapestry of various techniques, all coming together at once. That means your attention is always inevitably split while writing, so if you try to fix multiple habits at once, you’ll likely spread your attention too thin to succeed.
So identify a single change you want to see in you writing. Make it happen the next time you write a story, no matter what. Then, before you sit down again to write the next story, find something new you want to change or improve.
You’ll love what happens to your writing when you commit to never mowing the same grass twice.
And when you do, far away, in a brightly-lit college band room in Minnesota, my old instructor will raise a hand to conduct a trumpet ensemble, pause — and smile.
— — —
For writing advice and tips on crafting theme, meaning, and character-driven plots, check out the rest of my blog.
And if you’re feeling discouraged, remember this: Every story has something wonderful inside it, including your own.
Disclaimer: While this guide is written by a non-binary person in collaboration with many other non-binary writers and readers, it does not necessarily cover the views of all people within the non-binary community.
Non-binary genders are any gender identity that isn’t covered in the Western idea of woman (girl) and man (boy). This identity has nothing to do with which chromosomes or sexual organs a person has. Some non-binary people also identify as being trans (which is technically an umbrella term containing non-binary), while others only identify as being non-binary. Some commonly use the slang term enbie (which comes from the pronunciation of the initials for non-binary, aka N.B.) while others don’t. Some break down their gender further than simply non-binary, while others choose not to.
Some terms for common non-binary genders:
Agender: having no gender.
Bigender: having both binary genders, or aspects of two different genders, usually simultaneously. (Much like the bi in bisexual, non-binary people may also claim this term if they have any number of genders, especially if they can’t quite tell where one ends and the other begins, or they may claim the term pangender instead.)
Demi-(boy/girl/man/woman): being partially (but not wholly) binary.
Gender-fluid: transitioning between genders, which may include both binary and non-binary genders.
Gender-queer (or just queer): not of a binary gender. May be used when someone does not feel that any other terms fit them quite right, when they’re still trying to determine their gender and don’t yet wish to choose a term, or simply because the person finds it to fit them best.
There are also genders similar to what Western cultures call non-binary in many non-Western cultures, which are wonderfully diverse and all incerdibly valid, but as someone from an exclusively Western cultural heratage, I don’t feel I have the right or the knoweldge to talk about them.
The only thing that differentiates a non-binary person from a binary person is that they don’t identify as having a binary gender.
Their non-binary-ness could influence their lives in an infinite number of ways:
It could be subtle or life changing.
They could use fashion and vocal training and actions to present themselves in ways outside their society’s binary gender norms, or they could never even mention they’re non-binary to another living soul.
They could change their pronouns, or their name, or keep one or both the same.
They could spend years re-figuring out who they are and what it means to be non-binary or they could realize it once and never feel the need to dwell on it again.
They could identity as one of the numerous non-binary labels, or they could decide they’re just not binary and don’t care to dig further than that.
They could accept all gendered terms, or certain gendered terms, or no gendered terms at all.
People assuming they’re binary could frustrate them or sadden them or anger them, or they could not care in the slightest.
They may feel they exhibit (or wish to exhibit) many of the traits their society designates to a certain binary gender, or they many not.
They could feel the same way about their identity all the time, or differently every day.
Each non-binary person (and character) is unique, and their non-binary-ness is just one tiny part of who they are.
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the slaughter of finches. a wip introduction.
category. new adult.
genre. apocalyptic, low fantasy.
point of view. multiple, third person omniscient.
themes. apocalypse, man v. human, man v. society, man v. nature, supernatural creatures, mystery, found family, war, humanity.
status. outlining, first draft.
type. standalone.
links. old tag. new tag. inspiration tag. powerpoint. pinterest board.
synopsis & characters.
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Figuring out the right way to end your novel can be difficult and it can make or break your story. If you’re stuck, try to understand that your ending should match the tone of your story. Here are a few common ways to end a novel to keep in mind:
Happy
There’s nothing wrong with a happy ending. If you want your novel to end on a joyful note with everyone getting what they want, that’s perfectly fine. Just make sure it’s in line with how your characters have behaved throughout your novel.
Sad
Writing a sad ending depends on how you built up your novel. A sudden, sad ending shouldn’t come out of nowhere. It should tie in with the tone of your story. If you want to write a sad ending, make sure it makes sense in the world you’ve created.
Open
Sometimes due to the nature of your story, your ending will remain open. Maybe your audience will have to come to conclusions themselves or maybe you’re leading into your next novel. If you’re writing a sequel, writers will often end with it open or a cliffhanger.
Complete
Happy or sad, some writers tend to complete their novel. These means they’ve tied up all loose ends, plots, and subplots, and created a solid ending. Usually this leaves no room for a follow-up and the novel can stand complete on its own.
Twist
The twist ending can be hard to pull off, but if done correctly it can really blow your readers’ minds. This is when you lead up to one conclusion and then reveal that an assumed truth was false the whole time. Study up on twist endings if that’s something you want to do in your story.
Tie-back
This is when the ending ties back around to the clues in the beginning. Stories with a tie back ending sometimes have a full loop and give the story a feeling of completeness. They make readers feel as if everything is connected in some way.
Epilogue
An epilogue often gives readers details beyond the perceived ending. Writers will sometimes use epilogues if there’s a lot to sum up. Just make sure the epilogue fits your novel and it’s not something you can explain in the main sections of your story.
-Kris Noel
About Conflict by Sacha Black
Hopefully by now you know that in most of your scenes you need to have a character in a setting with tension, but there is an area of writing where I don’t feel like we spend enough time talking about, which is blocking. And I’m not talking about writer’s block. The term “blocking” is borrowed from play performances. Blocking is just about anything an actor does that isn’t dialogue: where they stand, where they look, how they interact with the setting, how they move across the stage, how close they are to what, how they interact with props. Often audiences pay little attention to blocking, or rather they don’t think about it enough to appreciate it. But if a play has little to no blocking, well, that’s a tough play to sit through as an audience. They may not always have an eye for great blocking, but they’ll notice if it’s not there. Blocking is just as important in fiction writing. And like with plays, it’s likely the reader won’t appreciate great blocking, but they’ll get antsy and annoyed if there is no blocking, and they’ll get confused if there is poor blocking. If you don’t use blocking, not only does it make it difficult for the audience to imagine where your characters are relative to the setting, but you’re selling your story short by not using it to your advantage. As an editor, I see blocking problems crop up from time to time, usually in dialogue scenes. The writer will tell me where the characters are (for example, cooking in the kitchen), but then as I read the scene, I get no sense of specifically where each character is in the room, what each one is doing, if they are standing at an island or sitting at the table, chopping lettuce for a salad, or loading the dish washer. Next thing I know, not only are they done cooking, but they are done eating and are outside getting in the suburban. Sure, some scenes don’t require much, if any, blocking. But in most scenes, you need some sense of blocking. Likewise, you can over-block a scene–putting so much blocking in, that it becomes unnecessary, sucks up the scene’s focus, and slows the pacing. A great narrative hand knows how much to guide the reader and when to back off. So let’s get to some tips about blocking:
- Continuity Errors. One of the main problems I see with blocking in unpublished fiction is continuity errors. In one line, a character is sitting on a couch in the living room, and a few lines later, she’s sitting on her bed, in the same scene with no sense of motion. Often it can happen with objects characters are holding. Misty is knitting a scarf, but then a few lines later, it says she’s knitting a blanket. It can happen with food. Zack has a cup of orange juice, but later it talks about how he’s enjoying the taste of coffee. Watch out for when characters’ hands are full or when you have them doing something they aren’t capable of. For example, say it’s been recently established that Sandra glued back together two broken figurines and she’s holding one each hand. While she’s waiting for them to dry, she doesn’t dare put them down , and then suddenly she’s buttoning up the jacket of her little boy. What happened to the figurines? In some cases, motions can be assumed–but make sure they can be, or that you imply them somehow, so that it doesn’t read like a continuity error. Watch out for having characters sit down, who were already sitting, or characters standing up who were already standing. Characters who put on their shoes twice, or turn off the fan twice.
- Spatial Vagueness. I’m trying to decide if I see this one more than continuity errors … and I have to say probably. Another one of the most common problems with blocking, is vagueness. This usually happens because the setting, objects, or characters’ distances from one another or other things haven’t been properly established. I might get a line that says, “Joey walked down the street”–and as the scene goes on, I get no sense of what street, what city, what it looks like, what season it is, or where or why he is walking in the first place. Sometimes I don’t get any sense of setting and only conversations and body language, and next I know, I read the line “Tiff walked inside.” What? They were outside that whole conversation? And what did she walk into? When blocking is vague, the audience has to fill in the blanks, which can be a problem if it’s not what the author actually pictures. As an editor, this often happens to me. I’ll be picturing the characters sitting in opposite places in a living room, and then suddenly I’m reading how one put her arm around the other. In my head, they weren’t close enough to each other to do that. Use:
- Specificity. Being specific isn’t necessarily the same as being detailed. Details can help make something be specific, but they aren’t the same thing. And with blocking, in some cases, the more detailed it is, the more it hurts the story because it slows the pacing and changes the story’s focus. In my example above, “Joey walked down the street,” the sentence can be more specific by adding and changing a few words. “Joey walked down Mulberry Street, autumn leaves crunching under his feet.” In certain kinds of action scenes, it can be very important to be specific in word choice, and not in details. “Joey leapt for the fire escape.” “Margaret hit Lolly in the jaw.” But if you try to put too much detail into action, it can slow the moment way down. In some cases, it’s helpful to establish the setting before the characters start interacting with it. This makes the setting or “stage” more specific in the reader’s mind. They know there is a pool table and pinball machine in the room, so when one character slams the other into the pool table, it makes sense. Be specific, not vague. How much detail you include depends on pacing and the focus of the scene. - Blocking to contribute to or emphasize points. This is especially true for conversations. As an argument gets more intense, a character may invade the other’s personal space. If one character suddenly says something that makes the other uncomfortable, the latter may take a step back. If one character is vulnerable, whether the second draws closer or steps away can convey a lot. Of course, you can use setting and props to do the same thing. As an argument gets intense, one character throws something at the other. If someone is uncomfortable, she might put something (an island, a couch, a car, a teeter-totter) between them. If she’s feeling vulnerable, she might “hide” or “block” herself by getting a blanket, picking up a book to look at, or turning away from the speaker to pretend interest in a rose bush. When Sherlock gets frustrated, what does he do? He stabs the mantle. He puts a bullet in the wall. This is blocking that emphasizes and contributes to the situation or point at hand. Even in a scene where blocking is the primary focus (building an invention, competing in America Ninja Warrior, forging a sword, hunting), how the character interacts with the setting and objects can emphasize points–how tightly he holds a screwdriver, how sweaty her hands are against a climbing wall, the way he beats the metal, how many shots she shoots. You can also use blocking to heighten tension. “He picked up a knife and concealed it under the table,” immediately adds tension and anticipation to a scene.
- Blocking to Convey Character. Similar, yet different from, the last section, you can use blocking to convey character, rather than just the moment at hand. The fact that Sherlock stabs the mantle whenever he gets frustrated is something specific to his character. It helps establish who he is. And actually, that fact becomes specifically important in season four–when we understand that he, someone who is supposedly not driven by emotion, sometimes manifests more raw emotion than any one else. A character who sees litter at a park and picks it up is much different than one who adds to it. A character who comforts a crying stranger is different than one who ignores them. A character who always makes sure she’s near an exit is different than one who could care less. Blocking is great to show character and their feelings, rather than tell them. - Blocking to give motion to still or stagnant scenes. You may sometimes have scenes where all that really matters is the conversation between two of your characters, or maybe you need to have your character delve into a moment of introspection to solve a mystery. It might not matter even where this moment takes place. A lot of beginning writers will open a story with a character sitting and thinking. One of the reasons this is a problem is because there is no motion, there is nothing happening in the present moment. Use blocking to add motion. Instead of having your character sit and think, maybe you can have her catching insects for her bug collection while she thinks. Not only does this create more motion and interest, but also gives you material for the two bullet points before this one, so that it can actually add to the introspection and characterization. The fact she just caught a monarch butterfly might not be important to the main plot, but it tells us more about her, and in fact, you can even use that event and butterfly as a type or symbol of whatever she’s thinking about for added emphasis and tone. With that said, some conversations are very important, interesting, have high tension, or natural draws–they may have incorporeal motion–and already carry the audience, and sometimes when you put in blocking, it actually takes away from that, instead of contributing to it, by drawing away the audience’s attention. Their attention to the conversation is competing with the blocking. So watch for that. - Blocking for natural pauses, lulls in conversations, and for beats in dialogue. On the topic of dialogue exchanges, when there is a natural pause in dialogue or a lull in conversation, instead of saying “There was a moment of quiet,” you can put in a bit of blocking to convey that. “Forget it,” Fred said. “I didn’t want your help anyway.” Nancy looked down at the scarf she was crocheting and realized her hands had stopped moving. She put the scarf down on the coffee table, and flattened it out as she tried to find her words. “You like her, don’t you?” she asked. You can also use blocking for beats in dialogue. Rather than always using dialogue tags, you can use a beat to imply who is speaking what line. “Cedric Diggory was murdered,” Harry said. “Whatever you’ve been told,” Professor Umbridge said, “that. Is. A. Lie.” Harry shot up out of his desk. “It’s not a lie!”
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Hi! I’m trying to start a new story and I was wondering how would you build a new character from scratch? Like how would you go about creating them?
There are many different ways a character is conceived. You’ll need one of these things to start with:
name—you heard one that sounded cool to you, either the meaning, the pronunciation, or the ideas it brings to mind when you hear it.
look—you saw or imagined a character with certain physical features or garb, someone new and interesting that you want to know more about.
profession—you’re interested in exploring a certain occupation within a fictional setting and what kind of things might happen during the work day.
lifestyle—this can include profession, but it’s more about who they are (or who they pretend to be) at all hours of the day/night.
archetype—you want to explore a character who is the sidekick, villain, mentor, or some other archetype within a story.
From there you shape them into a three-dimensional person with these aspects (which in themselves can inspire a new character):
family/friends—the people who raised, supported, and cared for them (or didn’t) at different points in their lives and thus affected their personality.
culture—the lifestyle of the community they identify with which can include shared customs, traditions, beliefs, foods, entertainment, etc.
skills—stuff they’re good at, but also stuff they’re bad at because both are important for you to know.
backstory—the combination of big experiences that shaped them permanently and that they might think about on a regular basis; a loved one dying, a successful career, a big mistake, and/or a long-term illness.
experiences—individual events that shaped who they are now, but aren’t really a big part of their life story; that time they had their first kiss, played their first sport, encountered a wild animal, and/or learned to cook their own meal.
traits—inherent aspects of their personality that can be their strengths and weaknesses depending on how they improve on or neglect them; they are very kind and compassionate, but easy to take advantage of and are sometimes overly fussy.
beliefs—their driving force, their purpose in life, the reason they get up in the morning and continue to exist.
personality—the combination of skills, beliefs, and cultural norms that make them an individual based on their experiences and upbringing, as well as inherent traits.
Now, the reader does not want to know all this stuff on the first page. In fact, the reader might not need to know much of it at all. You do, and what you include in your story should be primarily stuff the reader needs to know with just a sprinkling of other character information. Some books might give the MC’s entire biography in the first chapter, but even Charles Dickens knew to save the best details for later.
These bullet points work for all characters, not just your main protagonist(s). A writer doesn’t need to know every detail about every side character, but it helps to think of each one as a whole person. Makes the writing feel more authentic.
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Creative Commons - all kinds of stuff, homie
Even Adobe has some free images
There are so many ways to make moodboards, bookcovers, and icons without infringing copyright! As artists, authors, and other creatives, we need to be especially careful not to use someone else’s work and pass it off as our own.
Please add on if you know any more sites for free images <3
I was inspired to write this post after getting a great anonymous question in my Ask: “What’s your opinion on the whole ‘show don’t tell’ advice? Do you have any tips for when to show and when to tell?”
Here’s my response:
For those of you who aren’t familiar, “show don’t tell” means that instead of explaining or telling something to your reader (“Sheila was reckless and impulsive”), you should show Sheila’s impulsiveness through action or dialogue. For example, “Even though her rent was overdue, after she got her paycheck Sheila spent $400 on an antique toilet.” This would allow the reader to draw the conclusion that Sheila was impulsive for themselves, rather than being told.
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I haven’t mentioned this before, but I’m close to graduating with a psychology degree. As I was organizing things to move back in at university, I came across some notes from my Developmental Psych class. Psychologist Urie Bronfenbrenner presented an ecological systems model of child development, which represents a dynamic model of how people develop psychologically depending on their environment. I realized this may be an interesting reference for writers as we consider worldbuilding.
The individual is at the center. Each level interacts with the others and may affect them in different ways and to different degrees at different times. The individual is at the center of the model and has inherent traits which are the result of genetics. The microsystem is the individual’s most immediate surroundings. These are the places and people they come into close contact with on a daily basis, including the home and peer groups. The way microsystems treat the individual influence them, but the behavior of the individual also influences how the microsystems react to them. The mesosystem is essentially comprised of links between microsystems - between home and school, between home and church, between family and peers. Active involvement between microsystems promotes harmony and a sense of like-mindedness. The exosystem consists of linkages between systems that do not directly influence the individual, but do so indirectly by influencing a microsystem. For instance, the parents’ workplaces influences the parents’ behavior in the presence of the individual. The macrosystem consists of more distant influences that still have a significant impact on the individual. These elements often include beliefs, values, and other aspects of culture. For instance, life in a country at war will influence an individual differently than life in a country at peace. The chronosystem simply incorporates the meaningful passage of time. What is in each system, how much it affects an individual, and how can all shift in time.
One can relate Bronfenbrenner’s model to creating a fictional sense of place however one likes, but I’ve drawn some parallels between each level and a corresponding element in worldbuilding. The model looks something like this.
The main character (or characters) lies at the center of your worldbuilding. It is through their eyes, or over their shoulder, that the reader experiences the world in which your story is set. A strong sense of place is vital to telling a satisfying tale, and a great deal of it comes down to your protagonists. Like in the original model, the protagonist has certain inborn traits that are a result of nature, but are also influenced by nurture - the other systems, in this case. The world is reflected in the hearts, minds, and behaviors of the people who live in it, and the people are reflected in the world they populate.
These are the people the protagonists interacts with most, and it’s a two-way street of influence. Their behavior influences the protagonist, but the protagonist affects them as well. You can present a great deal of information about the world through the interactions between characters. The way your protagonist interacts with parents and siblings can reveal family structure and dynamics, and interactions with friends or coworkers can shine light on social classes, pastimes, or employment. What your characters do, how they do it, and how they speak or feel about it will reveal what is normal or not.
Where are all these interactions taking place? The actual physical locales in seen in your story have an impact on the way people behave, but don’t forget the direct effect of setting the scene. One behaves differently at school, as opposed to the mall - how can you use differences like this to portray societal norms and mores in your story? Additionally, the events and values of a world leave physical reminders, which may be as simple as smog over a city unconcerned by or incapable of controlling pollution. Perhaps there is graffiti in the streets leftover from social or political unrest. The remnants of a torn-down shrine or monument may reflect changing values, war, or persecution of certain religions or other groups. Living conditions can portray class differences. Possibilities are endless.
Social structure has ramifications on who can interact with whom and what’s considered appropriate. These rules may be very strict or much more informal. If there are rigorous separations in place according to class, an interaction between members of different status will be shocking to your characters. Speaking out against an elder coworker may have severe consequences, or employees may be under forced retirement deadlines - these differences reveal if old age is revered or looked down upon. What holidays do people celebrate, and how? What manners of speech or behavior are unique to the setting? Social norms will be reflected in the behavior of your characters, but the population is capable of changing those norms.
The setting at large still has far-reaching influence on your story. The geography itself will determine a number of things about the setting, including the landscape, weather, physical resources available, methods of transportation and more. All of these things trickle down into each of the layers beneath it and leave their fingerprints. If transportation is unfavorable, how does this affect information and cultural exchange? How about the economy? The physical setting is an umbrella of elements which may change everything under it, even in small or indirect ways.
The genre determines, amongst a few other things, how much of each of the above is needed. In essence, genre can be your guide to where you should place your focus in worldbuilding. Fantasy and science fiction often call for a greater emphasis on the physical setting and cultures, while realistic fiction set in real-life places readers are likely to be familiar with is likely to need emphasis on the protagonist and supporting cast. Some genres, such as historical fiction, may need a more evenly balanced blend of each system. The plot structure itself will also have an influence. For instance, in a ‘pursuit’ plot, the ticking clock and pursuit itself are typically considered of more import than the characters, while ‘forbidden love’ plots are all about the people and culture.
Remember, as always, to mold writing advice to your work and not the other way around. The influence of one or more of these systems may be heightened or lessened, depending on the needs of your story, and they may interact differently, perhaps even from chapter to chapter. Thank you for reading, and I hope this can be a useful model for you to use as a springboard in some of your worldbuilding.
Something that’s helped me a lot when writing/designing characters is to make associations with them. Usually I pick an animal, a season, or an abstract concept to define them, and I keep metaphors and similes relating to that character within those categories. It adds a nice bit of symbolism, plus it gives the story more of a mythical feeling. It also lends more weight to interactions. If character x is the moon, and character y is the sun, then their interactions are suddenly more meaningful, especially if they have a relationship that is like that of the sun and moon in mythology or astronomy.