It’s spooky season! You know what that means. Besides all the Halloween decorations in stores that have been there since August, and perhaps even some leaves changing colors on the trees, it’s the season of scary stories. The allure of such stories lies in how they evoke chills and keep the audience on edge. But what makes a story spooky? Does it have to be about ghosts or ghouls or other creepy things? Should it always take place somewhere scary—like an empty gas station at night? 

If you like all things Halloween or horror, this is the blog for you. But even if you don’t, you can still learn from how writers build suspense and tension—the key ingredients to all things frightening and dramatic—in their work. 

What Makes a Story Spooky? 

Mood, pacing, and tension building all contribute to a story’s overall spookiness. Horror and suspense come from the balance of all these elements. The longer you can keep an audience in suspense through these techniques, the more engaged they’ll feel in the story. 

Mood is a literary device that describes the feeling the audience gets while experiencing a story. In written work, it is carefully crafted through the words used in each sentence. In visual work, it is created through visual elements, like colors, lighting, and physical reactions. Moods can be anything—a poem about a lover may be praiseful and romantic, making the reader feel warm and loved; an action-packed blockbuster may be fast-paced and thrilling, making the viewer’s heart race. With spooky stories, mood is a key part of building suspense and making the audience feel fearful and uncertain. 

• Example of mood in action: Two similar sentences can evoke different moods depending on the words you use.
  • The broad expanse of the field, full of lush green grass and chirping critters, stretched before him.
  • The field loomed ominously before him, and a strange mist rose up from the dark grass, muffling and warping the noises of creatures trapped within. 

Pacing describes the speed at which the audience experiences the story—which may differ from the speed at which it takes place. For example, a part of a story that takes place over several years may be expressed in a paragraph or even a sentence. Getting pacing right can make or break how a story feels to its audience—or even if they finish it. Go too slow, and the audience may lose interest. Move too fast, and they may miss key details or feel overwhelmed. In scary stories, pacing can be used to build suspense by slowing things down and then speeding them back up at just the right moment. 

Tension boils down to the feelings of suspense and anxiety the audience experiences during a story. And it isn’t only used in spooky stories—everything from literary fiction to nonfiction and more benefits from and utilizes tension to keep readers engaged. Without it, the audience may get bored and stop engaging with the story. It is especially essential, however, in moments that seek to scare the audience. Without tension, the story will lack stakes to feel nervous about and look forward to ending. Tension asks the question, “What’s going to happen next?” 

None of these elements are unique to spooky stories; they appear in all kinds of storytelling. But getting them right in a piece meant to thrill and terrify is the difference between success and failure. 

Suspense in Action

Suspense boils down to isolation, fear of the unknown, and uncertainty.  Let’s take a look at Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” a famous poem that builds suspense masterfully using all of the techniques outlined above. It starts: 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 
weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of
forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there
came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my 
chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my
chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.” 

The first stanza of this poem invokes the image of a dark, late night, and a person almost asleep over their books, only to be abruptly jolted awake by a knocking sound. Poe’s language, in particular his use of repetition—”rapping, rapping,”—slows down the pace of the poem, leading to a building of suspense as the reader imagines who—or what—might be at his door. The mood is already set through the description of the night and the sleepiness of the narrator. And the tension comes from that word, “suddenly,” which seems to come out of nowhere and surprise the reader. 

The poem goes on at this slow pace, the narrator considering who it could be and even talking to them, only to discover it’s been a raven all along. This, however, does not comfort the narrator; having been wound up by the tension built within their mind, they see the raven as a beast and omen, watching them, without blinking, endlessly. 

Crafting Suspense in Short Stories 

Brevity can be a major factor in keeping tension high and focus sharp. Think about a spooky story told over a flickering campfire. If it goes on for too long, you lose interest. But kept quite brief, it will cause unease and fear even among the most stalwart of campers. 

Building suspense quickly relies on careful pacing—a gradual build-up followed by a sharp twist—and balancing the “Unsaid”—what you purposefully leave out versus what you put in. After all, sometimes the scariest things are those we can only imagine. 

In “The Fall of the House of Usher,” for example, Poe takes time unfolding the events that take place, allowing tension to simmer beneath the surface. The narrator arrives at the house and observes its unsettling environment, but nothing dramatic happens immediately. Instead, a sense of foreboding grows through small details—the gloomy weather, the oppressive atmosphere, Roderick’s strange behavior, and Madeline’s mysterious illness. 

As the story unfolds, Poe builds suspense through a combination of atmospheric details, psychological tension, and narrative techniques. The eerie mood he creates through careful use of language keeps readers on edge from the beginning, and the sense of dread only escalates. Setting is a big part of this. The gothic language used to describe the Usher mansion and its surroundings play a part in setting the stage for something truly creepy to happen. Also, the personification of the house as a character in its own right enhances the malevolent presence as its physical deterioration mirrors the psychological decay of its inhabitants. 

Read the full story here to learn more from the master of suspense and horror. 

Suspense in Longer Formats

In longer formats like novels or TV shows, it’s a challenge to maintain tension over hundreds of pages or minutes on screen. Some ways to tackle this challenge include: 

• Utilizing cliffhangers. End major sections, like chapters or episodes, with unresolved tension to keep the audience wondering what’s going to happen next.
  • Don’t overuse these, however, as it can become cliché and quickly bothersome if done too much. 
• Employing different perspectives. Prevent the audience from uncovering too much of the story at once and keep them on edge with unreliable narrators or a limited point of view.
  • For example, Dracula by Bram Stoker is relayed through a diary format, which limits what the audience can know—they can only ever know what the current narrator of the story tells them through written word. 
  • Additionally, in horror TV and film, the camera often intentionally limits what the audience and the protagonist can see as a way to limit perspective. 

Mood, pacing, and tension building will also play a large part in any long-form suspenseful works, of course. Check out our Study in Classics series covering Dracula for an in-depth analysis of successfully built suspense in longer form fiction. Shows like “The Haunting of Hill House” and “American Horror Story” also do this successfully. 

Setting the Scene for Fear

Atmosphere is a literary device that refers to the mood or emotional tone of a story. Unlike mood, however, it’s not the feelings evoked by that work but rather what is actually on the page. Atmosphere contributes to mood, but mood can change from scene to scene whereas atmosphere permeates a work entirely. 

Atmosphere is primarily conveyed to the audience through the setting. For scary stories, this might mean gothic influences like those seen in Poe’s work or in Dracula. Dark nights, decaying, ominous mansions, and isolated locations make for a scary setting. Think about almost every horror film you’ve seen—how did the setting affect the atmosphere? 

In the famous spooky tale “The Legend of the Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving, the setting of a foggy, haunted town enhances the mystery. Everything, including plot elements, seem shrouded in that thick fog, keeping readers guessing until the very end. While the tone of the story remains light and almost whimsical for much of its length, over time, the supernatural elements coupled with superstition and fear culminate in the famous, suspenseful scene with the Headless Horseman. 

Another major way to convey the atmosphere of a work is through sensory details. The way that characters react to and feel in the world you’ve created will give your audience a sense of how they should be feeling as well. For example, if you’re trying to create a light, magical atmosphere, you might describe golden sunlight glittering over the ground, or a breeze fluttering playfully through the air. 

Common Mistakes and How to Avoid Them

There are faux pas when it comes to suspense and tension. Bad horror movies come out every year, and the techniques we’ve discussed have even been parodied in films like Scream. To avoid an overwrought or clichéd work, keep these tips in mind: 

1. Don’t over do the jump scares. Tension is almost always best when it’s subtle. Let the audience feel it simmering just beneath the surface rather than boiling over the top. Sudden shocks can be exciting and scary when used sparingly, but too many big moments will turn an audience off. 
2. Don’t make the plot too predictable. Keep an audience engaged by subverting expectations. If they can immediately guess what’s going to happen next, they will lose any sense of suspense or tension you’re trying to build. Without the uncertainty of what’s going to happen next, why keep up with the story?
3. Don’t over explain. As mentioned before, the “Unsaid” is often the scariest thing about a story. Let your audience fill in the blanks; this will only add to their feelings of anxiety and suspense.
   1. Example: For all of Lovecraft’s cosmic horror, he tends to label the monstrous things witnessed by his characters as indescribable or inconceivable, leaving only a few details among a lot of mystery. This way, the reader imagines something far more horrible than he could ever write down. 

A Suspenseful Ending

Crafting suspense is about pacing, atmosphere, and withholding information. Balancing elements of mood and tension are key to ensuring your story feels surprising, intense, and unexpected. With the techniques outlined in this work, you can create your very own spine-tingling story for Halloween or any time of year. Put your pen to the test and try writing a suspenseful scene or two—you may be surprised where you end up!

Hey, writers, guess what? November is National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo, a time dedicated to challenging writers to complete 50,000 words—about the length of a short novel—in one month. The goal of the challenge is to get writers to write without thinking too much and just go for it without worrying about perfection. After all, the first step to getting any writing done is by writing! 

Typically during the month of October, writers who intend to take on the NaNoWriMo challenge complete an outline of some kind to make the writing process smoother and easier. Of course, not everyone does this—some people are “pantsers” who prefer to write stories “by the seat of their pants.” But whether you intend to participate in NaNoWriMo, or you just want some tips on getting started on your own outline for any kind of story, read on to discover different types of outlines and how to use them in this blog. 

*Warning: This blog contains major spoilers for The Hobbit by J R.R. Tolkien, as it is used for several examples!

The Importance of Outlining

Outlines help create cohesive, thematic narratives that make an impact with audiences. They are crucial to all kinds of storytelling. Although I have been resistant to utilizing outlines for years, I’ve come to realize just how many benefits they provide, including:

1. Providing structure. Outlines help form the general structure of a story, making it easier to put that story on the page. 
2. Tempering pacing. Because they provide structure, you can use outlines to make sure your story feels balanced between expository, dramatic, and action scenes. 
3. Aiding character development. Outlines can help highlight how your characters grow throughout the story, and then you can further work this into the overall plot.
4. Progressing the plot. Of course, the major benefit of outlining is to get down on the page the main elements of your plot. What happens first, next, and last? How do characters get from point A to point B? Outlines are a way to test out what’s going to work in your story and what you may need more or less of. 
5. Determining research areas. By crafting an outline, you can narrow down which areas of a story you may need to do more research for—which, as we know, is the secret ingredient to writing good stories. 

Outlines can be adapted for various types of writing, from short to long form pieces. Even poems can benefit from a short outline and, the longer the piece, the more likely you are to need an outline for it. But not all outlines have to look the same. Some people will benefit from extremely structured, detailed, and well-planned outlines. Others may even start writing first, without one, and then craft a loose outline based on what’s already on the page and adapt it from there. Others still will revise their outline as they go, adapting it to the turns the story makes as it unfolds. All kinds of outlines exist, so let’s explore a few and how to create them. 

Forms of Outlines

There are many types of outlines out there which can be adapted for many different kinds of storytelling. You can choose one of the below and work with it as is, or you can utilize a template and adapt it over time to fit your needs. Either way, here are a few standout storytelling outlines:

The Three-Act Structure

This loose outline form divides a story into three parts, each anchored around one or more plot points that drive the overall action. It’s often used for longer-form content, such as novels. Note that the below examples contain spoilers for The Hobbit by J. R.R. Tolkien.

• Act One: The most expository act, the scenes will introduce the story’s characters and setting. At the end of it, an Inciting Incident occurs which propels the following events of the story and sets the protagonist on the course of their transformative journey.  Finally, a Turning Point launches the story into Act Two.
  • Example: Act One of The Hobbit opens with us meeting the protagonist, Bilbo Baggins, who lives a quiet, peaceful life in Bag End. Then, the Inciting Incident occurs, in which Gandalf appears and persuades Bilbo to join him and a group of thirteen dwarves on a journey to steal a jewel from Smaug, a dragon, for the dwarf king Thorin. The Turning Point is when Bilbo decides to abandon Bag End and leave on the adventure with the dwarves, thus launching Act Two.
• Act Two: Typically consisting of about 50% of the story, Act Two consists of rising action, development of the conflict, and a midpoint wherein the protagonist faces some kind of low—a defeat, injury, death, or other befalling experience.
  • Example: In The Hobbit, Bilbo faces many challenges along his journey, including being captured by trolls, meeting the elves at Rivendell, being chased by goblins and then Gollum, discovering The One Ring, escaping Wargs, encountering giant Spiders, escaping wood elves, and reaching Lake Town. The Midpoint of the story occurs when Bilbo successfully steals the jewel from Smaug, but in doing so, awakens the dragon, who burns Lake Town to the ground. This causes the humans and wood elves to march on The Lonely Mountain for aid and retribution. However, driven by greed, Thorin refuses them, thus starting a war. To avert this, Bilbo offers the jewel to the humans and elves as a peace offering but is scorned by Thorin for doing so. Losing Thorin’s trust is Bilbo’s low point.
• Act Three: This final act consists of the climax, falling action, and conflict resolution. At the end, the hero returns to their normal life but is changed forever. Act Three must start off with the most dramatic moment of the story and then wrap up all of the preceding events.
  • Example: In the climax of The Hobbit, the humans, elves, and dwarves are about to go to battle each other but are interrupted by the arrival of an army of goblins and Wargs. They ally together in order to fight off the evil forces, and in the battle Thorin dies. After the battle is over, Gandalf returns Bilbo to Hobbiton a changed hobbit.

The Three-Act Structure provides a simple framework to follow while maintaining focus on the main character, conflict, and major events of the story. Most stories following this format also include subplots—side storylines that don’t necessarily fit into the major conflict. Here’s a general outline for a Three-Act Structure that you can copy and paste into a document to fill out. To complete it, write a brief description or sentence for each section. Feel free to add more or eliminate as needed and remember that pretty much any kind of story, whether it’s a script, poem, or novel, can utilize this kind of outline. 

1. Act 1
   1. Setting:
   2. Protagonist: 
   3. Side Characters: 
   4. Major Conflict: 
   5. Inciting Incident: 
2. Act 2:
   1. Rising Action:
      1. Event 1:
      2. Event 2: 
      3. Event 3: 
   2. Midpoint Incident: 
3. Act 3:
   1. Pre-Climax: 
   2. Climax:
   3. Falling Action:
   4. Conclusion: 

Save the Cat!

American screenwriter Blake Snyder initially created this story structure for movies. However, it can easily be adapted for novels and other forms of storytelling. It applies the same idea as the Three-Act Structure while including fifteen plot beats that appear in many American Hollywood films. It is the standard for a sellable movie script in Hollywood.

1. Act I: Exposition — Build the world, introduce the major characters, and establish the major conflict of the story.
   1. Beat 1: Opening Image — A brief moment shows us who the protagonist is and what their current world is like. Here’s where the actual “Save the Cat” moment usually happens, too—the protagonist does a small good deed, like saving a cat from a tree, that establishes to the audience that they are the hero of the film. 
   2. Beat 2: Theme Stated — The story relays to the audience the life lesson the hero must learn over the course of the story, or the underlying theme that causes them to go through a profound transformation. 
   3. Beat 3: Setup — We learn the hero’s present circumstances, including what their current primary goal is, and get to know side characters.
   4. Beat 4: Catalyst — Sets of the major events of the story that will ultimately cause the transformation in the hero. 
   5. Beat 5: Debate — Before the hero embarks on their journey, they waver, asking questions like: Should I do this? Can I do this? Am I the right person to do this?
2. Act II: New World — The hero enters a new world, experiences ups and downs, faces challenges, and meets new characters who change them.
   1. Beat 6: Break Into Two — Act II takes off with the hero taking the action required by the Catalyst, thus launching them on their transformative journey.
   2. Beat 7: B Story — A subplot appears! Often, the B Story revolves around a new character, such as a love interest, mentor, friend, or nemesis who helps the hero learn their ultimate lesson. 
   3. Beat 8: Fun & Games — The longest beat of the story, this is a series of challenges that the hero must overcome in order to explore their new world. Although these challenges aren’t always “fun” for the protagonist, the point is that we see them struggle and change as they approach the story’s Midpoint.
   4. Beat 9: Midpoint — During this pivotal moment, the hero experiences either a false victory or false defeat which raises the stakes and pushes them towards transformation. In a false victory, the hero thinks their problems are fixed and struggles are over. In a false defeat, they may worry they are doomed to failure. 
   5. Beat 10: Bad Guys Close In — If the hero experienced a false victory, at the Midpoint things will start to turn bad, helped by the hero’s flaws and lessons they still have to learn. If the hero experienced a false defeat, things should start to get easier and the change in the hero should start to be more obvious.
   6. Beat 11: All is Lost — Regardless of which direction the Midpoint took the story in, at this point, the hero must experience their lowest point yet and feel utterly defeated. 
   7. Beat 12: Dark Night of the Soul — In this moment, the hero experiences their most rock-bottom moment—utter defeat that they won’t know if they can rise from.  The moment should spur from their own actions or flaws.
3. Act III
   1. Beat 13: Break Into Three — The hero realizes that all isn’t lost and has an idea of how to fix their problems. 
   2. Beat 14: The Finale — The hero proves they’ve learned their lesson, changed, and can successfully enact a plan to fix their problems. 
   3. Beat 15: Final Image — A final snapshot of the hero, paralleling the Opening Image, shows us how they have been changed forever over the course of the story. 

The Save the Cat structure emphasizes character development and plot progression, ensuring that you hit key story beats and create an engaging story. Tip: Watch a movie—any American Hollywood movie—and see if you can apply the Save the Cat structure to the movie’s plot points.

The Hero’s Journey

We’ve already discussed this story structure at length, but it remains an essential and oft-used storytelling tool for all kinds of writers. It is a surefire way to capture the attention of your audience and create a transformative journey for your main character. Go back and read our blog all about it for a refresher, and use this template to create a hero’s journey of your own: 

Act I

• Step 1: Ordinary World
  • Establish your hero and what their everyday life is like. 
• Step 2: Call to Adventure
  • Have your hero encounter an event, problem, or person that forces them outside of their comfort zone/everyday life. 
• Step 3: Refusal of the Call
  • Make your hero reluctant to leave behind their everyday life to embark on the adventure.
• Step 4: Meeting the Mentor
  • Have your hero meet with a mentor who will help them face the challenges ahead. 

Act II

• Step 1: Crossing the First Threshold
  • Have your hero officially depart on their journey and fully commit to entering the new world.
• Step 2: Test, Allies, Enemies
  • As your hero enters this new world, have them encounter obstacles, enemies, and allies to help them on their journey. 
• Step 3: Approach to the Inmost Cave
  • Have your hero approach the place where they will encounter their greatest fear or biggest threat/foe. 
• Step 4: Ordeal
  • Have your hero confront whatever it is they were approaching above and overcome it. 
• Step 5: Reward (Seizing the Sword)
  • Provide your hero with a light at the end of the tunnel: some kind of tool, belief, or resource that they need to finish their journey.

Act III

1. Step 1: The Road Back
   1. Take your hero on the journey home—but have them encounter more dangers along the way.
2. Step 2: Resurrection
   1. Make your hero face a final test before getting a happy ending. 
3. Step 3: Return with the Elixir
   1. Finally, have your hero return home, changed in some way and with some kind of prize—either an insight or physical object.

The Hero’s Journey as a structure provides a strong framework for character arcs and conflict resolution. It’s a great outlining technique to use for epic stories that span a lot of time. 

The Snowflake Method

Created by novelist Randy Ingermanson, the Snowflake Method involves starting with a brief story summary and then building on it, sort of like how snowflakes start small and build up on the ground. It is markedly different from other outline styles in that it’s as much a map for writing a book as it is for creating an outline. In the Snowflake Method, you start with a simple one-sentence summary of your story or novel, and then you expand on it, adding details in each successive round until you have an intricately detailed beat-by-beat plan for your characters, their myriad of interlocking conflicts, and the core are of the story. 

The Snowflake Method definitely isn’t for every writer, but it might help crack the code of writing a great novel if it works for you. Here’s how you can get started: 

The Five Steps of the Snowflake Method: 

1. One-Sentence Summary — Choose a central premise and distill it into a single sentence that outlines the main conflict or driving force behind the story. This sentence will serve as the foundation for your entire novel.
   1. Example: Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit, is persuaded by the wizard Gandalf to join a quest to reclaim a dragon’s hoard of treasure. 
2. Expanded Summary — Take the one-sentence summary and expand it into a paragraph that explains the key elements of the story, including the core conflict, the protagonist’s journey, and the beginning, middle, and end of the narrative.
   1. Example: Set in Middle Earth, homebody hobbit Bilbo Baggins is visited by his old friend, the wizard Gandalf, who persuades him to join on a journey with thirteen dwarves to reclaim a dragon’s hoard of treasure and return the dwarf king Thorin to his rightful throne on the Lonely Mountain. In the course of this adventure, Bilbo faces many challenges, including trolls, goblins, Wargs, and a curious creature named Gollum from who he steals a mysterious and powerful ring. Bilbo’s adventure ultimately brings him to the Lonely Mountain, where a dragon lies sleeping underneath a pile of gold and jewels. But successfully stealing back the jewel that will give Thorin his power back awakens the dragon and has dire consequences, leading to a battle that could destroy the dwarves once and for all. 
3. Character Summaries — Begin creating brief profiles of the major characters in your story. Identify their core characteristics, roles, and how they relate to the main conflict. Keep these concise, focusing on what motivates each character and how they will help move the plot forward.
   1. Example: Bilbo Baggins
      1. Core Traits: Adventurous, fastidious, humble, kind
      2. Role: The protagonist of the novel, he starts off as a cautious homebody with a streak of adventurousness that leads him on a heroic journey.
      3. Conflict: Struggles to overcome his own cowardice and self-doubt and become the hero of his own story.
      4. Motivation: Genuinely wants to help the dwarves and go on an adventure.
      5. Arc: From slightly cowardly hobbit to bold and adventurous hero.
4. Full Character Profiles — Expand each character into a detailed profile. Include backstory, personality traits, relationships, and how they evolve throughout the novel.
   1. Backstory: Bilbo, a hobbit from Hobbiton, has lived in Bag End all his life. He enjoys puffing on a pipe and is familiar with the wizard Gandalf. He is a typical hobbit with an appreciation for a comfortable lifestyle and lots of delicious food. He is well thought of in his community, but is a bachelor and a bit of a loner. On his mother’s side, he has a streak of adventurous spirit that Gandalf plays into. 
   2. Personality: Bilbo is fond of the comforts of his home and loves good, simple food in abundance. He is humble, kind, and generous, but can also be fearful, grumpy, and forgetful. 
   3. Relationships: Bilbo starts the novel off only knowing Gandalf, who he considers a dear friend. He is initially put off by the loud, rambunctious dwarves, but ultimately befriends them. He becomes particularly close with Balin, an older dwarf, and Thorin, the king of the dwarves who he also has the most contentious relationship with. Ultimately, Bilbo values his friendship with all of the company.
   4. Arc: He starts off as a hapless adventurer concerned with cleanliness and food, but grows into a ingenious burglar willing to do anything to help his friends. 
5. Multi-Page Synopsis — Using the expanded plot structure and character profiles, outline the major scenes, key plot points, and character arcs. Break the story into its core parts (beginning, middle, and end) and flesh out the narrative.
   1. Example: Refer back to the synopsis provided in the examples for the Three-Act Structure; this is essentially what you would write here. The Three-Act Structure template can also be done as a part of the overall Snowflake Method, if you wish.

The Snowflake Method focuses on building complexity and gradually ensuring all elements work together coherently. It’s a great method to use if you have a concept in mind but aren’t sure where to take it. 

The Plot Pyramid

You probably saw this plot structure outlined in chalk on your English teacher’s blackboard, if you’re as old as I am. Also known as Freytag’s Pyramid, as it was developed by novelist Gustav Freytag, this simple, five-stage structure helps ensure a strong narrative arc. You’ll recognize some of the language used in other structures here as well. It’s a foundational structure type which can be used for all kinds of storytelling, from poems to short stories to novels and more.

The Five Stages: 

1. Exposition — We’ve talked about exposition before, at length, but this stage of the story introduces its major elements: setting, characters, tone, themes, etc. Most importantly, the major conflict must appear. 
2. Inciting Incident — An inciting incident launches the story from the expositional stage and into the rising action. 
3. Rising Action — This stage takes the story from conflict to climax, and it reveals more elements of the plot and backstory and introduces and expands upon the characters.
4. Climax — The peak of the story, the conflict must come to a head and the fate of the main character’s must be revealed. 
5. Falling Action — Whatever consequences the climax of the story brought on are resolved and all loose ends in the story must be tied up. 
6. Resolution — The story ends—how it ends is ultimately up to the writer, but ideally it ties in thematically with the rest of the story. 

The benefit of the Plot Pyramid is that it’s less character-focused, and more plot-driven. It’s a good, simple template to follow when you just need to get the major events of a story down on the page without overthinking them too much. 

The Scene and Sequel Method

This method is a great one to get at the minutiae of what makes compelling scenes within larger stories. It helps the writer think of scenes as action units within the story, and each unit must do something that moves the story forward and adds to its drama. Here’s how to use the Scene and Sequel Method: 

1. Craft a scene. Each scene must have three elements: a goal, conflict, and disaster.
   1. Goal: Your main character, but also every other character present, should have a goal—a desire, a want, an aim—in every scene they are in. Sometimes, that goal is the same scene over scene. Sometimes it changes. And the goal can be as big or small as it needs to be: saving a life or making a sandwich. Understanding your characters’ goals, how far they’re willing to go to achieve them, and how they intend to set out to achieve them is what will make for a compelling scene and get you through each of the following elements. 
   2. Conflict: Each scene must work hard to prevent your character from getting what they want. Drama is created through internal or external obstacles. Your character must actively try to overcome any obstacles in their way, these obstacles must be relatively to extremely difficult to overcome, and the best obstacles should play on your character’s weaknesses and flaws.
      1. For example, let’s say your character’s goal in a scene is to make a sandwich so they can eat, because they’re hungry. Now let’s put an obstacle between them and doing that: there’s no edible food in the kitchen. Thus, they have to go out to get food. But then they can’t find their keys. So they have to search for their keys and in doing so, they trip and break their nose. You can see here how a desire as simple as making a sandwich descends into the chaos of an injury. 
   3. Disaster: You create drama by doing mean things to your characters—putting them through rough situations that they’re supposed to overcome. In other structures, you can think of this as the rising action. But this is important to add in at an individual scene level as well.
      1. Throwing back to our previous example, a broken nose may seem like disaster enough. But let’s take it a step further. Your character is able to patch up their nose and go to the ER. But because they haven’t eaten and they’ve lost blood, their blood pressure drops, and they pass out. This also counts as a disaster and it could lead to any number of things in a following scene: they fall in love with the doctor or nurse taking care of them, they miss an important appointment because they’re at the hospital, they reunite with an estranged family member because someone needs to be with them when they’re discharged. By creating disaster, you create story. 
2. Craft a sequel. Countering a scene, an action unit, with a sequel, a reaction unit, will help create a complex character and journey, and can lead to a new goal. After all, there must be recovery from a disaster.
   1. Reaction: The character reacts to their previous disaster. How they react determines what they do next. 
   2. Dilemma: Because of the disaster, and perhaps even because of their initial reaction, the character now faces a problem. A great dilemma for a character will mean there are no good options for the character, only bad and worse ones.
      1. Your character’s dilemma is whether or not to call their estranged sister to pick them up from the hospital, or to risk a heftier hospital bill by spending the night. Neither option sounds very good. 
   3. Decision: Finally, the character makes a decision, ending the dilemma and marking the return to an active mode of being from a reactive mode of being. The character now has a new goal to explore in a new scene.
      1. Your character decides to call their sister. In the following scene, we get the goal-conflict-disaster sequence of this choice. 

This method of outlining really focuses on the smaller moments. It helps maintain tension and pacing by balancing the goals and outcomes of the characters in your story. It’s a particularly great method to use for something like a TV show. 

Adapting Outlines for Different Story Formats

Different kinds of stories require different kinds of outlines. Longer form work will need more in-depth, detailed outlining in order to ensure all the plot threads are connected, the characters have transformative arcs, and the storytelling remains cohesive. Shorter work on the other hand may just utilize a brief outline stating the purpose of the story to ensure it doesn’t get off track. Let’s consider what kinds of outlines might benefit what kinds of storytelling: 

Novels — Longer form works tend to require more detailed outlines that can really develop their complex narratives. The Hero’s Journey template is always a great place to start for a novel outline, but structures like Save the Cat, the Three-Act, or the Hero’s Journey may be the best way to go here. 

Short Stories — While these tend to be less complex than novels, in-depth outlines can still be a huge help with drafting short stories. The Three-Act Structure could help provide a framework to follow and beats to hit, or you could go for the Plot Pyramid to ensure you have all the major elements needed for an engaging work.

Flash Fiction — Not all flash fiction pieces will require an outline, but a condensed framework to follow, maybe a sentence each for the beginning, middle, and end could help get the words on the page. 

Poetry — Not all poems require an outline, and not all poets use them. But for structured poems like a sonnet or villanelle, they can be really useful to help you hit the formula requirements while still telling a story. 

Movies — For American Hollywood blockbusters and other films, the Save the Cat structure is the perfect outlining tool. You can use whichever outlining template you like, though, just remember that a movie needs a detailed, complex outline that considers its visual medium. 

TV Shows — TV shows tend to cover even more breadth than novels do, so they may require an extreme level of outlining. Generally speaking, however, each TV episode is first approached with a short two to three sentence paragraph covering the general gist of the episode. That is then taken and spread out into a beat sheet, which covers the general beats that should occur throughout the episode. This serves as the structure for the plot of the episode and ensures you’re creating compelling and cohesive storylines. Finally, you would take this into a step outline, which expands on the beats by fleshing them out into a paragraph or so for each scene that you imagine taking place in the episode. This is then taken a step further and fleshed out into a script. 

Essays — Every good essay starts with a good outline. When it comes to writing them for school projects, it’s good to stay formulaic. You don’t need to reinvent the wheel with the structure since your argument should be unique. Every sentence of your essay should be dedicated to proving your argument. An essay outline might look like: 

• Introduction
  • Thesis Statement
• Body Paragraph 1
  • Topic sentence relating to thesis statement
  • Supporting evidence
  • Supporting evidence
  • Supporting evidence
• Body Paragraph 2
  • Topic sentence relating to thesis statement
  • Supporting evidence
  • Supporting evidence
  • Supporting evidence
• Body Paragraph 3
  • Topic sentence relating to thesis statement
  • Supporting evidence
  • Supporting evidence
  • Supporting evidence
• Conclusion
  • Thesis restatement
  • Call to Action

Blogs — Similar to essays, online blogs are all about making an argument or relaying information. Think about this blog. How do you think I created the outline for it? Well, each blog generally starts with an introductory paragraph that lays out the “thesis” of that blog. In this case, it’s that outlining is crucial for storytelling. With blog writing, you can be less formal than a traditional essay but the general idea remains the same. Figure out what’s needed to prove your argument in your blog and then add as needed to provide additional resources and information for your argument. Sometimes, the best place to start is with ideas for the headlines of each blog section as such: 

• Ways to Outline a Story
  • Introduction + purpose of blog 
• The Importance of Outlining
  • Benefits, why it’s crucial
• Forms of Outlines
  • Cover different kinds of outlines
• Adapting Outlines for Different Story Formats
  • Discuss different mediums
• Exercise
  • Help readers practice outlining structures for their own writing. 
• Conclusion
  • Recap the importance of finding the right outlining method for your story
  • Encourage readers
  • CTA  

Exercise

On a blank piece of paper, poster board, or notecard, create an outline for a story using one of the structures/templates shared above. Try out different ones for different kinds of stories and see what works best for you.

Outline Away!

All writers work differently, but finding the right outlining technique for you to write the best story you can is an important part of the writing process. Whether you’re the kind of writer who starts with a vague idea and forms that into your own sculpture of work, or the kind of writer who has a very specific image in mind from the get go, outlines can be used to give your story structure, form, balance, and life. 

Try out some of the outlines outlined in this blog to find out what works best for you!

Two writers converse about writing… and conversing

In the previous installment of this series, we revealed how dialogue is one of a writer’s most useful storytelling tools. But it’s tricky to get right. One way to practice writing dialogue is by listening to, and writing down, real conversations in real life. This can mean going to a café on a busy day and casually eavesdropping on others’ conversations (just make sure to keep everything anonymous if you do end up writing about them) or watching YouTube or TikTok videos and transcribing them—as long as you’re not plagiarizing. The point is to see what it looks like on paper and use that as inspiration and practice, not to copy others’ work. It can mean having a conversation with someone else, recording it, and then going back to write it down to see what the cadence is like, how you and your conversation partner interact, and the words you say—and don’t say. 

That last one is what we’ve done in this blog. I interviewed Brink’s Communications & Marketing Director and Senior Editor, Nate Ragolia, about how he tackles dialogue. Here’s how our conversation unfolded. 

Talking Back

The two writers sit in their respective homes with Zoom pulled up on the screens between them. As Nate flickers onto the screen, Maribel unfolds her hands and smiles. 

“Nate, hello! Thank you for joining me,” she says. 

After some small talk about Nate’s dogs and the weather, Maribel jumps into the interview. 

“So here we are, two writers, talking to each other as an example for our readers—to show them what dialogue can look like when taken from real life.” She clears her throat and continues. “What are some memorable examples of dialogue in any kind of media, whether novels, short stories, video games, movies, TV shows, or anything else that comes to mind for you?” 

“In the most recent episode of my podcast we talk about the first Quentin Tarantino movie Reservoir Dogs,” Nate says. “It’s a movie that, despite being a violent crime thriller, hinges almost entirely on dialogue because of its low budget. Tarantino is known for his snappy, plot-driving, character-revealing dialogue that’s ultimately just compelling. The way he approaches it, you get all the information you need for the story, but you also get more than that. It’s in conversation with previous exploitation films, the themes of the movie, and all of movie history. It’s like the dialogue is weaving small stories within the story of the film at large.”

Interlude 1

Let’s analyze this spiel from Nate from a storytelling perspective. As a piece of dialogue in a novel, what he says would perhaps feel a little long and rambling. The reader might lose interest along the way, even though what he’s saying is important and true. So how can we fix it? 

1. Create more character interactions:

“Quentin Tarantino’s first film Reservoir Dogs has some of the best dialogue I’ve ever seen,” says Nate. “It’s snappy, drives the plot forward, and shows you what the characters are like. It’s compelling.” 

“I’ve never seen it. All that violence,” Maribel shakes her head with a shudder, “not for me.”

2. Make it more dramatic: 

“Even though he’s controversial, I think Quentin Tarantino does some of the best dialogue I’ve seen,” says Nate. 

Maribel raises her eyebrows. “Really? How so?”

“It’s snappy, drives the plot forward, shows you what the characters are like… it’s compelling, especially compared to so many other movies.” 

“I feel like you’re slamming other movies,” Maribel says. 

Nate shrugs. “If the shoe fits…” 

3. Make it more subtle: 

“Good movie dialogue is compelling, only a few get it right,” says Nate. 

Maribel raises her eyebrows. “Like who?”

“Ever seen Reservoir Dogs?” 

Now, obviously this subject matter very likely wouldn’t appear in a novel, unless that novel was trying to give you tips on writing dialogue. The point is that each take shares slightly different information and has a different vibe. Rewriting dialogue that has inspired you to express different feelings is one of many ways to practice doing it. 

Back to the Conversation

Maribel and Nate continue the conversation, adding more examples of great dialogue in media and starting with the iconic 90s TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

“It was one of my favorite shows as a kid—well, ages 17 to 24 or whenever it came out.” Nate laughs. “It was funny and smart, and the characters felt real. It grounded outlandish concepts—like vampires and a Hellmouth—in a teenage experience. It also utilizes slang that feels both real and unique to the show itself.”

Maribel nods, reflecting. She’s seen every episode of Buffy at least three times, though she watched it after all the episodes had already come out on DVD. 

“So true, like ‘wig out’ and, I don’t know, ‘vampy,’” says Maribel. 

Nate nods. “Exactly.” 

Interlude 2

In the interaction above, both Nate and Maribel’s dialogue gives us more insight into their characters—who they are. Nate, for example, is older than 24, and was about at that age when Buffy first aired. Maribel, on the other hand, we know is younger than that due to her reflecting on when she watched it. Thus, we discover more about the dynamics between these two people. We also know that they’re both huge geeks—we’ll learn more about that next. 

A Little More Conversation

Maribel moves the conversation forward. “What about literature? Who can we go to for great examples of dialogue there?” 

“Obviously, Shakespeare is a big one,” says Nate. “When you read it for the first time, you struggle just to understand what’s going on because it’s written in a cadence and way we’re just not used to anymore. But once you move beyond that, it’s so rewarding. Nearly everything has an additional meaning of some kind—a double entendre, a hilarious pun, a disguised joke.” 

Maribel nods along, smiling and thinking of her days performing Shakespeare in high school. How many disguised dick jokes had she accidentally said? 

He continues, “Almost all of Shakespeare’s dialogue, even in the tragedies, has this comedic underpinning where people are often saying one thing and meaning another. And you only really get that when you see it performed on stage.”

Further examples that Nate and Maribel agree on include: 

• Jane Austen — In a similar vein to Shakespeare, when you first read her it feels slow. But as you get older, see adaptations of her work, and reread her novels, you can see how decorated with meaning and quiet specificity each character’s dialogue is. 
• Cormac McCarthy’s The Road — In this post-apocalyptic novel, McCarthy breaks some of the common dialogue “rules,” such as by not using any punctuation. Instead, recognizing what is spoken aloud relies entirely on enjambment. This creates an effect that feels like the world is so dire that there isn’t even time for a quotation mark. Breaking these rules should only happen after you master them and prove you can follow them, and every time you break them it needs to be done with a clear purpose, both Maribel and Nate agree. 
• The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy — In this irreverent, almost satirical take on science fiction, Douglas Adams constantly breaks the rule popularized by Elmore Leonard about only using “says/said” for dialogue tags. In this case it works because it plays into the tone and humor of the piece. 

On Monologuing

One thing Maribel wants to know is, “If you were a character in a novel, what would be your monologue moment?” 

Nate ponders this for a moment. “I think my monologues would be deeply existential. I would be talking about the insignificance of being an individual person in a point in time in an infinite universe, and how odd that is, how remarkably strange it is. 

“And then I also love to monologue about our shared social notions about what is established fact. For example, maybe we shouldn’t have to pay for necessities like housing or food. Maybe everyone deserves to survive.” 

“I love those,” says Maribel, smiling. “But my topic of choice would be about bad writing—particularly those in TV shows, like the last season of Game of Thrones. My sister has to listen to it all the time.” 

They both laugh. 

Interlude 3

Monologues, while most commonly used in script writing—plays, movies, TV shows—can be a great way to get at character. Even if you don’t include it in your final draft, sometimes having a character go off on a tangent can be a way to learn more about them and really live in their voice. 

For example, what do we learn about Maribel and Nate here? 

• Nate is an existential guy. He also cares about social issues. 
• Maribel can appreciate those, but at heart she’s a writing snob. She also has a sister.

Additionally, we also get some humorous moments in the interaction above. Bringing humor into your dialogue is an important way to keep it interesting for the reader. Try your hand at writing a monologue for one of your characters. What do they talk about? 

Character Growth and Storytelling Through Dialogue

Maribel checks her watch and moves on to the next question. “How do you think dialogue on its own can show how a character changes over the course of the story?” 

“Did you see the movie Poor Things?” 

Maribel shakes her head. 

“In that movie, Emma Stone plays a woman from basically toddler age—in the mind—through her 20s or 30s,” Nate says. “And the dialogue in the movie does a great job of showing this. She evolves from speaking in a very childlike manner to speaking like an adult person. Her size and appearance doesn’t change, but you can tell how she’s evolving over time because of the way she speaks.” 

He goes on to give two more examples: 

• Luke Skywalker in Star Wars — While, generally speaking, Star Wars isn’t the best example of high-quality dialogue, it does demonstrate how to show character growth over time. Luke goes from a whiny, immature young man concerned with trivial problems to a zen, confident Jedi set on saving the world. The way he speaks changes subtly throughout the movies to show this. 
• Bruce Wayne as Batman — Here we have two very different personas who are the same person. The way Batman speaks is so different from Bruce Wayne as a persona even in his delivery. This serves to protect Batman’s secret identity, of course, but it also demonstrates how Bruce himself changes every time he becomes the Dark Knight. 

Dialogue As a Craft

Maribel and Nate’s conversation throughout this blog is meant to demonstrate how dialogue can be used while also highlighting that real-life conversations can spur creativity. The next time you hit writer’s block, or just need a bit of inspiration, head to a public area and give yourself time to listen and observe. Then, see what stories come from it!

Dialogue is one of a writer’s most useful tools in storytelling. It helps a storyteller show rather than tell, establish character dynamics, provide exposition actionably, and keep scenes moving forward. But getting dialogue right can be tough. How do you get characters to sound like real people while making what they say relevant to the story? Crafting good dialogue can be a tricky balance between sharing important information, keeping in mind characters’ back stories and relationships with each other, and making it fun and interesting for a reader to keep reading. Bad or poorly used dialogue will stick out like a sore thumb, whether it’s in a novel, short story, film, TV show, or other form of media. 

Learn how to avoid writing bad dialogue and when to use it in a story. Plus, get some formatting tips and tricks to make your dialogue look clean and readable. 

Understanding Dialogue 

Firstly, what is dialogue? In storytelling, it is usually a conversation between two or more people. Sometimes it can be a single person expressing themselves. Monologues are also a form of dialogue. In general, dialogue has five major purposes in a story:

1. To communicate. The most obvious reason to use dialogue, communication between characters is essential to telling a good story. Dialogue should be used when you need characters to communicate with each other, to the audience, or even to themselves. 
2. To show rather than tell. Dialogue can be an effective and quick way to get across information like who a character is, what they do, where they’re from, and more. Screenplays and plays of all kinds use dialogue as the primary function by which to share information, aside from visuals.
3. To establish character relationships. In real life, the way that people talk to each other changes depending on their relationship with one another. You wouldn’t speak with a stranger with the same level of familiarity that you would a friend. You (hopefully) wouldn’t speak to your boss like you would your sibling. The world of stories is full of interesting characters who have relationships to each other, and so the way a character speaks to another character can show how they feel about them.
4. To provide exposition actionably. Dialogue can also be used to share things like character backgrounds, details about the setting, explanation of events that took place before the current narrative timeline, and to set up the world the characters are living in.
5. To move the scene forward. Sometimes when writing, if a scene feels like it’s stuck and dragging on as you craft the prose, a good way to get over this block is by writing dialogue between two characters. Whether or not this ends up in the final draft of the work, it should help move the scene forward. By forcing two (or more) characters to interact, you are creating action. That action can then help move the plot forward. 

Utilizing Dialogue Tags Effectively 

Unsurprisingly, not everyone feels the same about dialogue. Although of course there are some generally accepted rules, there’s also confusion out there about the proper use of certain aspects of dialogue. One of these aspects is dialogue tags. 

Dialogue tags are a part of a line of dialogue, specifically in prose writing, that indicates who is speaking. For example: 

“I went to the restaurant at seven, but you never showed up.” She said. 

The “she said” part is the dialogue tag. Dialogue tags can generally be broken into two types: 

1. Character tags: A pronoun or character’s name plus a verb of expression, like the above example. Examples: “He asked,” “Jonathan said,” “Winona informed him.”
2. Action tags: A description of an action a character performs attached to the dialogue that effectively communicates who says that dialogue. For example:
   • Mike opened the door. “Oh, hello, Dustin. Wasn’t expecting you.” 

When using an action tag over a character tag, it should be very clear which character is speaking. If it’s not clear, it’s best to add a character tag. But sometimes, using a character tag will feel redundant and weigh the narrative down. Best practice is to read back through any dialogue and search for places where character tags are missing. If it’s ever unclear who may be speaking a line of dialogue, you likely need a character tag to clear up any confusion. On the other hand, in areas where it’s very obvious who is speaking without a character tag, you can fall back on action tags or simply on nothing. This is the kind of writing that only gets better with practice, so make sure to check out our exercise below so you can try your hand at it! 

One thing to keep in mind with dialogue, and specifically character, tags is what verb you use with the character name or pronoun. American novelist, short story writer, and screenwriter Elmore Leonard believed you should never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue. This is because the sole purpose of these character tags is to indicate who is speaking. Within prose, you generally want the dialogue itself to stand out, not the character tag next to it. By using words other than “said,” you could be calling too much attention to the dialogue tag. 

Beyond this, there are usually better ways to express the kind of inflection a character may be using while speaking. Here are four ways to say the same sentence:

1. “You don’t know anything!” he shouted. 
2. “You don’t know anything,” he said, face turning red with anger. 
3. “You don’t know anything.” His booming voice felt like a slap to the face.
4. “You don’t know anything,” he said in a small voice.

All of these are different ways to say the same thing, but each one has a distinct vibe. The first comes off as redundant. The exclamation point and the word shouted are both expressing the same thing. It’s clear, but it’s also unnecessary. The second is a bit better. It shows a physical expression of rage that colors the words the dialogue is expressing. The third utilizes the concept of showing rather than telling and figurative language to not only get across that he’s shouting, but also to show how it’s affecting the other character. This takes it beyond just speech and into the territory of character dynamics. The final one reverses the initial idea that he shouted.

None of these examples are necessarily wrong, and while reading you’ll likely come across versions of all of them. The best way to determine what you should do in a story is to understand exactly what is necessary to your storytelling. Let’s say it doesn’t really matter how this character expressed what they said, only the content of their words was important. In that case, a simple dialogue tag should do the trick. Let’s say the most important part is how these words affect the narrator or other character in the scene. Then, the third way that dialogue is expressed above would be the most effective. 

In general, it’s best to lean on Elmore Leonard’s words as a good rule of thumb. Don’t stray too far from “said” when utilizing character tags. Mix up these tags with action tags to keep things interesting and flowing. Remember that punctuation can go a long way in expressing whatever it is you may be trying to express. For example, a question mark used at the end of a sentence is more effective and simpler than tacking on “she asked.” 

Writing Effective Dialogue

Now that we’ve established what dialogue can be used for, let’s discuss how to write it effectively. Just like how real people have different ways of speaking, characters too should have distinct voices. What they say and how they say it should reflect their personality and background. It should also sound realistic, to an extent. 

For example, a character who is a child should probably not use words they wouldn’t know or express themselves in ways only an adult would, unless they’re some kind of child prodigy or genius like Artemis Fowl. Additionally, in real life, speech is often broken up with hesitations and wanderings—“uhm,” “you know,” “like”—and these should only be used sparingly in actual writing—unless you want to drive your reader crazy. While most people aren’t as clear and concise as most written dialogue is, in a story, you’re trying to get across as much information as possible in as few words as possible, so this should generally be avoided. There are exceptions, of course. For example, let’s say you’re writing a character who is a stereotypical valley girl. To get this across simply, you may write:

Vanessa flipped her hair over her shoulder and popped her gum. “Like, exactly. Why would I want a Dior when I could have an Hermés?” 

In this case, the “like” at the beginning fits a certain personality trait you’re trying to get across. It’s a linguistic fingerprint, or speech habit specific to a character. 

Linguistic fingerprints can appear in many forms. A character might constantly trail off on the ends of their sentences, a sign of them being indecisive or overly contemplative. Or maybe they specifically do not use contractions as a sign that they dislike taking shortcuts or strongly value proper grammar (or, in science fiction, to indicate they are an android or robot). It can also be an indication of their general age or education level. 

On that note, one thing you absolutely don’t want to do is fall into stereotypes or be offensive. Be as respectful to your characters as you would be to people in real life. One much debated topic that can fall into this category is accents. In general, it’s okay to say something like, “She spoke with a posh British accent,” or, “He had that distinct Southern twang.” Readers will know what this means and can apply it to the text themselves. Some authors do dive into changing the way the words look on the page to match an accent. This is done either to good or very poor effect. Unless you truly understand an accent and can speak it, or are VERY confident in taking this approach, it’s generally best to avoid doing this. At the very least, make sure to do your research on accents and writing them before going down this route. For some good examples of authors successfully writing accents, check out this list.

Utilizing Subtlety

Another essential aspect of writing good dialogue is employing subtlety, or subtext. Subtext is the implicit or metaphorical meaning found in writing or conversation. It’s what’s underneath the actual words on the page. In real life, people don’t always say what they mean or they say as little as necessary to convey their point because people also use body language to communicate things they don’t necessarily say out loud. They may exaggerate, hyperbolize, minimize, lie, embellish, or simply lack the words needed to express what they really mean. Societal and cultural norms can also sometimes prevent people from saying exactly what they mean to say. Mastering good dialogue will mean mastering imbuing the dialogue you write with subtext—the meaning underlying the words actually said. Here are some examples of what dialogue with subtext looks like in practice. 

How to Format Dialogue

One of the first ways to identify a writer who is just starting out versus someone with more experience is how well they format dialogue. It can be tricky and difficult to remember all of the rules, but it’s essential to getting right for the sake of readability. Some readers may not even bother with work if the dialogue is improperly formatted. And, if you’re trying to get published, you must get formatting right to show publishers that you know what you’re doing. 

So what are the rules for formatting dialogue? Please note that this is specific to American English and there may be other rules for other regions and languages. 

1. Quotation marks: Double quotation marks should surround any spoken words, as such: “I miss you.” In the case that you have a quotation within speech, use single quotation marks for the secondary quote: “Can you believe he told me that? ‘I miss you.’ What a jerk.” 
2. Dialogue tags: These should remain outside of the quotation marks, as such: “I miss you,” he told me. Dialogue tags can also come before the dialogue itself, in which case the same rule applies: He told me, “I miss you.”
3. Punctuation: Always tuck your punctuation. This means that any punctuation marks you may use in dialogue belong within the quotation marks. For example: 

“I miss you,” he said.

CORRECT

“I miss you”, he said.

INCORRECT

Additionally, dialogue tags following exclamation points and question marks (rather than a comma) should begin in lowercase. 

“Why haven’t you called?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Em dashes, not to be confused with hyphens or en dashes, should be used to indicate interruptions and abrupt endings in dialogue. The dashes should also be placed within the quotation marks. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I miss you and I—”

I shook my head. “No offense, but I really don’t want to hear it.” 

Finally, when dialogue ends with an ellipsis, you don’t need any additional punctuation. Ellipses should only be used when the speaker is trailing off. 

“I miss you and I just thought…” he said, his voice trailing off. 

4. Action tags: Actions that occur before or after dialogue should be given their own sentence: 

I reached over to touch his hand. 

He started to cry. “I miss you.” 

5. New speakers: Every time the speaker changes, you need a new paragraph with an indent. The conversation will look something like this: 

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning at me. 

“I miss you,” he said. 

I scowled. “I haven’t missed you one bit.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said, shaking his head. “I think you’ve missed me more than you let on.”

As you can see, when the same speaker’s line of dialogue is broken with an action (as in the final sentence of the example above), you can continue in the same paragraph without entering and indenting.  

6. Action interrupting dialogue: Along with not having to enter and indent as stated above, action that comes in the middle of dialogue should remain in lowercase, unless it’s an action unrelated to the dialogue. For example: 

“I always loved you, you know, he said, twirling his cigarette, “but you never loved me back.” 

VERSUS

“I always loved you, you know.” He stood up, took a cigarette from the pack and pointed at her. “But you never loved me back.”

7. Long speeches: Sometimes you’ll need a character to deliver a long speech or monologue. In this case, you may need to split up their dialogue into more than one paragraph. When doing this, you place a new set of quotation marks just at the beginning of the new paragraph without closing the quotation marks at the end of the previous one. Then, at the end of the entire speech, you put end quotation marks. For example: 

He told us the story of how it happened. “One day, I was walking along the East River when I saw him—the strangest man I’d ever seen! He wore a purple top hat and thick green coat, even though it was very warm and humid that day. He flagged me down, waving all crazy from the other side of the bank, and so I made my way towards him. Then, we had the strangest conversation I’d ever had. 

“He told me that he knew my mother—my mother who’s been dead for over twenty years! And that he knew me when I was just a young boy. I didn’t believe him of course. I wanted to, but I didn’t.” 

When in doubt about how to format a piece of dialogue, always fall back on these rules. Tucking punctuation, utilizing action and character tags correctly, and remembering to close those quotation marks will go a long way in helping your dialogue appear professional and readable. 

The Dos and Don’ts of Writing Dialogue

Let’s now make sure you know what to and not to do when it comes to even including dialogue in your text.

• DO keep it concise and purposeful. 
• DO make sure it serves the plot and/or character development. 
• DO make it sound natural and authentic. 
• DO format it properly. 

• DON’T include long, meandering conversations with no purpose.
• DON’T just dump info and exposition utilizing dialogue.
• DON’T make your characters all sound the same. 
• DON’T forget to add dialogue tags for clarity.

Practical Tips

Working on improving your dialogue skills? Here are a few ways to tackle this: 

1. Read dialogue out loud. This is a rule of thumb with pretty much all writing, but for dialogue in particular it is helpful to read out loud to check for issues of flow, sentence structure, and any oddities. 
2. Listen to real conversations for inspiration. The way that people talk and the things they choose to talk about are great pools of inspiration for your own writing. 
3. Partake in writing exercises to practice dialogue skills. Start with the one below!

Exercise

Write a scene between two characters wherein all of the important information of the scene is said through spoken dialogue. 

Teaching Characters Speech

In all, we hope you feel more confident and ready to tackle dialogue writing. It’s an important way to have characters interact and communicate, showing off their personalities, providing information to the reader, and moving the plot forward. With dialogue writing, practice certainly makes perfect, so make sure to take on the exercise in this blog as a way to get started. 

Looking for more writing tips and tricks? Check out the rest of our Facts of Fiction series.

If you’ve ever tried to write a story, you may have encountered the writer’s eternal problem: how do I get all the information that I know about these characters, settings, themes, and plotlines onto the page so that the reader has the context they need to fully enjoy the story?

What you’re grappling with is exposition, a narrative device that provides background information to the audience and helps readers understand the context of the story. It can be delivered through dialogue, narration, flashbacks, or a character’s thoughts. Effective exposition feels seamlessly integrated into the story. Ineffective exposition may overwhelm or bore the audience before they can get to the meat of the story. 

Despite it being so necessary for stories, storytellers often find delivering exposition effectively difficult because it’s the kind of information that is much easier to tell rather than show. That’s why one of the hallmarks of a good storyteller is how well they are able to get across expositional elements in their work. It’s all about balance: without the right amount of exposition, the audience will not have enough information to understand what is going on in the story and why. How much is too much depends on what kind of story it is. 

The good news is that you can effectively deliver exposition without info dumping, by utilizing  dramatization and making it feel necessary to the conflict. This can be done in a number of ways, including through dialogue, narration, internal monologue, and special devices. Continue reading to get a deep dive into these techniques and more tips on exposition!

Key Aspects of Exposition

Now that you know what exposition is, let’s explore more thoroughly what components make up expositional information. This will include: 

1. Character Backgrounds: Any information about the characters’ pasts, motivations, and relationships in the story. 
2. Setting: Any details about the time and place where the story occurs, including cultural, social and historical context. Stories that take place in a time and place familiar to the audience may require only a bit of exposition, but more fantastical or complex stories will require more. 
3. Plot Background: Any explanation of the events that took place before the current narrative timeline. 
4. Worldbuilding: As discussed in our Worldbuilding 101 blog, exposition for fantasy and science fiction work, among other genres, often includes descriptions of unique elements such as magic systems, technology, or societal norms. 

All creators of stories should know these details of their work inside and out. After all, you created these characters, this world, and the events that take place within it. The trick is determining what your audience needs to know in order to understand the story. 

Maribel’s Tip: One rule we know works here at Brink is EKT—Everybody (in the world of the story) Knows That. If you’re about to share something that everybody in the context of the story would already know, don’t. It takes away from the realism of the story. For example, an employee would never explain their own job to their boss (unless they were being really sassy or something), because the boss should reasonably know what they do. If you need to explain this information for some reason, it makes much more sense for the employee to explain it to a new hire who doesn’t have that same information. 

Types of Exposition

Exposition can be broken down into two types, which can be used by a storyteller depending on what’s needed in the story. These two types are: 

1. Direct Exposition: The storyteller explicitly provides background information, often through narrative summary or a character’s internal monologue. 
2. Indirect Exposition: The storyteller reveals background details through dialogue, actions, or events, allowing the reader to infer information. 

Both types of exposition can be dramatized and used effectively in a story. What’s important is determining which type best suits your story at any given moment. For example, although the general rule of thumb is to show rather than tell, sometimes doing so might slow a story down too much. Or, it may add to the suspense, tension, or dramatization of the story to actually have that information told. Whatever your choice is, the important thing is that you have a specific reason behind why you shared the information in that way. 

How to Dramatize Exposition

Now that you know more about exposition, let’s get into how you can make it fun and relevant for your audience. In general, there are four major ways to do this. We’ll outline each one and utilize examples, both good and bad, to show exactly how each of these work. 

Exposition Through Dialogue

By relaying exposition through dialogue, you can make it feel actionable, natural, and important. Conversations between characters offer more than just talk—it is a way to show characterization, move the plot along, and, in this case, provide background information. However, you still want to avoid blatant info dumping. For example, poor execution of exposition through dialogue can look like: 

“Alaina! My dear sister, how are you doing? Ready to pop?” said Maria as soon as she entered the room. 

Alaina gave her sister a brief hug. “I can’t believe you came all the way from Upstate New York just to see me go into labor.” 

Maria whipped out her cellphone to begin recording. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, are you kidding me? We are sisters after all. I’m just so sad that Mom can’t be here.” 

Alaina’s shoulder slumped. “I know, me too. Things haven’t been the same since the car accident.” 

This is obviously an exaggerated example, but it does work to show you what NOT to do when utilizing dialogue to relay exposition. Let’s break down why:

• EKT: Both characters present know that they are sisters, so why would they reference it not only once, but several times over the course of the conversation. This is something that could easily be portrayed not only through actions but also through the narration (said Maria, Alaina’s sister.)
• Lack of showing: Alaina is in labor, but rather than showing that through physical cues, she simply tells Maria that she is. Again, this falls under EKT: why would Maria even be there if she didn’t know Alaina was in labor? 
• Elephant in the room: This also goes back to EKT, but the elephant in the room is the mom not being there. While we have no additional context for this story, imagine that this is the opening scene. It doesn’t seem true-to-life that these two sisters, who would both be fully aware of an accident preventing their mother from being at the birth of her grandchild, would mention it in such an obvious way.

Here’s the same scene done with a little more subtlety while still getting across the same context: 

Maria flung open the hospital door so hard it bounced back and nearly hit her in the face. She rushed to her sister’s side.

“Wow, you got fatter,” she said. 

Alaina rolled her eyes, wincing as she sat up against the pillows supporting her. She put a hand over her swollen belly. “Gee, thanks.” Her eyes darted back to the door. “It’s just you?” 

Maria gave her a tight smile and sat down on the edge of her sister’s hospital bed. “Mom’s not feeling up to it.” 

Alaina blinked rapidly to clear tears from her eyes but nodded. “I understand.” 

Maria grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. You have me! Who else could you possibly need?” 

The side of Alaina’s mouth twitched up into a smile. Even if their mother couldn’t be there, at least she wasn’t alone. 

In this version of the scene, the audience gets a lot less information about exactly why the mom cannot be there. Nonetheless, they can infer that there is a reason and that it will be revealed at a moment in the story later on. Meanwhile, the mystery adds tension, keeping the audience engaged and ready to learn more. 

Exposition Through Narration

Narrators can be used to effectively express important exposition as well. It all depends on the narrative voice utilized in the story. For example, TV shows like Gossip Girl, Desperate Housewives, and Veronica Mars utilize voiceover to include narrative voice that exists somewhat outside of the story. Sort of like a third-person omniscient POV, although the voice isn’t always completely omniscient. This has the effect of providing important context and details for the story, such as giving us information the other characters don’t have yet, or allowing us to see inside their head. 

Narration is also used in other forms of storytelling, of course, and the type of narration utilized to tell a story is one important overall piece of your story. A strong narrative voice is an excellent way to deliver exposition by weaving it seamlessly into the narrative flow. The important thing here is to balance showing and telling in order to keep the reader engaged. Take a look at this example from the pilot episode of Desperate Housewives (mild spoilers ahead!). You can also view the video version of this scene here—make sure to read along!

What did you notice while reading and watching this scene? How did the voiceover (and the narration happening through the actions on screen) deliver effective exposition? What did we learn about the character of Mary Alice, where she lives, who she is, and what she’s doing? This is how exposition can be delivered while also building conflict and tension, hooking the audience in without giving away too much—but preparing them with enough information for the context of the story. 

Exposition through narration might also look like a typical fairytale opening: Once upon a time, there was a kingdom…—and then going on to describe the kingdom, who lives in it, and introducing our main character. This is a good way to start a story that has a lot of lore or background the audience must know to even get started. When done poorly, this kind of exposition through narration will really drag the narrative down and make the audience feel that they’re being spoon fed too much information. It’s best to use this technique with a specific purpose in mind, and sparingly. 

Exposition Through Internal Monologue

Internal monologue can also be an effective way to relay background information while keeping things dramatic. A character can reveal how they’re really feeling, what they think of other characters, and what their plans are to the audience only, perhaps thinking of private information that adds to the conflict of the story. The main benefit of internal monologues are emotional stakes. While a character may not express what they’re actually feeling openly, if the audience knows, then they may prepare themselves for conflict based around the character’s true emotions further down the line. A great example of this is found in the opening of “The Pillars of Creation” by Walter Thompson: 

No one’s told the bus driver about Dad, so we still get dropped off near the old house, at the corner of Myrtle and Patterson. We don’t mind. Nat and Ben get amped up on the drive out from school, squealing and shouting with their friends, bouncing on the worn leather benches. They need the walk, just shy of two miles, to settle into the cool dark side of their afternoon, so that Mom gets them when they’re at their lowest low, needing a hug and a Coke and two hours of ESPN. The whole way, they run circles around each other: pushing and yanking, pelting pinecones, kicking shins. Edward stays ten yards behind them, never looking up, as if the twins are tugging him along with an invisible string. He puts on his headphones and stares at the asphalt as he goes. The headphones aren’t hooked up to anything; he just tucks the end of the cord under his belt. He takes the “noise-canceling” thing more seriously than other people because his world is full of more noises than theirs. 

Here, the narrator’s internal monologue sets off the story for us by hitting us with the most important information in the very first line: the father’s death. Then, we meet the narrator’s siblings, whose actions as described by the narrator tell us more about their ages and personalities. These little details will come back later on as plot points. The audience is engaged from the get-go because of the implied emotional circumstances and we’re looking for signs of grief and drama throughout the text. 

Internal monologuing is perhaps one of the easier ways to get exposition across, but it can be difficult to get it right and not simply dump a load of information on the audience. The trick is to do exactly what the passage above does: dramatize the information and make it relevant and resonant later on in the story. 

Exposition Through Special Devices

Aside from these narrative tactics, there are other ways to express exposition in a story. This could be through a letter that a character receives, a journal entry they write, or flashbacks to a previous event. You can use these devices to break up the narrative and present background information in a more creative way. Plus, these devices can serve the story and character development. For example, let’s say you use a journal entry written by a character to share expositional information. This tells us that, at the very least, the character is self-reflective. We also get the chance to take a peek directly inside their mind and voice through their journal entry. 

The letters shared between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, and other characters, in Pride and Prejudice serve great expositional and character development purposes while also moving the story forward. For example, let’s take a close look at Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth after she (spoiler alert!) rejects his marriage proposal in Chapter 35. I won’t share the letter in its entirety here, as it’s very long, but will focus instead on a few choice moments. Firstly, Darcy writes:

“At that ball, while I had the honor of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas’s accidental information, that Bingley’s attentions to you sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend’s behavior attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard; and I remained convinced, from the evening’s scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in an error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probably. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable.” 

Here, he references Elizabeth’s accusation that Darcy was the one who stopped the romance between Mr. Bingley and Jane, Elizabeth’s older sister. We learn information that we did not know before: Darcy had a conversation with another character, who implied to him that Bingley and Jane would get married. This expositional information is important because it provides context for Darcy’s later actions, which he explains. We also learn several important things about Darcy’s character that Elizabeth and the audience didn’t necessarily know before: he is a loyal friend in trying to protect Bingley’s feelings and he is not afraid to admit fault. 

The letter goes on to explain what actually happened between Darcy and Mr. Wickham, which is also expositional information. The delivery of this information is simple but telling. While it could be considered an info dump under normal circumstances, Jane Austen has set it up so that it doesn’t feel as such. Here’s why it works:

1. Set precedence. In Pride and Prejudice, the letter from Mr. Darcy explaining himself follows several others, setting the stage for letters to be important pieces of information within the story. If this were the only letter in the entire novel, it might come off as a deus ex machina and work much less well. 
2. Expand on characterization. This letter tells us so much more about who Darcy is as a person, unfiltered through Elizabeth’s point of view since the words are his own. We’re able to see firsthand how many of Elizabeth’s conceptions of him spring from his struggle to communicate with her—as well as, of course, their shared trait of pride and their personal prejudices against each other. 
3. Amplify existing tensions. The information provided in the letter adds additional drama to pre-existing relationships, making the reader eager to see what will happen next. This ensures that instead of feeling like an information dump and deflating the stakes, it raises them in anticipation of further scenes. 

In Summary: Four Tips for Effective Exposition

Now that you know different ways to dramatize exposition, here are a few general tips for tackling it in your story: 

1. Show, don’t tell. Incorporate exposition into the story through actions and dialogue rather than lengthy explanations. 
2. Keep it relevant. Ensure that the information provided is essential to the plot and character development. While you may know more information that the audience doesn’t, if the audience doesn’t need to know that information, you can keep it to yourself! As the creator, you’re always going to know more than your audience. 
3. Spread it out. Distribute exposition throughout the narrative rather than dumping it all at once. This prevents the audience from getting bored or feeling that the story is dragging. 
4. Engage the reader. Make exposition interesting by adding conflict, tension, or mystery, as we’ve outlined above. 

Keep these tips in mind as you approach writing exposition to help your story stay afloat!

Exercise

Write a scene in which you share crucial background information about a character only through one of the above tactics: dialogue, narration, internal monologue, or special devices. 

Get Off to a Great Start With Your Story

With these techniques to express exposition in your story under your belt, take a stab at each one when writing your next story. Remember, exposition is best delivered through dramatization and techniques that serve more than one purpose in the story. Of course, there will always be times when it is more efficient to share background information directly, but these are generally far and few inbetween. Don’t let exposition scare you away from writing your best story. In your first draft, let all the information you know flow free and then go back to see how you can better express it on the page. 

Looking for more writing tips and advice? Check out the rest of the Facts of Fiction series to learn about the storyteller’s journey from beginning to end.  

We asked writers, editors, and readers to teach us how they approach diversity in their works.

Before we dive in, let’s pose the question: What is diversity? According to the dictionary, diversity is “the state of being diverse; variety,” meaning to have “a range of different things.” It can also refer to the practice or quality of including people from a range of different social and ethnic backgrounds and of different genders, sexual orientations, religions, ages, and more. In the real world, it appears all around us. 

When you think about diversity in storytelling, what comes to mind? Is there a piece of media you think of immediately? Does a specific author who you feel does “diverse writing” come to mind? Do you think of advice you’ve heard or read about approaching diverse topics? Does the thought of approaching these topics in your own writing scare or intimidate you? 

The truth is, there is no one way to write diversely, or to get diversity right 100 percent of the time. Don’t let fear hold you back from telling the best story you can tell. Using authentic, human experience and invoking through your writing (or other form of art) the emotions you have felt and understand will help you write about things that you may not have experienced yourself. You can be sensitive towards and fully embrace diverse topics within your story where it makes sense in an educated, articulate, and respectful way. 

To help you out, we asked a number of F(r)iction writers, readers, editors, and staff members to weigh in with their best tips for writing diversely and tackling diverse topics.

Meet Our Respondents 

Clayton Bradshaw-Mittal, a queer, previously unhoused veteran, wrote “West Texas Ghost Story” for F(r)iction, the Unseen Issue. Their fiction can be found in Story, Fairy Tale Review, South Carolina Review, and elsewhere. Other work of theirs appears in The Rumpus, Barrelhouse, Consequence, and other journals. They teach at the University of Cincinnati-Blue Ash and are the Managing Editor of New Ohio Review. 

Charlie Claire Burgess is a writer, artist, and tarot reader in Portland, OR who wrote “Fools and Believers” for F(r)iction, the Arcana Issue. They are the creator of Fifth Spirit Tarot, an independent tarot deck that centers around LGBTQ+ folks, the author of The Fifth Spirit Tarot Deck Guide, and the host of The Word Witch podcast. Their writing has appeared in Hunger Mountain, New Stories from the Midwest, Third Coast, and elsewhere, and their short fiction has received a Pushcart Prize Special Mention. Charlie received their MFA at Vanderbilt University. 

Exodus Oktavia Brownlow is the author of “At My Gynecologist, the Ghost Gloves Go to the Garbage and the Too-Green Girls Become a Little Less Green,” which is found in F(r)iction, the Bodies Issue. She is a writer, budding beekeeper, and rising seamstress currently residing in the enchanting pine forest of Blackhawk, Ms. You may find her, and more of her work, at exodusoktaviabrownlow.com. 

Audrey T. Carroll, author of “The Script Doctor” from F(r)iction, the Unseen Issue, is a Best of the Net nominee, the author of Queen of Pentacles, and the editor of Musing the Margins: Essays on Craft. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Prismatica Magazine, Miracle Monocle, Glass Poetry, Vagabond City, So to Speak, and others. She is a bisexual and disabled/chronically ill author who serves as a Diversity & Inclusion Editor for the Journal of Creative Writing Studies. She can be found at audreytcarrollwrites.weebly.com and @AudreyTCarroll on X (Twitter), Facebook, and Instagram. 

Patricia A. Jackson is a high school English teacher in Pennsylvania and author of “Unmasked” from F(r)iction, the Unseen Issue. Her debut novel Forging Nightmare is a delightfully heretical urban fantasy with a Black-led cast of fallen angels, infernal warhorses, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. She has also published in the Star Wars universe; her latest tale “Gone to the Winner’s Circle” appears in From a Certain Point of View: Return of the Jedi. When not grading flash fiction, fighting right-wing book bans, or gaming, she is off spoiling her horses, Maya and Indy. Patricia is represented by Sara Megibow of KT Literary. 

Dominic Loise is a Content Creator and Staff Writer for Brink. He lives with his librarian wife Jenna, their rabbits, and many books. He met his wife one night over a shared love of reading Ray Bradbury. The rabbits love books too but aren’t readers. As a content creator for F(r)iction, Dominic writes book reviews, does interviews, and has a series of personal essays about pop culture and health. He is open about and advocates for mental health awareness. Dominic can be found at @dominic_lives on Instagram and X (Twitter), where he shares recently published work. 

Nate Ragolia is the Communications & Marketing Director and a Senior Editor at Brink. He is an author, editor, publisher, and podcaster who has published three books, There You Feel Free, The Retroactivist, and One Person Can’t Make a Difference. Nate co-hosts Debut Buddies, a podcast about firsts, and is co-founder of the indie press Spaceboy Books. At F(r)iction, he leads communication and marketing, writes grants, serves as a senior editor, and collaborates with the leadership team on a wide variety of projects and programs. He has also dabbled in webcomics, e-zines, and music blogging, and worked in community wealth development and nonprofit strategy. When he’s not doing the things listed above, Nate is a husband and dog dad. 

Calvin Shaw has many works published, including in Arts & Letters, Midsummer’s Eve, Blackout, Black Works, The Skewies Awards: An Award Anthology 2023, and A Year of Hygge (Fall). He loves listening to music, laughing with family, and watching sports. Calvin writes poems everyday, ranging from erotic to horror comedy. Calvin and his works can be found on Instagram at @1995calshaw.

Francis Van Ganson, author of “As Above, So Below” from F(r)iction, the Bodies Issue, is a bookseller, zinester, and organ donor. Their McDonald’s order is a medium fry and a large iced coffee with cream and sugar. Their work can be found in Cotton Xenomorph, Foglifter, and Triangle House Review. 

Here’s what they had to say! 

Q: What are some of the best examples, in your opinion, of diverse writing done well, whether it’s diversity in character, setting, theme, or other? 

In Short: 

Our respondents have a number of stellar recommendations for books, authors, films, and more that serve as some of the best examples of diverse writing done well. These include (but are not limited to): 

• Works by Bryan Washington
• The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin
• Wild Meat and the Belly Burgers by Lois-Ann Yamanake
• Tell Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone by James Baldwin
• Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia
• The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
• Get Out, directed by Jordan Peele
• The Star Trek universe
• Dhalgren by Samuel R. Delany

Clayton: Bryan Washington is probably the best writer at this right now. He manages settings (especially Houston and Japan) and the people who inhabit those settings with care, placing the individual concerns and struggles of characters within the container of the setting and allowing struggle and conflict to erupt out of these concerns. He does not create a monolith, instead representing the queer, multicultural reality of the working class. His characters are from all backgrounds, yet he manages to imbue each with a humanity and vulnerability that recognizes the varied experiences of the people they represent.

Charlie: When I read for pleasure, it’s almost always fantasy, sci-fi, or imaginative fiction of some sort, and I think these areas can be really generative spaces for a diversity of characters, settings, themes, and more. However, they can also be just as normative as the rest of the writing world, especially when it comes to queer characters and themes, with a few exceptions. The standout work that comes to mind for diverse writing done well is Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness, which centers on “ambisexual” people who don’t have fixed genders or sexualities and who live in a society that hasn’t been shaped by gender roles, divides, and power dynamics. Another, more recent novel I’ve adored is Confessions of the Fox by Jordy Rosenberg, which takes queer liberties with the legendary 18th-century English thief Jack Sheppard and a diverse cast of characters to explore (and explode) themes of gender and sexuality, race and class oppression, ecological destruction, authority and freedom, and the erasure of the marginalized from history. 

Exodus: What immediately comes to mind are the works “Wild Meat and The Belly Burgers” by Lois-Ann Yamanake, “Perfect Little Angels” by Vincent Anioke, and select works by Melissa Llanes Brownlee. Writers, who are unafraid of the poetry of language, of writing from generous perspectives (gender, ages), of immersing their readers within the setting that is often othered from an American one. Works that read as natural as to the breath. Never blocked. Never forced. 

Audrey: Tell Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone by James Baldwin. I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself by Mac Crane. Bad Cree by Jessica Johns. Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. What It Means When a Man Falls From the Sky by Lesley Nneka Arimah. Only This Beautiful Moment by Abdi Nazemian. Cosmoknights by Hannah Templar. The Haunting of Alejandra by V. Castro.

Patricia: I am not certain anyone can find a better exemplar than Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye. Nor a sadder one. Pecola Breedlove, a wretched, sexually abused character in the novel, is on a quest for happiness by replacing her brown eyes with blue ones. In one instance of the story, she believes that if she consumes a Mary Jane candy, she will be transformed into the candy mascot with blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Only then can Pecola be truly beautiful—human and deserving of happiness. Morrison takes the readers through the great depths of Pecola’s sadness in the book because there is no resolution for her except madness. 

It frightens me to think that as a child growing up without seeing myself in film, TV, or books, that I was a Pecola, believing that heroes came in one default: blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. It is a familiar and damaging anthem played over and over again. 

Dominic: Some good examples would be how diversity in horror can show representation and resiliency from a cultural perspective in works since Jordan Peele’s Get Out, Us, and Nope, and seen in works like Antebellum. 

Nate: Often, I think science fiction storytelling like Star Trek can be an example of diversity writing done well, both because in far-flung futures we might dream of an era when people are no longer measured by their race, gender, or sexuality, but also because these stories can approach complex issues within all facets of diversity from angles that aren’t rooted in 21st century human experience. 

Calvin: Diversity in your characters helps the reader find the unique distinction of each character and how they can relate to that character. It could be something as small as a character having two children and a small stem-rose tattoo on their lower right calf and you may know that character personally or paint a depiction of them in your head. The setting cannot be stale, or the audience will not imagine where these characters are placed, which will ruin the story. The setting is the most important aspect outside of character development because a diverse setting provides the reader with an idea of what the tone/mood of the plot is for the specific chapter. Never use stereotypical or offensive speech when creating diverse characters because your audience will immediately turn off from the ignorance depicted for the character.

Francis: I think Dhalgren is a really wonderful example of a diverse book, because Delany is writing about the entire American project and the experience of living in an American city. The book has a big cast and all the characters feel like they’re based on real, recognizable types of people. The differing ways they talk, their beliefs, their actions, and their contexts reflect this. 

Approaching this question from a different angle, Alice Winn does a great job writing across time and difference in In Memoriam, which depicts a gay love story set during WWI. Her characters are all very distinct and their understanding of their world reflects the depth of primary source research she did for the book. 

I also want to draw attention to Anjali Sachdeva’s story “All the Names They Used for God,” which is a highly speculative take on the experiences of women kidnapped by Boko Haram in Nigeria. In an interview, she says that she wrote it because she was reading an article and was disturbed that it had fallen out of the US news cycle. 

Q: What do you look for when you’re looking to read work that features diverse characters? 

In Short: 

Everyone looks for something a bit different, but when I read the answers all together, it feels like we’re all kind of looking for very similar things as well. What do you think? Here’s a preview of the brilliance our respondents shared: 

• Work that allows each character to enter into conversation with their environment and experience. 
• Work featuring characters who are fully fleshed, dynamic, and complex and more than just their “diversity.”
• Work that has connectivity and uniqueness, whether in setting, race, language, or culture. 
• Work that has nuance, avoids tokenism, and displays individual complexity.
• Work with fully formed, three-dimensional characters with depth and meaningful arcs. 
• Work that comes from a diversity of authors. 

Clayton: Typically, I am looking for work that allows each character to enter into conversation with their environment and experience. This does not necessarily mean making the work about the experience (there is incredible work that does this), but also showing how a character’s background informs their interactions with the world. 

Charlie: Just like with any piece of writing, I want to read stories about fully fleshed, dynamic, complex people who are so much more than only their “diversity,” which is usually just a nice way to say their marginalization. I look for characters who are driven by personal values, needs, and desires that may intersect with their marginalized identity but also go beyond it. For example, I love a trans character whose trans-ness doesn’t define them, who has more going on in their life and in their heart! Narratives of gender transition are important, but even then, a trans character will have more motivations in their life than just a weekly hormone shot. Or a character with a chronic illness whose disability is just a part of their life, not their entire motivation or a plot device. I also pay attention to the way a character is described or introduced. I love it when nonbinary characters are presented with they/them or neo pronouns in a matter-of-fact way, no need for explanation. I’m particularly sensitive to how trans, nonbinary, or gender-nonconforming (TGNC) characters are physically described. Sometimes, I can pick up on a cisgender writer who just can’t let go of hinting at a TGNC character’s sex assigned at birth, which feels especially discouraging because this happens to us so much in real life too. 

Exodus: I am always searching for connectivity and uniqueness (be it found within that character’s setting, race, language, culture). I believe that the best way to treasure diversity is to honor the ways in which we are similar. We must also equally (and admittedly, I would go as far to say more) honor the ways in which we are dissimilar. In doing so, we get a greater understanding of the world, and how so many factors shape us. The similarities become the bridge, the variations become the opportunity to learn and to practice radical, unconditional forms of love, respect, and acceptance. 

Audrey: Nuance, avoiding tokenizations, and individual complexity. 

Patricia: I look for a story where the character represents me, and that does not always mean color. E.M. Forster referred to such characters as the ficelle. I enjoy character-driven narratives where the plot shifts as the protagonist evolves, not by the coming and going of events. However, I’ll be honest that as a Black woman, I am usually disappointed when heroes come in the standard default: blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. That is the world I have been raised in, so I’m not surprised. But when a protagonist moves from the ensemble to center stage and looks like me?! I am delighted to see myself in them and more eager to get into the adventure. 

Dominic: The work of Percival Everett is what I am looking for—American Fiction is a nesting doll of a family’s personal stories within the lies they tell themselves and the bigger lie the main character tells to hold up a mirror to what the publishing industry says it wants and puts out regarding diverse stories. Gene Luen Yang also achieves this in graphic novels. 

Nate: Fully formed, three-dimensional characters with depth and meaningful arcs. The hearts of characters, and how they face the conflicts in the story, will always be the most important thing. It’s also essential to avoid stereotypes because they’re both reductive and boring. 

Calvin: Authenticity, nothing more, nothing less. 

Francis: That’s not normally a metric I use when choosing works to read. I often avoid work where an author is writing across difference because I find failed attempts at best uninteresting and at worst very grating. I do enjoy reading work that comes from a diversity of authors—I love things in translation, in a wide variety of genres, by people who grew up in different places than I did, from authors who also have day jobs, fanfiction, highbrow and lowbrow work. I get the most out of all varieties of writing when I read with intent to understand and, to the extent to which it’s possible, try not to impose my own ideas on a piece. A lot of my thoughts about meeting written work where it’s at are put beautifully in Matthew Salesses’ Craft in the Real World. 

Q: Can you share some examples of good vs. bad writing when it comes to diversity? 

In Short: 

The Good 

• Lot by Bryan Washington
• Coffee, Shopping, Murder, Love by Carlos Allende
• Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado
• How High We Go in the Dark by Sequoia Nagamatsu
• Works by Zadie Smith
• Work in which the author is also included or connected, in some way, to the piece. 
• Works by Aliza Mann
• Stephanie Williams’ contributions to Marvel and DC comics 
• Blacula: Return of the King (graphic novel)
• Writing which focuses on humanity and empathy, driven by the character’s choices.

The Bad

• “The Change” by Tony Hoagland
• Work written for the sake of writing about differences.
• Work in which a character’s marginalized identity is the sole reason for their existence. 
• Inspiration porn.
• The character of Finn from the Star Wars universe
• The American Society for Magical Negroes
• Work littered with clichés and worn out tropes and stereotypes.
• Work that seems more interested in providing “good representation” of a particular group or community than trying to say something interesting or tell a good story.

Clayton: Bryan Washington’s Lot is among the best examples. It does a lot of work moving across borders to show the queer multiculturalism of the working class. Carlos Allende’s Coffee, Shopping, Murder, Love is so much fun and also plays with boundaries across culture, class, and sexuality. Of course, Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body and Other Parties. Sequoia Nagamatsu’s How High We Go In the Dark is a speculative novel-in-stories that takes us across so many settings with an inclusive cast of characters. Oh, and anything Zadie Smith does. 

On the bad side, I can think of many examples. One that comes to mind first is the infamous Tony Hoagland poem “The Change.” It’s a persona poem executed very badly. Any time a writer from the dominant side of a power structure centers a character from a marginalized group around their own experience is bad diversity writing. This is common in war literature. Queer-coded villainy (which is different than villains who are queer). Disability as characterization. 

Charlie: I hate it when a character’s marginalized identity is the sole reason for their existence. That’s not diverse representation; it’s tokenism. I’ve seen a lot of writers insert “diverse” characters into their stories in order to tick a diversity checkbox, and the characters usually come across as stiff and one-dimensional, like cardboard cutouts. For example, a lot of my pleasure reading is fantasy and/or romance, and I’ve seen popular authors whose cis-het storylines I thoroughly enjoyed try to force queer representation in response to a perceived demand. While well-intentioned, the results tend to be comically bad! Usually, this looks like appling the same old binary gendered, cis-het relationship structures to queer relationships or romances, which in real life often function outside of masculine/feminine roles. (A lot of authors also seem to have difficulty imagining queer sex that doesn’t involve sticking something into something else!) 

Bad writing replicates mainstream norms and values (which is to say, white, cis-het, able-bodied, middle class, Western, etc.) in supposedly “diverse” characters and storylines, or, alternatively, it fetishizes the diversity of those characters so it’s the only thing the characters are about. Good writing, on the other hand, attempts to fully imagine and live in the perspective and experience of the body, mind, time, place, culture, and reality of that character. Good writing has diverse characters who aren’t defined by their diversity and whose presence in the work feels dynamic, vital, and fully realized as an integral part of the story. 

Exodus: For me, a good example of diversity would be one in which you’re also (fictional or nonfictional) included within the piece. Connected, in some way. A bad example of diversity in writing would be to write for the sake of writing about differences because one, you think it will warrant your popularity within publishing, two, you wish to shock people. As a writer, always ask yourself the whys. Within that why, and outside of your own ego, how would you respond to that potential piece? How would others? 

Audrey: Badly written diversity can come from a place where the writer acts like the expert on experiences that don’t match their own identities, and/or from a writer’s intended audience. So, for example, writing disabled characters to make abled people feel better (inspiration porn; see: Stella Young) is not well-written diversity because it lacks nuance and individual complexity, and it objectifies disabled lives for abled eyes/ears. 

Patricia: I’ll be honest. My peace is always under attack. So I do not stay in places where my borders may be breached. When I see something that bothers me, I tend to deviate course. But if I had to point to an example where diversity fell flat, it was the latest round of Star Wars sequels. John Boyega’s Finn suffers being not just a token, but a jester and a fool. He had the potential to be so many things, but I guess, in fear of a very toxic fanbase, he is left in a vapid storyline, with an incomplete character arc, and dashed aspirations. No Black person was surprised. 

As for good writing, I know the leaders are out there turning things around. African-American author such as Aliza Mann’s work in the paranormal romance and romance genres and groundbreaking territory for Black women and men to truly see themselves in roles not generally assigned by the mainstream and not enough can be said about the earth-shattering contributions to comics that Stephanie Williams has brought to Marvel and DC, despite the reluctance to continue tearing down walls. 

Dominic: A bad example is The American Society for Magical Negroes, which plays more like a romantic comedy than a satire, treating the message with white fragility to keep the audience watching. It does a lot of telling instead of showing when building the supernatural world of the secret society and the real world issues of white fragility.

A good example is the Rodney Barnes graphic novel Blacula: Return of the King. The original movie Blacula was drenched in camp and stereotypes from the first frame on, but the graphic novel presents grounded characters who you can relate to from the first page on. Both try to transcend stereotypes and replace diverse representation, but Barnes’ graphic novel is better at world building, character development, and showing rather than telling. 

Nate: Good diverse writing, like any good writing, focuses on humanity and empathy, driving the story forward not because of how a character looks or where they are from, but through the choices they make in the face of the challenges presented to them. Bad diverse writing is littered with clichés, worn out tropes and stereotypes, and may hinge a plot entirely on assumptions that a writer has (and believes a reader has) about diverse characters. 

Calvin: If I am writing about a holiday cross-country trip and the characters drive through Kansas to arrive in Missouri, it is best to do my research on the states involved and not offend the state by writing about offensive ideas I have or was told about the states. Find historical landmarks or hidden treasures about the area so the reader can be captivated by this state they didn’t know has hidden beauty, and allow the natives to feel a sense of pride from the story being told. 

Francis: I can only speak definitively about my own experience, but I find it very boring and distasteful when authors seem more interested in assuring me that they’re attempting quote unquote good representation of my community than trying to say something interesting or tell a good story. It’s usually very obvious to me if an author doesn’t actually know what they’re talking about when they’re writing about something I’m familiar with, which makes me feel like my time is being wasted as a reader. 

I hate to sound ungrateful, but I can usually tell when an author is trying to write a trans character but doesn’t know any trans people. I would much rather read an interesting story about cis people than feel alienated by a well-meaning cis person’s clumsy, fearful attempts at depiction. I know it comes from a good place, but that doesn’t make it any more enjoyable to read. 

Often the giveaway is not stereotypes, but the author imagining a type of trans person that wouldn’t actually exist because they don’t know our cultural signifiers, ways of speaking, paths of becoming, and what trans people in different contexts may believe, say, or do. Obviously I don’t know every possible experience in the trans community either. Even writing about people similar to yourself involves writing across difference. If trans people can’t write books without other trans people getting mad at them for representational choices, I don’t know why cis people think they’re going to be able to manage it. I would hazard that this is true for a lot of communities. 

For this reason, I worry that sensitivity readers are something of a false promise. There are easy pratfalls that a sensitivity reader will catch, but the idea that a sensitivity reader will keep the writer from making representational gaffes assumes that all members of a group feel the same way about how a character from that group should be depicted. I think we should be very wary of the desire to have someone speak definitively for an entire group of people or experience, particularly in a way that allows writers to wash their hands of the choices they’ve made. Like how translators are credited in a translation to make the work they do on the text visible, I think we should be cognizant of the fact that a sensitivity reader is just another person with opinions. 

There seems to be this underlying belief that the problem of “diversity in writing” can be solved if enough privileged writers can just successfully write every kind of story. To me, long-term, comprehensive funding for the arts at all levels is the only way we’re ever going to change what kinds of stories are told and by which people. Diversity in literature is an institutional and structural issue and should be treated as one. 

Q: In general, how do you approach writing diversely—whether it’s a character who is something you’re not, a setting you know little about, or a theme you haven’t explored yet? 

In Short: 

Everyone approaches this differently, but the top three tips we got from our respondents were: 

1. RESEARCH. Nothing will help you tell your story more, or to greater effect, than research, especially if you’re approaching writing about subjects you have little or no experience with. For more tips on research, check out our blog all about it!
2. ASK QUESTIONS. Think a lot about why you’re writing this story from this perspective in this way. Ask yourself: Why am I writing this story? How can I avoid stereotypes related to this topic? How am I connected to this story?
3. ACCEPT MISTAKES. You’re only human, just like everyone else. You’re bound to make mistakes throughout the writing process and even after you’ve published something. It’s okay to make mistakes—just make sure you listen and learn from them!

Clayton: I start by decentering myself and my experience. I need to inhabit the characters and consider their experiences, which are not necessarily mine. Then, I move into research, especially when I consider characters from backgrounds dissimilar to my own. I talk to people, explore the internet. Social media has become a tremendous tool in understanding different perspectives and experiences. There is a danger to creating a monolithic representation of people and places, one that is easily inhabited by stereotypes, and I work to find the small details or desires within that make an individual character tick within a given environment or socioeconomic structure. Their environment and background inform their interactions with the world, but there is more to a person (or character) than this. I try to think about their quirks, their kinks, the little details that set them apart from the rest of human civilization. Characters need to be written with parts that connect them to readers and parts that are unfamiliar and set them apart from the real world. Settings are the same. I think about what is familiar and a setting and then move into what sets it apart. A grain of sand is familiar but, as we zoom out, it creates a different texture in West Texas than in South Padre Island or in Iraq. 

Charlie: It starts with learning, of course. I read books by and about the people, places, cultures, or religions I’m interested in writing about. I read (or watch, or listen) to people who have lived experience. I spend time with those people or in those places, if I can. Later, I ask friends to be sensitivity readers, and I’ve also paid people to be sensitivity readers. Research is vital, but it also must be said that there’s no replacement for lived experience. As writers and as human beings, it’s so important to acknowledge the limitations of our individual experience and perspective. As a white, able-bodied person, I can never fully understand the experience of a Black, disabled person—though it’s important that I try. As a queer, trans, nonbinary person, I can’t fully understand the experience of a cisgender, heterosexual person (it’s mystifying!). Even with other queer, trans, and/or nonbinary people, my experience and perspective will be different from theirs. When we begin from a place of humility, awareness, and openness to diverse perspectives that may challenge our own, then we often find that we have more in common with each other than we previously thought. But I think it’s important to begin with that foundational understanding that we can’t totally understand—and resolve to try our best anyways. 

Exodus: I really like to root myself to that character, that theme, that setting, no matter how different it varies from my own identity. Not as means to claim it as my own, but as a way to back against the natural fear that often comes up when writing from a perspective that’s not ours. Often, I hear writers talk about not wanting to write from certain viewpoints (for instance, a female-identifying writer who does not want to write a story about a male-identifying character) because, “I don’t know what they’re thinking.” For me, rooting is the solution. It teaches us to listen. It teaches us to listen even when we don’t want to, when we’re nervous that something that is to be revealed may shake up our own personal narratives. This is a good thing to me, and in my opinion. As a writer, I don’t want my only perspective to be the focal point of my existence, when we all live in a world that is this varied. It’s impossible. Limiting. “I don’t know what they’re thinking.” Maybe not. But chances are, it’s some of the same things that you’re thinking about right now. How hungry you are. How afraid you are. How you want things to be different, better. How you wish you could change. Your mom. Your dad. Your siblings. And the biggest one of all—how you hope to find love one day, including self-love. 

Audrey: Being thoughtful feels like the best first step: Why am I writing this? (Why am I the one to write this?) How do I make this feel true and avoid stereotypes, especially harmful ones? What are my touchstones (ex: how the character is similar to me, for instance), and how do I weave that together with elements that are outside of my own particular comfort zone? 

Patricia: Research, research, research. Did I mention research? Respect, respect, respect. Understanding that if a quality is not yours, don’t touch it! In my debut novel, I had a Lakota character. I did my research. I spoke to people. I learned about the culture, the ceremonies, even the language. But in the end, my agent felt that because I was not Native American, I could not use the character. 

So I replaced him with a Tuareg boy from Mali. Initially, I felt like a vast hole had been left in the novel, but as I did my research and allowed the character to come into his own, the character arc worked right into the narrative, seamlessly, and even stitched up a plot hole or two. In the end, I feel more comfortable because I did not transgress in a way that might have upset readers. While I think authors should not be regulated to ‘their side of the road’ mentality, I do think boundaries need to be respected when dabbling with other cultures. 

Nate: We’ve all seen the memes about how male writers write female characters through the male gaze, posing absurdly and remarking on their own anatomies in character descriptions. When I write female characters, I always keep those words of warning in mind, and focus on the character coming to life with their own motivations, needs, wants, and inner life. I think that we fail in writing diversely most when we use diverse characters as “action figures” within a story, rather than imbuing them with the full breath of existence that we do with other characters by default. For any diverse character, it’s essential to know them, inside and out, and to check and double check your notions about who they are. When we ask ourselves why a character we’re creating is the way they are (with any character) we can only make them more real by answering that question honestly.

Calvin: I always try to write about what I know and provide an authentic representation of that diverse idea. I will loosely combine friends, coworkers, or family members and develop a character. Do your research when writing about settings or time periods you don’t have a point of view about. I am not a worldly traveler and haven’t lived in periods beyond the 28 years of my life, so it is important to research online or talk with family or friends who do have experience with the settings or time period I’m writing about. Doing so keeps the reader intrigued, helps them learn more about the setting, and feel a connection with the story. 

Francis: My number one rule for writing is that I don’t write about things I don’t know shit about, because I don’t have anything interesting to say about things I don’t know shit about. If I really want to write about something important to keep in mind the stakes of me being wrong about something like how taking a car apart smells versus the daily lives of child soldiers are very different. *Smokey Bear Voice* only YOU can decide if you have any business writing about something you don’t know or can’t learn firsthand. 

After asking myself if I actually have anything I could possibly bring to the conversation about the thing I want to write about, I do a bunch of research. I try to get a handle on what conversations people are already having about the thing I’m interested in depicting instead of relying on cultural osmosis. I like to approach it from a lot of different directions so I can get not only information, but also get a handle on how people at different vantage points see what I’m writing about—meaning I usually go for books (fiction and nonfiction), movies, Reddit, TikTok, and talk to people in real life. This helps me get a better idea of what I don’t know and what I actually might want to say from my own vantage point. 

I suspect that some writers want to hear that there are five surefire things they can do that will keep them from making embarrassing mistakes while writing about something they haven’t personally experienced, but that’s just not how writing works. If you’re writing about something you don’t know about, you’re putting yourself in a position to show your ass, and sometimes that means you show your ass in a way that makes your ignorance obvious, hurts someone’s feelings, or makes them make fun of you on X (Twitter). There is no way to avoid this, even if you mean well. It will be okay. 

Q: What’s your number one tip to writers when it comes to writing about diverse topics and characters? 

In Short: 

When it comes down to it, there’s no secret formula for getting diversity, and all that it encompasses, right every single time. Everyone approaches it differently, but there are things you can do to ensure you’re coming from a place not only of good intention, but also of good action. These are our respondents’ top advice: 

1. Decenter yourself. Your experience may inform your work, but you must write what is true for the characters. 
2. Challenge your own perspectives and assumptions.
3. Be vulnerable and, most importantly, be respectful. 
4. Read widely; listen and learn. 
5. Consider the repercussions of appropriation. 
6. Educate yourself and be thoughtful about research. 
7. Be your unique self and provide an authentic message to each diverse topic or character you write about.
8. Say something interesting about how you see the world. 

Clayton: Remember to decenter yourself. Your experience may inform the characters, setting, and theme, but you must write what is true for the characters. I subscribe to the idea that everything we write exists in an imaginary world, a world that borders and mirrors our own. This means writing a reflection of our world but not necessarily writing our world. You have to let go of yourself a bit and allow the world of your characters to develop to what is natural for that world. 

Charlie: If your perspectives and assumptions aren’t feeling challenged, you’re probably doing something wrong! You can’t write about people unlike you and topics unfamiliar to you and leave unchanged—and that’s a good thing. Stay curious, be respectful, ask questions, and be available to change. 

Exodus: Be vulnerable, and absolutely be respectful. Lean away from stereotypes unless they are ones that you personally share as well. Again, be respectful. When you write with respect, there’s less of a chance of hurting someone. You will know that your heart was in the right place during the creation’s process, and your readers will be able to pick up on that. If you make a mistake, learn from them, forgive yourself, apologize, and proceed forward as not only a better writer, but as a better individual as well. 

Audrey: Read widely in the spirit of listening and learning. This applies to fiction, but also to others’ realities–through creative nonfiction, poetry, social media, etc. 

Patricia: A cultural element might seem cool and pretty, but don’t pick it up. Consider the repercussions of appropriation. You may like a particular dance in a culture, and you may bend and shift it to make it fit in your story, but it’s still appropriation. Look for similar dances in your own cultural realms that might be of use to your narrative. The greatest marvels are usually right under our noses and in our backyards. Don’t ignore them. 

Fantasy makes appropriation too easy because an author can mish-mash and create a Frankenstein of multiple cultural items, but in doing so you assimilate those cultures and erase them, paying neither homage nor uplifting the elements that created your inspiration. Look for lines of similarity, research them, lift what you need for your narrative, but if you find yourself white-washing or revising a culture: cease and desist. 

Nate: Educate yourself—be thoughtful about researching and curious about learning, and talk to people with diverse backgrounds and experiences. 

Calvin: Be your unique self and provide an authentic message to each diverse topic or character you write about. We all have unique mindsets, and it is important to provide the reader with access to a piece of your brain by creating characters that have multiple layers like humans, animals, settings, and more that we interact with every day. 

Francis: Say something interesting about how you see the world! Do your best, work with the limitations of your own understanding, and keep it moving!

Other Resources for Writing Diversely 

Now that you’ve heard from a range of voices about diversity in storytelling, continue to expand your horizons! There are ample resources across the web that can help you learn more about approaching diverse topics. These are a few that stand out:

• Writing Diversely, which offers tools, guidance, and support for storytellings 
• WritingWithColor, a Tumblr blog dedicated to writing and resources centered on racial, ethnic, and religious diversity. 
• Writing the Other, a small collection of resources for creating inclusive fiction and other narratives. 

Most importantly, though, make sure to read work by a diverse set of authors—such as the ones recommended in this blog—and do your own research on the topics you’re interested in. We can’t wait to see what you dream up!

In my experience, the most frequently given writing advice is, “Write what you know.” Unfortunately, I’ve also often seen it taken the wrong way—that you should only write about things that are completely, 100% relevant to you. But that’s not what “write what you know” is really trying to get at. It can mean many things. For one, it means to write about the emotions and real-life experience you’re familiar with. How do you react when you’re angry? Characters should react the same way. How do real people communicate in relationships? Characters can do the same. But the other part of “writing what you know” comes from one very important—essential, in fact—but oft overlooked aspect of writing: research. 

Research enhances storytelling in so many ways, making it more authentic, detailed, and engaging. Conducting research in order to have greater accuracy in your work is both important and worth your time. Even in a story that is more fantastical than it is real, research will help make those fantastical elements more believable. In this blog, we’ll cover why research matters, real examples of research in writing, tips on conducting research, and how to ensure you’re drawing from a diverse set of sources as you continue your writing journey.

Why Research Matters

Research is a habit only acquired through sheer force of will, but it is necessary for finding plots and writing good stories. It adds authenticity, helping you craft accurate details to make stories more believable. This leads to increased depth and detail, layers that add richness to the narrative. Research also serves as inspiration, sparking new ideas and plot points as you delve further into it. It also provides you with better credibility. Well-researched content will stand out and build trust with readers.

Research in the Real World

Authors everywhere conduct research to make their writing more memorable, impactful, and accurate. Even literary fiction requires research. If you’re writing about a barista at a coffee shop but have never worked as one, how do you know the steps they take to make a latte? 

When writing All The Light We Cannot See, a historical fiction novel that takes place during World War II, Anthony Doerr was inspired by traveling to Saint-Malo, France, a city nearly destroyed during the war. The novel took 10 years to write, and most of that time was spent researching. The product, however, was worth it—winning the Pulitzer Prise is no small feat, after all. 

Other areas of storytelling require similar research efforts. For The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien conducted extensive research into languages, mythology, and history to create Middle-Earth. Prolific science fiction author Isaac Asimov wrote a series of non-fiction essays that both speculate on scientific topics and explain them. While some of the science is now outdated (when Asimov was around, we still thought there might be sentient life on Mars, for example), much of it does hold up and has been imbued into his work. Not only does this make the work more believable, but it also fed his story plots, characters, and technologies. 

This is not to say that you can’t invent things for your world. Technology that has yet to exist is, after all, a hallmark of the sci-fi genre, as is magic in fantasy. But the more research you do about everything surrounding what you make up for your story, the more real it will feel to readers. Plus, the occasional expert who encounters your work may be pleasantly surprised by what they find. 

3 Tips for Conducting Effective Research

Conducting research can feel like standing in an endless library, searching for the perfect book to read, and no idea where to start. There are so many topics and, these days, so much noise surrounding every topic. Here are three tips to help you get started:

1. Start with questions. First identify what you need to know in order to support your story. For example, if you’re writing a science fiction piece, what areas of science do you need to know more about? 
2. Utilize a variety of sources. Books and academic papers will provide in-depth, reliable information. Online databases and archives will have the widest range of topics and perspectives easily on hand. By interviewing and consulting with experts, you can gain insights from real people with first-hand experience or specialized knowledge. Documentaries and news articles can often provide you with the most visual and current information. Don’t write off social media, either. While you have to be careful when vetting your sources—and always make sure additional sources back up what is being shared, some of the best first-hand accounts of particular research topics can be found there. 
3. Organize your research. While researching, take detailed notes and citations so that you don’t lose what you’ve discovered and so that you can refer back and cite properly when utilizing it in your story. Tools like Evernote, Notion, Scrivener, and research journals can all be helpful in organizing your research. Work to implement a system that can be easily referenced during the writing process so that you don’t break your own writing flow while searching for information you know you have.

Ensuring Diverse and Reliable Sources

It’s easy to fall into familiar habits when researching, such as going to sources you already know or focusing on topics you’re more familiar with. But just as it’s important to research, it’s equally important to ensure any research you collect comes from diverse and reliable sources. Differing viewpoints will only enrich the narrative you create. 

When looking for reliable research sources, make sure to: 

• Check the credibility and expertise of authors. 
• Cross-reference all information using multiple sources. 
• Seek out sources that offer balanced and varied perspectives. 
• Utilize other people, like beta readers and sensitivity readers, to ensure the quality and accuracy of your work. 

Remember, you can’t get everything right 100% of the time—and it’s okay to be wrong sometimes. Using all the tools available to you is the best way to prevent getting it really wrong while also helping you produce the best possible work you can. And remember, everyone and everything has bias. It appears even in places where it seems most unlikely to, so always ask: how is this information potentially biased? Did the organization that published it have a stake in how it’s presented? Did the author? Is anyone making money from this? Is there an agenda behind this piece that might affect the information it’s giving me? While the answer to those questions is almost always going to be that there is some potential bias in the information you’ve gathered, it’s up to you to determine how this affects how you’re using the information in this story. It should often still be usable as long as you’re aware of the bias it holds. 

For example, let’s say you’re researching how baristas make lattes and come across an article from a popular café chain like Peet’s Coffee. The article supplies you with all of the steps their baristas take when crafting the perfect latte. In this case, keep in mind that Peet’s Coffee is always trying to get you to buy more of Peet’s Coffee. Since that doesn’t really affect the steps of making a latte, you can disregard that potential bias. However, you may want to check out a couple other articles about making a latte to see if the general information provided aligns. This is because Peet’s Coffee baristas may make their lattes using a specific piece of tech that you’d need to include in your story to make it believable if you’re only trusting this source. A great idea here would be to interview your local coffee shop’s barista to see how their routine differs. 

Practical Steps for Evaluating Research Sources

1. Search for the author’s information. Use academic databases, author profiles on university or other organization websites, and professional networking sites like LinkedIn to find detailed information about the author. This can help you confirm if they are truly an expert in their field or not. Using our barista example, if the person who wrote the Peet’s Coffee article can be found on LinkedIn, it would inspire greater belief in their credibility if “barista” is experience listed on their profile. 
2. Review the author’s other publications. Examine their previous work for quality, relevance, and bias. If they don’t have any other publications, it might be worthwhile to double-check their work through other sources. 
3. Check citations and references. Look at how often the author’s work or article is cited by others in the field, which can be an indication of its general influence and accepted expertise. Let’s say the Peet’s Coffee article is linked on several other niche blogs. This betters its credibility as it indicates that others have found the information to be useful and accurate. Of course, you’ll want to give those sources a skim to make sure they’re not just panning the article. 
4. Read reviews. Sometimes, word of mouth (or keyboard) is the best way to get a feel for how much of an expert an author may really be. Comments on blogs, reviews in academic journals, and other reputable review platforms and sources can help you determine who this author is and if they truly are an expert. 
5. Analyze the content yourself. Critically assess any content you’re using for depth, accuracy, and balance. Ask questions like: What does the author get from saying that? What is the overall argument and message of this piece? How did that statistic come about? Trust your instincts—if something seems off, there’s a good chance it is. Determine what might be off about it and adjust accordingly. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter in the context of your research. But other times, it can change everything. 

Exercises

This time, we’ve put together two different exercises to get at different aspects of the research process. Both are important, but you can tackle them at any time or in any order you like. 

Library

Head to your local library with a topic in mind such as: outer space, South Korean history, theatrical costumes. Roam among the shelves (or talk to your librarian) until you find reference material that gives you a deep dive into your topic. Spend at least one hour researching the topic, taking notes as you go. Another day, return to those notes and determine if there’s a story somewhere in there—I bet there will be!

Interview

Interview someone about something that you know very little about. For example: interview a pilot about flying planes, ask a doorperson at a building about their job, question how a sculpture artist builds their sculptures. Following the interview, write a story about the topic, using what you’ve learned to inspire your characters, setting, conflict, or overall narrative.

Your Recipe for Writing

In conclusion, research is essential to the writing process. While it can feel overwhelming or like a drag, try to have fun with it! Going to your local library to do some research is not only a great way to get on the path to storytelling, but while you’re there you may also be able to expand your writing community. There’s so much to learn, so try to focus on topics you really care about and that will help breathe life into your story. Continue researching the storytelling journey and more tips for improving your writing by staying up-to-date with Facts of Fiction!

Now that you know what voice is, it’s time to find your own. This may seem intimidating at first, but really it just comes with knowledge and practice. Remember, narrative voice is made up of point of view, story structure, and pacing as well as the author’s and characters’ voices. As you begin to explore what your own writing voice sounds like, take risks and try different things. Your voice should be unique and stand out among other writers, but it should also still be accessible and match the theme and genre of your story. Think about writers you admire. What makes them stand out to you? 

Ernest Hemingway, for example, is known for a concise, straightforward, and realistic writing style that moves the narrative along quickly. Despite a lack of flowery language, his simple descriptions still paint a clear picture and reveal deeper meanings underneath. Toni Morrison, on the other hand, describes her own writing style as “enchantment,” in which she blends historical realism with myths and supernatural tales. The overall effect is accessible language blended with varied sentence structure that brings a sense of magic to the words themselves. 

These are just two examples of how voices in writing can be unique and how particular authors develop their own personal styles. Finding your own is an important step in establishing yourself as a writer. 

Steps to Discovering Your Voice

1. Experimenting

In order to discover your own writer’s voice, you need to try out different things: points of view, tones, styles, and pacing techniques. Find what feels comfortable to you but also don’t be afraid to try new things and take risks. Writing regularly will help with this. The more time you spend writing, the more you’ll experiment with different techniques, and the further you’ll get on your journey to discovering your voice. 

2. Self-Reflecting

As you embark on this journey, continuously self-reflect by asking yourself questions about your writing style. What feels natural to you? What seems to best fit your story? Which point of view do you like reading the most? Which do you enjoy writing the most? Would you call yourself more of a flowery, descriptive writer or more of a Hemingway-esque writer who lives in brevity? Answering these and other questions about your own writing style will help you on your journey. Journaling and having free-writing sessions regularly can help you with this.

3. Reading Widely 

Only by studying different authors and genres can you begin to get a true grasp on voice. Read diverse works from authors of all genres and areas of the world to influence and inspire your own work. For aspiring writers, these short stories are a good starting place for discovering distinct voices: 

• A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner: Faulkner is known for his distinct, flowery writing style that involves long-winded descriptions and lots of adjectives. It’s not for everyone, but the style lends itself to the stories he tells. 
• The Cold Equations by Tom Godwin: Science-fiction is known for its concise sentences and world-building. This short story embodies both while teasing out the deeper meaning hidden between every line. 
• Bloodchild by Octavia Butler: This science-fiction piece, which explores the power dynamics of pregnancy and horror that can be childbirth, is set in first person, taking us directly into the eyes of the main character. 

Take a look back at examples we’ve drawn on for this series if you’re looking for additional inspiration and voices to study. Plus, you can subscribe to F(r)iction for further reading!

4. Staying Consistent

One way to help establish a strong, unique voice is by remaining consistent with your voice throughout a piece. While experimentation is a great place to get started and find your niche, the final product of a story must have a consistent, established tone in order to impact readers the way you want it to. Your voice should feel purposeful throughout every part of the story. In order to maintain a consistent voice throughout a piece, keep these three tips in mind:

1. Stick to one point of view. Whether you choose third person omniscient, first person, or any other point of view, don’t switch between them in a single piece. Shifting point of view can be done, but it’s difficult to pull off and must be carefully planned—and very purposeful. 
2. Maintain a consistent tone. Whether you’re writing science fiction or literary fiction, stick to the tone that you start out with. If you’re going for a dark comedy, keep it dark and humorous until the end. If you’re writing suspense, maintain that air of suspense throughout the entire piece. Tone blending can, of course, be done, as many books and films demonstrate. But doing it successfully is difficult, and failing at it hinders a story.
3. Be purposeful with your writing style. If you’re a more flowery, descriptive writer, make sure each word and description has a purpose within the narrative. On the other hand, if you prefer a briefer writing style, don’t avoid necessary descriptions just because you’re trying to keep it concise. 

5. Being Authentic

What does it mean to be authentic? It doesn’t necessarily mean you can only “write about what you know,” although that can be a part of it. What it does mean is that you should balance originality—original characters following an original plot and worldbuilding—with relatability—characters who act like real people, motivations that make sense, and actions that have realistic results. If it doesn’t feel real and authentic to readers, they might not stick around for more. 

6. Getting Feedback and Revising

Use feedback to help refine your voice. It’s essential to the writing process to share your work through workshops, writing groups, and beta readers. The iterative process of writing and revising is how you will ultimately establish your unique writer’s voice and have a final product. For tips on finding a writing community to workshop with, check out this blog!

Employing Voice by Genre

Genre is another important aspect that will help define your voice. While each specific genre doesn’t have a strict rule for what voice can sound like, there are some styles of writing that tend to better suit specific genres: 

Science Fiction

Many sci-fi stories employ shorter, choppier sentences to help move detailed descriptions of imaginative worlds, complex technology, and speculative concepts along. It’s important to utilize precise language and clear descriptions to craft vivid images of the futuristic setting, advanced technology, and alien cultures that you are introducing to readers. Sci-fi stories must also balance fast-paced action scenes with slower, more contemplative moments that help build tension in the narrative and maintain reader engagement. Additionally, clear explanations are necessary for depicting complex scientific concepts and implementing technical terms. 

Literary Fiction

Works in this genre tend to embrace flowy, stream-of-consciousness, or flowery language. Again, there are exceptions—Hemingway, for example—but because literary fiction lends itself to more real-to-life stories and familiar, relatable worlds, it’s easier to embellish the text without confusing the reader. In general, you can get away with a more experimental writing style when it comes to literary fiction. Ultimately, literary fiction tends to be more about introspection and character depth, diving into the inner lives of characters, more than other genres. Crafting dialogue that feels natural and true to life and weaving recurring themes and symbolism throughout the narrative will give it depth and intrigue beyond the more ordinary narrative. 

Fantasy

Like science fiction, fantasy relies on heavy worldbuilding and immersive descriptions to develop a richly detailed world with its own history, cultures, and rules. Descriptive language is important here to paint vivid pictures of fantastical settings, creatures, and magic systems. Giving each character a distinctive voice that reflects their background, role within the world, and personality will help readers maintain a level of familiarity with it. Additionally, it’s important to balance action and description in fantasy, keeping the narrative engaging and dynamic. Use action to drive the plot forward while allowing descriptive passages to build the world and deepen character development. 

Mystery, Thriller, and Horror

The goal of these works is often to create suspense and tension through pacing and tone. Authors like Stephen King, Agatha Christie, and Edgar Allen Poe have mastered the use of things like subtlety, foreshadowing, urgency, atmosphere, and the use of graphic and sensory details in order to imbue their stories with a sense of mystery, thrill, and horror. Throughout all of this, they maintain a consistent tone—one that aligns with the genre’s specific mood—ensure that each character has a distinct voice that reflects their personality and role in the story, and, most importantly, utilize the rules of “show, don’t tell.”

Exercise 

Write down three to five books with an authorial or narrative voice you especially admire. Then, looking at a chapter or short section from each book, examine the parts that you think are making this voice particularly compelling: What POV do they use? What kinds of characters do they feature? Is the writing fast- or slow-paced? What kinds of conflicts are present in the story? Stylistically, what kinds of nouns, verbs, and adjectives does the author use? Are the sentences short, long, or mixed? Do they use a lot of metaphors and other figures of speech or are those sparing? 

Practice Makes Perfect

If you take anything away from this blog, take away that in order to establish your own unique writer’s voice, you have to write. While there are plenty of tips I can give you, workshops you can go to, and exercises you can do, at the end of the day, only through practicing your writing—and reading a lot—can you truly implement a voice of your own. So don’t be afraid to journal every day and practice different styles! Take a look back at all the exercises we’ve featured in the Facts of Fiction series and tackle them with a new eye for voice. 

How does one differentiate between two impressionist artists like Monet and Van Gogh? Well, aside from seeing their signature on their work, each artist has their own particular style of impressionism that anyone who has studied the arts would recognize. Similarly, writers also have distinct writing styles that we define as voice. 

The writer’s voice is part of what makes two authors in the same genre unique and how some writers make themselves instantly recognizable to the well-read. But what is voice and how does one accomplish it? 

What Is Voice? 

In literature, “voice” refers to the rhetorical mixture of vocabulary, tone, point of view, syntax, punctuation, and rhythm that makes up phrases, sentences, and paragraphs within a work. Novels can have multiple voices, including the author’s, the characters’, and the narrator’s. Together, these all make up the overall voice of a story. 

Author’s Voice vs. Character’s Voice

Tone, word selection, sentence structure, and punctuation all comprise the author’s voice. This voice makes each author unique and is how we differentiate Jane Austen from Emily Brontë or Stephen King from Shirley Jackson. 

Character’s voice, on the other hand, is conveyed through the author’s voice whenever the author expresses a character’s individual thoughts, personality, and speech style. Each character’s voice should be different and easy to distinguish. Readers should know when we are in one character’s head over another, which is where point of view comes in. Depending on the author’s voice and what best benefits the story, point of view will be essential to each characters’ voice.

Things like point of view, story structure, and pacing make up what’s referred to as narrative voice, which plays a key role in character development, reader engagement, and conveying the important themes and emotions of the story. A strong narrative voice can elevate the impact of the story, creating a more memorable experience for the audience. 

One other thing to note about voice is that it’s not just used in literature. While we may be largely referencing and speaking to the writer’s voice in this article, even movie directors have distinct “voices” or directorial styles that they use to better tell their cinematic stories. The same ideas expressed here can be used across all kinds of storytelling genres. 

Points of View From All Perspectives 

As mentioned before, the perspective from which a story is told, also known as point of view, makes up a portion of the narrative voice. There are four kinds of points of view, which can be broken down as such: 

First Person

The first type of perspective uses “I” or “we” as pronouns within the story, implying that the narrator is also a character within the story. They are often but not always the main character in first-person narratives.

This point of view is especially effective for stories that seek to fully immerse the reader in the narrator, making them feel as though they are seeing the story and its entire world through the character’s eyes. First person narratives lend themselves to a closeness between the narrator and the reader, and thus can also be used to provide a very close, one-sided, and perhaps unreliable perspective throughout the story. If you wish to tell a story wherein certain aspects are hidden from the reader until the exact right moment to reveal them, first person is a good choice for a narrator’s voice. 

First person narratives can sometimes be tricky to get right; if done poorly, readers may find themselves confused or bored by such a limited perspective. However, this kind of narration provides great opportunity for introspection and internal transformations. Stories that focus on one particular character and their personal journey over the course of the story may find that first person point of view is the best choice. 

Famous examples of a first person narrator used well include The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, and Yellowface by R.F. Kuang. In F(r)iction, you can check out Summer Home by Brett Riley for a great example of first person narration. 

Second Person

This unique point of view addresses the reader as “you” throughout, making the reader feel as if they are a character throughout the story. Second person is often used in epistolary writing but is not a popular form of point of view in general. It is exceedingly tricky to get right and feel natural rather than gimmicky. However, some famous novels have managed it, including If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino and The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. You Die In the End by Nicole Hebdon also uses second person effectively. 

Only use second person if you’re sure it will add to your story rather than take away from it. Sometimes, it is a great way for an author to get at a particularly personal subject by addressing a “you” directly in the text. 

Third Person Limited

This point of view uses the pronouns “he,” “she,” “it,” “they,” and any other identifying pronoun that applies to the character to tell the story. Unlike in first and second person, the narrator remains outside of the story but they are limited to expressing one character’s thoughts and experiences at a time. Perhaps the most popularly used perspective, third person limited offers more flexibility in terms of storytelling than first and second person while still allowing for a level of unreliability and closeness to the narrator throughout. You can tell your story from multiple perspectives using third person limited, but you have to change up the perspective and character’s voice each time you do. 

Examples of third person limited POV from popular novels include To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, 1984 by George Orwell, and A Song of Fire and Ice by George R.R. Martin. Check out The Forgiveness Machine by Joy Baglio from F(r)iction for an idea of what this point of view looks like in flash fiction. 

Third Person Omniscient 

This point of view utilizes an all-knowing narrator who can access multiple characters’ thoughts and perspectives. Like third person limited, it also uses “he,” “she,” “it,” and “they” throughout the story but the narrator in this case can tell us information about the entire story from a bird’s eye point of view. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy is a great example of this, as the narrator can not only tell us what is happening throughout the story, but they can also read people’s thoughts and tell us about events that individual characters wouldn’t necessarily know. 

Third person omniscient is the ideal storytelling type for big, epic stories where hiding information from the reader would be more of a hindrance than a help. It can be ideal when there is a large cast of characters with separate storylines or when you are creating an entirely new world for readers to be immersed in—with an omniscient narrator, you can tell them just about anything at any time. Other examples of third person omniscient include Beloved by Toni Morrison, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guinn. An example from F(r)iction: Disappearing Act by David Galef. 

Choosing an appropriate point of view for a story may come naturally, as most authors have one that they are especially comfortable with, or it may require a lot of thought as you consider what would benefit your story the most. Generally speaking, third person limited and omniscient tend to be the safer choices and first and second person should only be used in very particular cases. Always remember that the story itself must come first: if you cannot come up with a good reason to use a particular point of view, you probably shouldn’t use it. 

Other Types of Narrative Voice

Free Indirect Discourse

Many famous authors have an incredibly distinct and recognizable voice that sets them apart from other authors. This is especially the case for those who have invented or popularized particular writing styles. One such style is called free indirect discourse, the hallmark of Jane Austen. 

Free indirect discourse is a form of narration written in the third person that maintains some essential elements of a first-person narrator. Through it, an author can describe the inner workings of characters, revealing their private thoughts and emotions, while still remaining at an observational distance. It allows the author to head-hop from one character to another at their discretion. In this way, it is similar to third person limited, but it is distinct in that it allows the author to change perspectives within the same paragraph or even sentence. This makes it a form of third person omniscient, but compared to most uses of third person omniscient, it is more discerning in how and when to be omniscient. 

Today, free indirect discourse is used almost without thought, but during Austen’s time it was a new and emerging style of writing that she explored voraciously in her works. Here is an example of how it is used in Pride and Prejudice as Elizabeth contemplates her family: 

“They were hopeless of remedy. Her father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restrain the wild giddiness of his younger daughters; and her mother, with manners so far from right herself, was entirely insensible of evil. Elizabeth had frequently united with Jane in an endeavor to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother’s indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable, and completely under Lydia’s guidance, had always been affronted by their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them a hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of Longbourn, they would be going there forever.”

While this excerpt is clearly told from the point of view of an omniscient third person, that narrator is nonetheless sharing with us Elizabeth’s private thoughts and feelings on her family. 

Writing Style and Pacing

Along with point of view, style and pacing affect the voice of a story immensely. A story that moves along quickly, taking its audience from plot point to plot point with little time wasted feels actionable and hurried. A story that takes more time, lingering in certain spots and places asks the audience to slow down and enjoy the story at a most leisurely pace. Either choice can add to the overall narrative effect of the story and says a lot about the writer’s own style. 

Writing style also pertains to things like word choice, length of sentences, setting and character descriptions, story structure, and more. 

Speak Now

Voice is an essential and often misunderstood aspect of writing. Some aspects of an author’s voice are innate to that author. But voice can be curated and adapted when needed in order to bring out the overall narrative voice that will tell a story best. As you embark on your own writing journey, experiment with different narrative voices to see what best fits you. Read some of the examples we’ve provided to get a better idea of how to establish a strong narrative voice and make sure to tune in to our next blog in Facts of Fiction to discover your very own narrative voice.

What Is Theme? 

Have you ever asked yourself: Why am I writing this story? 

In storytelling, the answer to that question is usually the theme. Theme is an essential part of ensuring a story feels impactful, layered, and relevant. If the plot is the events that take place throughout it, the theme is its topic and message. 

Literary themes are the underlying meanings of a story as explored by the author. They are presented through the other elements of the story, such as character, voice, language, and conflict. Together, all the elements of a story add up to explicate and explore the story’s themes—most stories have more than one. 

Knowing the themes your story is trying to explore may not come immediately or even as you finish up a first draft. But once you take a step away, reread what you’ve written, and ruminate on its meaning, themes should begin to emerge naturally. Further drafts should aim to emphasize, elevate, and enhance these themes without making them either too obvious or too vague. To get started on thinking about themes, learn about five of the most popular literary themes and how best to utilize them in a story. 

1. Good vs. Evil 

Despite being one of the most popular and well-explored themes of all time, getting good vs. evil right can be difficult. Stories that explore good vs. evil look at the moral conflict between opposing forces. Often, these forces are depicted so that one is good and one is bad, with the audience rooting for the good side to win. 

But good vs. evil as a theme is best explored when it is not clear exactly what is good and what is evil. Characters who are considered “good” can still make poor choices and do bad things, just as characters who are considered “evil” can do good things. Classic examples of good vs. evil in stories may seem to explore this kind of conflict only on a surface level: the wicked queen poisons the good princess; the evil witch lures the innocent children into the forest; the ugly ogre blocks the way of the chivalrous knight. Underneath, however, all stories that seriously explore good vs. evil as a theme should seek to expose the truth of human nature and its complexities. Even the most villainous of characters need to have motivation for what they do, and all characters and conflicts should have layers of depth. 

Good vs. evil is found across all genres and mediums as a theme. In literature, it can be found in stories from The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien to To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Both novels explore good and evil on multiple levels and in very different but effective ways. In film, good vs. evil appears in most action and adventure films, including those such as the Star Wars series, as well as in sagas like The Godfather. Television has series such as Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, and The Sopranos. Even video games, such as the Mass Effect series, and comic books, like Batman, feature themes of good and evil explored on multiple levels. But what do these examples do right and, perhaps sometimes, wrong? 

The Dos and Don’ts of Good vs. Evil

Do: Explore this theme both at a high level (such as through epic battles) and at a personal level (internally in characters), as Tolkein does in The Lord of the Rings. To really get at the heart of this theme, it should play out in multiple ways throughout the course of your story. 

Don’t: Take it just on a surface level, making everything black and white. The best stories explore how good and evil is found in all of us and in everything. Nothing is truly just good or just evil. Your characters and plot should reflect this in small and big ways, showing how ambiguous the concept of good and evil really is. The TV series Game of Thrones does this well, with characters taking actions throughout the series that can be considered good or bad for different reasons. 

Do: Subvert expectations. This means to set the audience up to anticipate something they have already seen many times before, and then pay off that anticipation in an entirely different way. For example, let’s say you create a character who is very hero-coded: they get the vocation to the hero’s journey, have special powers, and are seemingly “good.” Then, instead of making them the hero of the story, they become the villain instead. You can surprise readers and capture their interest while still exploring your theme. 

Don’t: Fall into clichés. Subversion is one way to avoid this, but make sure you don’t just make your evil characters dark, ugly, and pointlessly cruel in opposition to a “good” character who is light, beautiful, and constantly kind. These characters are tropey at best and offensive at worst. Add complexity to yours!

2. Love

As one of the most popular themes of all time, love shows up in many ways: romantic, familial, platonic, and more. Using love as a theme means diving into the complexities of relationships, the pitfalls of communication, and the ways the humans interact with each other. Love is a great theme to use if you’re particularly interested in depicting different kinds of character relationships. It can also be used as a great motivator to set many different story lines into action—why did that character do that thing? Because of love, of course. 

Countless works across different genres and mediums explore love as a theme in profound and diverse ways. Literary works such as Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and the ubiquitous Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare depict some of the greatest love stories of our time. Movies like Titanic and The Notebook also heavily feature love as a theme. Love appears in music, artwork, TV shows, poems, and so much more. 

When utilizing love as a major theme in your work, think about both the good and the bad that it can bring. While love can bring people together, it can also tear them apart. It is a powerful force that has the potential to change things dramatically for your characters and plot. In using love as theme, think about these three things: 

1. What does love say about your character(s)? The best works that feature love as a major theme use it to analyze the internal workings of particular characters. How they love, who they love, and what they do about that love is an essential component of who they are as a person. 
   
2. What consequences does love have in your story? If your story is ultimately about love, then there must be some kind of consequence or cost associated with it. Whether love is viewed very positively or very negatively, or somewhere in-between, since it is such a powerful force, it must have some kind of effect on the conclusion of the story. In Harry Potter for example, Harry’s mother’s love saves him from being killed, setting off every following event that happens in the story. Thus, love is the ultimate consequence for both the protagonist and the antagonist. 
   
3. What forms does love take in your stories? Remember, not all love is the same. In a story, it’s a good idea to contrast forms of love with one another to highlight how they work and what message they’re bringing out in your story. For example, let’s say one character has unconditional love for another. In order to show this, have another character show what conditional love looks like in contrast. 

3. Redemption

Everyone loves a good redemption arc. An antagonist making up for their wrongdoings? A hero overcoming their fears? It’s a tale as old as time, and a very effective one at that. 

Stories about redemption show how people can overcome failures, wrongdoings, or mistakes. This theme is inherently intertwined with the concept of transformation, since in order to find redemption, characters must go through some kind of personal transformation. This is why these stories are often centered on one character who goes through a character arc in which they learn to overcome a past mistake and make up for it. An iconic example of what this might look like is Jean Valjean from Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. Valjean starts the novel by stealing silver from a priest who has helped him. Wrought with guilt after the kindness of the priest, Valjean vows to spend his life making up for it and becomes a beloved father, savior, and overall good man. Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender is another great example of a well-executed redemption arc. He begins the story as the bitter, exiled prince of the Fire Nation who is desperate to capture the Avatar and restore his honor, and he ends the story having fought his father and sister head-on in order to restore the world to balance. 

But redemption stories don’t always have to end on a good note. For some, the message may be that nobody is beyond redemption. For others, it may be that some people are irredeemable. The message that you chose to give in your story depends on where you want it to go. When taking on a redemption story, ask yourself:

What Makes a Compelling Redemption Arc? 

1. Character Growth and Transformation: A character who is able to overcome whatever it is that requires them to be redeemed is the apex of a good redemption story.
   
2. Acknowledgement of Faults and Mistakes: Usually, redemption stories require characters to face their faults, mistakes, or past wrongdoings head on. This acknowledgement is a crucial step towards seeking redemption and often involves feelings of guilt, remorse, or regret. 
   
3. Facing Consequences: Redemption often involves characters facing the consequences of their past actions, which can be the reason why they realize they need to be redeemed. These consequences may look like punishment, societal judgment, or personal repercussions. 

Remember, while characters who are looking for redemption may seek forgiveness from those they have wronged, the point of redemption is not always to be forgiven. Sometimes, redemption is found in other ways and you, as the storyteller, get to decide how that is. 

4. Coming of Age 

What does it mean to “come of age”? In literature, coming of age stories focus on characters’ physical and emotional transition from adolescence to adulthood. An extremely popular theme that has been explored by various works across genres and mediums, coming of age stories lend themselves to rich storytelling opportunities. They are also often taught during middle and high school as students themselves begin to make this transition. 

Books such as The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger and the aforementioned To Kill a Mockingbird both explore the coming of age of their main characters. Films like Stand By Me (1986) and Lady Bird (2017) also explore this theme. TV shows that focus on a younger cast, such as Stranger Things and Reply 1988 are also coming of age stories. All of these works seek to capture the complexities and universal experience of growing up, from facing challenges and uncertainties to having moments of self-discovery, friendship, and personal transformation. They are marked by how much the characters change throughout the course of the story as they grow up. 

Coming of age is a popular theme for short fiction as well, as seen in The Pillars of Creation by Walter Thompson. Three things found in this story that often define this theme type include: 

1. A Young Main Character: In order to work as a coming of age story, it must center around one (or several) young character(s) who start out still having childhood innocence and naivety and who must discard that over time as they become adults.
   
2. An Inciting Event: Similar to the Hero’s Journey, coming of age stories are often marked by some kind of event that transpires, forcing the character to change from adolescent to adult. In The Pillars of Creation, this is the narrator’s father dying. 
   
3. A Struggle to Grow: Stories should never make it too easy on the characters to go through what they must go through. Coming of age stories, in particular, usually highlight the struggle it takes to shed that childhood innocence and become an adult and accept all the burden that comes with being one. 

If you’re considering writing a coming of age story, think about what you went through as you became an adult. Coming of age stories are popular because they feel so universal. Lean into those memories and get writing!

5. Revenge

You have to be careful with revenge, as if you let it get too far, it may consume you… 

As a theme, revenge drives intense, gripping narratives that also explore what justice truly is and what the cost of vengeance is on the soul. These stories are often fueled by intense emotions of anger, hatred, betrayal, and a desire for justice, driving the protagonist or antagonist to seek retribution for perceived—whether real or not—wrongs. 

Stories of revenge also often delve into moral ambiguity, raising questions about the morality of seeking revenge, the consequences of violent actions, and the ethical implications of pursuing justice through personal vendettas. Revenge narratives often explore the theme of cyclical violence wherein acts of revenge lead to further retaliation, perpetuating a pattern of retribution and escalation. 

The best stories that ruminate on revenge should involve complex character motivations, explore justice and retribution, and seek to determine if revenge can be taken too far—and what happens when it is. Consider exploring these famous examples of revenge narratives if you’re going to explore revenge as a theme: 

• The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas: Considered the greatest revenge story ever written, this iconic novel follows protagonist Edmond Dantés’ quest for vengeance against those who wronged him. It showcases the psychological and moral complexities of dedicating your life to revenge and the consequences that follow. 
  
• I Saw the Devil (2010): In this South Korean action-thriller film directed by Kim Jee-woon, an NIS agent embarks on a quest for revenge when his wife is brutally murdered by a psychopathic serial killer. The story and its horrific conclusion reveal the consequences of what can happen when your thirst for vengeance is greater than your morals. *Warning: This film is extremely violent and not for everyone, take caution before watching. 
  
• Vinland Saga: Written and illustrated by Makoto Yukimura, this Japanese manga series follows Thorfinn, a young boy whose father is murdered by mercenaries. As he grows up, he trains in hopes of killing those who murdered his father. Thorfinn’s journey shows what can happen when you dedicate your life to revenge and the twists and turns that follow. 

Exercise

Choose a theme outlined above. Write down a list of words and comparing/contrasting notions that come to mind when you think of that theme. Then, write a passage or short story that utilizes those words in order to express the theme throughout.

Staying On Theme

Whatever your story is, it must have a deeper meaning—a message that you’re trying to speak to your audience through its other elements. This message is your theme (or, in some cases, themes) and everything in your story should layer up to explore this theme in multiple ways. You can start out with a theme in mind and imagine how you might tell a story that speaks to it, or you can start telling a story and then go back and figure out what messages appear along the way. Take a look at the kinds of stories F(r)iction publishes to see if you can figure out the themes of each!

What Is Worldbuilding? 

Worldbuilding, or the process of constructing an imaginary world or setting, is an essential part of creating believable and compelling fictional universes. It is most often used and associated with genre fiction, such as science fiction and fantasy, but can be an important aspect of almost any kind of storytelling. Without worldbuilding, a story will lack context and consistency. The world your story lives in provides a foundation for the rest of the story, and helping your audience understand that world will encourage them to continue interacting with the story. 

Here, we’ll dive into the essentials of worldbuilding and how to do it effectively. 

When to Worldbuild 

Many stories take advantage of worldbuilding, although it most notably appears in science fiction, fantasy, or historical fiction. However, even stories set in a familiar place to the audience and the modern day require some worldbuilding. You have to craft where a person lives, how they make money, who their family is, and what their culture looks like. Depending on what genre your story lives in, this could be relatively simple and recognizable when compared to the real world, or it could be completely made up. But thoroughly building your world from the foundations up will help it feel real. 

When getting started with worldbuilding, ask yourself these questions: 

1. What genre is my story? If your story takes place in a sci-fi or fantasy world, you’re going to have a lot more work to do as you have to create technology or magic for it.
2. Where does my story take place? Determine the specific setting of your story so you can begin to build around that. For example, if your story takes place in a made-up city, the city needs a name, buildings, a reason for existing, and more. Figuring out all of these things can help you get started on crafting your world from the ground up. 
3. Who are my characters? This can be an important question in determining how your characters fit into your world and vice-versa. If your world has magic, is your main character familiar with that magic or do they have to be introduced to it? Sometimes, it’s a good idea to have at least one character who is, for whatever reason, completely unfamiliar with the world you’re building so that they can ask questions the audience might also have. 

Once you have these basics down, you can begin to stretch your imagination and continue building out your world. The more thorough your worldbuilding is, the more real it will feel on the page, so don’t be afraid to know things about your world that don’t even appear in the story. Maybe you have created three different religions for this world, but not all of them appear in the text. Knowing that there are at least three, and how they work, can help you create cultural aspects of your world that go along with these religions, even if they aren’t explicitly stated on the page. 

How to Worldbuild

Aside from answering the questions above, there’s a lot to consider when building your own world. Keep a document that is somewhat separate from your actual story as you determine details about the world you’re creating, but make sure everything is in one place—the same folder, a document with multiple pages, et cetera. Staying organized will be a huge help in bringing your world to the page. 

Creating Effective Magic Systems

If you’re creating a fantastical world where magic exists, you’ll need a “magic system.” This is how your world’s magic actually works. Think about the magic in the Harry Potter series versus in The Lord of the Rings. Sure, these stories take place in very different worlds, but they both have magic. The difference is in how the magic works in each of them. 

Magic systems also come in hard magic and soft magic. Hard magic is when the system is explicitly defined and has concrete rules, like in Avatar: The Last Airbender and Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn. In these worlds, only certain kinds of people can use certain kinds of magic. For example, in Avatar: The Last Airbender, firebenders cannot bend water. 

Soft magic, on the other hand, is present in stories like The Lord of the Rings and A Song of Fire and Ice. The rules are less clear and the magic is more imbued into nature and the world itself. Oftentimes, the major difference between the two is that hard magic can be more overtly used to solve problems. Soft magic, on the other hand, can’t really be used in that way. It usually exists as a source of problems. Sometimes it happens to help solve them, but generally speaking it cannot be wielded to do anything specific.

When choosing between the two types of magic for your own story, as Brandon Sanderson says, it really comes down to what helps tell your story best. Once you’ve determined that, consider the three major elements of magic systems:

1. Rules: These are going to be the governing tenets of your magic. How are spells cast? Do characters have to say magic words in order for them to take effect? What is needed to enable magic and who can use it? For example, in Harry Potter, the characters need wands and only certain people have magic. 
2. Abilities: These are the actual things you can do with the magic in the story. Harry Potter can create a Patronus to drive off Dementors. Radagast the Brown can commune with and control animals as well as use herbs and his powers to heal people. What does the magic in your world enable characters to do? Can they raise the dead? Can they wash the dishes without lifting a finger (a personal dream of mine)? 
3. Restrictions: Magic without limitations in a story has the potential to cause a lot of problems on a basic storytelling level, as it can mean that characters have unlimited power, or at least a confusing level of power. In Avatar: The Last Airbender, waterbenders cannot produce their own water. This is a limitation that requires characters like Katara to carry water on themselves at all times or find other means to produce it. It also means that if they are completely separated from water sources, they can more easily be controlled. If, in your story, you wish to explore the idea of “absolute power” by giving a character no restrictions in their magic, it can be a compelling conflict. But not all characters can be at this level. By building in restrictions to how and why your characters can use magic, you create more opportunities for conflict and resolution. You also avoid completely confusing your audience. A good example of this is Michael Myers from the Halloween horror film series. His magic allows him to travel great distances and appear anywhere the victimized characters are effortlessly, and this power functions well in the series by creating a sense of true fear, anticipation, and suspense. In Star Wars, however, the worldbuilding around the Force feels muddy at times. It’s unclear if there are true restrictions and, if there are, what those restrictions truly entail. What can you do and not do with the Force? Is it entirely driven by little creatures called Midichlorians or is it accessible to everyone? 

When it comes to magic systems, one thing you can do to get better at creating them is simply by experiencing more of them. Aside from the examples we’ve already mentioned, check out this media for examples of magic systems: 

Hard Magic Systems: 

• Allomancy from the Mistborn books by Brandon Sanderson 
• Alchemy in Fullmetal Alchemist, an anime and manga series created by Hiromu Arakawa
• Bending in Avatar: The Last Airbender
• The Grishaverse from the Shadow and Bone trilogy by Leigh Bardugo
• Daemons in His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman
• Superhuman abilities in The Witcher (games and books) by Andrzej Sapkowski
• Chakra in Naruto as created by Masashi Kishimoto
• Role playing video game Persona

Soft Magic Systems

• The world of A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin
• Magic in The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis
• The Once and Future King by T. H. White
• The worlds of Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and Dragon Age
• The Lord of the Rings by J. R.R. Tolkein

Mixed

• Vampires and other magic from Buffy the Vampire Slayer
• The Earthsea Cycle by Ursula K. Le Guinn
• Supernatural, the TV series
• DC and Marvel comics
• The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling

For short stories, flash fiction, and poetry pieces that feature magic systems, check out what F(r)iction has to offer!

4 Rules for Effective Worldbuilding

As you set out to build your own world, here are a few “rules” to keep in mind: 

1. Establish internal consistency. 

The number one thing that will pull an audience out of your world is if they notice that things don’t make sense. Once you’ve set a rule in your world, don’t break it unless it’s necessary for the story—and even then, you must have a really good explanation to do this. 

In Avatar: The Last Airbender, it’s a “rule” that, when separated from earth itself, Earthbenders cannot use their bending. This rule is important because it means that the Fire Nation has a means to subjugate Earthbenders. However, (CW: SPOILERS AHEAD!) Toph later breaks this rule by learning how to metalbend. Despite this “rule breaking,” it still makes sense in-universe and in the story itself to have her discover how to do this. Nonetheless, the limitation on Earthbending remains for most benders throughout the series.

2. Balance realism and creativity. 

This is your world, so you get to be as creative with it as you want! But you still need to ground it in some reality, or else your audience may not buy it. Every rule in your world should make sense on multiple levels—why can one character do magic and another not? Why can’t magic be used for X [bringing people back from the dead, healing a wound, flying]? More than that, it should feel like the magic is being used in a way that feels real to how humans really work. It would make sense for it to be exploited sometimes and for it to be used for good other times. 

3. Avoid common pitfalls.

The major issues that people run into with worldbuilding are: 

• Info-dumping. Building in exposition is already difficult for writers, but when you’re introducing an audience to an entirely new world, it can be even more so. Although you may be tempted to put everything you know about your world on the page as quickly as possible, resist this feeling. It will feel more natural and make for a better story if information about your world is revealed in a way that makes sense based on the plot, setting, and characters. 
• Exorbitant worldbuilding. Expanding on that, there is such a thing as too much worldbuilding. While it’s good to know as much about your world as possible, it’s not always necessary for all those details to go on the page. Only include the details necessary to telling your story. It’s easy to get caught up in frivolous details when you’ve spent so much time building your world, but really think through every detail and why you’re including it. If the reason is simply that it’s interesting and you thought of it, that might not be enough. Worldbuilding details should always have an impact on the story and characters themselves. 
• Making purposeless choices. If you don’t know why you’ve made a particular choice, then you should probably reconsider it. Every part of your world needs to make sense for the story and the characters. Otherwise, you’ll end up with a world that doesn’t fit your actual story or a story that doesn’t fit your world. It will be difficult to have characters make reasonable decisions or experience conflict that has meaning. 
• Lacking rich description. When building your world, don’t be afraid to describe it—literally. How does it smell, feel, and taste? What is the weather like? What time of day is it when your story starts? While not all of these details may make it into the final draft of your story, it’s important that you know they exist and those that do will help your audience feel like they are a part of the world you’ve created. Read our blog on mastering figurative language for a better understanding of how to write unique and detailed descriptions.
• Lacking diversity. One of the greatest things about our real world is how diverse it is—there are multiple kinds of people, cultures, languages, religions, traditions, foods, policies, and more. When creating a fantastical world, make sure it’s not all the same: one kind of people, one kind of culture, one kind of language. Even if your story is focused only on one part of a larger world, leaving out any signs of diversity will make your world feel unbelievable and unrelatable. 

4. Have fun!

Most importantly, you should love the world you’re building and want to build it out even more. Even if some of what you know about your own world doesn’t actually make it onto the page, knowing it should fill you with a sense of accomplishment and awe—you created that!

Online Resources for Worldbuilding

Don’t be afraid to use all the resources available. There are so many tools out there to help make worldbuilding easier and even more fun. Take a look at these resources as you get started on building your own world: 

• ChronoGrapher: A worldbuilding webtool for writers and game masters that allows you to write detailed articles to keep track of everything in your world, create your own world wiki, link all of your articles together, and even save things to GoogleDrive.
• Inkarnate: A website that allows you to build your own maps of fantastical worlds. The free version includes over 700 HD art assets and the ability to create up to ten different maps. 
• World Anvil: Provides a set of worldbuilding tools that helps you create, organize, and story your world setting. Has features such as wiki-like articles, interactive maps, an RPG campaign manager, and full novel-writing software. 

Another important resource to utilize in worldbuilding is other people. There are plenty of communities where you can ask questions, discuss your world, and get feedback on your projects. 

• r/worldbuilding and r/FantasyWorldBuilding on Reddit
• The Writing Cartel on Discord
• World Anvil also has a community feature to connect with other worldbuilders! 

Launch Your Own Worldbuilding Project

Now that you know more about worldbuilding, how about getting started on your own? Don’t forget to take advantage of the resources linked above and to consider all the questions asked in this blog. As you get started on writing your own world into existence, continue checking in with Facts of Fiction for more articles on writing basics. We can’t wait to get immersed in your world!

Writing is like cooking a meal; you need a balance of raw ingredients and spices to make it delicious. The proper cooking temperature and time is the editing process. Julienning the vegetables is the crafting of sentences. The recipe is your outline. It all comes together to create a perfect medley of taste in your mouth. 

I’m getting away from myself here with this analogy. The point is that you can use figurative language, words or phrases that have meaning while not being literally true, to elevate your writing. Figurative language includes idioms, hyperbole, and personification as well as figures of speech such as metaphors, similes, and analogies. These three terms all equate two unrelated things for emphasis, but they differ slightly in execution and effect. They also all help with showing, not telling, a topic we covered previously. 

In this blog, we’ll cover what metaphors, similes, and analogies are, how and why to use them, and examples of when they work—and when they don’t. Learning how to employ figurative language is one of the most fruitful and important ways you can begin to master writing, so use this blog as a helpful starting point!

When to Use Figurative Language 

Figurative language helps make stories more interesting. While literal language has its place, such as in legal documents, professional communication, and academic papers, figurative language is essential to creative writing. It also helps bring clarity to complex or abstract ideas by comparing them to simpler or more relatable things. 

Figurative language, and the figures of speech mentioned above, are especially good for writing descriptions. When describing a person, place, or thing, you can give readers a good idea of what it looks, feels, smells, and is like in general by comparing it to something else. 

For example, in Frank Herbert’s iconic space opera Dune, he describes an Arrakeen cavern for the first time: “…silent people all around him moving in the dim light of glow-globes. It was solemn there and like a cathedral as he listened to a faint sound—the drip-drip-drip of water.” This moment takes place on the fifth page of the book and readers have no idea what an Arrakeen cavern is. By comparing it to something familiar but not out of place in the world Herbert has created, readers are able to instantly envision what it might look and feel like, giving them something solid to cling to as they begin to walk further into this world. 

Understanding Metaphors

A metaphor is when the storyteller makes an exact comparison between two unrelated things. For example: “Her hands are magic.” Unlike similes, which we cover in the next section, metaphors do not call to attention the comparison they make. Thus, when used in a story, metaphors often blend in with the rest of the description and the reader may not even realize that the author has made this comparison. 

Metaphors have two parts: 

1. A tenor, which is the object or concept being described. 
2. A vehicle, which is what the object or concept is compared to. 

In our earlier example, the hands are the tenor and the magic is the vehicle.

Ex: Her hands are magic. 

Metaphors help readers better understand unfamiliar concepts or objects and paint familiar things in a new light. How easily readers can decipher a metaphor depends on the strength of the comparison. A strong metaphor will be surprising but accessible; it says something new without confusing the reader. A weak metaphor is usually a cliché like, “He bit the bullet,” or, “Life is a journey.” You want to avoid clichés as much as possible in your writing as they feel derivative, unimaginative, and unoriginal. 

Types of Metaphors

There are six kinds of metaphors that can be used throughout writing. Here’s a breakdown of each one: 

1. Conventional Metaphor 

This kind of metaphor goes unnoticed in everyday speech because the concept of it is so common and accepted in our collective consciousness. This does not necessarily mean that it is a cliché, although it can be one. 

An example of a conventional metaphor would be saying something like, “I’m a night owl but she’s an early bird.” Most English-speaking Americans will instantly recognize this as meaning that the speaker of the sentence tends to stay up late whereas the “she” they refer to rises early. On the other hand, someone unfamiliar with English or this phrase may wonder why you’re comparing people to birds.

2. Creative Metaphor 

Instantly recognizable as unique and original, creative metaphors are meant to be provocative and striking. Poetry very often makes use of creative metaphor. 

Hold fast to dreams
for when dreams go
life is a barren field 
frozen with snow. 

In this excerpt from his poem “Dreams,” Langston Hughes compares life to a “barren field frozen with snow.” From this, the reader can infer Hughes’s meaning that when someone no longer has dreams, their life becomes desolate and cold like a barren field. In this way, creative metaphors should always seek to shed light on complex ideas.

3. Implied Metaphor 

Implied metaphors make a comparison without explicitly naming the vehicle part of the metaphor. For example, “She’s got her claws in him,” is a phrase understood to express that someone (in this case, “she”) has a strong emotional or manipulative hold over another person (in this case, “him”). But the comparison of “she” to an animal with claws is implied rather than stated directly, since most people understand this without clarification. If we were to add a vehicle, the metaphor may read more like: “She’s an animal with her claws in him.” 

4. Extended Metaphor 

An extended metaphor, or conceit, is a comparison that is repeated several times throughout a work, usually in new ways. It can extend several lines or sentences or, in the case of many songs and pieces of literature, throughout the entire work. Extended metaphors can also be allegories, wherein the story uses symbols and figurative language to convey a hidden meaning that is typically moral or political. 

“Hope Is the Thing With Feathers” by Emily Dickenson provides us with an extended metaphor:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul, 
And sings the tune—without the words, 
And never stops at all, 

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm 
That could abash the little bird 
That kept so many warm. 

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land, 
And on the strangest sea; 
Yet, never, in extremity, 
It asked a crumb of me. 

Here we see how Dickenson compares hope to a bird, personifying it and extending the metaphor throughout the poem not only by referencing hope directly but also through words like “perches” and “little bird.” 

Other examples of extended metaphors appear throughout all kinds of storytelling, but here are a few that stand out: 

• Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech compares the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation and the status of African Americans since then to cashing a bad check. 
• Animal Farm by George Orwall is an allegory that uses farm animals revolting against the humans who run the farm to provide a lesson on authoritarianism, oppression, and tyranny. 
• In Grief Is the Bird by Samantha Jean Coxall, we have a metaphor right from the start: Grief is the bird. The story takes this metaphor to heart and reflects on how a child feels after their father has passed. Read it here.
• “She’ll forgive the grudges she’s borne like Sisyphean boulders,” is a line from the flash fiction piece The Forgiveness Machine by Joy Baglio. This piece uses a machine that can grant forgiveness as a vehicle to study the emotional turmoil of life. 

5. Catachresis

Also known as a mixed metaphor, catachresis blends two well-known metaphors or aphorisms in a way that doesn’t make sense. The effect can be to show that a character is confused, frazzled, or perhaps not very bright. 

An example of this would be: 

• “People in glass houses should not wear their hearts on their sleeves.” 

Let’s break down why this is a mixed metaphor and doesn’t make sense. The real sayings are: 

• “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
• “Wear your heart on your sleeve.” 

The first means that people with faults should not criticize others for having the same faults. The second means to make your feelings known rather than hiding them. Thus, the inferred meaning of the original mixed metaphor is that people with faults should not hide their feelings. The comparison doesn’t work because the two known phrases lose all meaning—or at least come together in a very confused one. 

Mixed metaphors can sometimes appear accidentally in writing, so make sure that when you’re making comparisons, unless done purposefully for characterization, the metaphor’s meaning is clear.

6. Abstract Metaphor 

Finally, we have abstract metaphors, wherein the tenor and vehicle cannot be separated cleanly because the concept being expressed is too large or complex to distill into two distinctly related parts. A popular example of this would be equating light to knowledge or truth, such as when something “brings light to a situation.” By saying that, there is an accepted understanding that light is synonymous with knowledge or truth which, unless learned, is not explicitly obvious. However, the concept of light equalling knowledge or truth is imbued into our general consciousness and so a metaphor implying this can be understood without further clarification.

Exploring Similes

A simile uses “like” or “as” to show that what would be considered the tenor and vehicle in a metaphor are similar but not exactly the same. An example would be: 

• Simile: She’s like a magician. 
• Metaphor: She is a magician.

In this example, a simile would likely be the better option as it’s possible for someone to be a magician without it being a metaphor. In the simile version, it’s obvious that the speaker is not saying that person is actually a magician, but is doing something that makes her like one. 

When To Use Simile vs. Metaphor

Similes compare two similar things using “like” or “as,” whereas metaphors make the assertion that two different things are one and the same, as opposed to being like it. Therefore, metaphors are more direct. When you want a description to feel stronger or more forceful, use a metaphor. Metaphors don’t leave wiggle room. Something is something else even though it’s not. Similes, on the other hand, make it much more obvious that there is a comparison taking place. When you want someone to compare two things but not equate them, use a simile. 

Other Examples of Similes 

Similes appear in many places, and they can also be clichés. When writing similes, lean into creativity and specificity. 

• Cliché: Her tears fell like rain. 
• Original: A single tear skittered down her cheek like a droplet of rain on a car window. 
• Cliché: They were as different as night and day. 
• Original: They were as different as whiskey and wine; both alcoholic, but one went down easier.

Practice some on your own! Look up some cliché similes and metaphors and try your hand at coming up with more creative versions. In your own writing, remember that any metaphors or similes you use should also make sense in the context of the story. For example, if your story takes place in a bakery, using figures of speech related to baking, sweets, or cooking might make a lot of sense thematically.

Unraveling Analogies

An analogy extends a comparison by adding context, often by using a third element that two things share. For example: 

• Metaphor: Her hands are magic. 
• Simile: She’s like a magician. 
• Analogy: She’s as crafty as a magician, always pulling solutions out of thin air. 

To construct an analogy, think about what makes two things similar and ask yourself why you’re comparing them to begin with. If you can’t come up with anything, it might not be a sound analogy and you should think of something else. Let’s examine a few examples of analogies from literature to better understand how to construct them: 

1. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare: In this analogy, Juliet compares Romeo to a rose by acknowledging that his name—and thus the feud between their families—really means nothing because he would be just as sweet, and she would like him just as much, were he called any other name. Romeo is the tenor, the rose is the vehicle, and the comparison between the two is the sweetness. 

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose. 
By any other word would smell as sweet. 
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called” 

2. “Migration Season” by Kelli Russell Agodon: In this poem, Agodon compares the families of patients to “snow geese in a flooded field.” She extends the metaphor made in the first three lines of the poem throughout it, providing the reader with an understanding of what it feels like to live that experience. 
   Read it here!

3. Meditations by Marcus Aurelius: This series of personal musings from the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius has a lot of wisdom to share—which is one reason why we included it in our Literary Tarot deck! But the line below in particular provides us with an analogy that compares time to a river. Is it perhaps where we get the idea of a “time stream” from? 

“Time is like a river made up of events which happen, and a violent stream; for as soon as a thing has been seen, it is carried away, and another comes in its place, and this will be carried away too.”

4. Macbeth by William Shakespeare: In Act V of this iconic tragedy, Macbeth recognizes and mourns the death of his wife, comparing life to a “walking shadow,” implying the meaning that it has no real purpose. Not only is the speech a perfect example of an analogy, but it also goes HARD. 

“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing.”

5. “Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Frost: This poem is both an extended metaphor and an analogy, using spring’s ending to reflect on how fleeting life is. It’s also famously used in S.E. Hinton’s book The Outsiders, which has a storyline that seeks to exemplify the poem and its meaning. 

“Nature’s first green is gold, 
Her hardest hue to hold. 
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief, 
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”

4 Tips for the Effective Usage of Figurative Language

1. Balance figurative language with literal descriptions. While using figurative language will imbue your narrative with beauty and depth, too much of it may result in confusion and clunkiness. The various metaphors, analogies, and similes will run into each other and confuse one another. Make sure every figure of speech is grounded in something literal that the reader can actually envision. 
2. Avoid clichés and overused comparisons. Seek to make your metaphors, similes, and analogies feel unique rather than overdone. Some popular metaphors that have been overused and are now considered clichés include:
   
   1. Bite the bullet. 
   2. Turn a blind eye. 
   3. Give the cold shoulder. 
   4. Comparing tears and rain. 
   5. Comparing life to a journey. 
   6. Laughter is the best medicine. 

There are many more, but in general, if you feel you’ve heard it many times before, avoid it. 

3. Experiment with figurative language to enhance your writing. Don’t be afraid to think outside of the box. (A cliché). Let me try that again: Don’t be afraid to melt a box of crayons together and write with a whole new color. Better? This is harder than it looks… 
4. That’s why the most important step is to: Practice, practice, practice. Like with the other techniques we’ve covered in our Facts of Fiction series, the only way to get better at using figurative language is to practice doing it. 

Exercise: Practical Application of Figurative Language

Now that you know what metaphors, similes, and analogies are, let’s put them to use! Write a passage describing an activity you know well and do often. For example, maybe you’re a runner. What does it feel like to run? Describe the activity from start to finish, purposefully using as many metaphors, similes, and analogies as you can. While the final piece may feel overwrought with figurative language, it’s a good way to get the creative juices flowing and see what original comparisons you can come up with.

Cast the Spell of Figurative Language

Sprinkle your writing with a little magic with figurative language. When used correctly, figures of speech and other forms of figurative language add depth to descriptions, help readers better visualize scenes, evoke emotions, add symbolism and layers, and make a story feel more memorable and impactful. 

Keep tackling these monthly exercises with us as we continue our journey of becoming better writers! Follow @frictionseries on Instagram to be the first to know when we release new installations in this series. Plus, discover incredible stories in the Unseen issue of F(r)iction—available for purchase now!