Improve Your Writing

As writers, we often cling to certain myths that suck up emotional energy and reinforce practices that undermine the creative process.

When writing a prescriptive nonfiction book, anticipating doubts and objections lets your readers feel seen and keeps them on the page.

Skillful authors weave suspense and tension to draw readers through stories on a taut thread of unanswered questions and constant frictions.

Focusing on your “just right” reader—instead of trying to convey everything that every reader might need to know—can help combat overwhelm.

What’s between scenes is like mortar—necessary for your story’s structure, but not significant—and well handled using summary and spacers.

A little preparation—noting environmental details, character moods and motivations—will make a big difference in the way your scenes unfold.

Many successful authors maintain side writing careers, in less glamorous forms such as grant writing, copywriting, and ghostwriting.

“Making a scene” in public often happens spontaneously, but creating emotionally compelling scenes on paper requires considerable planning.

One author’s tips for performing your stories in front of a live audience.

Your novel’s external and internal parts must be intricately woven together to create a work that truly resonates with readers.

One of the best ways an author can learn their own storytelling craft lies in what we already avidly do: take in other creators’ stories.

Tips for avoiding stereotypes and tokenism, and presenting more interesting, complex, three-dimensional queer characters.

Providing feedback to every pitch would leave agents no time for their existing clients. Instead, check your own first pages for weak spots.

Beta reading for others can be a creative education. Lean into that, and your future books will be all the better for it.

Dedicated and even obsessive engagement with another creator’s work can open unexpected doors for your own writing.

Does my story matter? Is it good enough? They’re questions every writer asks, and the way to answer them is to connect to your why.

The early part of your memoir should reveal the short list of narrator flaws and problems you’ll resolve by the end of your book.

In times of sickness, cultural upheaval, and real existential threats, perhaps stories matter more than ever.

The pages of your journal can be a time machine, transporting you from the here and now to snapshots of your internal world, over the years.

Your book’s ending must reveal the story’s resolution. Once you know what you’re resolving, you can establish a clear path for getting there.

By spending as much (or more) time weaving a dynamic Story as you do creating a flashy Plot, readers will walk away feeling satisfied.

Here are some of the many ways that a journaling practice can serve as a laboratory for your writing, and your life.

Not only can a journaling practice sustain and inspire your writing projects—a commitment to it can inform and improve your entire life.

The more important and perennial a problem that a book addresses, the better the chances it will survive the test of time.

Wanting to leave your writing group doesn’t make you a jerk. Departing with grace is an act of kindness that furthers your development and the friendships you cherish.