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Subtext, the real conversation hidden by surface talk, can deepen the story with unpredictable outcomes and emotion.

It takes grit to seek and implement qualified feedback, and to keep finding ways to improve a manuscript even after you’ve given it your all.

A half-hour’s writing might yield only 500, 300, even a mere 100 words. But a half-hour’s writing over 7 or 8 months: a book’s worth of words.

Anticipation—“Will it happen or won’t it?”—keeps readers on edge, and we can make use of their need to know by building scenes that cater to it.

Why one freelancer believes that spending too much time at a computer holds writers back from producing their best work.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

A story intro that shows internal trouble, signaling the beginning of a character arc, makes agents and editors sit up and take notice.