Tag Archives: writing

October 5, 2026 · 6:00 am

How participating in writing challenges shaped me #writing

From 2010 to 2023, I participated in an annual writing rumble called National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. It was an annual creative writing challenge held in November each year. It began in 1999 in San Francisco with a group of twenty-one writers challenging each other to write a 50,000-word novel in thirty days. Over the years, it grew into a multinational event, an annual convergence of writers from all over the world.

For the first eight years of my participation, it was fun. During my ten years as a municipal liaison (ML) for that now-defunct organization, I discovered that there is no one way to begin and complete a novel or any other writing project that fits everyone.

However, some of us get more done when we have a deadline, even a self-imposed one.

The joy went out of NaNoWriMo once the national leadership changed, for reasons well documented on YouTube. Both my Co-ML and I became disgusted with its overtly corporate direction and walked away a year before the organization fell apart.

But November happens every year, and it’s still a great month to get that novel out of your head and onto paper.

I got involved in that annual challenge when a young writer in the Philippines, whom I met through a gaming website, mentioned he planned to participate. I had never heard of it, but since I had started and sort of completed several rambling, incoherent novels, I was intrigued.

I wasn’t sure I could do this crazy thing. But when I broke down the numbers, I saw that all I had to do was write 1,667 words daily. That was something I could do if I dedicated three hours an evening to it. I told my husband, and he said to go for it, even though I didn’t know what to write about.

Everyone who knows me will tell you that fear of failure has never stopped me from ruining my life. So, I googled the national website and signed up. I chose the handle dragon_fangirl. Through the website, I discovered that my town had a large group of participants in various stages of their careers, some who’d never written a thing, and others with several books published.

I started going to their “write-ins,” meetings at coffee shops and libraries where we got together and wrote furiously for one or two hours as a group. We commiserated and discussed our progress, and in the process I found a cadre of friends who became the core of my writing group. I am still writing with them.

During that first year, I rose at 6:30 a.m. on November 1, 2010, filled with trepidation. I opened a new document, gave it the title of “NaNoWriMo novel,” and saved it,

Then I stared at my laptop, with no idea where to begin or even what I wanted to write.

I had been working on an urban fantasy for several years, but I wanted to do something new. An idea had been lurking in the back of my mind for a Don Quixote-style character. But I also wanted to write sword-and-sorcery.

I read Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote as a teenager (at my father’s behest) and borrowed (stole) the heartily misogynistic adventures of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser from Dad’s nightstand, along with any other lurid and unsuitable novels that happened to be lying around.

I loved any kind of fantasy, from sword and sorcery to Arthurian mashups to epic high fantasy. The first words I wrote for that year’s novel were: There was a cabin in the woods.

It was a banal beginning, but it gave my idea a jumping-off point. I just began telling the story as it fell out of my mind. Surprisingly, I discovered my word count averaged 2,500 to 3,000 words daily. By day fifteen, I knew I would have no trouble getting to 50,000, and by November 21st, I had passed the 50,000-word mark.

At the 68,000-word point, I had completed my rollicking tale of snark and medieval derring-do. It was utterly unpublishable, but I didn’t know that until after an unfortunate experience with a predatory publisher.

The one thought that comforted me during that rough beginning was the fact that I had written the basics of a story I would have sought out at the bookstore.

After that fiasco, I turned to other writing projects for several years. I had written the storyline for an anime-based RPG that was never published because of a lack of funding and the tech crash. I still had the rights to my story and maps, so I wrote it as a novel, had it edited by my current editor, and published it. Three more novels set in that world followed.

Then my friends suggested I could rewrite the novel that my first publisher had ruined and republish it. After my wounds had healed from the bad publishing experience, I took the novel apart and separated the three main character threads. Over the next ten years, those threads became three books: Huw the Bard, Billy Ninefingers, and Julian Lackland.

All three novels are set in that original alternate medieval world, and center around the same group of characters. Much of what was originally written could be reused.

I learned how to lay down a first draft through participating in my local NaNoWriMo group. The wonderful people I met during those years helped me gain the tools I needed to turn a first draft into a properly finished book.

If you have the idea for a novel and want to get it out of your head while you are enthused about it, I suggest you write at least 1,670 words every day. At the end of thirty days, you will have written slightly more than 50,000 words.

This takes me about 2 hours of stream-of-consciousness writing, as long as I don’t go back to correct misspelled words. I do have an outline to follow, which has grown into a storyboard. This plan of action helps me know what should come next.

Many excellent writing challenges have emerged since NaNoWriMo’s downfall.

If you are looking for something to spur you into action this November, check out:

Novel November™ by ProWritingAid: The Free Writing Challenge

Reedsy Studio Writing Challenges

Pathfinders Writing Collective

AutoCrit Novel 90 Writing Challenge

And SO many more. Just Google “writing challenges” and see what you might be interested in

Last year I participated in ProWritingAid’s Novel November and had a great time. I posted about my experience here: #NovelNovember has ended, my book isn’t done, and once again, I’m clueless #writing | Life in the Realm of Fantasy

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September 28, 2026 · 6:00 am

Avoiding scope creep (aka project creep, requirement creep, or kitchen sink syndrome) #writing

Autumn is here in the Northern Hemisphere, the time of year I think of as the writing season. Many books begin in the cold, dark months and are published within a year. Others take years to finish. Some are good, and some contain many fatal flaws that should have been resolved before it went to press.

But how? Whether you are an indie or traditionally published author, good project management skills are an essential tool.

There are several project management methods, but I use a phased (or staged) approach. This method breaks down and manages the work through a series of steps.

  1. Concept: The Brilliant Idea. Make notes (a storyboard) so you don’t forget good ideas.
  2. The Planning Phase: create a raw outline. Some people don’t need this step, but I do.
  3. The Construction Phase: write the first draft from beginning to end, then continue through multiple drafts. This is time-consuming, but it is necessary.

Good project management gives authors a way to cope with the writer’s first-draft curse: “scope creep.” Scope creep refers to changes and uncontrolled growth in a project and can occur at many points after the project begins. Many novels die young and unappreciated because scope creep took over. The plot meanders through the swamps of blah, blah, blah.

This happens when the project’s original idea is brilliant but nebulous. In business, as the project progresses, an inventor or production team may face unavoidable situations that affect production. The whole darned thing takes longer than we thought it would.

Novels begin life as a glorious idea not fully formed. Thus, stories grow exponentially as we write.

Books are one area where this sort of growth is fundamental to the project. However, this is why some rudimentary organizational skills are critical for the author. Successful authors are project managers, even if they don’t realize it.

ONE: Identify your Project Goals

This story is your invention, and some inventions take years to develop before they hit the market. Be prepared to take the time to do it right. Nothing reflects worse on an author than claiming AI slop is an original creation or rushing to publish a book before it is reader-ready. (The AI thing always comes out, so don’t fall into that trap. Be honest and admit to it if you are pushing books out via AI.)

TWO: Write the basic story.

  1. Monitoring and Controlling during the construction phase: This is where you build quality into your product.
  2. Find beta readers and heed their concerns in the rewrites. Take the manuscript through as many drafts as you must to have the novel you envisioned.
  3. Hire a good line editor to ensure consistent quality.
  4. Find reliable proofreaders. (Your writing group is an invaluable resource.)

THREE: Completion or Closing.

  1. Find an agent if you are taking the traditional route.
  2. Employ a professional formatter for the print version if you are going indie.
  3. Court an agent and publisher if you are taking the traditional route.
  4. Employ a cover designer if you are going indie.

Let’s go back to the second stage, writing the basic story.

Build your storyboard/stylesheet and note the changes you make as you go. See my post on stylesheets/storyboard’s here: Self-editing: Ensuring Consistency. Nothing upsets a reader more than a book where, in chapter forty-four, the author inadvertently contradicts what was written in chapter two. The storyboard is a visible, easy-to-understand way to stay on top of this.

I know, you’re going to tell me that you have it all straight in your head.

But as every child who has ever told a lie knows: stories grow and evolve in the telling. Eventually, the lie looks nothing like how it was in the first telling. I find that a storyboard is an essential tool for keeping the story straight.

I use a spreadsheet program for this, but a standard Word or Google document, a pen-and-paper notebook, or a whiteboard with sticky notes works just as well.

My storyboards contain the following elements:

  1. GLOSSARY: A list of names and invented words as they arise, all spelled the way I want them.
  2. MAPS: nothing fancy, just something rudimentary to show me the layout of the world.
  3. CALENDAR of events: especially important if the characters must travel.
  4. ALSO: the rough outline of my projected story arc, along with descriptions of invented worlds, religions, and magic systems.

For maps, you don’t need to get fancy. All you need are lines and scribbles that show the essentials, like what lies to the north, south, east, and west. Also, we need to know the spelling of any named towns and where they are in relation to the protagonist’s opening location. Use a pencil so you can easily update your map if something changes during revisions.

If you aren’t artistic and want a nice map later, your scribbled map will help a map artist create a beautiful, accurate product.

  • If your story takes place in the real world, use Google Maps and print out a copy for your reference, or scan a map into your storyboard.

Distances: How long does it take to travel one mile or kilometer using the common mode of transportation?

Time: Sometimes time gets mushy when we are writing as fast as we can. A calendar gives us a realistic view of how long it takes to travel from point A to point B, or how much time it will take to complete a task.

Worldbuilding: What season do your events occur in? Foliage changes with the seasons, and weather is a part of worldbuilding. You should have some notion of where rivers and forests are relative to towns because those landmarks will be mentioned at some point.

More worldbuilding: The map shows the terrain your story takes place on, and weather can affect the terrain. Your characters will interact with their environment in different ways depending on the season and the weather, and this will affect how long it takes them to travel from place to place, depending on the mode of transportation.

Original map of Neveyah from the author’s files. ©cjjasp 2008

I hope this long-winded rant helps you create the perfect novel. Project management is a vital tool for the author. Good storyboards are the author’s project management tools.

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September 21, 2026 · 6:00 am

Crafting the hook #writing

I started writing my very first novel in 1993. It opened with an info dump that went on and on, and on.

I didn’t understand the importance of starting with a strong opening paragraph that leads to an active first page. I didn’t know how to sustain the pacing, the rhythm of conflict-resolution-conflict that forms the arc of the plot.

It took a good writing group, numerous books on craft, and many seminars to get the education I didn’t have. Most importantly, I worked with an excellent editor (and still do) and over the years that experience has gradually shaped what I thought were final drafts into manuscripts I’m not ashamed to submit to her for the final edit.

The novels I love most all begin with a clear dramatic hook. This literary device should appear at the ends of scenes and chapters. The hook is sometimes a big problem that entangles the main character and promises a real struggle from the opening pages to the ending’s resolution.

Other times it is a small but intriguing mystery that leads us into a larger story.

No matter how the story opens, it begins with the opening act. The characters are introduced, and the scene is set. The plot will be hinted at and established in the first pages because that is where we:

  • Introduce the protagonist(s). Who and what are they?
  • Introduce the setting. Where are they?
  • Introduce the conflict. What does the protagonist want? What hinders them?

This is the first hook, the place where the author establishes the tone of what is to follow. Getting the pacing right in those opening pages and maintaining it to the last page in the novel is, in my experience, the most challenging part of making revisions.

Sometimes I open the story by dropping the characters into the middle of a mess. I still need a pivotal event at the 1/4 mark that upends what they know and sets them on a new trajectory. The destination ahead is now unknown, and this event launches the story.

The inciting incident does not necessarily have to be an event or tragedy. I have read and enjoyed many books where I became immediately engaged in the characters themselves, or the author’s writing style.

However, no matter how wonderful the characters are or how clever the prose, a story must change the characters emotionally. They must either grow in maturity or change for the worse.

I admit, I prefer character-driven stories. I love books where action and intrigue exist only to drive character development.

What about subplots/side quests?

If the subplot is the opening hook, why isn’t it the main quest? Does completing this quest drop us into the Big Problem? If so, great.

Cartoon: I am their creator. Why do they not obey me?If not, we need to rethink the plot. We do need roadblocks to success, and those often lead us away from the main path. As long as we can still see the ultimate goal, they will keep us entertained.

Side quests are a good way to develop characters and provide needed information or necessary tools. When the shift into the subplot is done right, it will keep the story moving forward. However, the transition must feel natural and organic to the main quest. Clumsy transitions make a story arc feel haphazard.

Also, while they are fun in an RPG video game, side quests that exist only to liven up a random, pointless plot arc don’t help.

In my favorite books, side quests worked because they were introduced after the book’s tone and central crisis were established, and they were crucial to completing the central quest.

A good, well-known example of a crucial side quest appears in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Bilbo must get lost in the Misty Mountains and stumble across the One Ring. Possessing this magical artifact is essential to completing the main quest.

The possession and destruction of the Ring drives his nephew Frodo’s story, which is covered in three epic novels: The Lord of the Rings trilogy.

So, yes. Subplots that advance the main plot arc can provide small hooks that keep us reading and develop the story’s emotional side.

But let’s go back to the opening hook.

An example of an opening paragraph that conveys visual information is this:

A noise at the mess tent’s door alerted Callie Hanson to her boss’s presence. She looked up from her dinner of soup and bread. Donnal entered, sitting opposite her. “I hate to interrupt your meal, but one of the searchers fell and is badly hurt. You’re needed in surgery now.”

In that short story, the opening paragraph consists of 50 words. It introduces the protagonist, tells you where she is, and hints at the larger problem. It also introduces the inciting incident.

But what does a final paragraph do?

Here’s another example I have used before. The scene prior to this paragraph details a tense discussion and follows after a (now former) landlord’s stormy departure.

I stuffed my now empty wallet back into my pocket. Then I slung my laptop bag over my shoulder, picked up my suitcase, and looked around. No wife to kiss goodbye, no real home to leave behind, nothing of value to pack. Only the need to say goodbye to Portland and my failures. The quiet snick of the door closing behind me sounded like deliverance. I’d hit bottom, so things could only get better. Right?

The character in the above transition scene performs an action and moves on to the next event. It reveals his mood and some of his history in free indirect speech and propels him into the next chapter.

He does something: He performs an action, and that action gives us a great deal of information. It tells us that he is preparing to leave on an extended journey.

He shows us something: He shows us a barren existence and offers us his self-evaluation as a failure.

He tells us something:  He shows us his state of mind. The door has closed on an episode in his life, and he has no intention of going back.

This paragraph ends the chapter. When the next chapter opens, he steps into an opening paragraph that leads into the next action sequence. We find out who and what new misery is waiting for him on the other side of that door.

When you begin revising, look at the opening paragraph of each chapter. Ask yourself how you could rewrite it to convey information and lead the reader into the action. Then look at the final paragraph and ask yourself the same question.

Finding the right words to hook a reader, land them, and keep them hooked is a lot of work, but it will be worth it.

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September 14, 2026 · 6:00 am

Chapter length: What is enough and what is too much? #writing

Many times, I’m asked how long a chapter should be in a novel. Today seems like a good day to discuss this rather subjective topic.

Personally, I try to consider my readers’ comfort. I’m like many other readers. Once I begin reading a chapter, I want to finish it before I have to put the book down.

In my opinion, nothing is better than a long winter’s weekend spent sitting on the sofa in my comfy jammies, reading a book I’ve waited more than a year for.

However, life is hectic, and most of us rarely have the opportunity to sit and read all day, no matter how much we wish we could.

Having said all that, each author must decide what their style is based on their own reading preferences. This opinion might change as a writer’s career progresses, and it may not.

I’ve read and enjoyed many books where the authors made each scene a chapter. I barely noticed that detail because:

  1. Their transitions were smooth.
  2. The pacing was flawless.
  3. The story was engaging.

Some well-known authors limit their chapter length. One suggested 1500, while another has said not more than 2500.

One of my favorite authors sometimes has chapters of only five or six hundred words, which keeps each character’s storyline separate and flows well. For my storytelling style, 1,500 to 2,500 words is a good length. This allows a reader to take a break for whatever reason, and if the hook I ended the chapter on is good, they will return as soon as possible.

I feel that each chapter should detail the events of one scene or several closely related scenes. I see chapters the way I do paragraphs. Cramming widely different events into one place throws off the pacing. It makes the narrative feel erratic and disconnected.

Some books require longer sections. This is true of my novel, Julian Lackland. The overall story arc is comprised of short stories that detail important events in chronological order.

So, what is a transition?

Transitions move us from one scene to the next. They offer a chance to convey necessary information in just a few words.

Soft transitions: Brief conversations make good transitions to propel us to the next scene. They also offer ways to end a chapter with a tidbit of information that will compel the reader to turn the page. Information is crucial, so we want to provide it when the protagonist and the reader require it.

Hard transitions: This chapter is over. A new chapter begins.

Sometimes, a hard transition consists of a hashtag or extra space between closely related scenes. This is useful in a short story or when small incidents combine to form a larger crucial event that should be covered in one chapter.

When the next chapter opens, the protagonist steps into an opening paragraph that leads into the next action sequence. We find out who and what new misery is waiting for him on the other side of that door.

I use fade-to-black transitions only to finish certain kinds of events. I haven’t written smut in years, and don’t see a reason to start now. So, I use that literary device when two characters are romantically involved.

Consider the passage of time. When a real chunk of time has passed between the end of one event and the beginning of the next, end the chapter and give it a firm finish with a hook. Good hooks encourage the reader to keep turning the pages.

With each scene, we push all the main characters forward and raise the stakes a little more. Action and information keep the reader engaged. Good transitions are crucial to pacing. They let the reader reflect and absorb what they’ve learned before moving on to the next scene.

This brings me to how the narrative point of view can influence the length of a scene or chapter. Some editors suggest you change chapters, no matter how short, when you switch to a different character’s point of view.

I agree with this stance, as a hard transition when you switch narrator-characters is the best way to avoid head-hopping and subsequent confusion.

But what is head-hopping? When you change the narrative point of view in the same scene, one paragraph to the next, with no definite separation, you create a “viewpoint tennis match.”

First, you’re in Character A’s head hearing her thoughts, then you’re in Character B’s head hearing his. Then you’re back in A’s head. It becomes challenging to know who is speaking or thinking. The characters tend to lose their individuality and begin to sound the same.

However, sometimes it is okay to switch narrator-viewpoint within a chapter. Some events require showing more than one character’s perspective. However, be careful how you handle the narrator change. Use a hard break, such as an asterisk between the paragraphs where the switch is made.

Between the larger scenes and within the chapter, we might include bookend scenes as a soft transition. These will only be a paragraph long, a few words exchanged between characters as they progress to the next event, or even a mention of the world through the protagonist’s eyes. These scenes are short but should reveal something and push the story toward the unknown.

Bookend scenes lay the groundwork for what comes next.

The short transition from scene to scene does the heavy lifting when it comes to conveying information. It is the best opportunity for clues about the characters and their history to emerge without an info dump.

You may be wondering: should I use numbers, or give each chapter a title?

If snappy titles pop up in your mind for each chapter, by all means, go for it. Otherwise, numbered chapters are perfectly fine. Whichever style of chapter heading you choose, be consistent and stay with that choice for the entire book.

I try to end my chapters at a logical place with a hook that entices the reader to continue reading. Sometimes I am successful at that. Other times it’s hard to think of a good hook.

But each narrative has logical places where chapters should begin and end. You, as the author, get to choose what those places are. The length of your chapters is up to you.

 

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September 7, 2026 · 7:23 am

The Fight Scene: What is enough and what is too much? #writing

A few years ago, I attended a seminar offered by Lindsay Schopfer, From Body Language to Brawls. While I have a method for describing fight scenes, I liked the way he pointed out that action is about so much more than merely brawling. The concepts he presented were in line with my theory that every scene is an action scene, even the quieter moments.

Lindsay is also a screenwriter. He offered five thought-provoking questions about planning the action in each scene.

First, he pointed out that thinking is an action scene, as are conversations. In his own writing, he asks himself, “What does this character do while thinking?” He explained that a side character with a certain amount of screen time, but who isn’t the POV character, can feel real when they have a small personal habit that appears from time to time.

However,  this is one area where visuals are important, a moment when new writers should be careful. If we give one or two side characters an occasional personal habit, we won’t muck up the visuals with a barrage of personal tics. They are like salt and garlic seasoning: some is good, but too much is disgusting.

Another question he asks of his characters is this: “What does their body language show about them when they are worried?”

That is a good question. At some point in every plot, if our characters aren’t worried, they should be. So, how do we show our characters’ individual ways of handling worry? We all exhibit signs of anxiety in different ways, and writing it in a coherent way takes some thinking and planning.

Lindsay asks three more questions of his characters:

  1. How do our characters look when they’re happy or excited?
  2. How do they look when they’re angry?
  3. How do they look when they’re depressed?

I’ve talked at length about how we can show these emotions through facial expressions or physical reactions, combined with internal dialogue or conversations. But for me, the hardest part of writing is balancing visual indicators of emotion with exposition that shows the deeper, internal clues.

An excellent resource that I regularly recommend is the Emotion Thesaurus by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi. This guide offers helpful hints for showing what a character is feeling when you know what you need to say but not how to phrase it.

However, I must emphasize that discretion is crucial when showing emotions. I say this because when a character’s facial expressions take over the scene, they become cartoonish, two-dimensional displays of emotion with no substance.

A story is like a pond full of words. The words are the surface, and below the surface are several layers. The inferential layer is the layer in which readers draw conclusions from the clues we offer them.

We want to hint at the reasons for the physical reactions. We do this with small bits of exposition. It takes work and practice to write a narrative without telling the reader what to experience.

We must use words that offer the most information in the least amount of space so the words we choose make the narrative worth reading.

I’m still trying to master this.

I do put a book down unfinished when an author leans too heavily on slowly painting visual descriptions of the characters’ internal struggles. Eyebrows regularly going up and down as if they operate independently on every page could be trimmed back to only when necessary.

Another thing came up in this seminar, something I firmly believe: word count matters in a fight scene.

Detailing a war will involve page after page of discussion because that conflict drives the story. But when a fistfight or sword fight takes up three pages of description, I can’t suspend my disbelief as a reader. I say this because physical fights in real life are fast, violent, and over in a space of ten, fifteen, or twenty minutes. It’s not humanly possible to go on and on with no rest. That is why matches between professional boxers are broken into rounds. They fight a while, rest a while, and so on for 15 rounds.

Excalibur London_Film_Museum_ via Wikipedia

Also, if you are writing about sword fights, remember this: they are physically exhausting.  At the Olympic level, competitive fencing matches have rest breaks: each bout continues until one fencer scores 15 hits, or until the 9-minute total fencing time is reached. Those 9 minutes are split into three 3-minute periods with a 1-minute break separating each period. That amounts to 12 minutes total, and at the end, both combatants are exhausted.

Mob violence is different. It can go on and on for hours or days. Mob violence is war on a smaller, local level.

So, when a fight scene that should be over in twenty minutes at most runs on for more pages than my patience can handle, I will skip forward, or worse, set the book aside.

Every November, I use those thirty days to write at least 50,000 new words as quickly as possible. In the process, I lean too heavily on my crutch words, relying on a lot of smiling and shrugging.

During revisions, I look for my crutch words. They’re markers for the second draft, words signifying scenes where more effort is needed to flesh them out. This is where writing becomes work.

If you haven’t seen this before, here is a list of telling words that often find their way into a first draft, and sometimes into the final:

  • Admiration: Her admiration was clear. (How was it clear? Did someone notice it?)

The rest of my “code words” show up in sentences and paragraphs the same blunt way in that first draft and inspire the same kind of questions:

  • Affection
  • Anger
  • Anguish
  • Anticipation
  • Anxiety
  • Awe
  • Confidence
  • Contempt
  • Defeat
  • Defensiveness
  • Denial
  • Depression
  • Desire
  • Desperation
  • Determination
  • Disappointment
  • Disbelief
  • Disgust
  • Elation
  • Embarrassment
  • Ethical Quandary
  • Fear
  • Friendship
  • Grief
  • Happiness
  • Hate
  • Inadequacy
  • Indecision
  • Interest
  • Jealousy
  • Love
  • Lust
  • Powerlessness
  • Pride
  • Regret
  • Resistance
  • Revulsion
  • Sadness
  • Shock
  • Surprise
  • Temptation
  • Trust
  • Unease
  • Weakness

 

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August 31, 2026 · 6:00 am

Course correction, or navigating the unexpected #writing

Even if we begin with a plan, which I usually do, we never really know how a story will go. Somewhere along the line, I will deviate somewhat from the original outline. In my work, the major events usually remain as they were originally plotted, but not always.

However, an outline keeps me on track with length. Also, an outline keeps the action moving.

SO, I have recently discovered that the reason a work-in-progress that is 40,000 words toward completion doesn’t make me happy is that I have missed a great opportunity and am trying to force the plot in a direction that no longer works.

This means that while a lot of what has already been written can be reused, a fundamental part of the character arc may have to be cut and rewritten. Also, the story’s arc will change, and if I am going to stay on track so events progress logically, I need to write a new outline.

SIDE NOTE: Everything I have written and then cut is fodder for other uses. I NEVER trash anything that was already written, although I do save it in a file labeled “Outtakes.”

Even though each manuscript starts linearly, I work “back and forth” when writing rather than in a linear fashion. When I am laying down a first draft, each section of my novel is written when I am inspired to work on that part of the tale.

I list the central plot points I currently know on the outline, then write them. That will amount to about 20,000 words in five or six sections. Then, I write connecting scenes to ‘stitch’ the sections together when the draft is complete, like assembling a quilt. That brings the manuscript to about 40,000 words.

At that point, I am looking for the ending. On rare occasions, I know how it must end, but even in those cases, writing that final 20,000 words is Literary Hell, an abyss from which it feels as if I will never emerge.

And then … into the darkness comes a ray of sunlight … the seeds of the true plot begin to sprout, and suddenly I am off to the races.

At some point I will need to open my stylesheet/storyboard and correct it to show my new timeline and order of events so everything flows, with one scene transitioning to another and no jarring “Wait … what just happened?” moments.

I was a bookkeeper for most of my career, and I use a program I am familiar with, Excel. But you can use Google Sheets, a whiteboard and sticky notes, or a spiral notebook. Use whatever works for you and that you can update as needed, but my storyboard works this way:

At the Top of page one: I give the piece a working title.

When I have an idea for a short story, I include the intended publication and submission deadline (not needed if it’s for a novel). I make a note of the intended word count. Having a word count limit keeps me alert for unnecessary backstory. For most publications, you must keep strictly within their word count requirements.

Page one of the workbook contains the personnel files.

Column A: Character Names. I list the essential characters by name and the critical places where the story will be set.

Column B: About: What their role is, a note about that person or place, a brief description of who and what they are.

Column C: The Problem: What is the core conflict?

Column D: What do they want? What does each character desire?

Column E: What will they do to get it? How far will they go to achieve their desire?

Page Two: I create a page for the projected story arc on page two of the workbook. I list each chapter by the events that need to be resolved at various points in the manuscript.

Page three of the workbook is the most important—the Glossary. This list of made-up words, names, and places is crucial for the finished product. The way words appear on this list is how they should occur throughout the entire story, novel, or series. This page ensures consistency and keeps the spellings from drifting as I lay down prose in the first draft.

I update the glossary page whenever a word or name is added or changed. I do this even in my non-fantasy work, as it gives me a quick, easy-to-access reminder of how real-world names and places are spelled, and what story I used them in.

Page four will have maps and a calendar for that world. The calendar is a central tool that keeps events happening logically, and maps keep the traveler on the correct, previously established path.

The image below shows the page tabs for a storyboard I created in Excel for a series, and it has evolved since 2009. As you can imagine, it has grown since I took this screenshot, but it is still manageable and still useful. 

Even after five or six drafts, my editor will find things that didn’t get listed but should have been and will update the stylesheet.

Writing a novel is a process of growth and development. It doesn’t stop until you sign off on the proof copies and the book is on sale.

And even then, you will think of things you could have done better. That’s the curse of being a writer.

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August 24, 2026 · 6:00 am

Channeling memories to create drama #writing

I once had the distinctly shocking experience of viewing a natural disaster as it occurred, albeit from a distance. In that, I was fortunate. We were not harmed, yet what we saw deeply affected us.

On May 18th, 1980, my friends and I watched the eruption of Mt. St. Helens from atop a hill in the middle of nowhere. My children had visited their father for the weekend, so my friends and I planned a fishing trip to a beaver pond in the next county.

Successful fishing trips usually begin before dawn. My friend’s Land Rover pulled up in front of my home at about 5:00 am, and we set out with all five of us laughing and having a great time. It was a long drive on narrow, dirt logging roads, but the possibility of trout for supper was just an excuse for a day spent in the deep forest.

The radio in the Land Rover had never worked, but the cassette deck did. Led Zeppelin, Robin Trower, Genesis, and Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow were the soundtrack to our trek through the tall Douglas fir forests of Lewis County.

At about 09:00 am, we came up over the top of a treeless hill. The view was breathtaking, as if all the world lay before us in springtime glory. Conversations suddenly stopped, and my friend pulled off the road, turning the engine off.

We got out and stared, first at the raging column of dust, rocks, and lightning that dwarfed the mountain and then at each other. Helicopters and airplanes from news agencies and the USGS circled like so many carrion birds.

What so many people had thought was just hysteria had suddenly come true.

Mount St. Helens had erupted.

We never did make it to the beaver pond. The only fish we caught that day were the tuna sandwiches we had packed. While the food was good, the conversations were sober as we stared at that unbelievable sight.

This was before cell phones, and with the radio broken, we had no way of hearing the news. But we knew it was terrible, that some people had died and others had lost everything. We had no idea just how bad it was, that one of my father’s favorite places to fish, the Mount St. Helens Lodge at Spirit Lake, had disappeared along with its cantankerous owner. Harry R. Truman had become famous in the weeks before the eruption for refusing to evacuate.

Toward midafternoon, we returned to Olympia. We were grateful to have homes to go to, and when my friends left me off, I was still in shock, still unable to believe what I had seen. When I turned on the television and found that more than fifty people had lost their lives, I felt devastated for them.

The story is in the hectic start to the morning, of five friends off on a day trip to go fishing. It is in the peace of the deep woods along those old dirt roads.

The camera zooms out and now we see the idyllic serenity of a clear sunny morning on Spirit Lake and Harry doing his morning chores.

This allows us to see what will be lost.

Then disaster strikes. The side of the mountain gives way, and the eruption is on.

Contrast that catastrophe against five people serenely picnicking on a hill, observing the apocalypse as it happens. The drama is in old Harry R. Truman’s stubborn end, and how it didn’t occur to us who watched from a distant hill that we would never rent a boat from him or fish in that lake again.

The bad juxtaposed against the good is the plot, but the experiences of those who witnessed it is the story. Contrast provides drama and texture, turning a wall of “bland” into something worth reading.

The true story of that day in my life is not the only time disaster contrasted against calm and tranquility.

At 11 o’clock on the morning of February 28, 2001, I was at work when a strong earthquake shook the Pacific Northwest, magnitude 6 point 8. I was terrified, thinking the building was going to come down on me. Fortunately, it did not.

I came home to find my dishes flung from the cupboards, the lamps tipped over, my cat hysterical, and my 17-year-old daughter at my mother’s house. A boy from her art class had driven her there when school closed early. He carefully drove down the narrow back alley behind my mother’s house as the road in front had collapsed.

(Sidenote: My daughter and that 17-year-old boy have been married for 23 years and have four boys. Not everything that happens as the result of a disaster is terrible.)

Stories that detail apocalyptic catastrophes capture our interest and glue us to the television. We write novels detailing them because disaster drives humanity to bigger and better things. The acts of heroism and the people who survive and rise above the disasters keep us turning the page.

We want to know how it will all turn out.

Disaster isn’t always apocalyptic. Dramas regularly happen on what seems an unimportant level to people who have resources. Not everyone has money, and not everyone can surmount the odds. The story is in the battle.

Think about those small daily tragedies people face, deeply personal catastrophes, which only they are experiencing. Love and loss, safety and danger, loyalty and betrayal are the eternal themes of tragedy and resolution. These are the seeds of a good story.

The contrast of ease against hardship can add drama to worldbuilding and storytelling. Writers want their readers to think about the story and those characters long after the last paragraph has been read. Drama and resolution are the keys to a great story.

Drama and disaster can and will happen on a wide scale in our real lives. Tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanoes, and droughts … the path of a natural disaster is erratic.

Sometimes trouble misses us, and we are merely bystanders, witnesses to the tragedy that unfolds in another person’s life. Other times, trouble strikes nearer to home.

What struggles have you faced? How can you channel the memory of the emotions you experienced to add drama to your work-in-progress? Your memories and experience of emotion can add depth to your writing. They were already paid for in pain and joy, so use them!

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Eruption of Mt. St. Helens May 18, 1980, Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons

IMAGE: McLane Pond in July 2018, photo by Connie J. Jasperson © 2018.

IMAGE: Spirit Lake near Mount St. Helens in 2009, in Washington State. Photo by Steven Pavlo, via Wikipedia.

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August 21, 2026 · 6:00 am

#FineArtFriday: Indian Canoe by Albert Bierstadt ca. 1886

Artist: Albert Bierstadt (1830–1902)

Title: Indian Canoe

Date: circa 1886

Medium: oil on canvas

Dimensions: height: 69.2 cm (27.2 in); width: 90.8 cm (35.7 in)

Collection: Blanton Museum of Art

What I love about this painting:

I love the quiet beauty of this faithful and respectful representation of a Native American paddling a canoe. It shows a scene from the times just before the native peoples were taken from their lands and forced onto reservations.

A time when the land was theirs, and future troubles seemed far away. Bierstadt was criticized in his time for portraying the native peoples with dignity and respect. It was a different time, and as most people now believe, that criticism was only a hint of the terrible prejudices that destroyed an entire culture’s way of life.

The landscape itself is reminiscent of the coastal landscape of the Pacific Northwest and is beautifully done. I especially like the way Bierstadt portrays the late afternoon sun as it slides into dusk. The evening mist rises, lending a mystic quality to the scene.

This is a moment of quiet serenity, and I am fortunate to be able to share it with you!

About the author, via Wikipedia:

Albert Bierstadt (January 7, 1830 – February 18, 1902) was a German American painter best known for his lavish, sweeping landscapes of the American West. He joined several journeys of the Westward Expansion to paint the scenes. He was not the first artist to record the sites, but he was the foremost painter of them for the remainder of the 19th century.

Despite his popular success, Bierstadt was criticized by some contemporaries for the romanticism evident in his choice of subjects and for his use of light, which they found excessive. Some critics objected to Bierstadt’s paintings of Native Americans, believing that including Indigenous Americans “marred” the “impression of solitary grandeur.”

Bierstadt was born in Prussia, but his family moved to the United States when he was one year old. He returned to study painting for several years in Düsseldorf. He became part of the second generation of the Hudson River School in New York, an informal group of like-minded painters who started painting along the Hudson River. Their style was based on carefully detailed paintings with romantic, almost glowing lighting, sometimes called luminism. Bierstadt was an important interpreter of the western landscape, and he is also grouped with the Rocky Mountain School. [1]

Credits and Attributions:

IMAGE: Wikimedia Commons contributors, “File:Albert Bierstadt – Indian Canoe.jpg,” Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Albert_Bierstadt_-_Indian_Canoe.jpg&oldid=1059522793 (accessed August 20, 2026).

[1] Wikipedia contributors, “Albert Bierstadt,” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Albert_Bierstadt&oldid=1365544126 (accessed August 20, 2026).

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August 17, 2026 · 6:00 am

Guest Post: The Flu Season Saga – How I Didn’t Structure a Series #writing

It’s always good to see things from a different point of view. I think and work in a linear fashion, and I talk (too often) about my process. My dear friend, author Stephen Swartz, thinks and works very differently from me, and he has kindly agreed to share some of his wisdom with us.

Stephen is a fellow co-founder of Myrddin Publishing Group and is the author of twenty-one novels (and counting). He writes in whatever genre suits his mood, and his work is always original and bold. I especially enjoy his unique voice and dense, literary style. So, without further yak-yak on my part, I bring you Stephen Swartz’s guest post:

Somehow I have created a series. I confess it wasn’t planned, just worked out that way. You see, I began with a single idea: a boy and his mom – and her tuba – escaping a city in chaos in the sixth year of a pandemic much like the worst days of the pandemic we experienced. A journey with things happening. But what about when they get to their destination? That becomes almost a different story. And from that realization, I was off and running. If the destination is like another story, what else would happen? Before the end of this first book, The Book of Mom, I knew there would be another book. I had to know what would happen next. I already had some ideas.

For Book 2, The Way of the Son, I envisioned another adventure for the son, Sandy, leading him to what would be his young family’s survival home in the woods of a national park. I knew with the start of Book 2 that there had to be a Book 3 to make it a trilogy. Then, for Book 3, Dawn of the Daughters, I switched narrators: having Isla, the daughter, growing up and telling the story of her parents and herself, then of her own children. I found it easy to keep going with characters who were already familiar to me and had gained my trust. I knew them well and wanted to give them more.

I had to choose a good character to tell what happens next. Whose perspective works best for the story? And what things will be familiar in the newly developing world of the story: a pandemic and survival years, then civil war and reconstruction. What level of development would they have by then? It is a new history unfolding and I can bend it in ways that make the next story interesting but also move it in ways that reveal a plausible direction for the new society. A lot, I will admit, came to be according to how my immediate interest shifted while writing the books. That is one reason the location shifted from the dirty capital in Book 4, The Book of Dad, to the western territory for Books 5 and 6.

In Book 1 I wanted to portray the immediate danger of the situation my characters, then bring them to a place of refuge which turns out to have its own dangers. But with Book 2 I had to invent more: what situations could they run into, both the bad and the less bad. I decided where they would eventually go, but I had to get them there – as well as wrap up some loose ends. Once settled, I could switch narrators for Book 3. Again, deciding what events would happen and how the main character is effected by them is a major thought-experiment. This might be where another writer may pause to do some planning but for me, it was all in my head although I may jot down notes to keep things in order or so I don’t forget to add them. It is all about feeling what the main character feels in the situation.

I took a pause after finishing the trilogy. But I had nagging thoughts of what would happen next – again. I imagined a rebuilt society mirroring that in Orwell’s 1984 and chose the right narrator – Isla’s youngest child, Frank – to tell the story of his struggle to exist in this “Ideal Society” then escape from it. In this way I could write a dystopian story but also link it to the trilogy as a sequel. But unexpectedly I had to go on. At the end of Book 4, The Book of Dad, Frank’s wife and children flee to the western territory. That was a bold decision, but it fit the end of the book. What could I do with that for another book? In Book 5, The Granddaughter (i.e., Isla’s), Maggie, Frank’s 10-year old daughter in Book 4, is now an adult and gets her own turn as narrator. While Book 1 was full of Sandy’s mother’s musical references, Book 5 is a chance to return to the musical side of the series with Maggie paying homage to her great-grandmother.

With two sequels crying out to be another trilogy, I felt the need for a sweeping epic to conclude the series. I saw a post-apocalyptic Western with gunslingers. Maggie, the granddaughter of Isla, has a son who gets lost in the wilderness. His adventures form the centerpiece of Book 6, The Grandsons. The frame story is what happens when this son of Maggie comes home. That seemed a fitting conclusion to the series.

But wait a minute – or a few weeks! A new idea had been boiling under my mind while I was writing The Grandsons (Book 6). I conceived of a ridiculous story set in a future medieval Missouri. Two brothers, descendants of the same family as the Flu Season Saga, are on a mission. It would be full of comedy, puns and jokes, lively wordplay, farce, and plot twists nobody could guess were coming. And thus The Warriors Baumann was born. I had thoughts of it standing on its own yet it still had ties to the Flu Season Saga. Ironically, the characters attend a play based on the opera composed by Maggie which was based on the notebooks written by Sandy (Books 1-3) about their experiences going to the island sanctuary and then having to leave it.

Meantime, I had been planning to write my magnum opus, A Time of Kings, all of my life and I finally felt ready for it. Considering how I linked The Warriors Baumann to the series by making the brothers Baumann descendants, I chose to do the same for my latest novel. The Prologue mentions a Baumann character and his son. The son is given the name Jack and uses it for most of the book even though he knows he is a Baumann. Jack observes the medieval world of this future America – like in The Warriors Baumann. He becomes part of the Royal family and interacts with them as a side character. Later, after accomplishing much, he stands out as the protagonist in the final third of the book.

Each book developed from the preceding book. Always the same question prompted me forward: What happens next? I let the developing world unfold in each book but the family remained, generation after generation. Therefore, I can say I did not sit down one day and make a grand plan for eight books to be a series – or even the first three as a trilogy. It just happened. The pros and cons are obvious. Continuity issues come to the fore. Might want to keep notes. But having characters cross from one book to the next, seeing them at different ages, in different situations, is a bonus feature. Different characters, different views of the changing world. Wishing to experience that change myself is what drives me.

Thank you, Stephen! About the Author:

Stephen Swartz is the author of literary fiction, science fiction, fantasy, romance, and contemporary horror novels. While growing up in Kansas City, he dreamed of traveling the world. His novels feature exotic locations, foreign characters, and smatterings of other languages–strangers in strange lands. You get the idea: life imitating art.

After studying music and even composing a symphony, Stephen planned to be a music teacher before turning to fiction writing, and taught writing at a university in Oklahoma. Stephen Swartz has published poetry, stories, essays, and articles for scholarly journals in the U.S. and Japan.

You can find him blogging at:  DeConstruction of the Sekuatean Empire

You can find his books at: Amazon.com: Stephen Swartz: books, biography, latest update

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August 10, 2026 · 6:00 am

Revisiting the Layers of the Scene: conversation #writing

This last week has been hectic. I have managed to make headway on one of my novellas despite the distractions. I was planning to write a post on the layers of a scene but realized I had written this one only two years ago, and nothing has changed.

I hope you don’t mind revisiting it. If you’ve already read it, thank you for stopping by and feel free to move on!

Most of my novels and short stories begin life as exchanges of dialogue between two characters. Their conversations shed light on what each character’s role in the story might be.

We all know that dialogue must do at least one (if not all) of these four things:

  1. It must share information the characters are only now learning.
  2. It should show the characters’ mood and state of mind.
  3. It must shed light on the relationship of the characters to each other.
  4. We include props that show the world and the characters’ places in their society.

So, once I have an idea for a story, I think about the characters and ask what they need to know, either about their quest or themselves. It’s a two-stage process—the scenery and background get filled in after the dialogue has been written.

I picture the scene. Then, I write just the dialogue for several back-and-forth exchanges, getting the basic words down.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, just drawing.”

“Drawing what?”

“You’ll laugh or find a reason to mock me for it.”

Once I know what they are talking about and have the rudimentary dialogue straight, I add basic scenery and speech tags. The dialogue grows with each layer because the scene becomes sharper in my mind.

The next morning, when his stepmother came down for coffee, John was once again working on something in his notebook.

“What are you doing?” Ann’s clipped tones cut the silence.

“Oh, just drawing.” He stood, gathering his pens. The peace he’d sought had gone earlier than he hoped.

“Drawing what?”

John’s normally open features were closed, inscrutable. “You’ll laugh or find a reason to mock me for it.” Closing his sketchbook, he attempted to leave but stopped when she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Show me. Now.” When Ann repeated her demand, he reluctantly opened the book. Page after page was covered in stylized dragons, leafy vines, and runes. “Why do you waste your time with this crap? You could be brilliant, but no! People want real art, not this drivel.”

“This is how I earn my living.”

Ann poured herself a cup of coffee, pausing only to sneer. “You don’t have a pot to—”

“It pays my mortgage. What more do you want?” John reclaimed the sketchbook. “Coming back here was a mistake. I did it because David asked me to, because Dad is ill, and because it’s Christmas.”

“Don’t talk to me about David. You encouraged my son to abandon a brilliant career in the law firm that has been in the family for four generations.”

“Stop. I encouraged my stepbrother to have faith in himself. Yes, I urged him to try out for the position of symphony concertmaster, and he got the job. He’s incredibly talented and loves what he does.” John crossed toward the dining room, aware that arguing with her would change nothing. “Enjoy your breakfast.” The kitchen door closed behind him, cutting off his stepmother’s rant.

The layers that form this scene are:

  1. good_conversations_LIRFmemeAction: She comes down for coffee. He holds a notebook, gathers pens, and stands.
  2. Dialogue: shows long-simmering resentment between the two players and gives us a time reference—it’s Christmas.
  3. Environment: a kitchen, closed off from the rest of the house.
  4. The story: Ann is under severe stress in her work and at home. In this story, her closed-off kitchen is symbolic of her closed-off personality. The place that is the heart of a home is walled away. She doesn’t want to examine why she is enraged by David and John’s freedom to make their own choices.

We work with layers to create each scene. With these layers, we show the reader everything they need to know about that moment in time.

Over the course of a narrative, conversations will take place in different settings. Readers will gradually see the world through the characters’ eyes. They will visualize the world without our having to dump a floor plan or itinerary on the reader. Remember our basic conversation?

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, just drawing.”

“Drawing what?”

“You’ll laugh or find a reason to mock me for it.”

Let’s keep the names and put that dialogue and the notebook into a fantasy setting. We’ll change how the characters are related to each other and see what comes up:

Logically, Ann knew John wasn’t responsible for David’s death. Two years on, and it still colored her life. But he’d come back alive when her brother hadn’t, and a secret part of her blamed him for that. Still, her curiosity grew stronger every time she saw him with his pencils beside the campfire, drawing something in his notebook.

Ann knelt and turned the flatbread so it would cook evenly. She couldn’t ask him about the stupid notebook. Why had she volunteered to cook? It was bad enough that she was traveling alone with him. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was open to resuming their old accord.

But curiosity, her greatest curse, got the better of her. To her horror, she heard herself ask, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just drawing.”

“Drawing what?”

“You’ll laugh or find a reason to mock me for it.” Closing his sketchbook, John attempted to rise but stopped when she put her hand on his shoulder.

“I promise I won’t. Please? I’m just curious.”

John’s guarded expression said he doubted her. Of course, he did. She’d been cold to him since David was killed. But he opened his notebook.

Page after page was covered with portraits of all the members of their clan, including her. Each looked as full of life as if they could step off the page. Tears sprang to her eyes on seeing the many portraits of her brother, handsome and laughing. “All these drawings of David … it’s the way I want to remember him.” She met his gaze. “Thank you.”

John looked away. “I dream all night long of that day and all the things I could have done to change what happened. And then I have to draw. I don’t know why.”

Ann’s eyes burned again. She owed him an apology. But how? “Maybe you draw portraits to keep the people you love alive.” She sighed, saying what she knew was the truth. “It was an avalanche. You couldn’t have changed anything.”

We used the same words as in the previous scene for the core of the conversation and included a sketchbook. We used the same names. John is still an artist, and Ann is still under stress, in this case, grief. However, with different relationships, we have different histories. We end up with different character arcs and a different outcome.

The layers that form this scene are:

Family Camping Clipart

Action: Ann is cooking—the campfire is her kitchen. John opens a notebook.

Dialogue: shows a wary interaction between two people who know each other well but are estranged and who may be entering a different stage in their relationship.

Environment: a campsite, an open fire. It is set in the wide outdoors, yet in the darkness, it is intimate.

The core of the dialogue is the same, but the direction the conversation takes is changed because the story and the characters are different.

By beginning with the conversation and envisioning it as if it were a scene in a movie, I can flesh it out and show everything the reader needs to know. Readers are smart and don’t want to be told what to think. Their minds will supply the details of a kitchen or a campsite, depending on the props I include when I add the set dressing.

The layers of action, dialogue, and environment form the framework that supports the story. Where will the layers you add to your conversations take your stories? The possibilities are endless.

This post first appeared here on Life in the Realm of Fantasy in August of 2024. Thank you for revisiting it with me!

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