My name is Alice C Everett, and I am attempting to write a novel. The novel is low-fantasy, and it has magic, enemies-to-lovers, found family, and an overly-emotional FMC who's just trying to escape a wrongful conviction.
I'm currently at 26k words of draft 1, currently working on writing chapter 10, and translating chapter 9 from my notepad to my document lol (which has not yet been added to the word count).
If you're interested in seeing a realistic writing process, a clean fantasy about a girl running from someone else's wrongdoings, or just curious to see what exactly I'm doing, you should follow along 🙃
Writing Things I've Learned the Hard Way #11: Starting Over
Everyone talks about how writing a book is hard---especially hard.
A few will tell you the percentages, that most don't ever start, and even more don't ever reach the end of their first draft, start revising, and how a very, very tiny handful will manage to publish: both traditionally and indie.
But what I don't hear a lot of is when you go from the end of one manuscript to start the next.
Seeing the numbers start over, the word count reset to zero, it's jarring. Unnerving. And frankly, it kind of hurt. It felt like the first book in the trilogy almost didn't exist---and that I was starting over.
It took me until I reached chapter two of book two to realize that it is hard, but not for the reason I think. It is not hard because I have left the first book behind or moved on to a new story or because the word count reset.
It is hard because of the shift.
When I was writing book one, I had everything laid out. And aside from the beginning (where I started before I decided to heavily lean into the enemies-to-lovers), the story has a pacing, a structure, and it flows, albeit not the best as a first draft, but it flows. It is a shorter book, about 42k pre-edit, but it exists. I can revise, edit, send off to beta and alpha readers, revise, edit, and publish. I can market, grow a fanbase, talk about it, everything.
But I cannot do that with book two yet, because book two does not exist anywhere but in my mind.
Book two sits at 2,700 words right now, and the tension is thick, and I am enjoying the writing process for book two. But, the shift from the tension and the settings and the motivations in book one has made it hard for me to settle into book two with the small time jump between the books. The motivations are shifting, the characters have begun to change, and there are new relationships being built and formed, where the seeds for them were planted in the first book.
It is a shift from burying the seed in the soil to nurturing the sprout that has grown.
It is a different, more tense care given to the same plant.
A different, more tense attention given to the same story.
And thus, it is hard. It is hard to understand that my characters are no longer how you meet them on page one, it is hard to come to terms with the fact that this is a step closer to my book being read by all of you, it is hard to understand that I will no longer live with this story in my head, and it will be something that is shared with everyone I know and love and all of my friends online.
I am not starting over.
I am adding a special, new kind of care to the same story.
Lately I've been doing some posts on the internal part of stories, the internal plotline and on balancing interiority. For a long time, I've wanted to write a post about when to lay on that interiority a little thicker in a story. This is an important topic because many of us were taught that writing the abstract is bad and that we shouldn't spend too much time in introspection.
Those are both true, somewhat.
Writing in the abstract can be "bad" because it's less immersive and therefore less impactful for the audience. It relates more to "telling" not "showing." It doesn't allow the audience to experience the story (generally speaking), and it gets way overused (and used poorly) by beginning writers.
In truth though, many of your character's inner pieces are going to be abstract.
I mean, they kind of have to be, because they exist inside the character.
And as I mentioned before, the internal plotline is the most abstract plotline, since it's about how a character arcs.
As for introspection, beginning writers do tend to write too much, and they tend to do it in "bathtub" scenes--scenes that happen largely in the character's head, but aren't usually moving the story forward. That can be a big problem.
There are so many nuances to this topic though, that I've frankly struggled on where to put today's info and how to organize it. My thoughts eventually evolved into this post and this angle, and I can only hope it was the best approach. (Though I acknowledge it won't click with everyone, and I'll be looking at this topic from a more advanced writing level.)
In any case, let's talk about when it might be a good idea to focus more on your character's interiority, on the page.
And to some extent, how much interiority you should include, will depend on what kind of story you are writing. . . .
Character-driven vs. Plot-driven
You may have heard there are character-driven stories and plot-driven stories. These are terms I don't use a whole lot, in part because I think they are a bit misleading, for reasons I'll likely cover in a future post. Regardless . . .
Character-driven stories focus more on the character. They focus more on the character's personal journey, how he is impacted by the events of the plot, and how he arcs through the narrative (because of his choices). These are stories that emphasize the internal plotline. A Man Called Otto and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty are character-driven stories.
Plot-driven stories focus more on the plot (obviously). They focus more on the external journey. Rather than emphasizing high personal stakes, they emphasize broad, far-reaching stakes. They are less about how the protagonist is impacted by the events, and more about how other people or the world at large is impacted by them. 007 and Ghostbusters are plot-driven stories.
There is more I could say about either of these categories, but we'll keep it simple for now.
And it's worth noting that many stories exist somewhere in the middle of these. This is all really more of a spectrum rather than an either-or situation.
Some genres fit more into one category than the other. Drama, women's fiction, and literary fiction are almost always character-driven. Thrillers, action films, and adventure stories are almost always plot-driven.
As you may have guessed by this point, character-driven stories are going to have more interiority than plot-driven stories.
So while a big chunk of introspection may be perfectly fine in women's fiction, another chunk of introspection the same length may be problematic in a thriller.
Furthermore, it also depends on what you've established as the baseline of interiority in your story. Is this a story where we are constantly getting a unique take on what is happening from a colorful viewpoint character? Or is this a story where we mainly get just enough interiority to provide context and validation for the audience? The sort of interiority we might expect from anyone in that same situation?
What you establish as a baseline will affect what you can get away with.
So this is a difficult topic to cover, because how much interiority you can lay on in a given place, is relative to the type of story you are writing.
This means it's not really a matter of word count. And it's arguably not even really a matter of percentage.
A lot of it depends on your story.
With that said though, there are some places where you can--relatively speaking--use more interiority. Let's go over those.
Internal Plotline & Internal Conflict
Okay, this may sound obvious, especially since I recently did a whole post about the internal plotline, but I'm going to cover some things from a slightly different angle.
In that previous post, I talked about how, at the basic level, a plotline should have these things: an objective, an antagonist, a conflict, and consequences (and a turning point).
An Objective
In the internal plotline, the objective is fulfilling an abstract want. Luke Skywalker wants to become, or be part of something great. Hamilton wants to build a legacy. Agent Mulder wants to find and reveal the truth. In order to write a great plot, these wants need to show up as concrete, measurable things--like Luke wanting to become a Jedi, rescue the princess, and destroy the Death Star. Or Hamilton wanting to win the war.
In any story, this abstract want is not being fulfilled (or if it is, it will soon be put in jeopardy). This is why the protagonist does whatever she does.
In most stories, it's okay to use interiority to convey the objective.
This isn't the only way to convey the objective. Certainly a character can voice in dialogue what she wants or aims to do. Or we can show or imply this in action. In fact, as I mentioned, we need this want to show up in concrete ways to tell a good story.
But if you are conveying the character's want . . . you can get away with a little more interiority.
Because it's an element that informs the plot and largely motivates the story. So writing about it will feel more relevant, and less like a superfluous passage that is distracting from the story (which kills pacing). Instead, it's contributing to, and bolstering what's integral to the story.
We may say that writing about the want is the equivalent of writing the "I want" song in musicals. These songs are in almost every musical--"Part of Your World" in The Little Mermaid, "My Shot," in Hamilton, "The Wizard and I" in Wicked, to name a few. These are in almost every musical because establishing what the protagonist wants is integral to a good story.
As always, though, anything taken too far can cause problems (and chances are, you aren't writing a musical), so you'll have to gauge how much is too much according to your story. Audiences also don't like a bunch of repetition, so you'll have to dig deeper into that abstract want so you aren't just repeating the same thing over and over. You'll likely want to get into why the character has that want and how they believe fulfilling it will make their life better (and perhaps what it's like to live without that want fulfilled).
I also need to mention that not all characters are consciously aware they have this abstract want driving them. For them, it could be totally subconscious. In that case, the character is going to focus much more on the concrete goal in their thoughts, rather than this abstract want. And in either situation, the character believes achieving this concrete goal will largely satisfy them. Focusing their introspection on the concrete goal likewise strengthens the story, because it bolsters the first element of (the external) plot--the goal itself.
The audience gets a stronger sense of what achieving this goal means to the character, and so the audience gets more invested in the story--they'll want to stick around to see if the goal gets achieved, and the interiority won't feel so out of place.
Antagonist & Conflict
The next two elements have a similar effect because they both relate to plot. Introspection isn't usually meant to be random--that's when we run into issues--it's meant to contribute to the story, to enhance the story, and to move the story forward.
When the character is acting as an antagonist to himself, and therefore creating internal conflict, you can include more interiority.
Because it's relevant to the plot.
I know I'm kind of talking in circles, but that's the main point here--if it's relevant to the plot, then it's relevant to the story, and you can layer more on.
I've talked before about how all structural units fit this basic shape.
It's a fractal, so smaller versions of it exist inside the overarching version.
It's the shape of acts.
And it's the shape of scenes.
When a character runs into an antagonist, it creates conflict. This escalates us into the rising action.
If the rising action--the conflict--of a scene is largely internal, then yes, of course you can use more interiority. Because the driving conflict is happening inside the character.
Now often it's also useful and more impactful if it shows up in concrete ways. For example, a character in conflict about whether or not to ask a coworker on a date, may pick up the phone to do that, then slam the phone down out of fear. Then pick up the phone, redial, only to ask the woman if she saw the email from their boss before hanging up again. Then maybe he calls again, says something stupid, and has lessened his chances with her.
The character is an antagonist to himself, but his internal conflict is also impacting the concrete world. That's often ideal.
In any case, you are justified in using more interiority, because the antagonist is the self and the conflict is with the self. That's where the tension is, that's where the escalation is, that's what is interesting.
As I mentioned before though, not all internal conflict is related to the internal plotline. And that's okay. Sometimes it's related more to the external plotline or even a relationship plotline. Sometimes the character is simply conflicted about which action to take next on their adventure. Should they team up with a questionable thief? Or go to their estranged father for help?
Even if it's not strictly related to the internal journey (or character arc), you can still get away with more interiority when there is internal conflict about any relevant situation. (And usually "relevant" means it's related to one of the other dominating plotlines.)
Consequences (& Turning Points)
The turning point is that climactic peak in basic structure. It's when the current conflict is resolved, for better or worse. It's when we tip from conflict into consequences.
In the overarching internal plotline, the consequence is the character arc.
Anytime you are working with the character arc, you can use more interiority.
But again, you can overdo it.
And again, to be most effective, it should (also) show up in concrete ways.
It's not enough for me to read that Scrooge has changed, I need to see his change in concrete ways--I need to see him spend his money on others and visit Tiny Tim.
But if you want to delve deep into how this change impacted his mind and body as he completed his arc, and how it continues to impact him moving forward, that's likely going to be acceptable (as long as you don't wear out your welcome).
When working with smaller structural units (like acts and scenes), what happens after the turning point is going to show up in a slightly different way (though often that way is still relevant to the character arc). I'll talk about that way in the next section.
Let's first go more into consequences in general.
With consequences, I like to split them into two categories: ramifications and stakes.
Ramifications are the consequences that actually happen (like I just talked about). And stakes are the consequences that could happen. Stakes are what the character (or audience) thinks will happen when a certain condition is met. This means that stakes often fit into an "If . . . then" statement:
If Luke doesn't destroy the Death Star, the Rebel Alliance will be defeated.
If Hamilton doesn't come clean about his affair, Burr may use the information against him as a political opponent.
Those are stakes.
A full rundown of stakes is beyond the scope of this article. But the point I want to make here is you can use (more) interiority, when it relates to the stakes.
In fact, often stakes are conveyed through introspection. The viewpoint character clues the audience into the stakes, by laying them out on the page through their thought processes. If I don't defeat the [antagonist], then my family will be killed, the protagonist may think.
And having them think about the stakes will actually bring in more tension and hooks, which are just going to strengthen the story.
Of course, though, there are others ways to communicate the stakes, like through dialogue or by showing the consequences happen to someone else.
But you can definitely use more interiority when it's related to the stakes.
In the "Valleys"
If we view basic story structure as a fractal, we see that a story isn't made up of one continuous climb, but rather, smaller "peaks" and "valleys," in acts and in scenes.
I've mentioned how the rising action is where escalating conflict takes place and the peak is the turn where that conflict gets resolved (for better or for worse, and if only temporarily). This leads us into the consequences.
Well, the consequences are what the characters react to.
And another simplistic way of looking at this basic structural shape, is that the climb is where action takes place, and the fall is where reaction takes place.
After a turn (the peak), things should have changed (because there were consequences). In the falling action, the characters react to what just happened and the consequences they now have to deal with.
Some turns are bigger than other turns.
The turn of the whole story, the climax, is bigger than the previous turns of the acts.
And the turn of an act is going to be bigger than the turns of the scenes.
The bigger the turn, the bigger the consequences.
The bigger the consequences, the bigger the impact on the characters, which means the bigger the reaction.
The more important the reaction, the more important interiority can become.
If the protagonist just had her best friend killed at the turning point, then you're likely going to want to use more interiority to show how she reacts to such a blow. This is a place where you may want to lay more interiority on.
In the "valleys," the character reacts and eventually regroups (well, in most valleys--in some valleys the character has gotten what he wants and just enjoys that until a new antagonistic force appears.) The character will eventually come up with a new way forward and a new plan. You can use interiority to guide the audience through that thought process.
This will then lead us out of the valley and into the next climb.
One thing I want to mention here is that often one of the significant differences between character-driven and plot-driven stories, is the size of the valleys.
In a plot-driven story, the valleys are shorter . . . or I guess . . . shallower. We get a brief reaction (at least enough to validate the character isn't a robot), and shortly after, a new plan, and the plot moves forward.
In a character-driven story, the valleys are bigger . . . or I guess . . . deeper. We spend more time on the reaction and how the character eventually regroups.
Generally speaking anyway.
What happens in the valleys can also relate to character arc--how the character reacts to the turn can shape who that character is becoming.
. . . Okay, so I know what some of you are thinking right now, Well, September, at this point haven't you just told us we can use more interiority at basically any part of the story? That's a fair observation, so let me speak to that.
When Not to Wax Strong on Interiority
One of the points I'm trying to make through all this, is that what the interiority is about, matters. And this is where many beginning writers go wrong, and we start getting all these rules that we shouldn't use interiority very much.
Just as we can't write random things to make a good plot, we can't usually write random stream-of-conscious stuff and justify that the interiority belongs in the story.
One of the major problems that comes up here, is that the writer wants to use interiority to give an info-dump about how the character got to where she currently is and what happened in her past, and the writer mistakenly thinks that putting in random detailed thoughts about whatever comes along in the story creates "character." But true character is shown through the plot elements. It's not a long passage about the protagonist's favorite music, or a random flashback about how grandma always made her lemon cookies in the summertime. It's how the character acts and reacts to the plot. That's what shows us who she truly is (and/or who she is becoming).
I'm not saying you can't ever mention your character's favorite song. You can, if you can slip it into the scene without detracting from important things (or from pacing). And you can if you make it important to the plot.
It's not a good idea though, to spend a whole paragraph on your character's favorite bands, if it's not feeding into or overlapping with these plot elements.
In some stories you may be able to get away with this, if it suits the strong narrative voice. Sure, someone like Lemony Snicket can go on a tangent about driver's licenses when it's rather irrelevant, because that's why readers read his work. That's the main appeal of his books. But that is a very, very small percentage of literature.
What the interiority is about matters.
Okay, so, I know this article has been kind of heavy, and likely difficult for some of my readers to follow--that's all right. I don't expect it all to click with everyone, nor to click with everyone instantly.
But I've felt strongly this is an important topic to cover.
Because lots of interiority isn't always bad.
Improper use of interiority is bad.
It needs to be strengthening the story.
Not detracting from it.
Unfortunately, though, these aren't concepts you can easily whip out and share with new writers. You need to understand stories at a much deeper level before you can discern and apply these principles in the ways I've laid out (which is why I've been struggling with how to approach this topic).
So yes, limiting introspection is great advice for new writers, for most stories. Basic general statements about it, are helpful.
But as you understand the craft more, you understand it's all more nuanced.
In any case, I've done my best to explain these nuances today. Hopefully there is something in here that is useful to you.
Writing Things I'm Learning the Hard Way #10: Falling Out Of Love
So, if you don't know me, my name is Alice C Everett, and I have finished the first draft of my debut novel (title TBD). I've been writing this novel for the last 6 and a half months, and I've loved my story every step of the way.
I have sent the draft off to my Alpha readers, and I'm waiting for feedback. I thought, why not go ahead and start writing the second novel while I'm at it? Why not go ahead and get the next two first drafts out of the way since that is the hard part?
Well, as it turns out, writing is really hard. Like, overwhelmingly hard. And right now, I just don't want to.
I need to, I should. I should be writing the first draft of book two while I've got the time to step away from book one.
And yet---I think I hate my characters. My story. The world I've created from scratch.
I think I've fallen out of love with something that once brought me so much joy that I felt compelled to write it and share it with others.
And I'm going to be completely honest; it's a horrifying feeling.
I've always wanted to be an author. I've always loved writing and making words fit together in a way that compels the reader to feel such strong and evocative emotions. And yet, I cannot help but feel like I am dragging my feet as I attempt to write.
I feel as though I got the first draft of book one done, and now I have lost all mite of talent and skill that I ever had. That I do not belong under the title of "writer" because I am not in love with writing anymore.
But though these feelings are strong, very convincing, and extremely overwhelming...
I know they are not the truth.
I still show up to my keyboard. I still take the time to think about where my story is going next. I still write---even if it is begrudgingly about a story I feel no love towards.
Because I feel like I do not belong now.
But in the future---I know I will be glad I pushed through this moment and published my first book, possibly the first of very many.
In the future, I will know I have loved this story enough to show up for it, even when I thought I hated it.
And maybe, in the future, someone else will give this story enough love to fill in for the times I did not have love to give it.
Writing Things I'm Learning the Hard Way #9: Developmental Editing
If you want to skip to what I've learned about Dev Editing so far skip to the next bolded section
As someone who is very broke, I cannot afford to hire a developmental editor. I would LOVE to, don't get me wrong, and I feel as though my book would be better for it. However, this is one of those things that I simply cannot afford, and this is something that is a little out of my control.
Though if I sat back and wanted to save for it, I could. But that would take a very, very long time. I do not make that much money, and it would probably be a year or MORE before I could get that editor for the first book, let alone the rest of the series. And this book feels like it has to come out sooner rather than later.
I don't know why.
And maybe, looking back, there will be a WTILTHW post about how I should've hired a dev editor for this book series. But how can I know unless I try? I want to be able to do this one day. And, who knows? I might be able to do this for other authors on the side one day just because I chose to start with my book right now.
I won't know unless I try.
Anyway, without further ado, this is what I've learned so far about Developmental Editing
Developmental Editing (I'll call it Dev Editing for short) is very different than most type of editing. In other forms of editing, you are looking at the words in front of you; "Does this sentence make sense?" "Is my grammar correct?" "Is this paragraph too long, short, or confusing?" "Any spelling mistakes?"
However, with Dev editing, you are looking past the words, and at the Big Picture of the story. Are the characters consistent and believable? Do they change throughout the story or change the story itself? Is the world developed well, or is it just a space for the plot to exist in? Does the story keep a steady pace, or is it weird?
So, while other editors are looking at your words, the Dev is looking at your story. They are not concerned about the way things are spelled or how a sentence reads (though, as a common courtesy, you should at least hit "spellcheck" before sending it to an editor).
So, I've learned about the different aspects of a story, and broke it down into a few pieces.
Characters and Arcs
Plot, Plot Holes, and Subplots
Pacing and Tension
Themes and Tropes
World and History
Story
This way, I can go over each individual piece, one at a time, so I can focus entirely on each part to make it the best it can be.
Part of this, too, is asking the right questions. Don't be scared to admit your stuff needs work. It's part of making it better.
For example, the question "Does this align with Julie's belief that cats are better than dogs?" is a much better question than "Does this make sense?" One question is getting into the specifics about Julie's beliefs, allowing for story and character development with either the yes or the no. However, the second question isn't anywhere near as specific, allowing the answer to be anything. You could say yes, reason with it, and move on with your revisions without ever working with what truly needs to be worked on.
I am aware I am not a professional, and probably never will be (so any tips or tricks is greatly appreciated). But learning to do this is allowing me to expand my horizons and even allow my drafts to be better the first time around, and need less work later.
All in all, life is hard, and I am tired. But this work will be very satisfying when it is finished.
Writing Things I Learned the Hard Way #8: You MUST Be Okay with Criticism
I'm going to preface this post with this: I am a VERY sensitive person. So trust me, I really do understand it when I tell you that it sucks to receive negative feedback on something you worked REALLY hard on.
But you must be okay with receiving criticism if you want to make it as an author.
With the writing process, there are three main types of editing; Developmental, Copy/Line, and Proofreading.
Developmental Editing is where you find all the big picture mistakes: plot holes, character issues, pacing, themes, tropes and arcs, worldbuilding, etc. You make sure that the story and world is consistent and believable, and that the characters are just copies of one another.
Copy Editing, or Line Editing, is the step in the editorial process where you look for things that make the book less readable. Make it word repetition, character inconsistencies, or other small annoyances for the reader. This is where you look at it from an "audience perspective" as you are editing, and finding things you don't want to see in a book (unless it is there FOR the plot).
Proofreading is the final stage of editing, mostly focusing on the grammar and spelling of certain words, and making sure that you punctuation is correctly used. This is to make sure that the book itself is polished---it doesn't focus on the story whatsoever.
But what does this have to do with criticism, you may ask?
Because of that help I mentioned in a previous post in this series.
Almost every author has Beta readers, and a lot of them have Alpha readers. Most everyone has an editor step in somewhere in the mix.
You have to be okay with receiving negative feedback about your work because that is how your work gets better. I cannot send this first draft to my Alphas and tell them "Tell me everything I did right!" and expect to have a good book at the end of it.
I have to learn what I've done wrong in order to make it right.
And if you have an echo chamber---a place where people are not genuine about their opinions because they are scared of hurting your feelings---then your book may not be one worth reading.
As I've covered previously, most successful stories have at least three different types of plotlines, and most commonly they are the external, internal, and relationship plotlines. Often these plotlines overlap, and almost always they interweave, at least to some degree. There are some exceptions to this; for example, you may have a relationship plotline with characters other than the protagonist, and it may even be, basically, a separate story (a topic for another day).
Many of your scenes will likely interweave these plotlines.
A lot of us have learned how to handle the external plotline. The character has a concrete, external goal, and faces antagonism, which leads to conflict. This conflict escalates and escalates in rising action, until eventually the character and antagonist face off in a defining way at the climax, where one or the other comes out the victor (simplistically speaking). Consequences take effect, and we fall into the falling action.
This is (essentially) the plot structure of the external plotline. For the narrative arc. For the acts. And for the scenes. Because story structure is a fractal.
So within an "external" scene, this same thing happens, but in miniature. For example, the narrative arc of The Hunger Games is about Katniss winning the Games--that's her concrete goal. She faces a lot of antagonism, it escalates to the climax, and she succeeds. But within scenes, this same thing happens. In one scene, she's in a tree and must escape the Careers. Her concrete goal is to drop a tracker jacker hive on them to get away. She faces antagonism--it's hard to cut the hive, and of course, she has to deal with the tracker jackers themselves as they sting her. The hive drops, the Careers (another form of antagonism) run away, and Katniss bolts too (until she passes out). Rising action. Climax. Falling Action.
When working with the external plotline, many people like to view the climax as a "victory" or "defeat," or some prefer the terms "success" or "failure." Either the character succeeded in overcoming the antagonist and getting the goal, or she didn't. This is a little simplistic to me, but it can be helpful to keep in mind.
In the internal plotline, the components we are working with are rather abstract, and the antagonist is, at least to some degree, the self. Simplistically speaking, this plotline is the character arc. But most commonly, this plotline interweaves with the external, so its abstract pieces will show up in concrete ways--I won't go into that too much here, but if you want to learn more about the internal plotline, you can read "Working with the Internal Plotline."
And then we get to the relationship plotline, which, unless you write romance, you probably haven't really been taught how to write. Almost no one talks about it in a comprehensive way. This is a gap in the writing community I am working to fill.
Thus today's post.
The relationship plotline can feel surprisingly elusive and strange at times, because it actually, in some sense, exists between these other two. It's not as concrete as the external plotline, but it's not as abstract as the internal plotline. Because it's about a relationship arc between two (or more) people, it's somewhat abstract, and it's somewhat concrete.
This isn't always a big deal when writing, because if you aren't writing romance, chances are the relationship plotline you are working with is likely closely interwoven with the external and/or internal plotlines. I guess what I'm saying is, because of the interweave, it's often intuitive to writers how those plotlines are affecting and arcing the relationship.
But what about scenes that are mostly, only about the relationship plotline? A first date? A family reunion? A birthday celebration?
This is where things can sometimes get tricky. Especially when we are working with positive relationships, like lovers, friends, or allies.
While some relationship scenes have no conflict (just as sometimes external plot scenes have no conflict), the reality is, most relationship scenes still need conflict. Often scenes without conflict must be rather short, because they typically can't hold the audience's interest for very long. Often most scenes are more interesting, when they hold at least some conflict.
But, you may be thinking, these characters like each other, and they want to get along and have a good time!
That's fine.
This is when it's helpful for me to make an important pitstop related to conflict.
Conflict doesn't mean there must be shouting matches and flying fists. Conflict does not require anger or violence.
What conflict actually means, is that there is a clash of opposition. The character is running into antagonism.
And like conflict, antagonism is not necessarily an angry, violent, hellbent entity.
The true definition of an antagonist, is something that opposes the protagonist's objective. It's something that creates resistance to the protagonist getting their objective. In this sense, a gust of unruly wind can be an antagonist, a boulder in front of a trail can be an antagonist, your Great Aunt Margaret, who lovingly insists you should get a safe job as a secretary, can be an antagonist.
It's simply whatever creates opposition to the character fulfilling their desires.
Sure there may be a main antagonist in your story, but realistically, any story will have lots and lots of antagonists--and they likely won't all be "bad guys."
Even in my Hunger Games example, while the society of Panem is the main antagonist, both the Careers and the tracker jackers are antagonists within an act and scene (respectively). The tracker jackers aren't "bad guys"--they are just insects living their lives, not wanting to be bothered by a human, and they happen to have hallucinogenic stings.
Generally speaking, for most scenes, in most stories, you need antagonism and conflict. But this doesn't mean that it always shows up as vicious debates or punching and kicking.
Some stories may be the exception here, literally having little conflict, but you'll likely notice that stories that succeed as those exceptions, have rather short scenes--because again, it's difficult to hold the audience long without conflict. (Or at least tension, which is the potential for conflict to happen.)
The same is true of relationship-driven scenes.
If the scene is going to go longer than a snippet, you likely need some form of antagonism, even if (and perhaps especially if) these characters want to get along.
But first, let's cover the objective in relationships. In the external plotline, we may argue that the values we are working with are "success vs. failure." While we can, to some degree, use these in the relationship plotline, I feel it's more helpful to back up, and see how these values actually translate over into relationships.
When working with relationships, the basic values we are working with are "close vs. distant." Either these characters are drawing closer, or they are becoming more distant. Or, they are maintaining the relationship as is, in which case, the antagonist is going to upset that, by pushing them closer or pulling them apart.
At the climax of the relationship plotline, the characters will ultimately draw closer or become more distant, in a defining way.
These are the relationship objectives your character can have at the most basic level:
- want to draw closer
- want to create distance
- want to maintain the relationship as is
The antagonist is what is opposing that.
At the basic level, you have three places to pull antagonists from.
- Something outside of the relationship threatens the objective
- Something within the relationship (the other person) threatens the objective
- Something within the character threatens the objective
This creates conflict. Sure, it could be a shouting match, but it could also be the love interest shutting down and going silent when the protagonist is trying to get to know her.
Sometimes it's helpful to frame the objective into something more specific, like "I want George to ask me out" (notice the character wants to draw closer to George). Maybe George also wants to ask her out. But just as she's dropping the hints, the neighbor's dog gets loose and starts yapping and growling at George. The dog is the external antagonist, creating resistance to the objective.
Or maybe the objective is, "I want to avoid George, so he doesn't ask me out" (creating distance). But George wants to approach her to ask her out. So the protagonist is trying to hurry to her car, but George is trying to hurry to her. George is the antagonist.
Or maybe the objective is, "I want to stay professional with George" (maintaining), but the protagonist is starting to find George highly attractive, which evolves the relationship into something more personal. The antagonist is herself.
But it doesn't have to be romantic or even a potentially new relationship.
It could be something like, "I want my mom to love this present I got her," but Mom just got home from a long work shift and is too tired to be bothered with opening a present. That's conflict.
Also, stakes are still important too. What are the potential consequences of Mom not loving the present? Or of her, in fact, loving the present? Does the protagonist hope the present will help heal an old wound? Or communicate his deepest gratitude that he can't put into words? Usually, the more meaningful the stakes, the better. The stakes are often tied to the goal, and so here, they often boil down to either drawing close, creating distance, or maintaining the relationship. Communicate why that matters, and make sure the stakes are significant--meaning they are big enough to potentially change the trajectory of the relationship or story itself.
Like the external plotline, the climax is when that objective is achieved or not--when the characters definitively draw closer or become more distant (or successfully maintain the relationship as is).
But I'll be honest, with the relationship plotline, this can get surprisingly complicated, because often it is interweaving with the external and internal plotlines.
For example, let's say we have two allies who both want to defeat the main antagonist, but they want to accomplish that in different ways. The protagonist wants to challenge the main antagonist openly. The ally wants to use covert methods to undermine the main antagonist. Within this scene, the protagonist and ally are "antagonists"--they want opposing things. This creates conflict. Maybe they want to stay allies, but this argument is threatening to drive them apart and end their alliance.
See how this is a little more complex to untangle?
Let's add the internal plotline to it. The protagonist believes covert methods are cowardly, and he fears he's already turning into a coward, which is an identity he wants to resist.
So now there are objectives, antagonists, and conflicts of every dimension--external, internal, and relationship--in this single scene.
While it's complex to untangle, I personally find these scenes easier to write, strictly because you have so much to draw from.
But this will likely also be a very intense, tension-filled scene, and we usually can't operate at that level all the time--the audience would get burned out.
We need "quieter" scenes too.
But if they go on very long, they still need an objective, antagonism, and conflict of some kind, usually--that is the important thing to keep in mind.
Let's consider some real examples of relationship-driven scenes.
In Spider-Man 3, Peter has the objective to propose to Mary Jane at a nice restaurant. This scene is almost entirely relationship-focused, though the internal plotline is obviously helping shape it. The antagonism is Peter's own "blindness" to Mary Jane's thoughts, feelings, and current life situation, as well as his own arrogance. He is trying to draw closer to Mary Jane, but in his efforts, he is unwittingly pushing her further away, creating conflict. This escalates until at the climax, Mary Jane walks out. This scene has created distance in the relationship, in a defining way--moving its trajectory from potential marriage, to a potential breakup. So it carries significant ramifications. It also clearly communicates the stakes upfront--the audience knows Peter wants to marry MJ, so what happens at this dinner matters.
This scene is rather tension-filled, and it's all about the relationship.
Let's consider a scene that is less intense.
In Wicked, in "Popular," Elphaba and Galinda are friends now, and they want to be friends. While Elphaba is the true protagonist of the story, Galinda is the true protagonist of this scene--she's the one who holds the main goal and is working toward it, meeting resistance. (As a side note, it's totally okay to have the other character be the "protagonist" in a relationship scene.) Galinda's objective is to teach Elphaba how to be popular, which she considers a great act of service; she wouldn't share her secrets with just anyone, so this is a genuine gesture of friendship. But Elphaba proves difficult to make over. This is the main conflict. There's no real fighting, and little-to-no ill feelings between each other. But there are still obstacles and an escalation that hits a peak when Galinda successfully finds one thing that makes Elphaba look beautiful.
So this is a purely relationship-driven scene, and while these characters want to be in a positive relationship, there is still antagonism and conflict--it's just not the loud, violent, and intense kind. There are also stakes, though in this case, the stakes are a bit more external--if Elphaba does this, she'll be popular instead of looked down on. But there are some relational stakes as well--if she outright rejects Galinda's help, it will likely offend her and create distance.
While Elphaba is ultimately moved and needs some personal space, we see in the very next scene, that this moment has successfully brought them closer, since Elphaba is trying to do what Galinda taught her.
All in all, the most important things to remember with relationship-driven scenes, are that they still usually need those basic plot elements and that basic structure, even if those components show up in different ways in a relationship. It doesn't matter if the scene is about enemies, rivals, allies, or lovers. You need to look at the scene and find areas of antagonism and conflict that you can utilize. In fact, this is often particularly important when it is about allies, friends, or lovers--because your options for conflict will likely be less obvious, so you'll need to stretch yourself to brainstorm antagonism and conflict.
Remember, you have three basic places to look: outside the relationship itself, the other person in the relationship, or the protagonist's own weaknesses and flaws. One of these areas should help you find something that creates friction.
I have finished the first draft of the first book in my planned trilogy!! My alpha readers have already received their copy of the draft to essentially rip it to shreds (as I have asked them to do). I am doing the same to my novel as well, and it feels like this will be the second most time-consuming step in the whole process.
What does this mean for you?
This means that you guys have a little less time to wait for my book's release. There is less time between now and the release (which the date is still TBD). As well as this, you guys will also be a step closer to receiving sneak peaks, little scene snippets, Character Spotlights, and possibly (hopefully) more!
What does this mean for me?
This means that I now am one step closer to having the story publish-ready. This also means that I need to decide on a title sooner, rather than later, and work on getting the cover and other art in order. This also means that it is time to start drafting book two so I can have a steady release schedule for the entire trilogy. So basically, if I'm not editing, I'm writing the beginnings of book two, and if I'm not writing, I'm editing book one.
What can we learn from this?
Don't give up. There will always be someone better. There will always be someone hating on you and your work. There will always be scam artists who try to go after you. There will always be reasons to quit.
But look at this. I've never made it this far. And I do not intend to stop anytime soon.
5 Tiny Writing Tips That Aren’t Talked About Enough (but work for me)
These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.
1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.
Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of
“She walked to the window,”
try
“The window creaked open under her touch.”
Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.
2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.
Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.
“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”
sets a way stronger tone than
“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”
3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.
Instead of:
"I'm fine," she said.
Try:
"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.
It helps shows emotion, and movement.
4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.
No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.
5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”
Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.
What’s a tip that unexpectedly helped with your writing? Let me know!! 🍒
Writing Things I Learned the Hard Way #7: If It's Worth Doing...
Kira Kosarin (yes, the Thundermans girl) said it best. And, I think most people have heard the phrase, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well." And I think that it is a lovely idea.
If something is worth doing, it is worth giving it your best.
This can apply to anything in life. But for writing, or anything in the creative arts, it is very true. If it is worth doing, I firmly believe that you should give it your best, no matter what.
HOWEVER...
... and that is a BIG however...
If something is worth doing well, it is worth doing poorly.
Don't read into what I'm not saying. I'm not saying that if you believe something is worth doing, you shouldn't just do it halfheartedly. Don't just scribble on a page and call it art without having clear meaning or intent behind it.
But if something is worth doing, do it even if you lack the skills to do it well.
This is how you build your skills and talents. You need to learn to be okay being bad for a while. The prodigies? The people who are good on the first try? They are exceptions.
Almost everyone is going to suck at something. I kinda suck at writing first drafts that are publish-ready, or even Beta-ready. But I believe it is worth it for me to write still, so I am going to write poorly, and make it better later. I cannot build my skills if I do not come back to my computer and write, even if I suck.
I cannot become a writer if I do not write.
And, though I do not like to get political, this is true with generative Artificial Intelligence (GAI) as well. If GAI is writing your book for you, then you are not the writer. The writer (or writers) is wherever the GAI took its recycled ideas from without crediting. And you, my friend, are aiding in its thievery.
GAI cannot do things "poorly" by starting rough and then becoming better the same way humans can. Humans build skills and learn new things. GAI simply learns how to plagiarize better.
So, my fellow writers. Please. Keep showing up. Keep writing. Even if it sucks.
Because if something is worth doing, it is worth doing well; and it is worth doing poorly.
For those who have never met me; hello! My name is Alice C Everett and I am a writer who is almost done with the first draft of my debut.
But yes, you read that right. I am a masochist—at least when it comes to writing.
There are many ways to get yourself to write. Put on a playlist, set a timer, the reward and breaks system. Maybe an accountability partner, for some.
For me, I do what I call HRHR: High Risk, High Reward.
Whenever I go to write, I get bored way too easily. I'll write maybe 20 words at most, give up, and doomscroll.
That is, until I figured out that I must force myself to write.
And I'm not talking about the timers, the brain-dumps, the minimum word count each day.
I'm talking I must keep writing or lose the entire session.
This website allows you to set a timer. You start writing, and then until the tuner is over, you Cannot. Stop.
If you do, it deletes everything you've written in that session.
High risk, yes—but I've gotten out over 10k words using just that. So very high reward.
Another thing I do to help me get everything out is to put on some music and make a minimum word count.
But oh, no. Not a playlist.
One song. Over and over and over. I can't turn it off until I hit the minimum for that session.
Things I don't allow myself to do would be spellcheck and seeing what I've written. Sometimes I physically cover my screen until the end of the session, or I change the font color to match the background.
So yeah, I'm a masochist. But only when it comes to writing.
