It might seem silly to just write what you’re thinking of. Like, right now I’m thinking about what I’m going to eat for dinner and whether I should clean my bedroom—how will I turn that into a poem or short story?

In reality, freewriting helps get the mind thinking in language, and while you might be thinking about dinner now, you’d be surprised what leaps and connections the brain makes into interesting writing material. Let’s take a close look at the process of freewriting and how it will benefit your work. We also provide freewriting prompts to help get the juices flowing.

First, what is freewriting?

What is Freewriting?

Freewriting (sometimes written as one word: freewriting) is a writing technique in which the writer journals their thoughts onto the page without letting their pen rest.

Freewriting is a writing technique in which the writer journals their thoughts onto the page without letting their pen rest.

The idea is simply to keep the pen moving, and that every word and idea that arises in the mind is important to jot down, regardless of matters like grammar, meaning, and usability. In other words, you aren’t trying to write capital-A Art, you are simply putting words onto paper.

In freewriting, the writer:

• Focuses on simply generating raw material.
• Keeps the pen moving with whatever thoughts arise, including (and especially) thoughts that seem irrelevant or unrelated to the previous thought.
• Does not worry about the “value,” “merit,” or “publishability” of anything written down.
• Does not worry about spelling, grammar, syntax, or readability.
• Writes for typically no longer than 15 minutes.
• Creates a daily freewriting practice, as the process gets easier and more rewarding when done regularly.

You aren’t trying to write capital-A Art, you are simply putting words onto paper.

A freewrite can be done with a prompt or simply with the writer’s mind in its most neutral state. Later in this article we provide some freewriting prompts, but first, let’s examine the benefits of this writing technique.

Benefits of Freewriting

If you’re not writing anything worth reading, what’s the point of freewriting in the first place?

It might seem counterintuitive, but freewriting can seriously improve your craft and help you write better poetry, fiction, or creative nonfiction. The benefits of this technique include:

• Getting the words flowing: it’s much easier to write towards a project if you’ve loosened up the “writing muscles.”
• Freeing the mind from self-consciousness: freewriting helps train the mind not to care about “is this good?”—a question that can be debilitating for any first draft.
• Experimentation and ideation: Because the goal is to write what arises in the mind, you might inadvertently write new ideas or come up with interesting uses of language that can then be employed in future writing. To put it a different way: language first; ideas follow.
• Stumbling into greatness: Similar to the above bullet, you might accidentally write something really good or useful, or have an epiphany that you might otherwise never have had.
• Setting down your thoughts, quieting your mind: By putting your freeform thoughts onto the page, you can quiet your mind into focusing on writing projects after you’ve finished your freewrite.

Language first; ideas follow.

Some critics argue that this technique emphasizes writing over revising, or that it encourages writers not to engage with the broader literary canon. However, both critiques miss the point of freewriting. Writers should still revise and edit their work, as well as read other writers: to do a freewrite is simply to get the words flowing, making it easier to tackle the projects a writer is working on.

How to Freewrite

The freewriting process has been honed over time. Early advocates of the process include writers Dorothea Brande and Peter Elbow, but the process was really popularized by Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way.

Here’s our recommendation for how to freewrite:

• Set aside 10-15 minutes.
• Write with pen and paper. If you have a strong preference towards typing, you can do so, but we find that handwriting is better for waking the writing mind up.
• Keep your pen moving. Don’t let it rest.
  • If you’re stuck on what to write, have some transitional phrases on hand. “How I feel about that is…” “What I’m trying to say is…” “And then…” or even just “I don’t know what to say.”
• Allow yourself to write nonsense. Write without the expectation of being “good.”
• Do not reread what you have written until after the writing session is over.
• Do not worry about spelling, grammar, writing style, “literary merit,” or legibility. You are not performing on the page, and the intent is not to be James Joyce or Virginia Woolf—there is no “good freewriting” or “bad freewriting,” it is simply writing.
• Do this once a day, preferably every morning, but certainly before you start work on a writing project.

Once you have finished your freewrite, you can reread your pages, or simply let them rest. Upon a reread, you might find sentences, phrases, or accidents of language that could be useful for future poems, stories, or essays.

Upon a reread, you might find sentences, phrases, or accidents of language that could be useful for future poems, stories, or essays.

Freewriting is also a valuable way to get your thoughts down about a particular topic. Let’s say you want to write a braided essay about an event in your childhood. If you do a freewrite about that event, you will generate a lot of raw material that you can sculpt into that essay, and you might even stumble into feelings and recollections you wouldn’t have otherwise had.

Finally, if you want to practice freewriting in a class setting, you may be interested in the Writing Circle Workshops offered by our instructor Susan Vespoli.

32 Freewriting Prompts

If you want to do a freewrite, but need some motivation, these freewriting prompts will help get your pen moving.

General Daily Freewriting Prompts

• What have you been thinking about lately?
• What questions are you trying to answer in your life?
• Write down every sensation you notice, both inside your body and in the world around you.
• Do a freewrite in which you talk to God, the Universe, or a higher power.
• What feelings are you trying to avoid feeling?
• What do you want to manifest for the near future?
• Write down the first word that comes to mind. Then, follow whatever associations arise in your brain.
• What are you grateful for?
• What do you desire most right now?
• Write about a memory that is visually or emotionally intense.
• Confess something.
• In your head, place yourself somewhere you know very well, such as your childhood home or a street you visit often. Write down as many details about that place as possible.
• What has saved you?
• What is an important realization you have had recently?
• Where do you wish you were?
• Write about and interpret a dream you’ve had.

Creative Freewriting Prompts

• Get ekphrastic and write about a film, song, or work of art that inspires you.
• What is your heart a museum of?
• Where does your mythology begin?
• Write in the voice and persona of someone or something other than yourself.
• What is the song your body sings, and who can hear it?
• Whose name does your heart whisper in its sleep?
• What is the shape of your grief?
• Write a self-portrait.
• What gets brighter the darker it gets?
• Whose voices do you hear echoing underneath your own?
• Write what you see on the horizon of your life.
• What is the root of your evil?
• What does your healing look like?
• Fill in the blanks of a memory you only partially remember.
• Write from the summit of life itself.
• Your heart is a garden. What’s in bloom?

Here are some more writing prompts we’ve written. They’re for poets, but prose writers can certainly use most of them as well. These poetry prompts might also enhance your creativity. 

What to Do With Your Freewrite

You don’t necessarily need to “do” anything with a freewrite. The point is to get your mind in a writing space so that you can better tackle whatever projects you’re working on.

However, some writers find freewriting to be helpful for generating new work. If you wanted to, you could take what you’ve written and turn it into a poem, prose poem, essay, short story, etc.

If you’d like to put your stream-of-consciousness to use, here are a few tips on revising and editing your work.

1. Highlight Epiphanies

A byproduct of freewriting is that the writer often taps into their unconscious and finds unexpected epiphanies. By epiphany, we mean a sudden realization, whether material or spiritual, that shifts the writer’s own perspective. Epiphanies can make the unfamiliar, familiar; the familiar, strange; the nonsensical or chaotic, suddenly ordered.

A byproduct of freewriting is that the writer often taps into their unconscious and finds unexpected epiphanies.

An epiphany is often central to a good work of writing. Any sorts of realizations that occur within your freewrite, highlight them—and, in editing and revising, try not to divorce the epiphany from the context it’s written in.

2. Underline Interesting Word Choice and Syntax

Another interesting byproduct of freewriting is the happy accidents that happen within language. By eschewing the rules of grammar, syntax, and linear writing, freewriters might end up juxtaposing words, phrases, and ideas that you wouldn’t normally put together, you might come across good word choice that you can use or store for later writing.

Another interesting byproduct of freewriting is the happy accidents that happen within language.

Many writers keep a journal of words, phrases, and ideas that they might use for later writing. So, don’t expect to use everything from one freewrite towards the same piece, but notice what’s interesting and unexpected in your writing, and save it for when you need inspiration or have a different epiphany about what to do with those words.

3. Identify Unnecessary Repetitions or Irrelevant Passages

As you begin to sculpt your freewrite towards a piece of writing, it will help to remove language that you don’t see as central to the freewrite itself. Here are some tips on omitting needless words:

• First, before you cut anything, save the full freewrite somewhere. You never know what you might lose if you permanently delete your writing from the face of the Earth. Make a copy or transcribe your writing, then work off of that copy or transcript.
• Identify the main topics and themes of the writing, including images or symbols that seem related to the central ideas within the writing. Many freewrites have multiple themes, so you can even make a list of those themes and consider how one writing session might yield multiple pieces of creative work.
• Look for writing that doesn’t seem related to any of the themes you identified. The goal isn’t to identify “bad” writing, just writing that doesn’t seem relevant to those themes.
• Remove writing that isn’t artfully repetitive. Repetition can be a powerful literary device, but it’s best used when it enhances and underscores the most important ideas within the text.
• Start to remove words that are clearly redundant or unnecessary. Our article on omitting needless words has more tips to help with this.

4. Decide on Form

Will your freewrite turn into a poem, prose poem, short story, essay, article, or the seeds of a novel or memoir? The possibilities are clearly endless, but once your writing has been cleaned up a little, the forms it could take should start to emerge.

What those forms could be depend on what you like to write, so rather than go in-depth about the possibilities within poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction, here are a few guides we’ve put together on different forms of creative writing:

• How to Write a Poem
• What is Form in Poetry?
• The Elements of Fiction
• The Art of Storytelling
• Literary and Genre Fiction
• How to Write a Personal Essay
• 10 Types of Creative Nonfiction

5. Revise and Edit Towards Your Vision

Once you have a sense of your themes, form, and vision for the work, let your creative instincts take the reins, and use your freewrite as a base for sculpting your next great piece of writing.

Hone Your Freewriting at Writers.com!

Freewriting opens the writer up to happy accidents and exciting possibilities in language. Whether you want to freewrite with other writers or get feedback on the work you produce, take a look at the upcoming online writing courses at Writers.com, where you’ll receive the expert attention and workshopping you’re looking for.

The post What is Freewriting? + Prompts to Elevate Your Writing Process appeared first on Writers.com.

This article helps you find the best online writing community for your own writing needs. We’ll walk you through what good communities include, how to show up in the communities you join, and what we’ve learned from running the Writers.com online writing community. 

But first: what are the best online writing communities? Here’s an overview of what we’ve found on the internet. 

The Best Online Writing Communities in 2025

Here are the best online writing communities we’ve discovered around the internet. We define these communities as being spaces where writers can congregate, share their work, learn from one another, and forge the kinds of friendships and connections that sustain a writing life. 

Writers.com 

We started the Writers.com community with one mission: to share and celebrate our writing with one another. Our members meet several times a week to learn from one another and improve their writing together. In addition to Zoom writing sessions, we also have weekly and monthly instructor-led workshops and an online community space to explore our writing journeys together. 

• Includes:
  • Regular writing prompts
  • Biweekly Zoom writing sessions
  • Instructor-led workshops 
  • Free on-demand craft lectures 
  • An online meeting space to share and celebrate your work 
• Best For: Writers of all genres, in any stage of your writing journey.
• Learn More: Membership is only $47/month. Sign up for a one-week free trial here.

The Community has been everything I hoped it would be. I thoroughly enjoy the Write-Ins and craft explorations. I have enjoyed getting to know the staff and other community members and their writing—it brings a personal touch to my writing journey that wasn’t there before. Thank you so much!

—Lola Willis, Writers.com Community member

Sustenance 

Sustenance is the brainchild of poet Joy Sullivan. Members get access to a full library of previous Zoom workshops, plus attendance in regularly scheduled workshops with working, professional writers. Members also get opportunities to workshop their writing with each other in an encouraging community space. 

• Includes: 
  • Access to a library of recorded workshops
  • Attendance to regularly scheduled workshops with professional writers
  • An online community space to share and workshop writing
• Best For: Poets and lyric essayists looking to write and publish new work. 
• Learn More: Annual subscriptions currently run for $1600. Sustenance is currently on a waiting list. You can join the waiting list here. 

Paragraph

Based in NYC but with writers all around the world, Paragraph is an online writing community for serious working writers. It was founded by MFA graduates who were lacking for community spaces outside of the university, and it has since grown into a robust online platform with regular workshops and critique groups. 

• Includes: 
  • Free access to craft talks, roundtables, and query pitch workshops, including recordings of past events. . 
  • Discounts on creative writing classes
  • Access to online discussion boards. 
  • Monthly critique groups in all genres (except poetry). 
• Best For: Writers serious about improving their craft and working towards publication. 
• Learn More: Membership is currently only $25/month. You can join here. 

Scribophile

Scribophile is an online writing community primarily for fiction writers. The site hosts many different opportunities for writers to connect, get feedback, and learn from each other, and their community is both free to join and offers paid subscriber perks. 

• Includes: 
  • A forum to share work and receive feedback on novels-in-progress. 
  • Access to community writing contests.
  • Access to a directory of beta readers (paid). 
  • Detailed reader statistics for all work uploaded to the community (paid).  
• Best For: Novelists of all genres and backgrounds. 
• Learn More: Learn more about membership options here: the paid option costs $15/month. 

Shut Up & Write!

Shut Up & Write! is an international, decentralized writing community that hosts events both online and in cities around the world. Writers congregate in timed writing sessions to focus on their work, and sometimes hang out afterwards to connect and build community with one another. 

If you don’t have a Shut Up & Write! community where you live, they have resources for helping you start one yourself!

• Includes: 
  • Regularly scheduled sessions to focus on your writing. 
  • An online archive of tips and resources for writing craft.
  • Help in starting your own community if it doesn’t already exist. 
• Best For: Writers of all genres looking to build local community, including local online writing community.
• Learn More: Membership is free! Learn more here. 

Pen Parentis

Pen Parentis is an online writing community designed specifically for writers who are raising families. The community offers tailored benefits to help writers juggle their writing projects with the daily tasks that childcare requires. 

• Includes: 
  • Regular newsletters, lifestyle tips, and resources for writers balancing many obligations. 
  • An online writing community to connect with other writer-parents. 
  • Accountability groups and other opportunities to focus on your work. 
• Best For: Writers of all genres who are trying to balance childcare with the demands of their writing projects. 
• Learn More: Membership is free, with paid options. NYC-based writers also occasionally have access to in-person events. Learn more here!

London Writers’ Salon

Don’t be fooled by the name—London Writers’ Salon is an international online writing community that regularly congregates to get words on the page. In addition to daily Zoom calls, LWS offers classes, options for editorial feedback, and ongoing writing opportunities. 

• Includes: 
  • Daily Zoom-based writing sessions to focus exclusively on your writing projects. 
  • Ongoing learning opportunities, including classes and paid editorial feedback. 
  • Options to connect with agents, experts, and professional writers. 
  • Paid access to accountability groups, expert Zoom recordings, and e-books on writing craft. 
• Best For: Writers of all genres looking to focus on their work, especially fiction and nonfiction writers. 
• Learn More: Get details on free and paid membership opportunities here. 

Your Local Library

We’ll make an honorable mention of your local library. Many libraries have online and in-person writing groups; they’re often the best community spaces to host communities like this. If you find that your library doesn’t offer this, consider starting a writing group yourself!

Social Media

Social media is also a place where writers sometimes congregate. It doesn’t offer the same level of accountability as Zoom-based writing workshops, and since social media is often unmoderated, you run the risk of encountering writers who aren’t kind or supportive. 

That said, different sites offer different text-based platforms that are useful for meeting writers, especially if you live in a part of the world that doesn’t have much in the way of community. Reddit offers different forums, like r/writers, where folks can post about their writing anxieties or learn more about the craft. Tumblr (yes, it’s still around!) is also a place where writers congregate, post their work, and celebrate the craft. 

There are also websites like Archive of Our Own (great for fanfiction writers) and Wattpad that are designed for sharing work, getting feedback, and building community. 

Find More Online Writing Communities at the Poets & Writers Database

Lastly, Poets & Writers has a great directory of in-person and online writing communities that you can explore. The directory is occasionally out-of-date, but it includes groups for writers of all genres, abilities, and identities. 

Learn more here!

Features of the Best Online Writing Communities

The best online writing communities have these features in common:

• Supportive: Writing comes with its own anxieties and difficulties. The best online writing communities meet you at your needs, inspire confidence, and help you rise to the occasion of your own work. 
• Generative: Some online writing communities include prompted writing sessions; others simply carve out time for you to work on your own projects. Regardless, finding time and space to focus on your own writing is hard, and communities help create that time and space for you. 
• Educational: Every writer has something to offer. Yes, even complete newbies. In constructive writing spaces, writers learn from one another, offer feedback, and educate each other to become better authors. 
• Inspiring: You should come away from any writing space you join feeling inspired—whether that means inspiration for new goals, or inspiration to continue writing your own long-term projects. 
• Accessible and Inclusive: The creative writing world sometimes has a reputation for being closed off or elitist—and it’s true that some communities are exclusionary. We’ve found that the best online writing communities do not arbitrarily exclude any writers from their ranks, so long as all writers are willing to show up, be kind, and support one another in their work. 
• Connected: Writers also have a reputation for being introverted. But, even in the most introspective spaces, good online writing communities foster connection and friendship. Even if those are only friends you connect with over Zoom and email, you should still feel excited to write alongside other community members, and feel as though you know other writers whom you can mutually support.  

We recommend the above online writing communities for meeting all of these qualities. Whatever your writing needs are, you are sure to come away connected, engaged, and inspired to complete your own writing projects. 

How You Should Show Up in Online Writing Communities

While the best online writing communities exist to support your writing, learning, and community needs, it’s important that you also show up to any space with the right mindset and attitude. The more you invest into a community, the more you will get out of it—and we have a few tips on this based on our own experiences both building and participating in communities around the internet. 

1. Be Open Minded

One beautiful opportunity in any thriving community is the chance to learn about new and different lived experiences. Writers transcend all backgrounds, ideologies, and walks of life, and our task is to both understand ourselves and the world around us. Online writing communities are the perfect places for this—but only if you enter into one with an open mind. 

Online writing communities are the perfect places to understand ourselves and the world around us. 

Be willing to engage with people whose perspectives and experiences you don’t understand or initially disagree with. Disagreement and discomfort is not inherently a sign of danger. If anything, a community that operates as an echo chamber is far more dangerous, as it quells dissent and closes opportunities for growth and engagement. 

The vast majority of communities contain little to no friction, but the human experience is wide and diverse; if this happens, see this as an opportunity for connection and understanding, and you might find yourself forging deeper connections you would have otherwise foregone. 

2. Listen More Than You Speak

All writers want to be heard, and many writers join communities so others can hear them. You may very well join for the same reason. So this advice may be counterintuitive, but hear us out: you should try to listen more than you speak. 

Great communities are fostered when its members closely engage with one another’s thoughts, feelings, and writings.

Great communities are fostered when its members closely engage with one another’s thoughts, feelings, and writings. Community building is a two-way street: it requires both hearing and being heard. If you are 1 person in a room of 10 people, you shouldn’t speak much more than 1/10 of the time; otherwise, you might start losing opportunities to learn from other members, and for them to hear you, too. 

Don’t think about this advice too deeply—certainly, do not time yourself every time you open your mouth. But, great communities are fostered when everyone takes turns sharing their work, and it can often be more rewarding to hear someone name their own experiences: it creates new doorways for connection, and allows you to share yourself more freely as well. 

3. Know That Every Writer Has a Different Journey

Some of us write poetry; others, fiction, nonfiction, drama, etc. 

Some of us have been writing for 40+ years and have Ph.Ds. Others are relatively new to writing. 

Some of us write in the Modernist vein; others are Postmodern. 

Some writers want to publish their sixth novel; others want to self-publish their first poetry collection; still others don’t plan on publishing at all.

The best online writing communities accommodate for the beautiful diversity of the writer’s path.

Every writer is on a different journey. The best online writing communities accommodate for the beautiful diversity of the writer’s path. Do not assume anything about anyone else’s journey, and don’t expect others to automatically get yours, either. The more you learn about other peoples’ writing lives, the more you might learn about your own, and what you want to achieve in your work. 

4. Celebrate All Successes

Writing is a lonely business. We come to community to lessen that loneliness. And one of the easiest ways to do this is to share and celebrate all successes. Keep this mindset in mind with both your own successes and others’. 

When other people share successes, engage with them and congratulate them on what they’ve accomplished. This is true whether the success is a publication, a breakthrough in their work, or even just making the time to sit down and write for 5 minutes. If someone shares a win they’re celebrating, celebrate it with them. And, if you ever find yourself feeling jealous or insecure about your own accomplishments, remember that writing is not a zero sum game: we are not competing against each other, and a high tide rises all boats.

When other people share successes, engage with them and congratulate them on what they’ve accomplished. Be in the habit of sharing your own successes as well, however small they may seem.

Be in the habit of sharing your own successes as well, however small they may seem. Don’t pooh-pooh what you accomplish. The more you share about your own journey and success, the more others will encourage you to keep going, and the better it feels to write and be writing with a supportive community. 

5. See Yourself as a Member, Not a Participant

You do not need permission to be a part of an online writing community.

Read that again.

You do not need permission. Don’t wait for someone to tell you that it’s okay to join, to participate, to be with other writers. 

It can be so easy to exclude yourself from a writing space. The excuses never end. Everyone is already friends with everyone, why do they need me? You might ask. Or, I don’t have anything of value to contribute, why should I join?

Everyone has something of value to contribute, including you.

You should join because those moments of hesitation are simply untrue. Everyone has something of value to contribute, including you. Even if you are new to writing, or haven’t read as many books, or don’t feel like you belong. You are a writer, you do contribute (just by being present!), and you deserve to have a community that supports and encourages you.

Any writing space that doesn’t make you feel seen or accepted is not worth your time. If someone tells you to ask for permission, run—successful writing communities do not demand any proof of worthiness, as you are already worthy. 

You do not need permission to be a part of an online writing community.

What We’ve Learned from Being Part of Online Writing Communities

Here are some thoughts from the Writers.com administrative team about how online writing communities have transformed our writing. 

Frederick Meyer: Online Writing Communities Transform Your Learning

Running the Writers.com community has exposed me to things that I wouldn’t have run into otherwise. 

For example, I got really into doing erasure poems because of a community member’s suggestion, and I wrote a couple of the poems that I’m happiest with that way. I wouldn’t even be writing poetry at all if I wasn’t part of this space. 

I wouldn’t even be writing poetry at all if I wasn’t part of this space.

When I look at a piece of published writing in the community, I really get a much deeper sense of it. I see a lot of perspectives. We looked at this poem set in a mid-20th century house that had a mother and a few children and then the father was always traveling and he was kind of like this distant presence, and they were talking about what it was like doing chores all day and waiting for any news from the outside world. And you know, the poem hit me however it hit me. And then people were talking about what their experience was like, you know, growing up in parts of the world that were similar, parts that were different. And by the end of it, I just felt like I understood the poem so much better and it really resonated with me in a different way. 

It’s very much this mind meld when reading poems. And you get like this entire kaleidoscope of perspectives on it.

I feel like people’s comments on my writing have always been constructive and also have pointed to the parts of the writing that aren’t satisfying with a lot of accuracy. I’ve really appreciated that, and it causes you to engage with the writing that other people like or, in my case, since I’m helping organize it, it’s something on my calendar where I’m going to be really prioritizing writing and literature with a group of people that I really trust and that I really like. 

it’s something on my calendar where I’m going to be really prioritizing writing and literature with a group of people that I really trust and that I really like.

So it’s been really rewarding and a lot of the time it’s oddly therapeutic. It’s been quite therapeutic on a number of occasions and some people have been very, very kind to me in various ways. That is one of those things that I don’t really know that I need in a way. So it’s been a really rich experience. I’m really glad to be doing it and I recommend it to anybody. 

It’s one of those things that I don’t really know that I need in a way.

—Frederick Meyer, Writers.com Director

Elle LaMarca: Online Writing Communities Transform Your Writing Life

I met my critique partner of 15 years in my first online creative writing course. So although that’s not specifically about a community, I think the idea of taking an online writing course as a way to start building your community is so beneficial. If you find people that you really connect with, how you read each other’s work, that can be the foundation of your own community. I still work with this person on a weekly basis, and it’s now been 15 years.

I always feel more motivated and more inspired to write my own work when I’m inside a community.

In my experience, as someone who’s been a part of several different writing communities, writing can often feel so lonely because you have to do the work and that doesn’t change. Like, you have to write the words yourself, but I always feel more motivated and more inspired to write my own work when I’m inside a community and I’m reading other people’s work, and I’m hearing about their experiences and their journeys as writers. That’s true whether I’m leading the community or just an active participant. Being around other writers physically or even online is motivating and I always write more. 

—Elle LaMarca, Writers.com Curriculum Specialist

Join the Writers.com Online Writing Community!

Your voice is a gift. Share it in the online writing community at Writers.com. All voices, perspectives, and ideas are respected and valued in our community of writers around the globe, and your presence will only make us stronger. 

Learn more here!

The post Best Online Writing Communities: How to Find Your Writers Group appeared first on Writers.com.

Writing dialogue in a story requires us to step into the minds of our characters. When our characters speak, they should speak as fully developed human beings, complete with their own linguistic quirks and unique pronunciations.

This article guides you through how to write dialogue in a story. The tools here will help your characters speak with their full uniqueness and complexity, while also helping you fully inhabit the people that populate your stories.

Let’s explore how to write dialogue. 

What is Dialogue in a Story?

Dialogue refers to any direct communication from one or more characters in the text. This communication is almost always verbal—except for sci-fi telepathy, which still counts, and except for instances of inner dialogue, where the character is speaking to themselves.

Dialogue definition: Direct communication from one or more characters in the text.

Dialogue writing is essential to the art of storytelling. In real life, we learn about other people through their ideas and the words they use to express them. It is much the same for dialogue in creative writing. Knowing how to write dialogue in a story will transform your character development, your prose style, and your story as a whole.

Additionally, dialogue allows for the exchange of information, which will advance the story’s plot. Any story that involves conflict between two or more people must involve dialogue, or else the story will never reach its climax and resolution.

Article continues below…

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Inner Dialogue Definition

Inner dialogue is a form of communication in which a character speaks with themselves. This is, essentially, a form of monologue or soliloquy. Inner dialogue allows the reader to view the character’s thoughts as they happen, transcribing their doubts, ideas, and emotions onto the page.

Inner dialogue definition: a form of communication in which a character speaks with themselves.

Inner dialogue can also be a memory or reminiscence, even if the character is not consciously speaking to themselves. If the narrator shows us a memory that the character is currently thinking about, then that character is still offering something to the narrative by means of unspoken conversation.

It is not necessary for any story to have inner dialogue. However, if you plan to use dynamic characters in your writing, then it probably makes sense to show the reader what that character’s inner world looks like. Developing complex, three dimensional characters is essential to telling a good story, which requires us to have some sort of window into those characters’ minds.

Indirect Dialogue Definition

Indirect dialogue is dialogue, summarized. It is not put in quotes or italics; rather, it neatly sums up what a character said, without going into detail.

Indirect dialogue definition: dialogue summarized.

In other words, we don’t get to see how the character said something, we are only told what they said. This is useful for when the information is better summarized than told in excruciating details, because the narrator wants to get to the important dialogue, the dialogue that introduces new information or reveals important aspects of the character’s personality.

Haruki Murakami gives us a great example in Kafka on the Shore:

How to Write Dialogue: What Successful Dialogue Accomplishes

Every story needs dialogue. Unless you’re writing highly experimental fiction, your story will have main characters, and those characters will interact with the world and its other people.

That said, there’s no “correct” way to write dialogue. It all depends on who your characters are, the decisions they make, and how they interact with one another.

Nonetheless, good dialogue writing should do the following:

Develop Your Characters

A close study in how to write dialogue is a study in characterization. Your characters reveal who they are through dialogue: by paying close attention to your characters’ word choice, you can clue your reader into their personality traits and hidden psyches.

Your characters will often reveal key aspects of their personality through dialogue.

One character who can’t stop characterizing himself is Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye. J. D. Salinger’s anti-hero could be psychoanalyzed for hours. Take, for example, this excerpt from Holden’s inner dialogue:

“Grand. There’s a word I really hate. It’s a phony. I could puke every time I hear it.”

What do we learn about Holden through this line? For starters, we learn that Holden is the type of person who analyzes and scrutinizes each word – just like writers do, perhaps. We also learn that Holden hates anything positive. Always a downer, Holden despises words of praise or grandeur, thinking the whole world is irresolvably flat, boring, and monotonous. He hates grandness almost as much as he hates phoniness, and both concepts are sure to make him sick.

Holden is a character who puts his entire personality on the page, and as readers, we can’t help but understand him—no matter how much we like him or hate him.

Set the Scene

Dialogue is a great way to explore the setting of your story. When the setting is explored through dialogue writing, both the characters and the reader experience the world of the story at the same time, making the writing feel more intimate and immediate.

When the setting is explored through dialogue writing, the writing feels more intimate and immediate.

You might have your character wander through the streets of New York, as Theo does in The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. Here’s an excerpt of inner dialogue:

Notice Theo’s attention to detail, and the vibrant imagery he uses to capture the city’s energy. Of course, you might set the scene more simply, as Dorothy does when she says:

In only a few words, this line of dialogue advances not only the setting but also Dorothy’s characterization. She is innocent and operating from a limited frame of reference, and the setting could not be more different from her homely Kansas background.

Both methods of scene setting help advance the world that the reader is exploring. However, don’t explore the setting exclusively through dialogue. Characters are not objective observers of their world, so some information is better explained through narration since the narrator is (often) a more reliable voice.

Advance the Plot

Dialogue doesn’t just tell us about the story and the people inside it; good dialogue writing also advances the plot. We often need dialogue to reveal important details to the protagonist, and sometimes, an emotionally tense conversation will lead to the next event in the story.

Dialogue often helps ratchet up a story’s tension. At times, dialogue will advance the plot by offering a twist or revealing sudden information. We can all agree that the following lines of dialogue advanced the plot of Star Wars:

The exchange of information is often what accelerates (0r resolves) a story’s conflict. Paying attention to word choice and the strategic revelation of information is key to using dialogue in a story.

Foreshadow

Just like in real life, your characters don’t always say what they mean. Characters can lie, hint, suggest, confuse, conceal, and deceive. But one of the most powerful uses of dialogue writing is to foreshadow future events.

In Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet, Romeo foreshadows the death of both lovers when he exclaims to Juliet:

In saying he would rather die lovers than live in longing, Romeo unknowingly predicts what will soon happen in the play.

Foreshadowing is an important literary device that many fiction stories should utilize. Foreshadowing helps build suspense in the story, and it also underlines the important events that make your story worth reading. Don’t try to trick your readers, but definitely use foreshadowing to build meaning and complexity.

Learn more about foreshadowing here:

Foreshadowing Definition: How to Use Foreshadowing in Your Fiction

How to Write Dialogue in a Story: 4 DOs of Dialogue Writing

We’ve talked about what dialogue writing should accomplish, but that doesn’t answer the question of how to write dialogue in a story. Let’s answer that question now—with some more dialogue writing examples in the mix.

1. How to Write Dialogue in a Story: Differentiate Each Character

Each character will have their own style of speaking, and will emphasize different things when they talk.

Your characters’ dialogue should be like thumbprints, because no two people are alike. Each character will have their own style of speaking, and will emphasize different things when they talk. You can make each character unique by altering the following elements of dialogue style:

• Sentence length: Some people are verbose and loquacious, others terse and stoic.
• Dialogue Punctuation: Do your characters let their sentences linger… or do they ask a lot of questions? Are they really excited all the time?! Or do they interrupt themselves frequently—always remembering something they forgot to mention—struggling to put their complex thoughts into words?
• Adjectives/adverbs: Characters that are expressive and verbose tend to use a lot of adjectives and adverbs, whereas characters that are quiet or less expressive might stick to their nouns and verbs.
• Spellings and pronunciation: Do your characters omit certain vowels? Do they lisp? The way you write a line of dialogue might reveal a character’s dialect, and adding consistent quirks to a character’s speech will certainly make them more memorable.
• Repetitions and emphasis: Do your characters have any catchphrases? Do they use any words or phrases as crutches? Maybe they emphasize words periodically, or have a strange cadence as they speak. We tend to repeat certain words and phrases in our own everyday vocabularies; repetition is also a useful device for writing dialogue in a story.

You’ve already seen character differentiation from the previous quotes in this article. In this scene from The Catcher in the Rye, notice how differently Holden Caulfield speaks from the young woman he’s talking to—and just how much characterization is implied in their divergent voices:

Aside from these two characters being different from one another, Holden speak differently than characters in other works of fiction. Can you imagine Holden Caulfield being Romeo in R&J? He’d say something stupid, like “Juliet’s family are all phonies, but the funny thing is you can’t help but fall half in love with her.”

A more contemporary example comes from White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Every character in this novel is exceptionally well differentiated, even the minor characters—like Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah, who appears only briefly towards the novel’s end. Here’s an excerpt:

Pay attention to the dialogue. What do you notice? What’s odd about the way he speaks? If you don’t notice it, the novel’s narrator gives us a hint:

“No one in the hall was going to admit it, but Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah was no great speaker, when you got down to it. Even if you overlooked his habit of using three words where one would do, of emphasizing the last word of such triplets with his see-saw Caribbean inflections, even if you ignored these as everybody tried to, he was still physically disappointing.”

For more advice on characterization, check out our article on character development.

https://writers.com/character-development-definition

2. How to Write Dialogue in a Story: Consider the Context

A common mistake writers often make when writing dialogue in a story: they use the same speaking style for that character throughout the entire story.

For example, if you have a character that tends to speak in wordy, roundabout sentences, you might think that every sentence of dialogue should be wordy and roundabout.

However, your character’s dialogue needs to take context into consideration. A wordy character probably won’t be so wordy if they’re being held at gunpoint, and their words might stammer or falter when talking to a crush. Or, in the case of Jane Eyre, the context might make your statement more powerful. Jane proclaims:

As she lives in a society with strict gender roles, Jane’s statement—to a man, no less—is thrillingly bold and controversial for its time.

Your characters aren’t monotonous, they’re dynamic and fluid, so let them speak according to their surroundings.

3. How to Write Dialogue in a Story: Space Out Moments of Dialogue

If your characters just had a lengthy conversation, give them a page or two before they start speaking again. Dialogue is an important part of storytelling, but equally important is narration and description.

The following excerpt from Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy has a great balance of dialogue (underlined) and narration.

You can see, in the above text, that about 1/3 of the writing is dialogue. This allows the reader to see the full scene while still viewing the conversation, making this an excellent balance of narration and dialogue writing.

Simply put: balance dialogue with your narrator’s voice, or else the reader might lose their attention, or else miss out on key information.

4. How to Write Dialogue in a Story: Use Consistent Formatting

There are several different ways to format your dialogue, which we explain later in this article. For now, make sure you’re consistent with how you format your dialogue. If you choose to indent your characters’ speech, make sure every new exchange is indented. Inconsistent formatting will throw the reader out of the story, and it could also prevent your story from being published.

How to Write Dialogue in a Story: 4 DON’Ts of Dialogue Writing

Just as important as the DOs, the DON’Ts of dialogue writing are just as important to crafting an effective story. Let’s further our discussion of how to write dialogue in a story: we’ll dive into what you shouldn’t do when writing dialogue, alongside some more dialogue examples.

1. DON’T Include Every Verbal Interjection

When people talk, they don’t always talk linearly. People interrupt themselves, they change direction, they forget what they were talking about, they use pauses and “ums” and “ohs” and “ehs.” You can include a few of these verbal interjections from time to time, but don’t make your dialogue too true-to-life. Otherwise, the dialogue becomes hard to read, and the reader loses interest.

Let’s take a famous line from The Catcher in the Rye and fill it in with verbal interjections.

With interjections:

What do you think of the edited quote? The interjections make it much harder to read, much less personable, and honestly, they become kind of annoying. However, the quote with interjections is much more “true to life” than the original quote. Your characters don’t need to speak perfectly, but the dialogue needs to be enjoyable to read.

2. DON’T Overwrite Dialogue Tags

Dialogue tags are how your character expresses what they say. In the quote “‘You’re all phonies,’ Holden said,” the dialogue tag is “Holden said.”

Unique dialogue tags are fine to use on occasion. Your characters might yell, stammer, whisper, or even explode with words! However, don’t use these tags too frequently—the tag “said” is often perfectly fine. Notice how overused dialogue tags ruin the following conversation:

Sure, the conversation isn’t interesting to begin with, but the dialogue tags make this writing cringe-worthy. All of this dialogue can be described with “said” or “replied,” and many of these quotes don’t even need dialogue tags, because it’s clear who’s speaking each time.

Dialogue Tags and Adverbs

This is doubly serious when dialogue tags are combined with adverbs: adjectives that modify the verbs themselves. Our intent with these adverbs is to intensify our writing, but what results is a strong case of diminishing returns. Let’s see an example:

Yikes! If your dialogue tags start distracting the reader, then your dialogue isn’t doing enough work on its own. The reader’s focus should be on the character’s statement, not on the way they delivered that statement. If she spoke those words with contempt, show the reader this in the dialogue itself, or even in the character’s body language.

If your dialogue tags start distracting the reader, then your dialogue isn’t doing enough work on its own.

Lastly: if you’re going to use a dialogue tag other than “said,” make sure the verb you use actually corresponds to dialogue. In other words, there needs to be a speaking verb before you describe some other sort of action.

Here’s an example of what NOT to do:

The dialogue tag “said” is perfectly fine for most situations.

3. DON’T Stereotype

Everybody’s speech has a myriad of influences. Your characters’ way of speaking will be influenced by their parents, upbringing, schooling, socioeconomic status, race, gender, sexual orientation, and their own unique personality traits.

Of course, these personal backgrounds will influence your character’s dialogue. However, you shouldn’t let those traits overpower the character’s dialogue—otherwise, you’ll end up stereotyping.

Stereotyped characters are both glaringly obvious and embarrassing for the author. For example, J. K. Rowling didn’t do herself any favors by naming a character Cho Chang—both of which are Korean last names. Similarly, if all of your male characters are strong, charismatic, and loud, while all of your female characters are meek, helpless, and insecure, your writing will be both offensive and inaccurate to life.

An exception to this might be if you want your work to explore stereotypical ways of being in the world. Certainly, people in the real world conform to stereotypes—but successful writing still interrogates those stereotypes.

Nonetheless, stereotyped dialogue is bad writing. Not only does it make your characters one-dimensional, it’s also offensive to whomever your characters resemble. If you’re going to be writing your characters from a careless, surface-level take, you might reconsider whether you want to write them at all.

What to do about this? The safest way to avoid stereotyping is to write using identities that you know both personally and intimately. If your writing takes you beyond those identities, then do your research: seek out, and truly work to internalize, a diverse array of input from people whose identities resemble those you’d like to write about.

4. DON’T Get Discouraged

For some writers, dialogue is the hardest part about writing fiction. It’s much easier to describe a character than to get in the character’s head, transcribing their thoughts into language.

If you feel like your characters aren’t saying the right things, or if the dialogue feels tricky to master, don’t get discouraged. Dialogue writing is difficult!

The following devices and exercises will help you master the art of writing dialogue in a story.

9 Devices for Writing Dialogue in a Story

An important consideration for your characters is giving them distinct speech patterns. In real life, everyone talks differently; in fiction it’s much the same. The following devices will help you learn how to write dialogue in a story, as they offer ways to make your characters unique, compelling, and conversational.

Note: don’t try to use all nine of these devices for one character. Your dialogue should flow and feel consistent with the way people speak in real life, but if you overload your character’s speech with idioms, colloquialisms, proverbs, slang, and jargon, they won’t speak like anyone in the real world.

Use these devices as quirks for your characters. You can even use colloquialisms and vernacular to establish the setting, or use jargon to assign your character their occupation and social standing. Be wise, be strategic, and keep an ear for how people sound in real life.

Now, here’s how to write dialogue using 9 specific devices.

1. Colloquialism

A colloquialism is a word or phrase that’s specific to a language, geographical region, and/or historical period. Mostly used in informal speech, colloquialisms will rarely show up in the boardroom or the courtroom, but they pop up all the time in casual conversation.

A colloquialism is a word or phrase that’s specific to a language, geographical region, and/or historical period.

We often use colloquialisms without realizing it. Take, for example, the shopping cart. Someone in the U.S. Northeast might call it a “cart,” while someone in the South might call it a “buggy.”

In fact, colloquialisms abound in the history of the English language. When it rains but the sun is out, a native Floridian might call it a sunshower. A Wisconsinite will call a water fountain a “bubbler.” In the 1950s, a small child might have been called an “ankle-biter.” Nowadays, a New Yorker might describe cold weather as being “brick outside.” (Yes, brick.)

Colloquialisms help define a character’s geographic background and historical time period. They also help signify when the character feels comfortable and informal, versus when they are speaking in an uncomfortable or professional situation.

2. Vernacular

Vernacular refers to language that is simple and commonplace. When a character’s speech is unadorned and everyday, they are speaking in vernacular, using words that can be understood by every person in that character’s time period. (A colloquialism is often an example of vernacular.) For dialogue in a story, your characters will likely use vernacular, unless they try to avoid it at all costs.

Vernacular refers to language that is simple and commonplace.

The opposite of vernacular would be dialect, which is speech that is tailored to a specific setting, and is therefore not commonplace or universally understood. An example of vernacular is contrasted with dialect below.

3. Dialect

A dialect is a type of speech reserved for a particular time period, geographical location, social class, group of people, or other specific setting. It is language that the entire population might not comprehend, as it uses words, phrases, and grammatical decisions that aren’t universally understood.

Here’s an example of modern day vernacular. The same sentence has been rewritten as though it were spoken by someone with a Southern dialect.

An English speaker who doesn’t hail from the American South may be tripped up by “fixing” and “slaw,” as those terms aren’t universally understood.

Do note: the words “coleslaw” and “soft drink” can also be considered dialects of other regions in the United States. However, these words will likely be understood across the nation.

4. Slang

A slang is a word or phrase that is not part of conventional language usage, but which is still used in everyday speech. Generally, younger generations coin slang words, as well as queer communities and communities of color. (Some of the terms below started in AAVE, or African American Vernacular English.) Those words then become dictionary entries when the word has circulated long enough in popular usage. Slang is a form of colloquialism, as well as a form of dialect, because slang terms are not universally understood and are often associated with a specific age group in a specific region.

Some recent examples of slang words and phrases include:

• No cap—“no lie.”
• Boots—this is a sort of grammatical intensifier, placed after the thing being intensified. “I’m hungry, boots” is basically the same as “I’m so hungry.”
• Bop—a catchy or irresistible song.
• Drip—a particularly fashionable or interesting style of clothes.
• It’s sending me—“that’s hilarious.”
• Periodt—a more “final” use of the word “period” when a salient point has been made.
• Snatched—used when someone’s fashion is impeccable. In the case of someone’s waist size, snatched refers to an hourglass figure.
• Pressed—“stressed” or “annoyed.”
• Slaps—“exceptionally good.”
• Stan—stan is a portmanteau of “stalker fan,” but really what it means is that you enjoy something intensely or obsessively. You “stan” a song or a movie, for example.
• Werk—a term to describe something done exceedingly well. If you’re dancing tremendously, I might just yell “werk!”
• Wig—when something shocks, excites, or moves you, just say “wig.”

5. Jargon

Jargon is a word or phrase that is specific to a profession or industry. Usually, a jargon word intentionally obfuscates the meaning of what it represents, as the word is meant to be understood solely by people within a certain profession.

Jargon is a word or phrase that is specific to a profession or industry.

Often, people let jargon slip from their tongues without realizing the word is inaccessible. For example, a doctor might tell their friend they have rhinitis, rather than a seasonal allergy. Or, someone well-versed in mid-century diner lingo might ask for “Adam and Eve on a raft” rather than “two poached eggs on toast.”

When it comes to dialogue in a story, the occasional use of jargon can help characterize someone through their profession. However, too much jargon usage will start to sound comical and inane, as most people don’t speak in jargon all the time.

6. Idiom

An idiom is a phrase that is specifically understood by speakers of a certain language, and which has a figurative meaning that differs from its literal one. Idioms are incredibly hard to translate, because the meaning conveyed by the idiom does not appear within the words themselves.

An idiom is a phrase that is specifically understood by speakers of a certain language, and which has a figurative meaning that differs from its literal one.

For example, a common idiom in the United States is to say someone is “under the weather” when they’re feeling ill. No part of the phrase “under the weather” conveys a sense of sickness; at most, it might communicate that that person feels pushed down by the weather. But then, what weather? Could they be under “good” weather, too? These are questions that someone who doesn’t speak English natively will likely ask.

So, the literal meaning of “under the weather” is different from the figurative meaning, which is “ill.” Some other idioms in the English language include:

• Pulling your leg—just having fun with someone or messing with them.
• Bat a thousand—to be successful 100% of the time.
• The last straw—the final incident before something (usually negative) occurs.
• Big fish in a little sea—someone is famous or hugely successful, but in a very small corner of the world.
• Eat your heart out—be envious of something.

An idiom can also reveal regionality, as some idioms are only spoken in certain dialects. For example, when it rains while the sun is shining, a common idiom in the South is that “the devil is beating his wife.” This phrase is understood in other parts of the U.S. and might have its roots in folklore, but it is primarily spoken by people in the American South.

7. Euphemism

A euphemism is the substitution of one word for another, more innocuous word. We often use euphemisms in place of words and phrases that are sexual, uncomfortable, or otherwise taboo.

A euphemism is the substitution of one word for another, more innocuous word.

For example, when someone dies, you might hear their family member say “they kicked the bucket.” Or, if someone were unemployed but didn’t want to say it, they might say they are “between jobs” or “searching for better opportunities.”

Euphemisms present something psychologically interesting to a person’s dialogue. We often use language to mask that which upsets us most but which we are unwilling to confront or communicate. A euphemism for death is intended to mask the pain of death; a euphemism about unemployment is intended to mask the shame of unemployment.

We might also use euphemisms to hide information from people we don’t trust. Let’s say you’re in an intimate relationship, and don’t want the person you’re conversing with to know about it. You might pull out your knowledge of Middle English and say you’re “giving a girl a green gown.” Or, you might simply say you’re rolling in the hay with someone, to communicate your relationship while also communicating you don’t want to talk about it.

Note: even “intimate relationship” is a bit of a euphemism!

The opposite of a euphemism is a dysphemism—the use of a more violent word or phrase than necessary. 

In dialogue writing, use euphemisms as hints to your characters’ psyches. In speech, what is omitted often says more than what is included.

In dialogue writing, use euphemisms as hints to your characters’ psyches.

8. Proverb

A proverb is a short, oft-repeated saying that bears a wise and powerful message. Proverbs are often based on common sense advice, but they use metaphors and symbols to convey that advice, prompting the listener to place themselves in the world of the proverb.

A proverb is a short, oft-repeated saying that bears a wise and powerful message.

For example, a common English proverb is “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” This means that it’s better to take away modest gains than to sacrifice those gains for something that may be unobtainable. Sacrificing the bird in your hand for two birds which may be impossible to own is a risky endeavor.

When it comes to writing dialogue in a story, proverbs educate both the protagonist and the audience. A proverb will often be spoken by an elder or someone with relevant experience to help guide the protagonist. The story’s events might also be a reaction to that proverb, either fulfilling or complicating it. Finally, a proverb might characterize the speaker themselves, cluing the reader into the speaker’s beliefs. Not all stories have proverbs, but stories with wise characters often do.

9. Neologism

A neologism is a coined word that describes something new. Some neologisms are coined by authors themselves—Shakespeare, for example, coined over 2,000 words, many of which we use today. “Baseless,” “footfall,” and “murkiest” come from The Tempest, just one of Shakespeare’s many plays and poems.

A neologism is a coined word that describes something new.

Nowadays, most neologisms describe advancements in technology, medicine, and society. “Doomscrolling,” for example, describes the act of consuming large quantities of negative news, often to the detriment of one’s mental health. The word was likely invented in 2018, due in part to the increased access to information that technology gives us.

Other modern day neologisms include:

• Google (as a verb: to google something)
• Crowdsourcing
• Noob
• Staycation
• Webinar
• Vlogging
• Malware
• Podcast
• Ghosting

Some neologisms are portmanteaus, which is a word made from two other words combined in both sound and meaning. For example, “smog” is a portmanteau of “smoke and fog,” and it’s a neologism only relevant to the Industrial Revolution and beyond.

Neologisms are not to be confused with grandiloquent words, which are invented words used for the sole purpose of sounding intelligent (and which have become enduring facets of modern English).

In dialogue writing, neologisms primarily help situate the reader in the story’s temporal setting. No one would use the word malware in the year 1920. Additionally, words like “crowdsourcing” are far more likely to be used by younger generations, and they signify a certain sense of tech savviness and modernity that not everyone has.

Finally, neologisms are fun! You might even invent some new words in your own writing, though a neologism should be elegant and relevant, without drawing too much attention to itself.

How to Write Dialogue: Exercises

Of course, the best way to learn how to write dialogue in a story is to practice it yourself. Below are some dialogue writing exercises to try in your fiction.

Dialogue Writing Exercise: Write out a character’s “personal vocabulary.”

All of us have a personal vocabulary, meaning that we tend to choose the same set of words to describe something, even though our vocabularies are much larger. For example, I have a tendency to use the word “scandalous” when describing something. I often use it ironically or as a compliment, which is a trait of word-usage associated with Millennials and older Gen Z kids. This word is a part of my personal vocabulary, and though I don’t say it constantly, I often use it when I can’t think of a better word.

Your characters are the same way! Writing out a personal vocabulary for your characters might jumpstart your dialogue writing, and it also gives you something to fall back on in your dialogue while still providing depth and character.

Coming back—once again—to Holden Caulfield, his personal vocabulary might include words like: phony, prostitute, goddam, miserable, lousy, jerk. These words and phrases are rare overall, but they’re exceedingly common in his own personal way of verbalizing his experience of the world.

Dialogue Writing Exercise: Consider different settings.

Sometimes, you just need to generate dialogue until you come across the right line or turn-of-phrase. One way to do that is to write what your character would say in different situations.

On a separate document or piece of paper, write what would happen if your character was talking to different people or talking in different situations. For example, your character might:

• Talk to a grocery store clerk
• Be a hostage in a bank robbery
• Take the SAT
• Run into their crush
• Get pulled over for speeding

Explore what your character would say in each of these (and other) different scenarios, and you might just trick your brain into writing the next sentence of your story.

Dialogue Writing Exercise: Pretend you are your character.

Instead of writing your character in different settings, be your character in different settings. Think about what your character would think while you’re doing the laundry, driving to work, or paying the bills. This habit will help you approach this character’s dialogue, as you develop the ability to turn their personality on in your brain, like a switch!

(Hopefully, you’re never caught in a bank robbery. If you are, maybe your character can save you.)

How to Write Dialogue: Formatting Tips

We’ve covered how to write dialogue in a story, but not how to format dialogue. Dialogue formatting is a relatively minor concern for fiction writers, but it’s still important to format correctly. Otherwise, you’ll waste hours of your writing time trying to fix formatting errors, and you might prevent your stories from finding publication.

There are a few different ways to format dialogue; for each of these examples, we will reformat the sentence “You’re gonna need a bigger boat,” said Chief Brody.

Most writers and publishers use standard quotation marks at the beginning and end of the dialogue.

A comma always separates the dialogue from the speaker. In this case, the comma goes inside of the quotation marks. Periods, semicolons, and em dashes also go inside the quotation marks. If you’re writing in British English, some conventions place the dialogue punctuation outside of the quotation, but both ways are acceptable.

Another way some people format their dialogue is by italicizing instead of using quotation marks.

In this instance, you would fit the comma within the italicized text, as you would any other punctuation in the dialogue. Only the quote is italicized; the speaker remains unitalicized. The drawback of this formatting is that your dialogue might be confused with the character’s inner dialogue, which should also be italicized.

Finally, your dialogue formatting can eschew the use of quotation marks and italics. In this case, you would indent any part of the text that is dialogue, and leave narration un-indented.

This way of formatting makes it easier to write without worrying about punctuation marks, but be warned that most publishers will change that formatting before publication.

If your sentence starts with the dialogue tag, put a comma before the quotation mark. Do capitalize the first letter inside the quotation marks, as this is, grammatically, the start of a sentence.

And, if your dialogue spans multiple paragraphs, do not use the end-quote until the very end of the dialogue, but start each paragraph with a new start-quote.

Learn How to Write Dialogue at Writers.com

Great dialogue is the true test of whether you understand your characters or not. However, developing this skill takes a lot of time and practice. If you’re looking for more advice on how to write dialogue in a story, check out our online fiction writing courses for dialogue writing tips from the best instructors on the net!

The post How to Write Dialogue in a Story appeared first on Writers.com.

But how do you write a good story? How do you hook your reader, keep them engaged, and leave them satisfied or even awed? There is no fixed rulebook, no set of commandments to obey. But most good short stories follow a compelling character, in a convincing setting, as they go on a journey, face and overcome challenges, and end up, in one way or another, changed. 

To help you along your way, here are some tips on how to write a good story. 

How to Write a Good Story: Compelling Characters

Your story can follow one hero, a pair of lovers, or a group of friends. It can feature humans, hobbits, a farm full of animals or a lonely robot. But if your characters are vivid and interesting, they will tend to influence the world around them in vivid and interesting ways. In other words, compelling characters make for compelling stories. 

But what makes a character compelling? How can we get our readers to connect with our characters, and root for them?

A good character should be:

• Recognisable. Our characters don’t necessarily have to be likeable—they don’t need to have everything we might hope for in our three-year-old’s preschool teacher. They can be flawed. They can be mean or even cruel. But there should be something about them we readers can recognise, either in ourselves or in someone we know. Maybe that’s a virtue, like generosity or courage. Or a flaw, like selfishness or cowardice. Or a quirk of their appearance, like pants that are too short, or glasses that keep slipping down their nose.
• Complex. Our characters’ recognisable traits don’t always have to line up, or make sense together. In fact, if a character is loaded with contradictions and conflicting impulses, that makes them more lifelike and compelling. And it can make it easier for you to confront them with tough decisions. If your character has two options and really wants both, that creates a dilemma, and dilemmas are great for stories. 
• Magnetic. Whether it’s attraction or repulsion, our characters should be able to exert some kind of force on the people around them, and on the reader. Maybe they’re charismatic, and always know the perfect thing to say to put others at ease. Or they’re enigmatic, and exude an aura of strangeness and mystery. Maybe they’re irresistibly confident, or disarmingly vulnerable. If they have to be dull or bland, aim for an emphatic dullness, a remarkable blandness. There should be at least one thing about them that makes them strikingly different from everyone else.
• Proactive. If your characters tend to sit around doing nothing, it’s unlikely that anything interesting will happen to them. If they wait for other people to take the lead, they’re likely to get pushed aside or left behind. If, on the other hand, they refuse to accept the situations they find themselves in, and attempt to impose themselves upon the world around them, their stories will be more compelling. If they hope, and if they try, then we will root for them.

There should be at least one thing about your character that makes them strikingly different from everyone else.

Learn more about the craft of good characters here: 

Character Development Definition: A Look at 40 Character Traits

How to Write a Good Story: Convincing Settings

Your story might be set in a science-fictional universe with talking saucers and flying pigs. Or it might be set in a regular kitchen, with a grimy sink. Either way, a good short story will create a fictional world your reader can believe in.

But what makes a setting convincing? How do you write a good story that feels vivid and authentic? Here’s how to write a good story setting. 

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A good setting should be:

• Recognisable. Just like with characters, if your reader recognises something about your fictional world that they can connect to their own life, that will help them immerse themselves in your story. This could be the way the popular kids in class are mean to the nerd kids, even if all these kids are talking saucers.
• Consistent. Even if your pigs can fly, your reader should feel like they have solid ground to stand on, from where they can make sense of what is going on around them. And once you establish the rules of your fictional world, it’s usually best not to break them. (Your flying pigs should probably not, for example, suddenly and inexplicably gain the ability to teleport three-quarters-way through your story.)
• Challenging. There should be at least one or two things about your story’s setting that makes your characters uncomfortable. It could be a dystopian secret police. It could be a set of social norms that stifles their creativity, or limits their dating options. It could be expensive. If the pressures your setting places on your characters pull them in opposite directions—say, if your character wants to quit their tedious job and also to be able to afford that new iPhone all their friends have, that’s even better.

There should be at least one or two things about your story’s setting that makes your characters uncomfortable.

Learn more about the setting of a story here:

What is the Setting of a Story? 5 Functions of Setting in Literature

How to Write a Good Story: A Gripping Plot

So you have your compelling characters, you have your convincing setting. Now something needs to happen! Hopefully your characters are already so different from one another, and are so unsettled by their challenging environment, that all sorts of conflict is bubbling under the surface, ready to escalate… 

Leo Tolstoy told us: “All great literature is one of two stories: a man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town.” 

“All great literature is one of two stories: a man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town.” —Leo Tolstoy

But even if your story doesn’t neatly fall under one of these two categories, your characters should go on some sort of journey—either a literal, physical journey from one place to another, or an emotional one, where they start off feeling one way, and end up someplace else. 

Your flying pig may never leave her grimy kitchen, but you should still confront her with challenges that she will need to overcome. This will help hook your readers, keep them engaged in your story, and leave them with the feeling that they have gone through something along with your characters. 

And it will provide your characters with an experience that renders them, in one way or another, changed forever. Here’s how to write a good story plot.

How to write a good story plot:

1. Start with a fragile equilibrium. Your characters may have their problems, but right now they’re willing to put up with them. 
2. Disrupt that balance. Do something to your characters that knocks them out of their routine, or shatters whatever fragile peace they had been able to cling to. 
3. Give your character a particular goal, or set of goals. Ideally, in every moment of your story, you should know what your character wants to happen next, or what they are trying to achieve in the long run. Even if this particular goal might not be in their best interests.
4. Confront your character with obstacles, which they will need to navigate in order to get what they want. Make those obstacles increasingly more difficult—as soon as they have overcome one problem, present them with a new challenge that is even more arduous.
5. Provide your characters with the resources they need to navigate these obstacles—but make them work for them. This could be the inner courage they need to defeat a minotaur, which they can finally summon after being chased and beaten up for several hours. Or it could be the money they can steal from their dad in order to buy that new iPhone.
6. Make your characters take charge. At the beginning, they might have little or no control over what is happening to them. But as they progress through these escalating conflicts, they should probably assume more and more responsibility, so that by the time they are confronted by their most difficult challenge—or the climax of your story—they feel like they are in control of their own destiny.

As soon as your character has overcome one problem, present them with a new challenge that is even more arduous.

A good plot should have:

• Stakes. As your characters set about trying to get what they want, your readers should understand what succeeding will mean for them, and what they have to lose if they fail.
• Jeopardy. This journey your characters go on should not be an easy one. Threats can appear from all sides, lurk in all corners. If your characters fail, the consequences should be, in one way or another, grave.
• Momentum. If you keep your quiet and peaceful moments short, and escalate the challenges your characters face, then your story should gain momentum. Your readers will be racing to get to the end, to learn what happens.
• Surprises. There is something pleasing about inevitability in a story, when we are moving inexorably towards a climax, or when we have arrived at an ending and feel like things couldn’t have gone any other way. But if a reader thinks they know what is going to happen, and then that happens, exactly in the way they expected it to happen, it makes for a dull read. Look for ways to introduce the unexpected, and disrupt your readers’ assumptions. And if your biggest surprises can, in retrospect, seem inevitable, that’s even better.
• Consequences and change. Even if your characters end up back where they started, they should be irremediably altered by their journey, in one way or another. And if you have taken your readers along for the ride, then they too will feel altered, in some ineffable way, by reading your story.

Your character should be irremediably altered by their journey, in one way or another.

Learn more about plot here:

https://writers.com/what-is-the-plot-of-a-story

How to Write a Good Story: Clarity

On a basic level, your reader should be able to understand what is happening.

They don’t need to understand everything. Arousing your readers’ curiosity is a great way to hook them, and make them keep reading. And a good story will raise questions in its readers’ minds, that they will want to see answered later on in the story.

But one way to prevent your story from getting too confusing is to ensure that you—the writer—know what is going on. 

Often, we writers don’t know what is going to happen when we begin to write a story. This is usually a good thing, as it allows us to harness our imagination and creativity to explore the possibilities of our story, and arrive at new ideas we would never have been able to think of when we set out.

But before you reach a final draft of your story—before you add that last period, or remove that comma, and call it done—you should probably have a clear sense of what you are trying to achieve.

This means that you should know the answer to the question: ‘What is my story about?’ For example: A flying pig makes breakfast in her mother’s kitchen, but has to scrub the sink, clean all the pans, unjam the window, and decipher the hoof-written recipe before she can sit down and enjoy her meal.

You should know the answer to the question: ‘What is my story really about?’

And it means that you should know the answer to the question: ‘What is my story really about?’ For example: A daughter has to come to terms with her grief after losing her mother before she can move on with her life.

If you want to write a good short story, you should probably be able to answer both these questions—‘What is my story about?’ and ‘What is my story really about?’—in one sentence. If you can articulate your vision for your story in this way, it will make it much easier to identify the changes you need to make in order to achieve that vision. And it will make it much easier for your reader to understand what has happened in your story, and why.

A good short story should be:

• Clearly written, so that all the sentences make sense.
• Coherent, so that the events of the story feel logical and consistent.
• Cohesive, so that all the elements of the story feel like they form a united whole.

How to Write a Good Story: Break Rules

A short story can be anything. Even the words ‘short’ and ‘story’ are open to interpretation. And writers have performed all sorts of experiments, and assembled all sorts of strange and wonderful collections of words and called them stories.

Get creative, set your imagination loose, and see where it takes you.

All the above tips for how to write a good short story can often be useful, but you should also feel free to disregard them. Especially if you have a good reason for doing so. Most great short stories are different in some important way than every other story ever written before. And the best advice for how to write a good story is: Get creative, set your imagination loose, and see where it takes you.

How to Write a Good Story: Read Short Stories!

If you are wondering how to write a good short story, the best way to learn is to read a lot of short stories. Read long short stories and short short stories. Read short stories in different genres, like horror or mystery or romance. Read old short stories, in collections by famous authors and popular anthologies. Read new short stories, in small press magazines and new online outlets. 

If you have some favourite short stories, go back and read them again. Pay attention to the choices the authors made when writing them. What makes the characters compelling? What makes the setting convincing? What journey did the characters go on? What kept you riveted? What was surprising and unexpected?

By studying stories we admire, we can come up with our own solutions to problems.

By studying stories we admire, we can come up with our own solutions to problems like how to write a good story plot, or how to write a great ending.

And if we read a story we don’t like, for some particular reason, that can also be an important lesson when we start trying to write our own short stories.

How to Write a Good Story: Write Short Stories!

Ray Bradbury told us: “Write a short story every week. It’s not possible to write fifty-two bad short stories in a row.” Even if you don’t want to commit to a whole year, if you can make the time to set up a consistent practice of writing short stories, you will find that your natural storytelling instincts will sharpen, and your own individual style of writing short stories will emerge. 

More Resources on How to Write a Good Story

Here are more craft tips from the Writers.com site on the craft of successful fiction:

• How to Start a Story
• Freytag’s Pyramid
• The 6 Core Elements of Fiction
• How to Write a Short Story
• How to Come Up With Great Story Ideas
• Stories Vs Situations

How to Write a Good Story: Take a Class at Writers.com!

The classes at Writers.com will help you generate new ideas and turn them into successful stories. Take a look at our upcoming fiction writing courses and write your best story yet in our community. 

Colin Corrigan is a writer and a writing teacher from County Kildare in Ireland. He’s spent a decade working all sorts of jobs in Irish film and television, and another teaching all sorts of writing classes at American universities, including Northeastern University, the University of Michigan, and University of Massachusetts Boston. His short fiction has been published by Amazon and The Fiction Desk, and anthologised in Surge: New Writing from Ireland and Stinging Fly Stories. He has an MA in Creative Writing from University College Dublin, and an MFA in Fiction Writing from the University of Michigan. He’s won a Delbanco Thesis Prize, he’s been a Zell Fellow, and he’s received generous funding from the Arts Council of Ireland and the Elizabeth George Foundation. You can find him writing about The Story Energies on Substack.

The post How To Write A Good Story appeared first on Writers.com.

When I was drafting my first novel, I wasn’t thinking much about subplots. I had the general shape of the story in mind—beginning, middle, end—but I hadn’t yet considered its inner architecture. In my novice novel writer mind, everything revolved around the main plot. Subplots? They existed, but I assumed they’d emerge naturally as I developed my draft. I didn’t understand that subplots needed arcs of their own, momentum, or a clear connection to the larger story.

During revisions, I tried to fix this by overcorrecting. Suddenly, every minor character had a personal storyline. I gave each one a narrative arc—whether or not the story needed it. While some of those threads were interesting, the result was a cluttered, unfocused draft. My main plot stalled, and the pacing lagged. My beta readers were confused, and likely bored. It was like I’d mixed too many colors on a canvas: the final image had no contrast, no clarity—just an overwhelming shade of gray.

Since then, I’ve developed what I call the Goldilocks method of subplotting: not too few, not too many—you have to find the balance that’s just right. And that balance will look different for every book.

In this article, we’ll explore:

• What a subplot is (and isn’t).
• How many subplots a book should have.
• Different types of subplots.
• How to weave subplots into your story.
• Common subplot mistakes.
• Real-world examples that show subplotting done well.

Whether you’re a hardcore outliner (plotter) or a discovery writer (pantser), subplots can and will elevate your story, when they’re intentional and supportive of your main plot. Let’s subplot!

What Is a Subplot?

A subplot is a secondary or minor storyline that supports, echoes, or contrasts with the main plot. It can follow a secondary character, add depth to an antagonist, deepen a theme, introduce a counterpoint, or help your protagonist evolve in subtle ways. Subplots are not just filler or side quests—they’re essential structural elements that create emotional and narrative depth while supporting the forward progress of your main plot line.

A subplot is a secondary or minor storyline that supports, echoes, or contrasts with the main plot.

Think of the main plot as your story’s spine. Subplots are the ribs: they branch off the spine, support the body, and help your story breathe.

A subplot:

• Has its own complete arc, including a beginning, middle, and resolution.
• Is thematically or emotionally tied to the main plot.
• Typically involves supporting characters.
• Should enhance the reader’s understanding of the central conflict.

In my early writing, I struggled to know how far I was “allowed” to branch away from the main plot—especially when writing in first person point of view (POV). How could I develop minor characters or explore other threads if I was tethered to one narrator’s perspective? What I’ve learned is that subplots don’t require a shift in voice or POV. 

When done well, a subplot often becomes one of the reasons readers love a book. When done poorly, it’s the part they skim. Or worse, it’s the reason they DNF.

How Many Subplots Should a Book Have?

This is one of the most common questions writers ask, and one of the hardest to answer definitively.

The truth is: there’s no magic number. Some novels hum along beautifully with one well-developed subplot, most need two or three, and a few epic, sweeping books can handle more. Most stories benefit from a less-is-more approach, especially in early drafts.

Some novels hum along beautifully with one well-developed subplot, most need two or three, and a few epic, sweeping books can handle more. Most stories benefit from a less-is-more approach, especially in early drafts.

As I mentioned, when I revised my first novel, I made a massive overcorrection. I went from nary a recognizable subplot to suddenly having half a dozen emotional arcs unfolding at once. On paper, it sounded ambitious (maybe?). In execution, it was narrative chaos. My main plot kept getting buried, and my pacing suffered. My early readers and critique partners told me they were confused about what the story was actually about. I had made a mess!

One subplot in particular stands out in memories from that time. My novel centered around the death of a sibling, and I had written a storyline about how that death affected the sister’s best friend—how her grief pulled her into a darker world. It was well-written, emotionally complex, and…entirely out of place. It didn’t connect directly to the main character’s arc, and it slowed the manuscript down. It was hard to cut, but I had to let it go in order to make the novel stronger as a whole.

Subplots should never feel like they’re pulling focus. They should be supporting the main narrative, not trying to compete with it.

As I said, the number of subplots will be different for every book you write, but if you’re a number person, here’s a general guideline:

• Short novels or novellas (under 60,000 words): 0-1 subplot
• Standard novels (70–100k words): 1-3 subplots
• Epic or genre-spanning novels (100k+ words): 3+ subplots (Only if the story genuinely needs them!)

Whatever the genre, subplots should serve a clear purpose:

• Advance the main plot
• Add emotional weight
• Develop a character
• Explore the theme from a new angle

If they don’t do any of those things? Especially if they don’t aid in the advancement of the main plot? Delete them. Cut out of your manuscript.

Subplots are only powerful when they’re purposeful.

Types of Subplots in Fiction

There’s no one-size-fits-all approach to subplotting. The kinds of subplots you use depends entirely on the story you’re telling. I’ve written novels where a character’s personal arc held the emotional weight of the entire book, and others where a subplot that seemed necessary at the beginning ended up feeling out of place by the final draft.

That’s the beauty of discovery drafts: they help you find the story beneath the story. They help you discover what the story actually is.

Here are some common types of subplots—and how they can deepen your work:

1. Character-Driven Subplots: These explore the internal growth of secondary characters or flesh out dynamics between people in your protagonist’s life. A character-driven subplot is a great device to reveal information about and add depth to secondary characters.

2. Thematic Subplots: These reinforce the central theme by presenting another version of the story’s emotional or moral question. These subplots are like philosophical mirrors: they pose alternate versions of your story’s core question, offering different perspectives or outcomes that enrich the emotional and intellectual experience for the reader.

3. Antagonist Subplots: These follow the opposing force—whether it’s the villain or simply someone working against your protagonist. These subplots can build tension and expand the complexity of your story.

4. Mystery or Intrigue Subplots: Handled well, these can add suspense and page-turning tension. Used poorly, they feel like a gimmick or genre mismatch. I once added a mystery subplot to a quiet, literary novel, thinking I was making the story more interesting. A wise editor pointed out that it wasn’t necessary, and only weakened the story. She was right.

5. Romantic Subplots: Romantic tension can be used in any genre. But only include it if it adds emotional stakes, contrast or momentum to your main plot. Don’t force it or add it just because you think it should be there.

An honorable mention goes to subplots that reveal the “real” story. While not a real type of subplot, I felt it was worth nothing. I once wrote the first 50 pages of a new novel before realizing a side character had more voice, conflict, and emotional richness than my original protagonist. I started over, and made that side character my new protagonist. The subplot wasn’t a distraction—it was the real story trying to break through.

The key to any strong subplot is this: it should reveal something new—about your characters, your theme, or your story’s emotional core. If it doesn’t, it might be unnecessary background noise your novel doesn’t need.

How to Write a Strong Subplot

Here’s the secret no one tells you when you’re first learning how to write a novel: subplots are structure. They aren’t just nice to have—they’re part of the engine that drives your story forward. A weak subplot can drag your pacing, confuse your themes, and dilute your emotional impact. A strong subplot, on the other hand, can deepen everything.

Here are a few tips on how to develop a solid subplot:

1. It Must be Connected to the Main Plot

A subplot shouldn’t feel like a detour or an occasional hiatus from the main storyline. It should feel like a corridor leading to a different part of the same house. It might offer a quieter moment, a new character perspective, or a parallel emotional arc, but it needs to be in deep conversation with the larger story.

Sometimes, writers fall in love with a side story simply because it’s fun to write. However, fun doesn’t always equal functional. Writers often have to cut entire storylines, even those that are beautifully written or interesting in isolation, because they had nothing to do with the central tension of the book.

Ask yourself: If I removed this subplot, would the book still work? Would it be stronger without it? Or would something vital be missing?

2. It Has Its Own Arc

A strong subplot has shape. It’s not just something that shows up occasionally to break up the action. It has a beginning, a build, a complication, and a resolution.

In my own work, I’ve learned to chart subplots the way I chart main plots. Even if I’m not outlining in detail, I’ll track where the subplot enters, where it develops, and how it resolves. If I can’t do that, it’s probably not really a subplot; it’s just a stray idea looking for a purpose.

3. It Reveals Theme or Deepens Character

Subplots are excellent tools for illuminating a story’s emotional undercurrents. A subplot can show your protagonist failing in one area while succeeding in another. It can echo a theme in miniature. It can offer a counterpoint that invites the reader to ask bigger questions.

Think of your subplot as your story’s echo—it should be saying something related, but from a slightly different angle.

4. It’s Woven Seamlessly into the Main Narrative

This is where craft meets finesse. The best subplots don’t announce themselves. They’re folded into the story in a way that feels natural, inevitable. You don’t want your reader to think, Ah, here comes the subplot. You want them to think, I can’t wait to see what happens next.

One way to do this is through rhythm. If your main plot is heavy and high-stakes, a subplot might offer breath and space—a romantic tension, a bit of humor, a philosophical pause. If your main plot is internal and introspective, a subplot might raise the stakes or propel the pacing.

Subplots can be used to:

• Develop your protagonist through relationships
• Add tension or contrast to the central conflict
• Reinforce or question the moral center of your book
• Build out the world of your story

Always remember the most important part: A subplot should serve the story, not distract from it.

Subplot Examples from Literature and Film

Sometimes the best way to understand how subplots work is to see them in action. A well-crafted subplot doesn’t shout for attention—it deepens the story, sharpens the emotional stakes, and leaves readers more invested in the world of the book.

Here are a few famous examples that demonstrate different types of subplots used to masterfully benefit the main story:

1. The Weasley Twins’ Rebellion — Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling

While the main plot follows Harry’s battle against the rising threat of Voldemort and the internal corruption of the Ministry of Magic, a subplot develops around Fred and George Weasley, and their rebellion against authority at Hogwarts. At first glance, their antics seem like comic relief, but the subplot mirrors the main story’s central theme: resistance in the face of institutional control. Their exit isn’t just funny—it’s iconic, and it raises the emotional pitch of the main plot.

2. Lila’s Hidden Ambition — My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante

While the main plot of My Brilliant Friend follows Elena’s coming-of-age and evolving self-perception, one of the most compelling subplots centers on her friend Lila’s complex relationship with intellect, creativity, and power. Lila doesn’t have access to the same educational opportunities Elena does, but her fierce intelligence and submerged rage quietly drive the narrative. Though Elena is the narrator, Lila’s arc often holds the emotional center of the book.

3. Celie’s Sister Nettie — The Color Purple by Alice Walker

Nettie’s letters form a powerful subplot that expands the scope of the story beyond Celie’s immediate world. While Celie’s arc is deeply internal—focused on reclaiming her voice and self-worth—Nettie’s subplot brings in themes of global injustice, colonialism, and family separation. The two plots feel distinct, and yet they are emotionally inseparable.

4. The Failed Love Story — The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Tom Buchanan’s affair with his mistress, Myrtle, and the lingering past between Daisy and Gatsby, function as romantic and moral subplots. These relationships aren’t central to the action, but they amplify the novel’s core themes: illusion, longing, and the rotten deception lurking beneath the glitter of wealth. (You can read The Great Gatsby here.)

Common Subplot Mistakes and How to Avoid Them

Subplots are one of the most powerful tools in fiction, and also one of the trickiest to manage. When they work, they enrich and elevate the story, but when they don’t they slow it down, dilute its focus, or confuse the reader.

Here are some of the most common subplot mistakes I’ve seen (and made), along with how to avoid them:

1. Subplots That Don’t Connect to the Main Story: If a subplot feels like it could be lifted out of the book without changing anything, that’s a red flag. Every subplot should connect to the main plot in one of three ways: it advances it, reflects it, or complicates it. Otherwise, it’s not doing enough work, and needs to be expanded or deleted.

2. Too Many Subplots: Writers, especially in early drafts, often overwrite, and try to give every character their own arc. It can feel like you’re deepening your world, but too many threads can pull focus, and muddy the core story. Even strong subplots can lose their impact if they end up competing for attention.

3. Subplots That Are More Interesting Than the Main Plot: This one is trickier. Sometimes, the subplot is where the emotional truth of the story lives, and it begins to outshine the main narrative. Remember my early tale of starting over after writing fifty pages, because I realized a subplot was really my main plot? If a subplot is stealing the shine of the main plot or main character, you either need to accept that you’ve been writing the wrong story, or you need to pare down the current subplot.

4. Subplots That Go Nowhere: Never introduce a subplot, build it up, and then forget about it, or abandon it halfway through. This leaves readers frustrated, and creates a sense of narrative imbalance. Even if your subplot ends quietly, it still needs resolution. Leaving no loose ends includes resolving all of your subplots before writing “The End.”

5. Subplots That Clash Tonally or Thematically: Sometimes writers insert a subplot to add excitement, tension, or variety, but it doesn’t belong in the world of the story. Like that time I added a mystery subplot to a literary novel because I thought it would make the story more exciting. The tone didn’t match, and the story didn’t need it.

Subplot Writing & Revision Checklist

If you’re unsure whether your subplot is working, this checklist can help. Use it to evaluate whether a subplot is pulling its weight—or if it’s just taking up space.

Concept & Purpose

• Does this subplot relate to the main plot, theme, or protagonist’s arc?
• Can I clearly state the purpose of this subplot in one sentence?
• Does this subplot add tension, deepen character, or reveal theme?

Structure & Pacing

• Does the subplot have a beginning, middle, and resolution?
• Is the subplot introduced early enough to matter?
• Does it build over time rather than dropping in and out?

Character & Emotion

• Does it develop a side character or show a new side of my protagonist?
• Does it mirror or contrast the emotional stakes of the main plot?
• Is the tone and voice of this subplot consistent with the overall story?

Relevance & Impact

• If I cut this subplot, would the story still make sense?
• Is this subplot pulling focus from the main narrative?
• Does it resolve or evolve in a satisfying way by the end?

Bonus Tip: If you find yourself stuck, try writing a one-paragraph summary of each subplot as if it’s its own mini-story. If you can’t find a compelling arc, it might not belong—or it may need more work.

Subplots Are Where the Story Deepens

It’s easy to think of subplots as optional, or as bonus material for when the main plot needs to take a breath. But in truth, subplots are where stories expand, characters grow, and meaning gathers weight. They’re not detours. They’re echoes, mirrors, and undercurrents. Subplots are how your story speaks in more than one voice.

Like everything in writing, learning to use subplots well is a process. You’ll overdo it. You’ll underdo it. You’ll write a subplot that hijacks your book, and another that dies on the page. Eventually, you’ll write one that surprises you by revealing the beating heart of your story. Each time, you’ll get better at knowing the difference.

Don’t be afraid to experiment. If something feels off in your draft, try adding a new subplot, cutting one, or try following that side character who won’t shut up in your head. It’s okay to not get it just right, while in your pursuit of finding just the right balance of subplots.

Hone Your Subplots At Writers.com

Not sure if your story has the structure it needs? Check out the upcoming novel writing courses at Writers.com, where you’ll receive expert advice and feedback on every aspect of your novel. 

The post Subplots in Fiction: How to Use Them to Deepen Your Story appeared first on Writers.com.

Sound devices help make writing memorable and engaging, while also building the mood and atmosphere of a work, helping it evoke stronger reactions from the readers. While the bulk of this article dissects sound devices in poetry, these same devices often appear in prose, and good storytellers know how to imbue their work with sound and musicality.

What literary devices are sound devices, and how do they aid your writing? Let’s define sound devices first before looking at great examples of sound devices in literature.

Sound Devices Definition

Sound devices are literary devices in which the sounds of words themselves impact the meaning and interpretation of the work.

Sound devices are literary devices in which the sounds of words themselves impact the meaning and interpretation of the work.

Take this literally—we mean that the use of certain vowels, consonants, and sonic qualities in words, as well as how the words sound next to one another, are sound devices that impact the writing as a whole.

There are plenty of reasons to employ sound devices in literature. They help build the mood and atmosphere of a work, they create formal restraints that improve the work’s resonance, and sometimes, they simply make a passage of writing more memorable. After all, it’s hard to forget the phrase “Sally sells seashells by the seashore,” even if that sibilance makes it hard to speak out loud.

Sound Devices Vs. Sonic Imagery

The one thing sound devices are not is sonic imagery. By this, we mean imagery of sound: descriptions of sounds intended to convey an experience we can hear in our minds.

An example of sonic imagery comes from Robert Hass’ poem “Picking Blackberries with a Friend Who Has Been Reading Jacques Lacan”:

I can hear this moment in the poem, but it’s not because of the sounds of the words themselves, but what they evoke in the mind’s ear. Ears being stoppered by bee-hums transports me directly to the field where this poem is happening, and there’s a charming quality of Charlie “laughing wonderfully” that I can also imagine.

Admittedly, the word hum in “bee-hum” has an onomatopoeic quality to it, and one could argue that “hum” is being used as a sound device. But, this passage on the whole is evoking a sound-image without replicating that sound in the sounds of the words.

Sound Devices in Poetry Vs. Prose

Most discussions of sound devices revolve around poetry. Indeed, poetry is a sonic art form, and good poetry is enhanced by its attention to sound and musicality.

That said, the sound devices in this article can apply to both poetry and prose. While it’s true that prose is rarely, if ever, metered and rhyming, good prose can be enhanced by the intentional use of rhythm and rhyme. The best prose writers will also be poets—or, at the very least, be readers and admirers of poetry, as poetry pushes the limits of what language can accomplish.

Here’s a passage of prose I’ve always found particularly poetic—the opening paragraph from Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston:

Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men.

What makes this passage poetic isn’t its loftiness, though it certainly has a heightened quality to it, but rather the passage’s attention to musicality. Speak the words aloud and feel how they flow, both the words themselves and the lengths of sentences. Notice, also, how each word is carefully chosen and essential: there’s no excess, and the words that are abstract are still necessary. This stands in stark contrast to something like purple prose, which attempts to be poetic and lofty but is ultimately elaborate, overwritten, and communicates little.

Prose writers, like poets, will do well to understand how these sound devices can be implemented in their work. When prose is a joy to read, it invites the reader into worlds more richly built and real.

Learn more about poetry vs prose here:

https://writers.com/prose-vs-poetry

Sound Devices in Literature: Examples and Analysis

Let’s take a look at some actual sound devices in literature. In addition to defining each device, we also provide examples in published works of writing, and an analysis of what that sound device does for the writing as well.

1. Alliteration

Alliteration is the use of the same sound at the start of successive or closely placed words. It is specific to the beginning letters of words; two other devices, assonance and consonance, describe recurring sounds more generally.

It’s worth noting that the alliterating words need to be different. For example “bells, bells, bells” wouldn’t be noteworthy alliteration, since the words are just being repeated—but that would be an example of epizeuxis, a repetition device.

Alliteration, when employed effectively, makes a passage of writing more musical and memorable. Take Tracy Brimhall’s poem “Lullaby at 102º”. Words in alliteration with one another have been bolded and italicized:

This gorgeous, mystical poem has more going for it than just its alliteration, but those moments of repeated sounds create a textured, sonic experience for the reader. There are also moments of consonance, which we’ll define shortly, that work in tandem with the poem’s alliterations.

2. Assonance

Assonance is the repetition of the same or similar vowel sounds in closely placed words. These vowel sounds can occur anywhere in the words themselves—beginning, middle, or end—but must be repeated in such a way that their repetition is resonant or echoic.

Different vowel sounds can emulate different feelings and moods. So, too, can the frequency of their repetition. Quick, successive, tall vowels might add a sense of energy or urgency; long and low vowels might create a sense of depth or somberness.

There are a few lovely examples from Robert Hayden’s poem “Those Winter Sundays”:

This poem aches, and that ache can be felt in the poem’s vowels and consonants. (We’ll look at consonance next.) There are a lot of tall vowels in the first stanza, and in my experience reading it, those vowels lift the language up, but in a spiked and urgent way. This stands in contrast to the poem’s melancholy ending, whose low, long vowels draw out that sense of loneliness and regret. Assonance, here, creates a feeling that echoes in the body, that lasts long after it’s read in the mind.

3. Consonance

Consonance is assonance, but with consonants. Specifically, it’s an echoing of similar consonant sounds in closely placed words. This, like assonance, can impact the mood and feeling of a poem.

Also like assonance, there are no hard and fast rules for how different sounds will replicate different feelings. But let’s look again at Robert Hayden’s delightfully sonic poem, this time with attention towards repeated consonant sounds:

What do you notice in this poem, now that you’ve paid attention to its consonance? This poem nearly runs the alphabet, but there’s a recurrence of “b”, “k”, and “w” sounds that each offer a different emotional texture to the work. K’s and hard C’s feel sharp and percussive; “B’s” and, to a lesser extent in this piece, “D’s” are also percussive, but duller and more spread out, melancholic; and those soft, ruminant “W’s” seem to stretch this poem’s melancholy even further. I also notice that “cold” recurs in each stanza, though each use of the word feels new somehow.

4. Dissonance and Cacophony

Dissonance and cacophony are essentially the same thing, so we’ll include them as one device. There is a slight difference between the two, in that cacophony is an instance of dissonance; if cacophony is a singular use of sound, dissonance describes a work that is artfully replete with cacophony.

Both words describe writing whose sound is intentionally unpleasant or harsh to the ear. The key word, of course, is intentional: it’s not writing that’s accidentally rough, but writing whose harsh sound is resonant with the writing’s subject matter.

A rather obvious example of dissonance comes from “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” from Samuel Taylor Coleridge:

The language is musical, but has a sense of discordance, and though the vowels are somewhat assonant, there are a lot of different, cacophonous percussive consonants mirroring the speaker’s harsh cry.

Sometimes, dissonance simply helps call attention to a single stand-out word. For example, the poem “Self-Portrait Against Red Wallpaper” by Richard Siken has a lot of beauty and craft in it, but I’ll call your attention to the word “compartmentalization”, which occurs a little more than halfway into the poem. It’s an ungainly word, hideous in its context and hideous to pronounce, but essential to understanding the psychology of this poem’s speaker.

Retrieved here.

5. Elision or Syncope

Elision is a useful sound device, especially for poets trying to fit their language into the rhythm and meter of a formal poem. What elision refers to is the intentional erasure of a sound or syllable.

A lot of old-timey poetic words are the products of elision. For example:

These forms of elision rarely occur in contemporary poetry, as contemporary poetry is more interested in replicating how people think and speak in the 21st century.

However, elision is common in a lot of everyday speech. Taking the g off of a gerund word, for example—you might say you’re “goin’” to the store, not going. Contractions like “can’t” and “won’t” are also elisions in their own way, since they elide sounds by conjoining words together. (Some of the above examples, like t’other and ‘tis, are also contractions.)

6. Euphony

Euphony is cacophony’s opposite. It is the use of musical, melodic sound to enhance the beauty or quality of a poem’s language. It is, put simply, the lyricism and musicality often found in poetry.

Euphony is not a singular device—it is something achieved in the gestalt of sound devices, and so any example of euphony may contain various iterations of alliteration, assonance, consonance, rhyme, meter, sibilance, repetition, etc.

Consider this poem:

We Have Not Long to Love
By: Tennessee Williams

Pay attention to what makes this poem flow off the tongue—you should even read it out loud to fully feel the language. The poem’s movement and rhythm, its odd but wise syntax, and its noticeable but not-annoying rhyme scheme all combine to make a poem as delightful and interesting as its choice of words.

7. Homophony

Homophony is the use of homophones, which are words that sound similar to one another but have different definitions. Think: bear/bare, there/their, wear/where/ware, etc.

Sometimes, writers use homophones as puns or forms of word play. I could say that the bear bares its face, or I could give someone a box of powdered grains and call it a “bouquet of flours.”

But homophony can also be used to simulate the sound and feeling of language in new and surprising ways. Some contemporary poets write poems that are “homophonic translations,” or poems written to emulate the sound of a source text, but use different words to create wonderful accidents of language.

Here’s an example of a homophonic translation, which attempts to sound like the opening of the poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot.

By taking the sound and feeling of a poem but using different words, poems like these call into question how language can communicate through sound instead of meaning, and what happens when words say what they don’t mean.

8. Meter

Meter refers to the rhythmic pattern of stressed and unstressed syllables in a piece of writing—almost always poetry. Contemporary poets do sometimes utilize meter in their work, but it is far more present in classical poetry.

If you’ve read any poetry from before the 20th century, you have almost certainly encountered iambic meter, which is a pattern of unstressed-stressed syllables. The motion of an iambic poem is often compared to that of a heartbeat. You can see it in action from these lines of Shakespeare, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream:

Again, read these lines out loud, and you’ll get a feel for iambic meter, including where the stresses are placed in the syllables.

You can read our in-depth guide on poetic meter here:

https://writers.com/rhythm-and-meter-in-poetry

9. Onomatopoeia

Onomatopoeias are words that sound like the sounds they refer to. They are words made to emulate what they describe. Think bark, honk, meow, vroom, boom, or yackety-yack.

Onomatopoeias are rarely the central feature of any piece of writing, but they do add a kind of sonic texture to the work, and they’re useful for making a piece of writing feel more real and alive.

This excerpt from the poem “Honky Tonk in Cleveland, Ohio” by Carl Sandburg demonstrates the value of onomatopoeias nicely:

Read the full poem here.

Notice how the poem feels livelier and more interesting, especially as those onomatopoeia words are bumping up against one another, practically in conversation.

Learn more about onomatopoeias here:

https://writers.com/onomatopoeia-definition-and-examples

10. Repetition

Repetition is the artful, intentional duplication of sounds and words to highlight or amplify a certain effect on the reader. Like euphony, repetition is not a singular device, but a set of strategies authors use for literary effect.

One type of repetition is called epizeuxis, which is the rapid, immediate repetition of a word. Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “The Bells” gives us a great example:

The almost obnoxious, incessant chime of the word feels like there are bells actually jingling and tinkling around me. Repetition is more than just a sound device, but here, I think Poe is using the device in a sonic and interesting way.

Discover more repetition devices here:

https://writers.com/repetition-definition

11. Rhyme

You’re probably acquainted with rhyme, which is when words mirror each other’s assonance, or else have corresponding sounds. Examples of this:

• Score / store
• Whether / heather
• Interior / inferior
• Scarecrow / hair grow

There also exist such a thing as slant rhymes, which are rhymes that almost mirror one another, but the length or intonation of a vowel differs enough that the two rhymes slightly misalign. Examples of this:

• Boarish / boorish
• Worm / swarm
• Immigrant / monument
• Tall / toll

Rhymes can occur in both poetry and prose. They make writing more musical and can also call attention to the rhymed words themselves. In poetry, certain forms like villanelles and traditional sonnets require the end words of lines to be rhymed. A line can also have an internal rhyme, or rhyming words occurring in the middle of lines.

Edgar Allan Poe also gives us some great examples of rhyme in poetry. Here’s the opening stanza of The Raven, with internal rhymes italicized, and end rhymes bolded:

12. Sibilance

Sibilance is consonance with “s” sounds, so it’s delightful that sibilance is itself a sibilant word. This sound device gets its own shoutout because it has a unique impact on the feeling of a passage of writing. Sibilance can make writing seem sinister, slippery, tense, or eerie, particularly if the writing is complete with only “s” sounds.

However, repeated hushing and shushing “sh” sounds are also sibilance. If a piece of writing has a lot of “sh” in it, the passage might feel calming, soft, quiet, or windswept.

To be clear, sibilance is just as intentional as the other sound devices in this article. While plenty of words have s’es in them, and most plural words end in s, sibilance requires a certain amount of frequency and intensity in other to impact the mood, tone, and feeling of a piece of writing.

You can find many examples of sibilance in John Clare’s poem “The Wind”:

Why do writers use sound devices in literature?

Sound devices make writing musical, memorable, interesting, and atmospheric. A writer can control the mood and energy of a piece based on how they utilize sound.

Sound devices might enhance a piece of writing by:

• Generating a mood, tone, or atmosphere that enhances the subject of the work.
• Imbuing the work with a sense of musicality that’s pleasing to read and hear.
• Building a textured, sonic experience that the reader can hear and feel.
• Creating doorways into new ideas by attending to the accidents off language.

Really, sound devices are tools that help elevate a piece of writing from merely transmitting information to creating an artistic and intentional experience. The dullest writing thuds for its disinterest in sound. Think long, technical passages of prose with convoluted, abstract language.

Reading bad writing is like trying to drill through a prison wall—and finding that the other side of the wall is just as boring. Musical writing, on the other hand, has a gravity that you don’t want to escape from, and these sound devices help create that gravity.

For more on creating musical, stylistic writing, check out our article on the topic:

https://writers.com/writing-styles

Hone Sound Devices in Your Work at Writers.com

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Sometimes writers decide a work’s motifs in advance. Just as often, however, a work’s motifs are emergent—they happen unconsciously, or else are discovered and refined through revision.

Nonetheless, whether you’re a writer looking to develop a work of literature, or a reader trying to grasp Macbeth, understanding literary motifs will help you understand the literary process as a whole.

First, the essentials: what is a motif in literature?

Literary Motif Definition: What is a Motif?

A motif is simply an important feature of a work of literature that gets repeated across that work. A repeated image, symbol, metaphor, idea, or phrase can all constitute a motif, as that repetition likely impacts the meaning and interpretation of the work.

Motif Definition: an important feature of a work of literature that gets repeated across that work.

The idea of a motif transcends literature. Motifs can be found in art, music, film—really, any form of artistic expression. Perhaps you notice a recurring image in a movie, or a recurring sound in a piece of classical music. Those are motifs, and if you pay close attention to them, you’ll notice how they lend structure and complexity to their respective works.

But what defines a literary motif is simply that repetition in language of an image or idea. Once you notice those repetitions, you can start to notice how a motif’s meaning changes over the course of a text, or how the text expands and complicates that motif.

Literary Motif Vs. Leitmotif

Literary motifs are sometimes confused with leitmotifs, but leitmotifs have no relation to literature. A leitmotif is a form of motif specifically found in music: it is a recurring sound or movement in a work of music that corresponds to a character or idea in the piece. In other words, if you hear a leitmotif, it will accompany the same character, theme, or even situation in a musical work, such as an opera. But, leitmotifs are strictly musical, not literary.

Literary Motif Vs. Theme

Motifs often get mistaken for themes, but the two are importantly distinct.

A theme is a central, organizing idea of a piece of literature. A poem or story explores, expands upon, or challenges a theme: it is the “aboutness” of a piece of writing, beyond simple facts about “what happened.” Some examples of themes include family, man versus nature, war, justice, or love.

Motifs are interrelated to themes, but are ultimately unique. A motif advances a theme by being repeated across a piece of literature. Because motifs often explore the same ideas from different angles, a motif expands the thematic possibilities of the work, broadening the work’s scope and insight.

A theme is a central, organizing idea of a piece of literature. A motif advances a theme by being repeated across a piece of literature.

To put things more clearly:

A theme is an abstract idea explored in a piece of literature. Motifs are concrete explorations of those ideas: they embody thematic elements so that the theme can be explored concretely.

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To learn more about theme, read our article here:

https://writers.com/common-themes-in-literature

Literary Motif Vs Symbol

Motifs are also occasionally mistaken for symbols, and for good reason, since both are concrete manifestations of abstract ideas.

A symbol is a concrete image that represents an abstract idea. A heart represents love; scales represent justice; and so on and so forth.

A symbol is just one concrete representation of an idea, but a motif is both the instance and the repetition: it needs to be repeated to be a motif.

A symbol can also be a singular iteration of a motif. Motifs are repeated throughout a work of literature, so if an idea or symbol recurs throughout the work, then that recurrence as a whole is the motif. But the two are distinct in that a symbol is just one concrete representation of an idea, but a motif is both the instance and the repetition: it needs to be repeated to be a motif.

Literary Motif in Poetry

Throughout this article, we describe motifs as being repeated across a work of literature. Is that still true in a work of poetry, which typically has fewer words to contain a lot of repetitions?

Poems don’t need motifs to be effective. But poems can certainly have motifs, particularly long poems or narrative poems in which an image or action recurs throughout the work. For example, in the epic poem The Iliad, Zeus has to decide multiple times between accepting fate (the death of a son) or challenging it, each instance bringing the poem back to ruminations about the nature of fate itself.

Short poems are typically too short to have motifs by way of their concision. It’s not that short poetry is less thematically complex, necessarily, only that a motif spans a work of literature, and its repetitions expand upon the poem’s thematic elements.

Here’s a poem that has repetition, but not motifs:

Poem
By: Langston Hughes

I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There’s nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began,—
I loved my friend.

The first and last lines are repeated, but we can’t call those repetitions a motif. Yes, the line is thematically essential to the poem, and yes, its repetition carries with it new meaning; but a motif needs to be repeated more than just once to be a motif, and the repeated line isn’t trying to expand the poem’s complexity. Rather, it’s the poem’s simplicity that makes it such an effective piece.

Motif Examples in Literature

Because motifs extend across the totality of a work of literature, we can’t meaningfully comment on every instance of a motif in a novel or play. So, we’ll look at a few motifs in commonly read works of literature—and, in case you haven’t read them, we’ll include links to the work that can be read freely in the public domain.

Literary Motifs in Macbeth by William Shakespeare

You can find the full text at Gutenberg here.

Like many of Shakespeare’s works, Macbeth has a lot of different motifs that play off of and suggest each other. The most prominent ones, and the ones the audience is most likely to remember, are the motifs of blood, light/dark, and sleep.

Blood

The imagery of blood recurs throughout the play: Macbeth hallucinates a blood-smeared dagger, sees a bloody child in the visions of the three witches, and, most saliently, Lady Macbeth cannot wash the imaginary blood off of her hands.

Blood acts primarily, though not exclusively, as a symbol for guilt in the play. As Macbeth becomes obsessed with both accruing and maintaining his power, blood becomes a stark reminder of his own forsaken humanity. It also, arguably, foreshadows his own death: the image of a bloody child is like an image of tainted innocence, of new life and death happening in tandem, much like his own newfound power is quickly deceased.

Light/Dark

While the idea of light representing goodness and dark representing evil is a tad overdone, this motif is employed effectively in Macbeth, as both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth find themselves torn between light and darkness. The play’s sinister events happen primarily in the dark of night, including the murders of King Duncan and Banquo. Moreover, Banquo’s torchlight is extinguished at his murder. Finally, the witches themselves are described as “secret, black, and midnight hags”—though they are, more than anything else, soothsayers of evil.

Despite this descent into darkness, Lady Macbeth, consumed with guilt and paranoia, reaches for candlelight for fear of this evil enveloping both her and Macbeth. Malcolm, moreover, is associated with light and order, and his eventual kingship is foreshadowed when he says “Angels are bright still through the brightest fell.”

Sleep

Sleep, of course, happens in tandem with night/day and light/darkness, but sleep itself is its own motif in the play. Duncan, for example, is murdered in his sleep; when Macbeth hears in his head “Macbeth does murder sleep,” he is not just murdering Duncan, but also what sleep represents: peace of mind and innocence.

It is no wonder, then, that Lady Macbeth sleepwalks: her sleep is not peaceful, as she is no longer innocent, having encouraged Macbeth towards murder. Macbeth, in tandem, has frequent nightmares. Given that the sleep/wake cycle is part of the natural order of things, the disruption of sleep thus occurs with the disruption of the natural order—a disruption further hinted at by the play’s repeating motif of storms, and the play’s eventual return to goodness and order via Malcolm and Macduff.

Literary Motifs in Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

You can find the full text at Gutenberg here.

Jane Eyre is a novel steeped in the Gothic literary tradition. As such, many of its motifs are Gothic in nature, and they help tell a story about a woman’s freedom and confidence in a culture that’s repressively patriarchal.

(Caged) Birds

Birds recur throughout the novel as reminders of and aspirations towards freedom. A central plight of Jane Eyre’s is her inability to find freedom in the society she lives in: both her austere childhood and her status as a woman in Victorian England restrain and shackle her.

At times, the bird is described as caged—a somewhat obvious symbol for repressed freedom. Many more times, birds are free, wild creatures, and Jane often shows particular kindness towards them, whether feeding them or observing them or simply reading about them. Her close attention to these symbols of freedom, not coincidentally, occur at times when she is herself struggling against the confines of her own societal cage.

Fire and Ice

Fire and ice—or, more broadly, warmth and coldness—show up frequently as opposing motifs. Jane Eyre is typically the fiery one: warm, passionate, even at times hot-headed. Many of her oppressors, on the other hand, are icy or chilling. Mr. Reed has cold and stony eyes; Mr. Rochester is at times cold towards Jane’s and others’ feelings; the novel itself begins on a cold winter’s day in Jane’s cold, loveless childhood. St. John, later in the novel, is himself associated with snow.

However, the novel is not without warmth. Though the cold tries to trim Jane’s fire, her desire for freedom burns throughout the work. It’s not a coincidence, either, that Bertha tries to burn Mr. Rochester’s house down: her act of arson is the result of a fire constrained and jailed, but never diminished. The novel’s conclusion, of course, ends in warmth: not the brilliance and danger of fire, but the comfort of the hearth, a fire controlled.

Haunting

Gothic novels like Jane Eyre often have a sense of haunting associated with them, both literal and supernatural. Jane herself has many ghosts. The ghost of the Red Room (a motif in its own right) often haunts Jane in her adulthood: the room itself is believed to be haunted, and it also sneaks up in Jane’s memory in moments of emotional intensity.

Moreover, Bertha, Rochester’s secret wife, haunts his mansion both literally and figuratively. Literally, she is the cause of great unrest, causing unexplainable sounds and events within the novel (before her ultimate arson). Figuratively, her presence is a psychological chill on the household, including as something that haunts Mr. Rochester’s present. Bertha is also a kind of Gothic Double, in that she, as a sort of doppelgänger, mirrors Jane’s desire for freedom, and demonstrates what happens when that freedom isn’t won.

Literary Motifs in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

You can find the full text at Gutenberg here.

The Great Gatsby is a richly symbolic work that explores the limits of the American Dream. There are plenty of recurring images and symbols in the novel, each with their own thematic relevance, so this list is certainly not exhaustive. But some of the most salient motifs are that of the green light, eyes, and driving.

The Green Light

The green light on Daisy’s dock is the novel’s poignant symbol for longing and aspiration. Gatsby knows that Daisy is unattainable, yet is unable to detach himself from his desire for her. This image is one of the enduring symbols of the novel, and is perhaps the image it is most known for.

Gatsby’s desire for Daisy is also a desire for the American Dream: if anything, the American Dream is displaced onto Daisy, who becomes a sort of aspirational possession for Gatsby. It’s no coincidence that the light is green, given that green is a color associated with wealth. In fact, other colors in the novel also recur as motifs in The Great Gatsby: gold also appears around Gatsby as reminders of his wealth and superficiality; white suggests Daisy’s seeming innocence and purity (and actual moral bankruptcy); blue, like Gatsby’s blue garden, reminds the reader of the novel’s enduring loneliness.

Eyes

The other prominent image of the novel is eyes, particularly those of Dr. T. J. Eckelburg, whose image shows up on many of the book’s covers. More importantly, Eckelburg’s eyes appear on a billboard in the Valley of Ashes, a desolate area of Long Island whose setting itself represents the moral decay and wealth inequality of America. Eckelburg’s eyes judge the landscape and remind Nick of the disillusionment coursing throughout the novel.

This stands in contrast to Owl Eyes who, at Gatsby’s party, appreciates the beauty cultivated at Gatsby’s estate—in fact, appreciates it better than Gatsby himself does. His aesthetic approval runs much deeper, and his depth is a kind of foil to the superficial realities of the novel. Throughout the novel, the eyes of characters bear witness to the quiet decay of a society obsessed with money and status.

Driving

Driving carries a symbolic meaning and interacts with some of the other motifs in The Great Gatsby. Cars themselves are associated with an American sense of freedom—in a way, they perpetuate the illusion of freedom within the American Dream. Driving is also present in much of the novel’s important scenes, including the drive through the Valley of Ashes, Jordan Baker’s effortless driving skills, and Daisy’s ultimate murder of Myrtle.

In essence, the illusion of freedom under the American Dream is what drives each character to act the way they act, to the point that Daisy, who exists within the fold of the Dream, bears no consequences, and Gatsby is ultimately killed. It’s also noteworthy that Gatsby’s car is yellow—another example of the color motifs in the novel, this time displaying Gatsby’s superficial wealth.

How Writers Should Think About Motifs in Their Work

Did Fitzgerald really pay that much attention to cars in his novel? Was Brontë being artful, or was she just obsessed with birds? And isn’t Shakespeare just generally obsessed with good and evil?

Indeed, the relationship between an author and their motifs is complicated. Some emerge unconsciously and are then refined through the revision process; but an author might decide what recurring symbols and images will be written into the text before it’s even written.

So, what’s the best way to think about motifs? How do you write them? Does a long work of literature need them?

Here are a few thoughts about literary motifs in contemporary writing.

1. Let Motifs Arise Organically

It’s possible to think of a good motif before you’ve written the first word of a story. Indeed, motifs can also integrate themselves into the structure of a novel.

However, don’t expect every motif in your writing to be planned in advance. They are often effective because the arise from the writer’s unconscious, and thus the relationship between a symbol and what it represents forms more naturally in your writing.

You are also more likely to generate motifs that are original and compelling, as you’re imbuing the work with your own mind’s way of thinking, rather than planning in advance what you think will make for good literature. This kind of planning often leads, counterintuitively, to cliché forms of symbolism. It’s easy to plan for ravens to represent intelligence or witchcraft—but, in a first draft, you might accidentally represent those things through something less obvious, more unique, like a cup of tea or a lizard.

2. Pay Attention to Your Own Mind

The point is, your mind has its own symbolic relationship to things, and a good writer imbues that into their work. We all know a heart represents love, but that doesn’t make it a good motif.

Even if you plot your novel out in advance, pay close attention to your use of imagery when you write and reread your first draft. What recurs that you didn’t expect it to? What could it represent? What are your own associations with that image or idea?

Motifs make for good literature not only because they communicate something at a deeper level, but also because they’re true to life. The stories of our lives are often filled with repetitions that are too good to seem coincidental. Good literature merely mirrors life, while amplifying certain elements to discover deeper meanings.

3. Make Sure Every Iteration of a Motif Says Something New and Interesting

Every employment of a motif should convey something new about it. It doesn’t need a new message, necessarily, but it should show up in new contexts or after different plot points, reminding the reader of what it symbolizes and making that symbol more complex.

If every car in The Great Gatsby was yellow, that would just be overkill. Similarly, birds show up a lot in Jane Eyre, but they show up in different iterations: in the sky, in a cage, in a picture book, and during or after the most important events regarding Jane’s sense of freedom. Ditto the blood motif in Macbeth: sure, every character has blood inside of them at any given time, but blood only occurs when what it represents is being complicated or amplified in the story itself.

The point is to be intentional with motifs, and to utilize them only when something new, essential, or interesting is actually happening.

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What makes symbolism particularly tricky is understanding how an image is being employed in the text. For example, fire can represent destruction and evil, but it can also represent regrowth and the cycles of life. So, this article demystifies the complexities of symbolism in literature. Along the way, we’ll look at symbolism examples in poetry and fiction, before moving towards how to represent abstract ideas in your work.

What is symbolism in literature, and how do you wield it? Let’s define this slippery concept.

Symbolism Definition: What is Symbolism in Literature?

Symbolism refers to the use of representational imagery: the writer employs an image with a deeper, non-literal meaning, for the purpose of conveying complex ideas.

In literature, symbolism is the use of a concrete image to represent an abstract idea.

For example, the heart is often employed as a symbol of love. Obviously, love is more complex and full-bodied—it doesn’t just sit in the chest—but we constantly refer to a loving person as “having a big heart,” or a person who lost their love as “heartbroken.”

Sometimes, a symbol is the stepping stone for an extended metaphor. If the heart represents love, what does it mean when a heart is iced over, or two hearts beat in the same chest, or someone has the heart of a deer? While a good symbol can certainly stand on its own, it also creates opportunities to play with ideas in a way that abstract language prevents us from doing.

What is a Symbol?

The trickiest part of understanding symbolism in literature is knowing which images are symbols, and why. To answer this, we must first dive deeper into the images themselves. What is a symbol?

A symbol is an image whose figurative meaning is much deeper than its literal one. It is an object, often ordinary and commonplace, that has been imbued with extraordinary significance.

What is a symbol: an image whose figurative meaning is much deeper than its literal one.

Some symbols are culturally specific. An example of a symbol that varies by culture is that of a marriage proposal. While many countries use engagement rings as a symbol of being betrothed,  the people of Wales often uses “lovespoons” to signify one’s partnership. In Thailand, a marriage proposal might be signified by a thong mun—gifts made out of gold.

Other symbols are either more universal, or else easily inferred from the text. For example, in The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a green light represents all that is unreachable to Jay Gatsby. He sees a green light on the other side of the sound, where his love interest, Daisy, lives. Not only is Daisy unreachable, but so is everything she and the green light represents: the (perceived) stability and decadence of the American Dream.

Perhaps there is also symbolism in the color green itself: it is the color of money, and the “go” color of stoplights. This last interpretation is certainly laden with irony, because chasing his dreams is exactly what kills Jay Gatsby.

Because the green light is so far away from Jay, and because he’s never able to touch it (or Daisy, for that matter), it obviously represents some sort of unreachability. Because this image recurs throughout the novel, it is a clear example of symbolism—so much so, that the green light has become nearly universally understood, to the point that Lorde has a song inspired by the symbol.

Symbolism Examples

Symbolism operates slightly differently in poetry than in prose, primarily because of the differences in word choice and length in poetry vs prose. A symbol tends to recur in prose, in such a way that it becomes a motif or builds towards a broader theme. Each recurrence of the symbol complicates the idea that the image represents.

Because poetry tends to be shorter, it also tends to employ symbols more economically. Symbolism in poetry may be harder to interpret or understand, as the poem does not provide as much context for the reader, and thus requires the reader to make more inferences and interpretations.

As such, we’ll look at symbolism examples differently in prose and poetry. The below symbolism examples come from published works of literature.

Symbolism in Literature

“Big Mother” by Anya Ow

Read this short story here, in Strange Horizons.

Central symbol: Big Mother, a mythical snakehead fish.

What it represents: The loss of childhood innocence.

Symbolism examples in the text: Catching snakehead fish seems to be a rite of passage into adulthood: the oldest boy is obsessed with catching them. What’s more, when an uncle finds out that the children have caught snakeheads, he trusts them with his favorite rod. When the oldest boy misses out on catching Big Mother, he becomes obsessed with capturing this symbol of adulthood. Then, when he does catch Big Mother, she ensnares him. The only way to ensure the oldest boy’s safety is to bargain their current lives for their future ones.

Analysis: Big Mother represents the complicated relationship people have to adulthood. The children all glorify her at first, but the eldest children realize the sacrifice they must make to save themselves from her wrath. This darkens the moods of the eldest children, as they come to understand the permanence of adulthood, the fragility of innocence. What at first seems mystical and fantastic about the real world is actually laden with terror.

The fact that the river is paved over further complicates this theme. While the characters are saved from the fate they sealed, they also catapult further into a world that replaces magic and mystery with the practical and mundane.

Hamlet by William Shakespeare

You can read the full play here, from Project Gutenberg.

Symbol: Yorick’s skull.

What it represents: The inherent meaninglessness of life.

Symbolism examples in the text: Although many symbols recur through their texts, this symbol occurs exactly once. In Act V Scene I, Prince Hamlet comes across the skull of Yorick, his former jester. This encounter occurs towards the end of the play, after Hamlet’s depression, nihilism, and helplessness have radically altered his perspective of the world.

Analysis: Hamlet’s contemplation of Yorick’s skull reveals his belief that our lives are inherently meaningless. That Yorick used to make people laugh matters little, because now he can make people laugh no more. He is fated to the same end that the likes of Alexander and Caesar were fated towards, too. Hamlet’s contemplation here is especially meaningful, given that he is trying to avenge his father’s murder. Because he is visited by his father’s ghost, Hamlet tries to believe that a person’s life can have meaning after death; but, his father cannot avenge himself, so what meaning is there left to have, unless we, the living, remind ourselves of it?

It is strange to have an important symbol occupy such a small space in as long a text as Hamlet. The importance of this symbol stems partially from its endurance in pop culture: Yorick’s skull has inspired many novels, poems, songs, and works of art. Additionally, it is a memento mori, or reminder of death, which is a prominent theme in European artwork in the 16th and 17th centuries.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

The full text of Jane Eyre can be retrieved here, from Project Gutenberg.

Symbol: The Red Room.

What it represents: The childhood obstacles Jane must overcome to achieve a life of happiness and freedom.

Symbolism examples in the text: We encounter the Red Room in Chapter 2. Jane is locked inside the Red Room by her unfair aunt after Jane stands up for herself against John Reed, her cousin. The Red Room is also where Jane’s uncle died. Jane and her cousins believe that the room is haunted by this uncle, so when Jane is locked inside, she first focuses on the injustice of it all, but then becomes so consumed by fear, and by her belief that her uncle might rise up from the dead, that she blacks out. Jane references this episode several times later in the novel, often to reflect on her journey.

Analysis: The color red is no accident: it represents anger, passion, fear, and intensity. Jane experiences all of this when her aunt imprisons her at only ten years old. The obvious symbolism here is that pure, righteous Jane is imprisoned inside the angry, intense wrath of her unloving family, but the novel encourages us to explore this further. The Red Room represents Jane’s ambivalent relationships to adults: they are always authoritarian, always ready to punish, and always ready to trap Jane inside their own worst impulses.

One possible interpretation of the color red is that it represents period blood, and thus the transition from childhood to adulthood. Jane is forced to be an adult before she’s ready, maturely handling the emotions of other adults when she’s still an innocent child.

Madeleine Wood argues that the Red Room continues to affect Jane, because her relationships to adults as a child manifests itself in her relationships to men as an adult. Remember, the society Jane grew up in was heavily patriarchal: grown women had to always defer to men as authorities. Yet, Jane desires freedom more than anything else, both as a child and as an adult, so the institutions of marriage and the patriarchy fundamentally challenge her freedoms. When she reflects on the Red Room as an adult, it is always juxtaposed to her relationship with a man. She even thinks about the Red Room after walking out on Rochester, an important suitor of hers in the novel.

Only when Jane is comfortable with herself and confident in her freedom is she able to find love and happiness, thus overcoming the burden symbolized by the Red Room.

Symbolism in Poetry

“My Heart Leaps Up” by William Wordsworth

Retrieved here, from Academy of American Poets. 

Here’s an example of poetry with symbolism in which the symbol is employed only once, but very effectively. The rainbow represents the kind of natural beauty that children are best at admiring. If you remember observing nature as a child, you might remember being moved by a rainbow, or by a forest, or a desert, or by any number of beautiful things that abound on this Earth. Wordsworth asserts that “The Child is father of the Man” precisely because children are inspired by natural beauty in a way that adults are not. We have much to learn from kids and their relationship to our planet, and as an adult, this poem’s speaker hope to worship this beauty—”bound each [day] to each [day] by natural piety.”

“City Lake” by Chelsea DesAutels

Retrieved here, from The Slowdown.

This poem tells you precisely what the central symbol represents: the lake symbolizes mercy. Yet, the two have no easy relationship, and the poem constantly complicates the concept of mercy itself. Rather than highlight the grace of mercy—how wonderful it is to be saved—this poem reminds us that mercy is just a form of chance: random with whom it saves and with whom it doesn’t. No matter how well the narrator “steps carefully” through the lake, she can never predict how and why anyone receives mercy.

“Because I could not stop for Death” by Emily Dickinson

Retrieved here, from Poetry.

This poem employs a lot of symbolism, most notably in the third stanza. The images used each signify a different stage of life. The school represents childhood. The fields of gazing grain represent adulthood—grain is fertile, in its prime, and it “gazes” upwards towards the sky. The setting sun represents old age. Though each of these symbols are employed only once, they are certainly evocative in the context of Death personified, as the poem suggests each of us are on a horse drawn carriage towards the afterlife.

Universal Symbolism: Does it Exist?

The theorist Erich Fromm divides symbolism into three categories: conventional, accidental, and universal symbolism.

Conventional Symbolism is closely related to concrete imagery. Essentially, it is the use of images which everyone in a particular language can understand. When I say “light bulb,” you imagine some sort of glass bulb with a filament inside. We might have different mental images, but we agree on the same meaning. This is a non-interpretive form of symbolism, and in semiotics, we’re essentially referring to the sign, signifier, and signified.

Accidental Symbolism might be best described as specific to a certain person. We form relationships to objects all the time: some positive, some negative. A character might form a specific relationship to an object, and that relationship will continue to affect this character throughout the story. For example, let’s say your character won the lottery using a $5 bill they found on the street. They might assume that every time they find a $5, something lucky is about to happen, making that $5 bill a symbol of luck.

Finally, Universal Symbolism refers to images which, over time, have developed a symbolic meaning that we all instantly recognize. These symbols are understood across time and culture: a heart represents love, the sky represents limitlessness, and a fire represents power—or destruction, or rebirth, depending on how it’s employed.

However, don’t be misled by the word “universal”—it is better to see these categories as postmarks along a spectrum, as few, if any, symbols would actually be understood by every person in the world.

Additionally, don’t assume that “universal” is automatically better. Because these symbols are well understood, they are also often cliché. It is important to employ imagery in fresh, interesting ways, using the context of your work to discover new and surprising relationships between images and ideas. Often, using a poem or story to expand upon the accidental symbols (of your life or the lives of your characters) will result in more impactful imagery.

Lastly, you may be interested in the idea of the “objective correlative.” An objective correlative is a device that makes an abstract idea concrete in the context of a piece of literature. An obvious example of this is the mirror in The Picture of Dorian Gray, which represents Dorian’s soul as it becomes corrupted by vanity. T. S. Eliot, who popularized the term, argues that a work of literature should arrange images and symbols precisely so that they evoke a certain meaning without telling us the meaning itself. It is, in essence, a way to exercise show, don’t tell.

Wielding Symbolism in Your Writing

Here’s some advice for employing symbolism in literature:

1. Be concrete. Use images that are easy to visualize and grounded in everyday reality.
2. Be specific. Show the reader exactly what the symbol looks like. The more physical detail you provide, the easier it is to explore the complexities of what your symbol represents.
3. Prefer the accidental to the universal. There’s no problem with employing universal symbolism, but you should have at least one accidental symbol in your work, as it will often reveal the most about the story or poem you write.
4. Be spontaneous. Don’t write with symbolism in mind, just employ imagery tactfully. Writers often don’t realize what their work means until after they’ve written and revised it; trying to muscle meaning into your work might limit the work’s possibilities.
5. Don’t overthink it. There’s no “perfect image” to represent any particular idea. We all forge our own relationships to different objects. Sure, the heart can represent love. So can the dining table, a lightning strike, the stomach, the ocean, or a pair of shoes.

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Finishing a first draft can feel like stepping out of a dark theater into bright sunlight—you’re disoriented, squinting against the glare, not quite sure where to go next. You’ve been immersed in the world of your story, and now, with the final words on the page, you find yourself blinking into the unknown.

“The End” of a first draft is both exhilarating and disorienting. You’ve poured your heart into a story, only to realize the journey isn’t over. In fact, the real work often begins here. This guide will walk you through the next steps, from celebrating your achievement, to tackling revisions and gaining confidence in your work.

1. Celebrate Your Achievement

Before diving into edits, pause and honor your accomplishment. Writing a novel—even a messy first draft—is no small feat. I remember feeling a surge of pride when I finished my first novel draft. I had left a successful teaching career to pursue writing, carrying the weight of expectation, and self-doubt. Coming from humble beginnings with no artistic lineage, I often battled an inner voice whispering, “People from where you come from don’t write books.” But I did. And so did you. That deserves celebration!

When I completed my draft, I celebrated by applying to my first-ever writing retreat, which became a turning point in my writing life. One of my favorite authors was there. I was stoked to spend five days on a farm in Vermont with one of my writing idols. While meeting her was thrilling, she didn’t turn out to be very helpful as a writing mentor. At the same retreat, it was another writer—Writers.com instructor Sarah Aronson—who truly changed my life. Sarah became the mentor and cheerleader I needed, offering both critical feedback and unwavering support. She also turned out to be a lifelong friend. 

Reflecting on that time, I wish I had celebrated more of the small victories along the way. Sarah always says, “Buy yourself some flowers and chocolate!” Celebrate every win, no matter how small. It helps you appreciate every step of the process, and fuels the journey ahead.

Writing Exercise: Make a list of all your writing milestones, big or small, from completing a tough scene, to overcoming writer’s block. Choose one to celebrate today. What small ritual can you create to honor your progress?

2. Step Away From the Draft

Resist the urge to dive straight into revisions. Distance provides perspective. Whether it’s a few weeks, or a couple of months, stepping back allows your subconscious to process the story.

I didn’t give myself enough space after finishing my first draft. While still writing the middle and end, I kept revising the beginning. This made the draft messy, and hard to visualize as a whole. I wasted time and words because I was afraid to take a break. If I could go back, I’d tell myself: Do not revise while drafting. After the draft is complete, take a 2-3 month break before starting revisions. During the break, start a new project or focus on a non-writing hobby, and return with fresh eyes. Giving yourself space from your words can make a huge difference in your mindset once it’s time to tackle your revision. 

Give yourself permission to disconnect. As Ernest Hemingway famously said, “The first draft of anything is shit.” This blunt truth serves as a reminder to detach from perfectionism, step back, and view your work with fresh eyes. When you read it again, pretend you’ve never read it before. Be a reader of your own work. 

Writing Exercise: During your break, journal about your creative process. Reflect on what you learned while drafting, and what surprised you about your story.

3. Reread With Fresh Eyes

When ready, approach your draft like a curious reader, not its creator. Change the font, print it out, or read aloud to shift your perspective. Take notes on:

• Plot inconsistencies
• Pacing issues
• Character development
• Thematic threads

Rereading my first novel draft was a rollercoaster. Some scenes made me proud; others made me cringe. I was overly critical, focusing on flaws instead of building on what worked. I spent too much time trying to revise what wasn’t working to make it fit into my narrative, rather than focusing on the parts that were strong. Now after I finish a first draft, I focus on nurturing the strong parts, and let them guide the revisions.

Writing Exercise: As you read through your first draft, highlight passages that spark pride or excitement. Jot down why these sections work. Use them as anchors when revising weaker parts.

4. Identify the Big Issues

Revision isn’t about perfecting sentences. Don’t waste precious time editing grammar and punctuation on sentences that may not remain in later drafts. Instead, focus on the structural integrity of your story. Look at: 

• Structure: Does the plot have a clear arc? Are your subplots serving your main plot? Are all plot lines resolved by the end?
• Character Growth: Are motivations authentic? Does your protagonist go through a significant change? 
• Conflict and Stakes: Is there enough tension? Are conflicts resolved in plausible ways? Is the ending of your story earned? 
• Theme: What is your story truly about? Does your story accomplish your thematic goals?

I remember facing the overwhelming task of trying to revise my first draft. I had a strong and original premise, which sounds like a dream, but it was actually intimidating. I doubted whether I was a skilled enough writer to do the story justice. I even considered handing the idea over to someone I felt was more qualified. (Glad I didn’t do that!) After some reflection, I realized that just by writing that first draft, and studying the craft of fiction, I had already grown as a writer. Writing has a steep learning curve, and I was simply at the beginning. The key was to keep going—to keep writing, reading, and learning.

As Anne Lamott says in Bird by Bird, “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts.” Embrace that truth as you uncover the heart of your story. And, if it’s not already obvious, the heart of your story will be found during revision. 

Writing Exercise: Create a reverse outline. Summarize each chapter in a sentence. This helps spot gaps in structure, and pacing.

5. Facing the Harsh Realities of Post-Draft Life

After the initial high of draft completion, reality hits: What do I do now? My draft felt overwhelming, and I often thought about quitting. I felt like every time I changed one thing, I’d have to go back, and adjust fifty details. It was exhausting and confusing. 

The process of revising so many characters and plot lines felt bigger than me. I felt insecure about my abilities and my perseverance. But instead of giving up, I reminded myself that writing is a process of growth. Every day I showed up to write was a win, and made me a better writer. Eventually, I realized that I didn’t have to be perfect—I just had to keep going. Your dedication as a writer is part of your success. If the process of writing a novel was easy, everyone with a story to tell would be a novelist. 

Writing Exercise: Write a letter to yourself from your future self who has completed revisions. What advice do they give? What encouragement do they offer?

6. Plan Your Revisions

With notes in hand, create a roadmap:

• Stage 1: Big-picture revisions – These include overall plot structure, subplots and character arcs. 
• Stage 2: Chapter-level edits – Focus on pacing, dialogue and setting. 
• Stage 3: Line edits – This should always be last, and where you focus on grammar and style. 

During this stage, I found it helpful to experiment with different revision techniques: rewriting opening chapters in both first and third person, side writing from different characters’ perspectives, creating playlists to set the mood, vision boards to visualize settings and characters, and even a Carrie Mathison-style plot wall with post-it notes to see the story as a whole. (If you ever watched “Homeland” you likely know what I’m talking about!)

As Zadie Smith advises, “The secret to editing your work is simple: you need to become its reader, instead of its writer.” When you’re rereading your work during the revision process, really try to act as a reader encountering your story for the first time. If a chapter is boring for you to reread, it will likely be boring for your readers. How can you change it up? If a chapter makes you emotional to reread, it will likely resonate with readers. Consider how you can do more of that. 

Writing Exercise: Break your manuscript into scenes. Write a one-sentence purpose for each. If a scene lacks purpose, consider revising or cutting it.

7. Killing Your Darlings

Murder on the page! The phrase “kill your darlings” is often thrown around in writing circles, but putting it into practice is another story–a dark comedy at best, a cruel tragedy at worst. Letting go of beautifully written scenes that don’t serve your story can be heartbreaking.

One of the hardest moments for me was during a novel retreat, working with an award-winning author on my second book. The star of my book—or so I thought—was an opening prologue. This prologue had earned me a prestigious, month-long writing residency. I was attached to it–not just because it was well-crafted, but because it represented a significant milestone in my writing journey. I still refer to it as the best ten pages I’ve ever written. 

However, the author critiquing my book flat-out told me that while the prologue was beautifully written, it didn’t belong as the opening to the actual novel I had written. My initial reaction was defensive—I mentally listed all the reasons why she was wrong. But after giving my emotions time to settle, I reassessed and realized she was absolutely right. Cutting that prologue was painful, but it made my novel stronger.

Writing Exercise: Identify a “darling” in your manuscript—a scene, character, or piece of prose you love but suspect may not serve the story. Ask yourself: Does it advance the plot, develop character, or reinforce the theme? If not, try removing it and see how the story flows without it.

8. Seek Feedback

Share your draft with trusted readers. If you don’t already have a writing community for this, consider these options: 

• Critique Partners: Fellow writers offer valuable insights.
• Beta Readers: Non-writers or, at least, non-writing friends, who provide fresh perspectives.
• Professional Editors: Their expertise can elevate your work, but it will come with a price tag. 

When I receive feedback, I first reflect on what resonates with me, but I also pay attention to the critiques that trigger an immediate defensive reaction. Those often hold hidden truths about my work. I remind myself that if a reader doesn’t understand something, it’s not their fault—it’s on me as the writer to clarify. Check your ego, and embrace feedback as a tool for growth. Always remember, people who are offering up their time (paid or not) to offer you feedback want to help you improve your draft. 

Writing Exercise: Draft a feedback request letter. Outline specific areas you want feedback on, such as character development or pacing.

9. Common Revision Mistakes and How to Avoid Them

Revising a novel is a complex process, and it’s easy to fall into common traps that can hinder your progress. Here are some mistakes to watch out for—and how to avoid them:

• Revising Too Soon: Jumping into revisions immediately after finishing your draft can cloud your judgment. You’re still too close to the material to see it clearly. Instead, take a break to gain fresh perspective. Distance helps you approach your work with the objectivity needed to identify both its strengths and weaknesses.
• Polishing Too Early: It’s tempting to focus on line edits—perfecting sentences, tweaking dialogue, and refining descriptions—before addressing structural issues. However, beautiful, well-crafted prose won’t save a story with weak character development or plot holes. Prioritize big-picture revisions first, then zoom in on the details.
• Ignoring Feedback: Receiving a critique can be tough, especially when it challenges your vision, but dismissing feedback without reflection can limit your growth. If multiple readers point out the same issue, it’s worth investigating. Even feedback that initially feels off can offer valuable insights. Ask the hard questions of your work, the answer may surprise you!
• Overcomplicating the Plot: In an effort to make your story more engaging, you might add unnecessary subplots, characters, or twists. This can dilute your core narrative. Focus on clarity and coherence. 
• Fear of Cutting: Letting go of scenes, characters, or even entire chapters you love is one of the hardest parts of revision. But sometimes, less is more. If a section doesn’t serve the plot, character development, or theme, consider trimming it. Remember, cutting doesn’t mean failure—it’s a sign you’re refining your story to its most powerful form.
• Editing Without a Plan: Diving into revisions without a clear strategy can lead to inconsistent changes and frustration. Create a revision roadmap outlining what needs attention, from structural overhauls to character arcs, and tackle them systematically.
• Resisting Change: Sometimes, we get attached to how we originally envisioned our story, even when it’s not working. Be open to making bold changes. The version you end up with might be different from your first draft—and that’s often a good thing.

Writing Exercise: Identify one scene you’re reluctant to change. Write a version where you take a bold risk—cut it, rewrite it from another POV, or change the setting entirely. Then compare the two versions. What new insights emerge?

10. Keep the Momentum Going

Revising is a marathon. To stay motivated:

• Set achievable goals
• Celebrate milestones
• Reconnect with your story’s purpose

I learned to love the revision process. Knowing that I would revise most scenes freed me from the pressure of attempting to write perfectly in the first draft. Revision is where the real magic happens—where your story truly takes shape. Accept that you will always have to revise. Always.

Writing Exercise: Create a list of affirmations related to your writing journey. Post them where you write as daily reminders of your progress.

Final Thoughts

Finishing a first draft is monumental, but it’s just the beginning. Your story has grown from a spark of inspiration into a complete narrative. Now, it’s time to nurture it further, to shape it into something even more powerful.

Revision isn’t about perfection; it’s about discovery. As you rework scenes, deepen characters, and refine plotlines, you’re uncovering the true heart of your story—and perhaps even discovering new truths about yourself as a writer. This process can be messy and overwhelming, but it’s also where growth happens. The writer you are today will not be the same writer who finishes the final draft.

The difference between a writer and an author is revision. Few people will write an entire novel. Even fewer will revise that novel into something publishable. Accept that you must revise. No matter how good of a writer you are, you must revise.

Through the process of revision, I learned to love the craft of writing more deeply. It gave me the confidence to trust my instincts, to make bold choices, and to believe in my ability to tell the story only I could tell. Revision didn’t just shape my novel; it reshaped how I see myself as a writer—resilient, curious, and always learning.

Remember, every author you admire has faced the same doubts and challenges. As Toni Morrison wisely said, “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” Your voice matters, your story matters, and the world needs what only you can create.

So, take a deep breath. Be kind to yourself. Embrace the revisions, the setbacks, and the breakthroughs. Because you’re not just writing a novel—you’re building resilience, honing your craft, and learning what it truly means to be a writer.

I’d love to hear from you: What’s been the hardest—or most surprising—part of revising your novel? Share your experiences, and revision tips in the comments. Let’s support each other through the next chapter of our writing journeys. Your story matters, and your words can inspire others just as their stories inspire you.

You’ve built a world, one word at a time. Now, trust yourself to shape it into the story only you can tell.

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The meaning of “word choice” may seem simple, but learning to choose the right word and omit the others can transform your writing. This article will explore what word choice is, and offer some examples of effective word choice, before giving you 5 word choice exercises to try for yourself.

Word Choice Definition: The Four Elements of Word Choice

The definition of word choice extends far beyond the simplicity of “choosing the right words.” Choosing the right word takes into consideration many different factors, and finding the word that packs the most punch requires both a great vocabulary and a great understanding of the nuances in English.

Choosing the right word involves the following four considerations, with word choice examples.

1. Meaning

Words can be chosen for one of two meanings: the denotative meaning or the connotative meaning. Denotation refers to the word’s basic, literal dictionary definition and usage. By contrast, connotation refers to how the word is being used in its given context: which of that word’s many uses, associations, and connections are being employed.

A word’s denotative meaning is its literal dictionary definition, while its connotative meaning is the web of uses and associations it carries in context.

We play with denotations and connotations all the time in colloquial English. As a simple example, when someone says “greaaaaaat” sarcastically, we know that what they’re referring to isn’t “great” at all. In context, the word “great” connotes its opposite: something so bad that calling it “great” is intentionally ridiculous. When we use words connotatively, we’re letting context drive the meaning of the sentence.

The rich web of connotations in language are crucial to all writing, and perhaps especially so to poetry, as in the following lines from Derek Walcott’s Nobel-prize-winning epic poem Omeros:

In hill-towns, from San Fernando to Mayagüez,
the same sunrise stirred the feathered lances of cane
down the archipelago’s highways. The first breeze

rattled the spears and their noise was like distant rain
marching down from the hills, like a shell at your ears.

Sugar cane isn’t, literally, made of “feathered lances,” which would literally denote “long metal spears adorned with bird feathers”; but feathered connotes “branching out,” the way sugar cane does, and lances connotes something tall, straight, and pointy, as sugar cane is. Together, those two words create a powerful visual image of sugar cane—in addition to establishing the martial language (“spears,” “marching”) used elsewhere in the passage.

Whether in poetry or prose, strong word choice can unlock images, emotions, and more in the reader, and the associations and connotations that words bring with them play a crucial role in this.

2. Specificity

Use words that are both correct in meaning and specific in description.

In the sprawling English language, one word can have dozens of synonyms. That’s why it’s important to use words that are both correct in meaning and specific in description. Words like “good,” “average,” and “awful” are far less descriptive and specific than words like “liberating” (not just good but good and freeing), “C student” (not just average but academically average), and “despicable” (not just awful but morally awful). These latter words pack more meaning than their blander counterparts.

Since more precise words give the reader added context, specificity also opens the door for more poetic opportunities. Take the short poem “[You Fit Into Me]” by Margaret Atwood.

You fit into me
like a hook into an eye

A fish hook

An open eye

The first stanza feels almost romantic until we read the second stanza. By clarifying her language, Atwood creates a simple yet highly emotive duality.

This is also why writers like Stephen King advocate against the use of adverbs (adjectives that modify verbs or other adjectives, like “very”). If your language is precise, you don’t need adverbs to modify the verbs or adjectives, as those words are already doing enough work. Consider the following comparison:

Weak description with adverbs: He accidentally cooked the pancakes for an overly long time until they tasted extremely bad.

Stronger description, no adverbs: He burned the pancakes.

Of course, simple, non-specific words like “good” are sometimes the best word, too! These words are often colloquially used, so they’re great for writing description, writing through a first-person narrative, or for transitional passages of prose.

3. Audience

Good word choice takes the reader into consideration. You probably wouldn’t use words like “lugubrious” or “luculent” in a young adult novel, nor would you use words like “silly” or “wonky” in a legal document.

This is another way of saying that word choice conveys not only direct meaning, but also a web of associations and feelings that contribute to building the reader’s world. What world does the word “wonky” help build for your reader, and what world does the word “seditious” help build? Depending on the overall environment you’re working to create for the reader, either word could be perfect—or way out of place.

4. Style

Consider your word choice to be the fingerprint of your writing.

Consider your word choice to be the fingerprint of your writing. Every writer uses words differently, and as those words come to form poems, stories, and books, your unique expression of English will be recognizable by all your readers.

Style isn’t something you can point to, but rather a way of describing how a writer writes. For example, Ernest Hemingway’s style is terse and spare, Virginia Woolf’s is lyrical and intimate, and James Joyce’s is dense and free-flowing.

Here’s a paragraph from Joyce:

Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam’s hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. They are not to be thought away. Time has branded them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinite possibilities they have ousted.

And here’s one from Hemingway:

Bill had gone into the bar. He was standing talking with Brett, who was sitting on a high stool, her legs crossed. She had no stockings on.

Style is best observed and developed through a portfolio of writing. As you write more and form an identity as a writer, the bits of style in your writing will form constellations.

Word Choice in Writing: The Importance of Verbs

Before we offer some word choice exercises to expand your writing horizons, we first want to mention the importance of verbs. Verbs, as you may recall, are the “action” of the sentence—they describe what the subject of the sentence actually does. Unless you are intentionally breaking grammar rules, all sentences must have a verb, otherwise they don’t communicate much to the reader.

Because verbs are the most important part of the sentence, they are something you must focus on when expanding the reaches of your word choice. Verbs are the most widely variegated units of language; the more “things” you can do in the world, the more verbs there are to describe them, making them great vehicles for both figurative language and vivid description.

Consider the following three sentences:

1. The road goes through the hills.
2. The road curves through the hills.
3. The road meanders through the hills.

Which sentence is the most descriptive? Though each of them has the same subject, object, and number of words, the third sentence creates the clearest image. The reader can visualize a road curving left and right through a hilly terrain, whereas the first two sentences require more thought to see clearly.

Finally, this resource on verb usage does a great job at highlighting how to invent and expand your verb choice.

Word Choice in Writing: Economy and Concision

Strong word choice means that every word you write packs a punch. As we’ve seen with adverbs above, you may find that your writing becomes more concise and economical—delivering more impact per word. Above all, you may find that you omit needless words.

Omit needless words is, in fact, a general decree issued by Strunk and White in their classic Elements of Style. As they explain it:

Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.

It’s worth repeating that this doesn’t mean your writing becomes clipped or terse, but simply that “every word tell.” As our word choice improves—as we omit needless words and express ourselves more precisely—our writing becomes richer, whether we write in long or short sentences.

As an example, here’s the opening sentence of a personal essay from a high school test preparation handbook:

The world is filled with a numerous amount of student athletes that could somewhere down the road have a bright future.

Most words in this sentence are needless. It could be edited down to:

Many student athletes could have a bright future.

Now let’s take some famous lines from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Can you remove a single word without sacrificing meaning, richness, poetry, cohesion?

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

In strong writing, every single word exerts maximum impact. This is the true meaning of concise or economical writing.

Word Choice in Writing: Common Causes of Overwriting

More writers overwrite than underwrite.

Your personal writing style could be spare, lyrical, or something else entirely. However, since several common craft challenges result in overwriting, more writers tend to overwrite than to underwrite. As you are honing your style, you’ll want to be aware of these challenges.

Imitating Past Writing Styles

By modern standards, most 18th- and 19th-century writers in English were wordy. This was true even when they were advocating concision itself, like Thomas Jefferson here: “The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.” (Today, we might render this as: “The most valuable talent is never to use two words when one will do,” or even just: “Never use two words when one will do.”)

Here’s a thicker example, from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice:

The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants, and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her Ladyship’s desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. He carved and ate and praised with delighted alacrity; and every dish was commended first by him, and then by Sir William, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever his son-in-law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, and gave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved a novelty to them.

Whew! Get all that?

Present-day writers often unconsciously imitate this earlier style—the style of Fancy, Good Writing we read in high school. The result can be overmuch. There isn’t anything wrong with the earlier style, but it does stick out today.

A good analogy for this is prior fashion, like top hats or herringbone corsets. You can certainly fit these into your wardrobe; but since they are no longer common in modern dress, you’ll need to know why you’re doing it. If you just throw on a top hat because it’s lying around, it won’t work.

Over-Description

Enthusiasm can combine with the general advice to “Show, Don’t Tell” to result in over-description.

Over-described writing tends to be weighted down by adjectives and adverbs. It can feel thick and overdramatic, and will also feel monotonous if an adjective precedes every noun.

Here is an example, and a proposed rewrite:

Saphira’s muscled sides expanded and contracted as the great bellows of her lungs forced air through her scaled nostrils. Eragon thought of the raging inferno that she could now summon at will and send roaring out of her maw.

Saphira breathed heavily, her nostrils expelling warm air. Eragon sat and marveled at her power.

The first example overtaxes the reader with intensifiers (“great,” “raging,” “roaring”), descriptors (“muscled,” “scaled”) and clichés (“great bellows,” “raging inferno,” “summon at will”), leading to diminishing returns for immersion. As the dragon breathes, the reader can’t.

The second example liberates the reader to share in—to actually feel—the character’s experience (of awe, in this case), and this is the true meaning of “Show, Don’t Tell.”

Over-the-Top Emotion

As Emma Darwin writes, overwriting can occur when emotions “are over the top for the actual seriousness of the event. Don’t make people go scarlet and feel sick and trembly for a minor embarrassment in the shop.”

Here is a made-up example:

Emilia’s mind did somersaults of confused pain as she considered the impossible dilemma set before her, so complicated and so impossible that she thought she might languish in despair for the remainder of her unfortunate, miserable days. With great hesitation and fear, she dialed the number which she so sincerely dreaded dialing, and much to her immeasurable displeasure, the other person answered.

The reader can’t join Emilia here. The description has a “tell-y” effect: it insists that Emilia is as upset as a human could possibly be, but it doesn’t provoke those same emotions in the reader. Something simple and sensory might have more effect:

The phone felt heavy as Emilia went to dial.

The intent in discussing overwriting is not to discourage lyrical or rhapsodic writing, but to help writing of any kind connect with the reader.

The intent in discussing overwriting is not to discourage lyrical or rhapsodic writing! Rather, it’s to help lyrical, rhapsodic, or any other writing connect with the reader.

Overwriting that is also ornate is often discussed as “purple prose,” so investigating that term is a good way to learn more.

5 Word Choice Exercises to Sharpen Your Writing

With our word choice definition in mind, as well as our discussions of verb use and concision, let’s explore the following exercises to put theory into practice. As you play around with words in the following word choice exercises, be sure to consider meaning, specificity, style, and (if applicable) audience.

1. Build Moods With Word Choice

Writers fine-tune their words because the right vocabulary will build lush, emotive worlds. As you expand your word choice and consider the weight of each word, focus on targeting precise emotions in your descriptions and figurative language.

This kind of point is best illustrated through word choice examples. An example of magnificent language is the poem “In Defense of Small Towns” by Oliver de la Paz. The poem’s ambivalent feelings toward small hometowns presents itself through the mood of the writing.

The poem is filled with tense descriptions, like “animal deaths and toughened hay” and “breeches speared with oil and diesel,” which present the small town as stoic and masculine. This, reinforced by the terse stanzas and the rare “chances for forgiveness,” offers us a bleak view of the town; yet it’s still a town where everything is important, from “the outline of every leaf” to the weightless flight of cattail seeds.

The writing’s terse, heavy mood exists because of the poem’s juxtaposition of masculine and feminine words. The challenge of building a mood produces this poem’s gravity and sincerity.

Try to write a poem, or even a sentence, that evokes a particular mood through words that bring that word to mind. Here’s an example:

1. What mood do you want to evoke? flighty
2. What words feel like they evoke that mood? not sure, whatever, maybe, perhaps, tomorrow, sometimes, sigh
3. Try it in a sentence: “Maybe tomorrow we could see about looking at the lab results,” he said. She sighed. “Perhaps.”

2. Invent New Words and Terms

A common question writers ask is, What is one way to revise for word choice? One trick to try is to make up new language in your revisions.

If you create language at a crucial moment, you might be able to highlight something that our current language can’t.

In the same way that unusual verbs highlight the action and style of your story, inventing words that don’t exist can also create powerful diction. Of course, your writing shouldn’t overflow with made-up words and pretentious portmanteaus, but if you create language at a crucial moment, you might be able to highlight something that our current language can’t.

A great example of an invented word is the phrase “wine-dark sea.” Understanding this invention requires a bit of history; in short, Homer describes the sea as “οἶνοψ πόντος”, or “wine-faced.” “Wine-dark,” then, is a poetic translation, a kind of kenning for the sea’s mystery.

Why “wine-dark” specifically? Perhaps because, like the sea, wine changes us; maybe the eyes of the sea are dark, as eyes often darken with wine; perhaps the sea is like a face, an inversion, a reflection of the self. In its endlessness, we see what we normally cannot.

Thus, “wine-dark” is a poetic combination of words that leads to intensive literary analysis. For a less historical example, I’m currently working on my poetry thesis, with pop culture monsters being the central theme of the poems. In one poem, I describe love as being “frankensteined.” By using this monstrous made-up verb in place of “stitched,” the poem’s attitude toward love is much clearer.

Try inventing a word or phrase whose meaning will be as clear to the reader as “wine-dark sea.” Here’s an example:

1. What do you want to describe? feeling sorry for yourself because you’ve been stressed out for a long time
2. What are some words that this feeling brings up? self-pity, sympathy, sadness, stress, compassion, busyness, love, anxiety, pity party, feeling sorry for yourself
3. What are some fun ways to combine these words? sadxiety, stresslove
4. Try it in a sentence: As all-nighter wore on, my anxiety softened into sadxiety, still edgy, but soft in the middle.

3. Only Use Words of Certain Etymologies

One of the reasons that the English language is so large and inconsistent is that it borrows words from every language. When you dig back into the history of loanwords, the English language is incredibly interesting!

(For example, many of our legal terms, such as judge, jury, and plaintiff, come from French. When the Normans [old French-speakers from Northern France] conquered England, their language became the language of power and nobility, so we retained many of our legal terms from when the French ruled the British Isles.)

Nerdy linguistics aside, etymologies also make for a fun word choice exercise. Try forcing yourself to write a poem or a story only using words of certain etymologies and avoiding others. For example, if you’re only allowed to use nouns and verbs that we borrowed from the French, then you can’t use Anglo-Saxon nouns like “cow,” “swine,” or “chicken,” but you can use French loanwords like “beef,” “pork,” and “poultry.”

Experiment with word etymologies and see how they affect the mood of your writing. You might find this to be an impactful facet of your word choice. You can Google “__ etymology” for any word to see its origin, and “__ synonym” to see synonyms.

Try writing a sentence only with roots from a single origin. (You can ignore common words like “the,” “a,” “of,” and so on.)

1. What do you want to write? The apple rolled off the table.
2. Try a first etymology: German: The apple wobbled off the bench.
3. Try a second: Latin: The russet fruit rolled off the table.

4. Write in E-Prime

E-Prime Writing describes a writing style where you only write using the active voice. By eschewing all forms of the verb “to be”—using words such as “is,” “am,” “are,” “was,” and other “being” verbs—your writing should feel more clear, active, and precise!

E-Prime not only removes the passive voice (“The bottle was picked up by James”), but it gets at the reality that many sentences using to be are weakly constructed, even if they’re technically in the active voice.

Of course, E-Prime writing isn’t the best type of writing for every project. The above paragraph is written in E-Prime, but stretching it out across this entire article would be tricky. The intent of E-Prime writing is to make all of your subjects active and to make your verbs more impactful. While this is a fun word choice exercise and a great way to create memorable language, it probably isn’t sustainable for a long writing project.

Try writing a paragraph in E-Prime:

1. What do you want to write? Of course, E-Prime writing isn’t the best type of writing for every project. The above paragraph is written in E-Prime, but stretching it out across this entire article would be tricky. The intent of E-Prime writing is to make all of your subjects active and to make your verbs more impactful. While this is a fun word choice exercise and a great way to create memorable language, it probably isn’t sustainable for a long writing project.
2. Converted to E-Prime: Of course, E-Prime writing won’t best suit every project. The above paragraph uses E-Prime, but stretching it out across this entire article would carry challenges. E-Prime writing endeavors to make all of your subjects active, and your verbs more impactful. While this word choice exercise can bring enjoyment and create memorable language, you probably can’t sustain it over a long writing project.

5. Write Blackout Poetry

Blackout poetry, also known as Found Poetry, is a visual creative writing project. You take a page from a published source and create a poem by blacking out other words until your circled words create a new poem. The challenge is that you’re limited to the words on a page, so you need a charged use of both space and language to make a compelling blackout poem.

Blackout poetry bottoms out our list of great word choice exercises because it forces you to consider the elements of word choice. With blackout poems, certain words might be read connotatively rather than denotatively, or you might change the meaning and specificity of a word by using other words nearby. Language is at its most fluid and interpretive in blackout poems!

For a great word choice example using blackout poetry, read “The Author Writes the First Draft of His Wedding Vows” by Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib. Here it is visually:

Source: https://decreation.tumblr.com/post/620222983530807296/from-the-crown-aint-worth-much-by-hanif

Pick a favorite poem of your own and make something completely new out of it using blackout poetry.

How to Expand Your Vocabulary

Vocabulary is a last topic in word choice. The more words in your arsenal, the better. Great word choice doesn’t rely on a large vocabulary, but knowing more words will always help! So, how do you expand your vocabulary?

The simplest way to expand your vocabulary is by reading.

The simplest answer, and the one you’ll hear the most often, is by reading. The more literature you consume, the more examples you’ll see of great words using the four elements of word choice.

Of course, there are also some great programs for expanding your vocabulary as well. If you’re looking to use words like “lachrymose” in a sentence, take a look at the following vocab builders:

• Dictionary.com’s Word-of-the-Day
• Vocabulary.com Games
• Merriam Webster’s Vocab Quizzes

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