Adam Heine's Blog

I Have to Want to Write It

Ever since I dusted this thing off, I've been trying to figure out what it is and what it needs to be.

I need it to be a place potential clients can find me. (It has definitely worked for that.)I want it to be a place where people can find writing advice. (It does that... for some folks.)I need it to be a place bots crawl so my name comes up in search engines. (It definitely is that.)I want it to be something I enjoy creating. (That's been... harder.)In the last 15 months, what the blog has been most effective for is reminding Google and Bing and ChatGPT and all the other automatons that I exist. Based on what my clients tell me, they connect my name to concepts like editing, writing, game development, science fiction, fantasy, and genre-blending, which is fantastic. (They also think I do graphic novels? I mean, sure, I'll take it, but friendly reminder that AI will always hallucinate).
Funny thing is I don't need to write much to get the automatons on my side. They just want to see recent content with the right keywords. That's easy.
It's also dumb. I hate writing content for content's sake.

As far as what I want this to be, I know people are reading, but outside of the few comments you all leave (and thank you SO MUCH to everyone who ever leaves one!), it's hard to tell who's reading and what they like. I want this to be a place for writing advice, and people are definitely reading those posts, but the posts that get the biggest response are often posts about, well... me.
So today, I was interrogating that part of me that's afraid to write. It's afraid that maybe nobody wants to read my writing advice or thoughts on world-building, but I realized something very important:

It doesn't matter if anyone wants to read it.
I have to want to write it.

What will that mean moving forward? Who knows! The blog has always been me, just with varying filters. But I think mostly this will mean less pressure on myself to write something specific for imaginary audiences. I'm gonna write what I want to write.
Heck, it's not like the automatons will care.

Goals, Motivations, and Stakes

One of the most common points of feedback I give to my clients is about goals, motivations, and stakes: in every chapter and every scene, the reader has to know what they are. Let me show you why.

First, a quick definition of terms:

Goal: What the character wants to accomplish or what they're trying to doMotivation: Why the character wants itStakes: What happens if the character succeeds (or what happens if they fail)These are the beating heart of fiction. Without them, you might have exciting things happening, but there will be no meaning behind it. The reader will be be bored—possibly without even knowing why.
As an example, let's take the tropey in which we start a novel with the protagonist running through a dark forest (often used because we're taught to begin our novels in the middle of the action):

Jann pushed through the trees, heart pounding, each breath burning in her lungs. A branch slapped her from the darkness, nearly knocking her down. She shoved it out of her way and kept running—always running.

Exciting? Maybe, but we don't know anything about Jann or why she's in the forest let alone why she's running. We're starting in the middle of the action, but without these whys, it's difficult for the reader to care.
Compare that with this:

Jann pushed through the trees, heart pounding, each breath burning in her lungs. She had to find a way out, had to escape. A branch slapped her in the darkness, but it didn't matter. She had to keep running.

Now we have a goal: escape. Even with this small (predictable) change, there's a feeling of connection with this character that wasn't present in the first example. We know her a little more, and we want what she wants.
And we can take it further:

Jann pushed through the trees, heart pounding, each breath burning in her lungs. She had to find a way out, to escape whatever it was that chased her in the darkness.  She'd only caught a glimpse of it, but that had been enough. Sheer terror did the rest.  She could hear it breathing behind her, lurching through the trees in its search for her.

Here, we have added motivation. Why does she want to escape? Because something is chasing her. Because she's afraid. We're starting to paint the contours of what's going on, enabling the reader to immerse themselves in the action and to feel what she feels. The reader's beginning to lean in now, hoping she makes it.
Let's do one more...

Jann pushed through the trees, heart pounding, each breath burning in her lungs. She had to find a way out, to escape whatever it was that chased her in the darkness.  She'd only caught a glimpse of it, but that had been enough. Sheer terror did the rest.  She could hear it breathing behind her, lurching through the trees in its search for her.
It wanted the vial she'd stolen. But that vial was her son's only hope. If she didn't get to him in time, the disease would steal him from her forever.
Jann wasn't about to let that happen—slavering forest monster or no.

Now there are stakes. Jann isn't just running for her life; she's running to save her son, and if she doesn't succeed, she'll lose him forever. With this, the reader now has a reason to root for her and to find out what happens next—will she make it in time?
These three elements are absolutely vital to draw your reader in. The reader has to know what they are.
They'll change from scene to scene. For example, maybe Jann does escape the forest, but now she has to sneak into a hospital (because she's a fugitive or something, I dunno). Or maybe she gets the vial to her son but then learns that it has unexpected side effects or that the slavering forest monster is after him now instead of her.
Characters' goals, motivations, and stakes will change over time, but it is critical that the reader knows what they are in every scene. What is the POV character trying to accomplish? Why? What happens if they don't?
Clearly convey the answers to these three questions, and—even if nothing else changes—you'll suddenly have a much more compelling story.

Does This Support the Life I'm Trying to Create?

 

My wife has this Post-It on her desk, and I think about it all the time—every time I'm trying to figure out where to spend my time and effort. "Does this support the life I'm trying to create?"

I like it because it raises an even more interesting question (related to a previous post)—what is the life I'm trying to create?—and it doesn't leave that question in the realm of pie-in-the-sky dreaming. It forces me to think about what I want and what steps I can take right now to get there.

And I'm thinking about it even more lately because of, well... lots of recent and ongoing changes. I don't know what all the future holds, but I love to imagine a future where my work is all steady* private editing clients (very flexible and fulfilling), I'm able to write at a steady* pace, and I'm—I dunno—GMing tabletop RPGs or writing Twine games or something and playing games with friends and the diaspora that will be my family.

* The word "steady" is doing a lot of work here. I'll take what I can get, so long as my stress remains manageable.

That sounds like a lot of stuff, now that I write it all out like that. But then, that's the other point of the question: to examine things one step at a time.

This is why I started the blog (and continue to figure out a posting cadence that works for me) and why I am open to private clients even while I have a long-term contract. My answers to this question have instigated other stuff behind the scenes too—some of which might even show up here one day.

Why am I talking about this? Well, mostly because I'm thinking about it a lot, but also because I suspect you can benefit from it as well. In my experience, that's usually how this works.

So, what is the life you're trying to create, and what steps are you taking to support that? (And is there anything you're doing that doesn't support it?) I'd love to hear about your own decisions and dreams.

What If You Don't Make It?

I saw this comic by Katie Shanahan the other day, and it's really stuck with me, so I want to share it.

See, I'm 47 years old and have been writing professionally for a couple of decades. I've published some stories and helped ship some games, and I'm super proud of all of that. But, you know, I started this blog with bigger dreams and excitement than has been borne out thus far.

But this comic helped remind me that I'm not done yet—not if I don't want to be.

And if there's one thing I've learned in 17.2 years of active social media, it's that I am basically never alone in my feelings. So, this is for you, too:

Will I make it? I don't know.

But what does "making it" even mean? I get to paid to write sometimes (even making the occasional royalties). I've designed and written for multiple highly rated games (even enabling a record-breaking crowdfunding campaign). I've raised over a dozen really excellent humans (possibly saving the lives of some). I've streamed games, speedrunned (speedran?), and managed several TTRPG campaigns.

So... maybe I have "made it"? That question is what I'm actively working on, and have been for decades, and will be for as long as I write: Why do I do this? What do I hope to achieve? How will I know when I achieved it?

The answer used to be "get published!" Which I did. And that's still something I'm aiming for, but I don't want it to be my definition of "making it." There's no sense trying to find my value in something that's out of my control.

And that's why Katie's comic really speaks to me. Maybe I've made it. Maybe I haven't. But it doesn't matter. I write because I enjoy writing. Nothing else.

Maybe I've made it when I'm enjoying making a thing. Everything else is icing.

Preaching Well

Last week, I talked about being "preachy" in fiction and why it's maybe not as bad as people think it is. In particular, there are lots of examples of fiction that are not only super popular but arguably so because of their message.

So, the problem is not messaging in fiction. Fiction is messaging, and (whether you are aware of it or not) all fiction is political. People generally don't have a problem with preaching in fiction unless the message is something they disagree with.

Like I've said before, you aren't writing for those people.

But you do want your message to be written well and received well by those who are open to it. Here are a few tips to help with that:

1) Portray All Sides with Empathy

A common problem in fiction is when one group of people are portrayed as intelligent and sympathetic while another comes across as cardboard cut-out villains.

Religion is a common victim of this. The atheist and non-Christian analogues in Chronicles of Narnia—the folks who don't believe Aslan is real or who work against him—are often insufferable. Edmund and Eustace, for example, are simply the worst characters (until they believe).

Secular sci-fi isn't much better. I've lost track of how many stories I've read in which the protagonists are open-minded and intelligent while the villains are pompous religious jerks.

Even if you don't agree with a character's point of view, they do. Nobody thinks of themselves as evil, and as the author, it is your job to figure out why not and portray that sympathetically.

2) Leave Your Message Open-Ended

When you think of your story's theme or message, is it a moral to be prescribed or a question to be explored? Life is nuance and uncertainty, but if your story has easy answers, it can ring false. Exploring that uncertainty, however, is what makes good fiction great.

Take the X-Men. These stories explore themes of racial discrimination, and while there is a repeated moral (e.g., accept those different from you), there are also always difficult questions raised. The conflict between Professor X and Magneto is a prime example. Magneto believes that mutants are the next step in human evolution and should rule the world. Professor X, on the other hand, believes humans and mutants can co-exist as equals. The latter is obviously the stories' message, since Professor X is the "good guy," but he is frequently faced with challenges that throw that message into question. Can humans and mutants ever truly get along?

Their struggle is never-ending, and that's the point of phrasing your message as a question. The struggles we face are open-ended. If you paint your message as black and white, it will feel false to anyone who—like Magneto—has seen that the world isn't so amenable to pat answers.

3) Let the Reader Come to Their Own Conclusions

If you've ever tried to change someone's belief, you know it's practically impossible. A person can't be told what is true and simply believe it, not even if they are presented with irrefutable evidence. They will refute it! However, people can and do change their own beliefs by coming to their own conclusions over time.

Don't tell the reader what to think or believe, but show them different viewpoints. Explore different answers to very difficult questions. And then... do nothing. Let them think for themselves.

It's the most frustrating and rewarding part of being an author (or a parent, or a teacher, or a therapist, or...). As my mom tried to teach me my whole life, you have to let them be wrong.

The Bottom Line is Empathy

The gift of fiction—and a requirement to create it—is to be able to put ourselves in someone else's shoes, to see the world from another's perspective. Reading increases empathy. A reader without empathy will bounce of most stories altogether, and a writer who lacks it will struggle to connect with any reader unlike themselves.

So, say what you want to say. Explore difficult questions and even present your own answers through your characters. But be fair. Be open-minded. Be empathic.

You'll be surprised how many more people you can impact.

On "Preachy" Fiction

I think I learned a bad lesson when I was a brand new writer—or maybe it was a good lesson that I just took too far. The lesson was this: Don't use fiction to preach.

What people generally mean by that is they don't want authors to write fiction with the express goal of teaching a lesson. They want a good story. They don't want to be moralized to.

Or so they say... 

But when the lesson is something the reader doesn't notice, it's not considered preachy at all. X-Men stories, for example, are hella preachy, but many fans either don't connect the themes of mutant discrimination to the real world or else identify with those themes in less controversial ways (e.g., some fans interpret X-Men's themes as discrimination against "misfits" or "outsiders," rather than racial prejudice).

And when the lesson is something the reader wants to hear, the audience often loves it! For example, the Chronicles of Narnia are a straight-up Christian allegory, beloved by Christians of all flavors. Andor is widely considered one of the best-written Star Wars stories to date, partially for being a straight-up anti-fascist manifesto.

It seems like it's not that people don't want messages in their fiction. It's that they don't want to be aware of messages they don't like. (You know, just like in real life.)

I started this post saying I learned a bad lesson. See, I spent a lot of my writing career trying to "say something without saying something"—trying to be subtle with my messages, trying not to piss anyone off or be accused of heavy-handed preaching. I ended up writing "fun" fiction but not necessarily the meaningful fiction I wanted to write.

My stories are fine, of course. Good, even. I've been published a few times. People have found meaning in my stories, and I'm thankful for that. Heck, I even have fans of stories that have never been published. But I was scared.

And I don't want to be.

And I don't need to be.

So, this is my encouragement to you: Write what you want to say. There will always be people who don't like what that is, and that's okay. You're not writing for them.

Will leaning into your message get you published and famous? Not by itself, no. It might even work against you at first as you figure out how to do it well. But it means that when someone does read your work, they are at least reading something that you want to say—and what you want to say matters.

So you do you, friends. Go ahead and...

Low on Creative Energy?

Sometimes, you're just doing so much creative stuff in a day or a week (or more!) that you don't have the creative resources you need to write something you might never be paid for.

And that's okay. Give yourself permission to not write for a bit...

...or to write something very short.

Talking Yourself through Drafting

Some of you know that I hate drafting—which is weird for a writer to say, I know, but that's the way it is... or at least the way it was.
I've learned (through time and work and lots of counseling) that it's not drafting I hated. I hated the fear of imperfection and getting it wrong. I hated the pressure that I put on myself to write well or write a lot (or both!). Most of all, I hated that I hated myself for not meeting my own expectations.
Drafting is still hard, but I've been learning how to have compassion on myself—not just the part of me that's writing but also the part that puts so much pressure on me. That part just wants me to achieve my goals! It just wasn't aware that some of the ways it did that were harming me.
I've been easing my way back into writing consistently, and I've found myself approaching it differently. The tips below are some of what I've been learning. Maybe they can help you too.

Focus on the current words/sentence/paragraph. Don't think about everything you have to do—how many words you've written, how much revision you'll have to do, what you need to do later that day... All of that is overwhelming and makes it impossible to write. When those thoughts come, hear them then let them go, and focus on the next words again.
When you feel stuck or scared, take a break. I don't mean a long break like I've suggested before. Take just a minute or two, or maybe even just one long, deep breath. The sentence you're stuck on will look different. The emotion that's sticking you will pass, often much faster than you think.
Trust your past self. You've written before. You've revised before. You can do it again. (Even if this is your first novel, you wrote the paragraphs and sentences that came before. You wrote stories in school. You've told stories about yourself to friends.) Trust that you write for a reason.
Trust your present self. Thoughts will come that what you're writing isn't very good or that it isn't working how you'd like. But your present self can't know what's working and what isn't—not until you see the whole picture together. Trust that what you're writing now is good enough for now.
Trust your future self. Even if what you're writing were bad, trust that you will be able to make it better later. More than that: you can't actually know how to make it better until later. Your future self will handle that, and they'll be just fine.
Give yourself grace. Writing goals are good if they help motivate you, but they can backfire just as easily. When you find yourself afraid of meeting your goals, give yourself permission to turn them off. Whatever you accomplish today is fine. Five words are more than zero. There will always be days that you struggle to write, but there will be days later that you don't as well. Whatever you can do is good.

You write for a reason, and there are people out there who want to know what that reason is. We're rooting for you.
Make sure you root for yourself, too.

Human Editing vs. AI

I have my own issues with generative AI, but it is good at some tasks—tasks that (if it weren't for the copyright theft, plagiarism, labor theft, and climate-destroying energy needs) would actually be worth talking about in terms of how they can improve our lives.

One thing generative AI is genuinely good at is producing English sentences that sound intelligent. Among other things, this means it can be good at basic editing—making your words sound correct and smart—and it can even provide a kind of blind, meaning-agnostic textual analysis and recommendations for improvement.

That's editing, right? You can get it for free?!

Well, sort of. As with most things in our world, you get what you pay for. The Washington Post tested five generative AIs on their ability to perform this kind of editing. None of them did better than a D+, and only one of them didn't "hallucinate."

Free? Yes (for now).

Good?

If you have no money or critique partners, and you have the time and patience to investigate the accuracy of every suggestion, then AI can provide you with a kind of editing. It can make you sound intelligible... but not great or unique—literally the average of what the internet has to offer.

What can a human editor do, then, that the AI can't? Well, at their best, a human editor can provide the following:

A-level corrections, recommendations, and analysisInsightful comments from a human who understands your intention and meaningExperience that comes from being an editor, a writer, and a humanSuggestions that maintain your unique voice and vision as an authorHarsh truths to help you improveRevisions that don't make up facts out of nowhereConnection with a human who's rooting for youThat's not to say all human editors are always amazing or do all these things, but an LLM never will. Finding a good editor is hard, but there are many out there who are worth the price.

The danger of generative AI is not that it's bad at things; it's that AI's intelligent-sounding answers fool us into thinking it's good at things, so we trust it with more than we should. We believe it knows more than it actually does.
I'm not gonna say don't use AI, and I'm not gonna say human editors are perfect. But if you choose AI, know what you're settling for, and if you hire a human editor, find one who provides value that's worth it to you.

(Am I one of those editors? Well, you can always try me out and see! A sample edit costs nothing but time.)

World-Building 105: Putting It on the Page

To recap the last few posts, we've talked about the following:

What world-building is and how to get startedHow to keep your world-building organizedThe helpfulness of maps (yay!)How to make a setting compellingSo far, 100% of the info created through these tips is for you, the author—notes, maps, lists, Q&As. These are aids in writing your story, not the information you actually show the reader.
Because the goal of world-building is not to show the reader all the cool stuff you thought up but to immerse them in another place and time, to make them feel like there's more to the world than what they see, to help them believe this is a real place that could exist.
So, how do we do that with *waves hands around* all those notes and maps and junk?
Using World-Building in Your Draft
As you write, you will naturally drop hints about your world. Sometimes you have to explain things for the plot. Other times, you're just describing what's in the scene. Either way, something comes up that you can't assume the reader knows. Like...
The protagonist will be looking at the stars, and you mention the setting's two moons. The protagonist steps on a teleporter and thinks about how the technology works. Or they learn that they are part of an ancient prophecy that you now need to explain to the reader.

Or a thousand other tiny details that come up as you draft. Wherever it happens, you'll want to keep two things in mind:

Let the reader believe there is more to the world than what you're telling them.Let the reader experience the world rather than be told about it.These are guidelines, of course, and you'll have to find a balance. But the goal is to maintain the illusion that there is always more to discover.

"Part of the attraction of the Lord of the Rings is, I think, due to the glimpses of a large history in the background: an attraction like that of viewing a far off an unvisited island, or seeing the towers of a distant city gleaming in a sunlit mist. To go there is to destroy the magic, unless new unattainable vistas are again revealed."

                                                                                           —J. R. R. Tolkien

Right, But... How?

Well, for example, as you describe the setting's two moons, do so through the protagonist's perspective. How do the moons make them feel? Maybe they're lost in a forest but thankful for the light of the two moons to guide them. Maybe they used to look at the moons as a child and felt safe under one and uncomfortable under the other. In this way, we experience what the protagonist is experiencing, and the world-building is deepened at the same time.

Or maybe in your world bible, you know that the moons were set there by the gods or that one of the moons houses a magical prison. Or maybe you know nothing more about them at all—that's fine too! But as you describe them in your draft, you don't say what you know them to be, but you might say what people believe them to be. Like, maybe the protagonist's grandmother used to tell them a story about the moons that they now think is silly (but that maybe has a grain of truth to it—or not!).
Or maybe they're just moons. That's fine too.
What about the teleporter?
You probably don't want to go into the whole history and function of the technology unless that's a thing the protagonist would be thinking about (maybe they built them!). But again, how does the protagonist feel about teleporters? How do they think they work? Maybe they don't know at all, and that worries them every time even though they've used them their entire life. Maybe they heard a story about someone who got messed up by one, and they wonder if it's scientifically accurate. Maybe they have full confidence in them and quietly judge the folks who fear them.
Little extra thoughts like these help us experience the teleporter while also suggesting that there might be more to it than we know—there's more to discover.
And the prophecy? Don't exposit the prophecy like a history textbook. Reveal it through the lens of the character who explains it and of the protagonist themselves. How do these two characters feel about it? What does it mean to them? Do either of them doubt the prophecy? Fear it? Zealously believe it?
Again, now we're experiencing the world-building. It matters to us because it matters to characters that we care about.
And also, we're never getting the whole story (that's in your world bible) but rather what the characters know or believe about it. This way, the world always remains bigger than anything the reader can experience.
Avoiding(?) Infodumps
We're often told to avoid the dreaded infodump. As with most things, this is more what you'd call a guideline than an actual rule, but the reason infodumps are dangerous is because (1) they tend to be telling rather than allowing the reader to experience the world, and (2) they tend to tell everything the author has ever thought.
But that doesn't mean you can't use them. An infodump from an in-world narrator's perspective, that also leaves some things mysterious, can be just as compelling as any bit of action.
Leaving some mystery can help a world feel real and lived in, like there's always more to discover just around the next corner. It's a type of mystery that can pull your reader into the world.
And letting the reader experience the world through your characters keeps them invested. They want to learn about the prophecy because their favorite character's goals depend on it. They want to know how the teleporter works because Captain Dan wants to know (or because he already does know, and who doesn't want to be cool like Captain Dan?).
All those notes you took answering questions and organizing your thoughts give you a deep well to draw from as you guide your protagonist and your reader through the world. You'll think of new things as you draft, and you can add those to your notes, too. Every bit of it makes your world deeper, more immersive, and more real.
Just remember to keep some of those bits for yourself.