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When It Comes to Characters We Love, Vulnerability, Not Likeability, Is Key

Today’s post is by regular contributor Susan DeFreitas (@manzanitafire), an award-winning author, editor, and book coach.

Some writers believe that their protagonists must be likeable in order for readers to care about them.

And of course there’s some truth to that, which is why screenwriters adhere to a formula called Save the Cat: Having your protagonist do something kind or admirable or just generally awesome (like saving a cat who’s stuck up a tree) is indeed one path to your reader’s heart.

But the literary world is full of so-called unlikeable protagonists—the sort of people who not only fail to save the cat, but might have run it up the tree in the first place—that readers nevertheless care a whole lot about.

In fact, making your protagonist too good, paradoxically, is an excellent way to make your reader not care about them at all.

Not only because such characters don’t ring true (we all have our foibles and flaws) but because, generally speaking, we don’t turn to fiction for stories about perfect people.

What really makes us care about fictional people are the same sorts of things that make us care about real ones: understanding their soft, squishy underbelly, otherwise known as their vulnerabilities.

Here are three different types of vulnerabilities that will pave a trail straight to your reader’s heart.

1. Insecurities

What does your protagonist hide, and why? What are their weak spots and insecurities?

In Elizabeth Strout’s novel-in-stories Olive Kitteridge, the titular character is a cantankerous old gal who doesn’t care what anyone in town—or even her own husband—thinks of her.

But the person Olive loves most in the world is her son, Christopher, which makes him a vulnerability for her—and when she overhears Chris’s new wife making fun of her dress at their wedding, and implying that Olive will be a difficult mother-in-law, it cuts Olive to the core.

Up to this point in the novel, we’ve seen Olive act in all sort of atrocious ways to people. But no matter how much we’ve disliked her thus far, at this point in the story, our hearts crack open for her.

Why? Because this cutting comment is one aimed straight at her squishy underbelly, which we might think of as the missing scale in Olive’s armor—her insecurity over Christopher’s love. Because if the person Christopher has chosen to spend his life with thinks so little of Olive, perhaps she’s losing his love.

2. Fears

What is your protagonist afraid of? What is their secret fear?

In Kate Racculia’s YA mystery Bellweather Rhapsody, one of the protagonists, Alice, is established up front in a way that’s clearly unlikeable: She’s a 17-year-old drama queen, so sure of her eventual rise to fame as a singer that she’s keeping a journal for the exclusive use of her biographers after she makes it big.

But Alice has a vulnerability—the fact that the first boy she ever kissed dumped her—and, as the story progresses, we realize, a secret fear: That she’s not good enough to be a star. That she is in fact nothing, no one.

It’s the flip side of her megalomania, and it’s what makes us love her.

Because for Alice, she’s either destined for greatness or a waste of space here on this earth—and that’s such a hard, human, and ultimately relatable thing for a young person to believe.

3. Internal conflicts

In Viet Thanh Nguyen’s Pulitzer Prize-winning literary novel The Sympathizer (and its sequel, The Committed), the unnamed protagonist is a double agent during what Americans know as the Vietnam War—which is really about as unsympathetic a position as any imaginable.

Someone who’s loyal to your side, generally speaking, is a “good guy,” and someone loyal to the opposition may be good-hearted but misguided. But someone playing both sides? That’s a person lacking in any loyalties at all.

What makes us love this protagonist (beyond their inherently hilarious voice) is the fact that they genuinely see both sides in that conflict, in keeping with their multiracial heritage (half French and half Vietnamese). He believes in the communist rhetoric of kicking out the West and redistributing the wealth that Western colonizers have stolen … but he also loves American movies and music and the lofty ideals of democracy.

Talk about an internal conflict!

It’s the fact that the narrator is so conflicted about his loyalties—and his loyalties to his two best friends, who wind up on opposite sides of the war—that makes us love him, despite the terrible things he does.

These examples are pulled from three novels I happened to have close at hand. In reality, pretty much any novel you can pull off your shelf will showcase a fear, vulnerability, or internal conflict for the protagonist early on—because doing so does so much to pull the reader in and make us care.

So if you’re looking for ways to strengthen your characterization—or have received feedback to the effect that readers just don’t care all that much about your protagonist—turn to page one of your draft and ask yourself: Where in this opening can I establish vulnerability?

4 Questions to Strengthen Lean Manuscripts

AI-generated image (ChatGPT): book that’s growing happily in size.

Today’s guest post is by Lisa Fellinger, an author, book coach, and editor.

I have a small confession to make: I’ve never been told I need to cut words from my manuscripts. In fact, I’m the author envious of anyone who needs to do so because I’m the one struggling to get my manuscript up to my target word count. And for a long time, I feared I was the only writer with this issue. So many writing articles and discussions focus on how to cut down an overly wordy novel to fit standard word counts, but I hadn’t seen much advice for how to bulk up a manuscript that fell below those expectations.

But over the years, I’ve found writers with similar struggles. I’m not the only one who starts with a lean first draft that needs to be built up to create a well-rounded story. Neither way of writing is right or wrong—it’s truly about what works for you and your process. The important thing is that you understand your genre’s word count expectations and why those expectations exist and that you put in the work to add or cut words to create a deep story.

While writing lean can sometimes feel like it’s wrong approach, there’s absolutely value in it. Writing a lean first draft allows you to see the main points and events that are most central to the story and work to enhance them, rather than having to uncover those main points underneath a mountain of excess words. I’m often told my writing is clear and easy to follow, which I credit to the fact that I write lean initially and build the story from there.

Still, it’s important that lean writers understand the need to deepen those drafts to become reader ready. Readers crave stories that are rich and immersive; novels that fall far below the standard word counts don’t typically do this.

So, for my fellow lean writers out there, here are opportunities to dig into your story and meet your target word count.

1. Do you have a compelling subplot?

Subplots are one of the best ways to deepen stories and bulk up a lean manuscript. However, don’t just throw in any subplot and call it a day. If you decide to add or enhance a subplot, focus on one that adds depth to the main storyline rather than distracting from it. If you try to include an unrelated subplot only to increase your word count, readers will sense that and lose interest.

The subplot should have a clear connection to the overall story and its own arc. And just as minor characters should be as fleshed out, a subplot should be well-rounded and complete in its own right, even though as much time won’t be spent on it.

2. Are you summarizing the hard scenes?

This is where I often find the most gold in terms of increasing word count, as well as in the novels I work with for developmental editing or book coaching.

It’s especially common in first drafts for writers to summarize the hard scenes—scenes that either feel technically difficult to write or are especially emotional. Since these scenes require so much work to do them justice, it’s tempting to gloss over them by providing a summary of what happened rather than dramatizing the entire scene.

But readers don’t invest in novels to read summaries of what happened to the characters. They want to experience those events alongside them and feel their emotions in real time. Skipping over those difficult scenes robs the reader of that experience and the opportunity for them to feel a strong connection to your story. While summary is sometimes necessary or the best choice for certain scenes, for scenes that are highly emotional and/or central to the overall story, dramatize them so readers can experience the events and emotions along with your characters.

And—bonus points—dramatizing a scene that you initially summarized will absolutely increase your word count.

3. Are you digging into your characters’ thoughts and reactions?

One reason readers often declare “the book was better than the movie” is because books allow for the opportunity to see inside of your characters’ thoughts in a way that movies can’t. So use that to your advantage.

While you don’t want to do this to the extreme—where you’re repeating the same things to the point of boring your readers—you do want to ensure that your readers understand your characters’ reactions to events, especially critical ones. Showing a character’s thoughts can be a good way to bridge the gap between an event and a reaction from a character that doesn’t necessarily make sense. While a reaction might seem odd on the surface, if you can show us the thought process that led them there, then readers will understand it even if another character may not. And digging deep into your characters’ thoughts will build stronger reader connections with your characters.

4. Is your setting clear and detailed enough?

I know I’m guilty of this one in my own writing. It’s easy for me to get so caught up in the dialogue between two characters, or exploring a character’s thoughts and emotions, that I forget to include enough detail about where events take place. But readers need to be able to visualize the story as it unfolds rather than wondering where the characters are.

As you’re reading through your manuscript, ask yourself: Would the reader be able to visualize where these events are taking place by the words on the page? While too much setting description can slow your story’s pacing and bore your reader, this is an area where I often see lean writers being skimpy. It’s an ideal opportunity to strengthen the story while also adding to your word count.

Parting advice

Target word counts exist for a reason. That’s generally the sweet spot where a story will have enough detail and information to create a full, rich story for readers to enjoy without giving way to digressions or slow pacing. While there are always exceptions to word count standards, be honest with yourself about why your story falls outside of them. If you’re below the target like I often am, I hope these questions will help you determine if your story really is complete or if there’s room to add and create an even stronger story.

How to Use Tarot to Build Your Brand as a Creative

Today’s post is by Chelsey Pippin Mizzi, author of Tarot for Creativity: A Guide for Igniting Your Creative Practice.

After years of working 9–5 at an agency, my client, Nina decided to strike out on her own and launch a copywriting business. In the early stages of building her business, she came to me to explore the ways that tarot could support and inspire her as a creative business owner.

One of the things Nina was most concerned about in that moment was figuring out how she wanted to be perceived by her customers—her main job as a copywriter was to help small businesses express themselves, but she felt she’d lost her own identity amidst all her efforts to help her clients articulate theirs.

The tarot is an incredibly powerful brand building tool for creatives, because it gives us a rich language for finding—and articulating—ourselves, so Nina and I dove into some exercises that ultimately helped her develop a clear vision of who she was a small business owner, what she wanted to say to her potential customers, and create a framework for how she wanted to say it.

Here are two of the tarot exercises that helped Nina—and many of my clients—discover and solidify their brands.

Own your creative archetype

First, I asked Nina to write down three adjectives she would love her ideal clients to use to describe her and the service she provides them. Nina landed on “Honest, Bold, and Bright.”

From there, I laid out all 22 cards of the Major Arcana between us, and asked Nina to pick one or two of the cards that she felt most clearly illustrated what Honest, Bold, and Bright meant to her.

She narrowed it down to two cards: The Fool, and The World, two cards that she felt embodied Honest, Bold, and Bright—but there was more work to do. Which one, I asked, felt more like her? Nina’s answer came immediately: while she admired The World’s wisdom, she was deeply drawn to the Fool’s playfulness. Both cards possessed a confidence, an openness, but Nina knew that she saw herself as that clever, unassuming Fool much more than she saw herself as the simultaneously vulnerable and untouchable World.

So, the Fool became Nina’s creative archetype. Which means that when she’s representing her business—through online content, at networking events, or in client meetings, she refers back to the Fool as a guiding light for how she wants to be seen, and how she wants to interact. Embracing the Fool as her creative archetype gave Nina a fresh new way of thinking about her point of view as a copywriter and small business owner, and she returns to the card regularly while navigating her career and building her brand.

When she’s not sure what to post about on LinkedIn, she thinks about the Fool, and how she can summon the card’s playfulness, its boldness, its honesty, its brightness to articulate a helpful tip or thought-provoking opinion. She plays up her sense of humor, because that’s what the Fool would do. Her brand is full of bright colors, and whenever she enters a room—IRL or digital, she brings the Fool’s charisma and try-anything attitude with her. These days, Nina even turns to the tarot with some of her copywriting clients, inviting them to identify their own brand archetype through the Major Arcana. She then uses conversations that the cards strike up as a foundation for the tone of voice and point of view she infuses into the writing services she provides.

Try it yourselfWrite down three adjectives you’d like your ideal audience or customer base to use when describing you and your creative work.Lay out the Major Arcana in front of you, and choose a card (or two) that best captures those three words, and that feels true to you and how you want to show up in the world.Brainstorm at least three ways you can use the card you’ve chosen to inform your approach to your creative business, brand, and communications.Whenever you feel stuck in your business, refer back to the archetype you’ve chosen, and use it as a jumping off point to figure out what to do next.Tarot your way to content

One of the most common ways that I use tarot cards as creativity tools is incorporating them into my content planning. I regularly use cards as jumping off points for my blogs, newsletters, and social media posts. It’s simple: I draw a card and ask myself a couple of questions:

How does this card relate to the way I want my audience or customers to feel?How can the message of the card help me solve a problem for my audience or customers?What’s one thing this card inspires me to tell my audience or customers?

Of course, as a tarot reader, it makes sense that I would turn to the cards for content generation, but the truth is that my method for content generation through tarot can work for any small business owner.

Let’s look at Nina and her copywriting business once again as an example.

Last year, Nina challenged herself to write a short, regular newsletter in which she shared a daily tip for writing more compelling copy. She decided to use tarot cards to inform what she wrote, just like I do in my tarot business. Once a week, she would sit down and draw five cards—one for each day of the week that she would send out her newsletter. And she asked herself the questions that I shared above.

The Ten of Wands, a card that often represents someone biting off more than they can chew, inspired Nina to write a tip about doing more with less in your copy. Instead of trying to cram every bit of information into a paragraph, she suggested that her followers try focusing on the three most important messages they wanted to share, and she provided a formula for figuring out what those three messages could be.

Judgement, a card about revisiting things we’ve buried and shining a new light on them, was the foundation for a piece Nina wrote about how to find new ideas in old copy. She even ended up offering a service to help her clients audit their past newsletters and blogs and create fresh content based on their previous ideas.

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And the Eight of Pentacles, a card about practice and craft, prompted Nina to share a personal story about how she learned to improve her own copywriting skills and why she still practices writing, even as a professional writer.

None of Nina’s final versions of her articles mentioned the tarot; she simply looked to the images to spark her thinking so she could generate content that was in line with her business.

You can do the same by drawing cards and answering the questions I shared above—you’ll be surprised by how many ideas you’ll be able to generate!

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, be sure to check out Tarot for Creativity: A Guide for Igniting Your Creative Practice by Chelsey Pippin Mizzi.

How to Write a Story Retelling

Photo by Elaine Howlin on Unsplash

Today’s post is by developmental editor and book coach Hannah Kate Kelley.

What is a retelling?

A retelling is a new spin on a classic story like a fairy tale, myth, or other piece of literature. The writer takes a pre-existing story to borrow some of the original elements while changing others.

Writers love retellings because the story framework is pre-made and there’s already a proven audience for the original tale. Retellings are also empowering because writers can bring fresh perspectives to age-old stories.

But aren’t retellings theft? Actually, no. Retellings essentially honor the original text by reopening the conversation the original author started. Instead of feeling like a thief, think of your adapted story as playing off of, countering, and contributing to that initial conversation.

In your life, you’ve probably encountered many retellings from Disney’s fairy tale renditions to countless comic book blockbuster remakes. In this article, we’re going to look at the following popular retelling examples:

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas (a retelling of several stories, including Beauty and the Beast, the Norwegian tale East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and Tam Lin)Circe by Madeline Miller (a retelling of Homer’s The Odyssey)Clueless by H. B. Gilmour (a retelling of Jane Austen’s Emma)Pride: A Pride and Prejudice Remix by Ibi Zoboi (a retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice)The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo (a retelling of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby)“The Husband Stitch” featured in Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado (a retelling of “The Girl with the Green Ribbon”)3 characteristics of retelling

Before you build your outline, let’s explore the three primary characteristics of a retold story.

A retelling should be recognizable

Retellings are all about celebrating the familiar. Your story retelling needs to include all or many of the major original elements, even if you make significant changes to the setting, plot, characters, and themes. But how close of a retelling do you need to write? You’ve got two options: write a loose retelling or a close retelling.

In a loose retelling, writers can use inspiration from various sources in any degree, meaning they have recognizable characters, events, themes, and other elements, but their main plot will divert away from the original storyline.

Sarah J. Maas does this with her fantasy novel A Court of Thorns and Roses by drawing from Beauty and the Beast, East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and Tam Lin. In terms of her original inspiration fairy tales and legends, Maas says, “[A Court of Thorns and Roses] actually wound up going away from those things; it started off as a retelling of the more original fairy tales, but then moved away.” Though the story begins with a young woman stolen away to live in the home of a powerful and mysterious creature as punishment for her transgression (similar to Beauty and the Beast), protagonist Feyre delves into broader political and inter-court conflicts as the story goes on, culminating in a dangerous physical and emotional trial. Maas uses some of the character traits and plot events from the original texts, but ultimately creates her own storyline.

In a close retelling, writers can still change several elements of the original text, but they tend to stick closer to the main plot by using the same events in the same order, making only small variations. For example, in The Chosen and the Beautiful, writer Nghi Vo retains not only the 1920s era and several main character from the original text The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, but Vo also keeps the key plot events, such as Gatsby’s extravagant parties, his mounting obsession with Daisy Buchanan, and the climactic confrontation in a New York hotel. The unique angle, a queer Vietnamese adoptee narrator, doesn’t change the plot events significantly.

A retelling should also be a standalone

Your retelling should be enjoyable to read whether your audience has read the original text or not. While many of your readers will be familiar with the original story and therefore enjoy the comparisons and allusions you draw between them, your story still needs to be complete on its own.

A retelling must be legal

We already established that retellings are not theft, but there’s a caveat: it all comes down to what is and is not listed on the public domain (also known as the commons), which is a collection of creative works that are no longer protected by intellectual property laws. Once a story hits this list, you are free to adapt and reproduce it any way you wish. That’s why people love to use fairy tales for their adaptations, because no one owns the copyrights to these stories any longer. However, the rules differ from country to country, as well as by the book’s individual copyright, so it’s best to do your due diligence and research before selecting the story you wish to retell. (Here a starting guide from Jane on that.)

Are retellings the same as fanfiction?

In many ways, yes. But they are treated differently in terms of both legal use and reader expectations, so they are essentially different genres. Fanfiction is more about celebrating the copyrighted characters of a story which are not yet in the public domain. Can you base your retelling off a non-public domain work? Some writers do. Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James actually started out as fanfiction of Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. Though the book has several similarities with the original source, James retroactively removed the copyrighted material in order to publish. Talk about grey area! While it is possible to transform fanfiction into a legally sound published book, there are more hoops to jump through.

I’m no lawyer, so we won’t get into the nitty-gritty of what is and isn’t legally allowed for non-public domain works. Just do your research and be prepared to consult legal counsel if you plan to publish your fanfiction for profit.

So let’s talk about how to write your own retelling. If you’d like a workbook to pair with the following exercises, you can download the free Story Retelling Workbook.

Choose your retelling angle

The first step is to explore what you are going to do differently and why. What will your unique spin be? While this angle can change later, you want to capture this first spark of inspiration because this is the reason you’re writing a retelling after all: to make this story your own.

To find your special angle, ask yourself the following questions:

What do you love about the original story? Explore what made you want to pick up the book in the first place, or what’s kept this tale top of mind for you.What’s missing from this story? Consider which parts didn’t resonate with you or where you can see room for improvement.Can you see yourself in this story? If you can, consider what you would do differently as one of the main characters and how that might send the story down a different path. If you can’t, consider how your perspective or knowledge could alter the story if you were suddenly thrust into the pages.Why are you writing this story? Consider what unique perspectives you as the author bring to your story.And why now? If you have other story ideas you want to pursue, consider why you want to start with this one first.

Once you’ve embarked on a little soul-searching, you might have a good list of where to take your story. If not, consider these common retelling angle examples:

Feature a new character’s perspective. You can use a non-main character from the original text, like Nghi Vo does in The Chosen and the Beautiful by using Nick Carraway’s friend and lover Jordan Baker as the narrator instead. Or like writer Madeline Miller does with Odysseus’ villain scorned witch-goddess Circe in the eponymous novel Circe (instead of Odysseus). You can also invent an entirely new character to take the spotlight.Imagine the antagonist as the protagonist. Similar to drawing from a new character’s perspective, this approach goes as far as reclaiming and explaining the villain’s side of things. For example, in Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire the story is told from the Wicked Witch of the West’s point of view, offering a backstory that humanizes her and explores the events that leading up to her infamy. And in the Jane Eyre retelling Wide Sargasso Sea, author Jean Rhys gives Bertha Mason her own voice and backstory, who was originally a minor character depicted as Mr. Rochester’s insane wife he kept hidden in the attic.Explore race, class, gender, or a new cultural lens. Many old texts can perpetuate harmful stereotypes. In “The Husband Stitch” by Carmen Maria Machado, the narrator explores women’s bodily boundaries in her retelling of “The Girl with the Green Ribbon.” Her rendition critiques the original short horror story, where a woman’s husband constantly pesters her about her permanent neck ribbon until she finally allows him to pull the string and immediately dies from the untying that kept her head on her neck. Machado calls out the way men use and control women’s bodies in her retelling.Drop the characters into a new setting or era. For older works especially, it can be fun to use a modern setting, just as H. B. Gilmour does in her popular Emma-adapted novel Clueless, by bringing the romance into a contemporary (okay, well … 90s) high school setting complete with stoners, jocks, and popular kids.Switch up the genre. Consider altering the genre toward horror, sci-fi, fantasy, romance, mystery, and literary fiction, or even a different age genre like children’s, middle grade, young adult, or adult. A good example of this is Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith, who transforms the original romance story into a horror novel by incorporating zombies, a pervasive sense of danger, and violent encounters with the undead.

If you’re swimming in good ideas, narrow down your selection to one story angle. Then write your unique angle in one simple sentence. For example, I want to explore what the wicked stepmother would look like in Cinderella if she was actually just trying to help.

Analyze the original text

Before you can write your own version, get your analytical hat on and let’s look at the original (OG) story to see which elements you want to keep and which you want to change.

At this point, you want to be in the research phase rather than the writing phase, though you can jot down ideas as they come up. But don’t get lost in research! For this exercise, try to only gather enough information to fill out this brief analysis.

We’re going to look at both the OG text Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and the retelling Pride: A Pride and Prejudice Remix by Ibi Zoboi. While you want to focus on your analysis before crafting your own story, it’s helpful to discuss these two examples side by side.

Plot points

First, look for all the major plot points that make the OG story recognizable by uncovering how the main plot and the main characters progress to the end. Depending on how loose or close you want your retelling to be, you may choose to diverge away from these plot events—which can be an interesting way to subvert reader expectations and dive into the story you really want to tell. Regardless of whether you want to incorporate all the plot points or build in your own twists, it’s important to be aware of a baseline series of events first.

Let’s break down the major plot points of Pride and Prejudice.

Setup: The marriage prospects of a young woman named Elizabeth Bennet and her four sisters are a constant concern for their mother because of the estate’s lack of a male heir.

Inciting Incident: The wealthy and eligible bachelor Mr. Bingley rents the nearby Netherfield Park, sparking excitement among the Bennet family and their neighbors. His friend, the wealthy and proud Mr. Darcy, accompanies Mr. Bingley to help find him a suitable match and immediately butts heads with Elizabeth.

Midpoint: After a series of rising romantic tension, Mr. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth in a manner that reveals his feelings but also insults her family, which leads her to reject him.

Climax: Elizabeth’s younger sister Lydia Bennet elopes with sly militia man Mr. Wickham, threatening the Bennet family’s reputation.

Resolution: After Darcy’s intervention to save her family’s reputation from Mr. Wickham’s hasty elopement, Elizabeth reevaluates her feelings for him. Darcy renews his proposal, this time with humility and love, and Elizabeth accepts, leading to their marriage and the resolved misunderstandings.

And now let’s look at the major plot points of Pride, which is a close retelling:

Set Up: In the contemporary Brooklyn neighborhood of Bushwick, teenager Zuri Benitez and her family navigate rapid gentrification as she prepares to write her college application essay.

Inciting Incident: The arrival of the wealthy Darcy family, including two handsome and single teenage sons, sparks tension as they move into the renovated mini mansion across the street. Zuri and the younger son Darius immediately butt heads.

Midpoint: After weeks of romantic tension, Zuri and Darius kiss. He asks her out on a date, but she refuses him when she finds out he slighted her older sister and a heated confrontation about their biases and assumptions ensues.

Climax: At a house party, tensions rise between Zuri and Darius over the division between their socioeconomic worlds, when Zuri then discovers her creepy ex Warren is preying on her thirteen-year-old drunk sister.

Resolution: Zuri and Darius reconcile their differences after saving her sister, finding common ground amidst the changing landscape of their neighborhood, even when Zuri and her family have to move to a new home. And Zuri finally finds the inspiration she needs to write her college application essay.

Setting

Whether you choose to change the setting or not, it is important to understand the context in which the author wrote the OG story. Not only will this help you understand where the writer came from, but it will also help you understand how they framed the events and crafted their characters.

Obviously, the world looked very different when Jane Austen penned Pride and Prejudice. Young women had strict roles in society which largely had to do with finding a suitable husband to marry, so the story’s subject matter suits the slower, rural setting where the cast of characters can meet exciting marriage prospects among both wealthy gentlemen visitors and the militia.

You can keep the same setting or change it entirely, and both have their advantages. A closer retelling with a similar setting will make the other contrasts starker, whereas a different era or geographical location will make these contrasts subtler.

The setting in Pride and Prejudice:

Location: Meryton, England, a fictional small market town based in rural Hertfordshire and Derbyshire

Time Period: Early 19th century

Setting-Specific Elements

Formal balls and “calling on” neighbors, which were some of the only ways gentlemen and ladies could socialize and assess marriage prospects.Handwritten letters, meant to show the most honest way to communicate feelings in great detail.Long walks, meant to show how characters could be reflective and independent, as well as how they could have chance encounters and travel without carriages.

The setting of Pride:

Location: Brooklyn, New York in the United States, specifically in the Bushwick neighborhood

Time Period: Contemporary 2010s era

Setting-Specific Elements

Block parties, dates and community events, which serve as modern equivalents to formal balls, where characters socialize, interact, and form romantic relationships within their neighborhood.Texting, like the handwritten letters in Pride and Prejudice, allows characters to communicate their feelings quickly and directly.Gentrification, where the changing streets of Bushwick expose the community’s evolution, their own identities, and their encounters with others.Characters

The most memorable parts of retellings are arguably the characters, whose voices and actions stick with readers long after finishing a book. It’s important to analyze who the primary, secondary, and tertiary characters are, what their top traits are, and how they provide all conflict and support for the protagonists.

This is also a good time to note harmful stereotypes the OG text might be perpetuating. If a character’s primary traits are rooted in sexist tropes, like how many of our fairy tales depict women antagonists as ugly, be aware of how you can twist this stereotype on its head.

The main cast of characters in Pride and Prejudice:

Miss Elizabeth Bennet: The primary protagonist, known for her sharp wit and independenceMr. Fitzwilliam Darcy: A wealthy, reserved, and seemingly proud gentleman who becomes one of Elizabeth’s love interestsElizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s internal pride and prejudiceMr. Wickham: A charming but deceitful militia officer

Significant or memorable secondary and tertiary characters:

Mr. Bennet: Elizabeth’s sarcastic and laid-back fatherMrs. Bennet: Elizabeth’s frivolous and marriage-obsessed motherMiss Jane Bennet: Elizabeth’s beautiful and gentle older sisterMr. Bingley: A wealthy and amiable gentleman who rents Netherfield Park

The main cast of characters in Pride:

Zuri Benitez: The primary protagonist and sole narrator, a proud Afro-Latina teenager who fiercely loves her Bushwick neighborhood and struggles with the changes brought by gentrificationDarius Darcy: A wealthy and reserved teenager from the gentrifying Darcy family who moves into the renovated mini mansion across from Zuri’s homeZuri and Darius’ internal pride and prejudiceGentrification and its impact on Zuri’s communityWarren: a slick neighborhood boy who takes a romantic interest in Zuri, hiding his past of taking advantage of young girls

Significant or memorable secondary and tertiary characters:

Janae Benitez: Zuri’s older sisterAinsley Darcy: Darius’s kind, puppy-dog-like older brother who takes an interest in Zuri’s sister JanaeMadrina: Zuri’s wise and supportive godmotherWriting style and tone

While uncovering these storytelling tools might require a closer read, they can help you choose which literary devices you want to keep or toss. If you don’t want to reread the text now, just think back to what the most memorable bits of dialogue, description, and overall tone are.

A story’s writing style can include a number of things, including literary devices like deus ex machina or foreshadowing, point of view and narrators, symbolism and allegory, use of repetition, and distinctive physical features or objects like the glass slipper in Cinderella.

A story’s tone is the attitude in which the writer chose to tell this story, such as light, dark, ironic, sappy, warm, scary, and realistic.

The writing style and tone of Pride and Prejudice:

The famous, satirical opening line: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”Elizabeth Bennet is the sole narrator.Repetition of Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal, so readers can see how both protagonists have grown and resolved their pride (and prejudice) by the second proposal.A humorous and satirical tone, exposing the absurdities and injustices of the marriage market and the limited roles available to 19th-century women.A realistic premise, where Austen’s focus on the domestic sphere, courtship, and family dynamics made her stories relatable to a wide audience. (Unlike the sensationalist novels of her time, Austen grounded her stories in the everyday realities of middle-class life.)

The writing style and tone of Pride:

A similarly satirical spin on Jane Austen’s first line: “It’s a truth universally acknowledged that when rich people move into the hood, where it’s a little bit broken and a little bit forgotten, the first thing they want to do is clean it up.”Zuri is the sole narrator.The inclusion of younger characters (teenagers rather than twenty-year-olds and thirty-year-olds) and more young adult romance tropes like Zuri’s annoyance with Darius, yet the inability to stop caring about what he thinks of her when they first meet.Essay snippets and poems scattered throughout the text, showing what Zuri is thinking and feeling in a unique format, as well as how she plans to write her college application essay.A realistic premise, where Zoboi grounds Zuri’s life in Brooklyn with a healthy dose of realism, making the story feel entirely possible in a modern-day context.Central theme

There are often several themes in every story, so choose the most central one or the one that speaks loudest to you. Sum up the theme in one word or a brief sentence.

Some themes are timeless, and you can reuse them to show how the theme still applies to modern-day life. Whereas other themes are a little outdated. Take Beauty and the Beast, for example, where the forced imprisonment and Stockholm Syndrome that Belle endures complicates the central theme of “don’t judge a book by its cover.” You might also want to choose an entirely new theme that speaks to you more, whether it’s a lesser theme of the OG text or something close to your heart.

Whether you want to use the same central theme, put a spin on it, or tap into a lesser theme, readers will expect your retelling to continue the original conversation, so to speak. Assuming that readers are familiar with the original text, consider how the new theme will provide commentary on the old one.

The central theme of Pride and Prejudice: The exploration of love and marriage by overcoming personal flaws like pride and prejudice to achieve mutual respect.The central theme of Pride: The exploration of love, identity, community, and cultural pride amidst gentrification in contemporary Brooklyn.

Note that while Pride still explores love, pride, and prejudice themes, there is a stronger emphasis on race and class intersections. In order to better encapsulate these new themes, Zoboi made the setting modern-day, made the Darcy family new homeowners rather than renters, and changed the age of the characters to cater to young adult readers who would really benefit from these themes of love and identity.

Outline your retelling

Whew! You’ve squared away the hard work of analyzing the OG text. Now it’s your turn to build an outline of your own story. If your angle has pivoted after the last step, that’s okay. Create a new one-sentence angle and let’s get cracking.

Not every writer enjoys the outlining process (looking at you, pantsers!). However, because a retelling is based on another piece of literature, it’s helpful for writers to first map out the similarities and differences between the two stories.

Aim for a simple outline using the following same template from your OG text analysis. If you want a simple worksheet to use for this exercise, you can download my free version here.

Plot points

How will the story begin?What is the inciting incident that sets the main plot line in motion?What is the midpoint?What is the climax?How will the story end?

Setting

Where will this story take place?When will this story take place?What are some setting-specific elements?

Characters

Who are the protagonists?Who / what is the antagonist?Who are the other significant or memorable secondary and tertiary characters who make an appearance?

Writing style & tone

What are some memorable writing style devices that stick out to you?What is the tone?

Central theme

What is the one-sentence central theme?

After you’ve built out the initial storyline, characters and theme, you can go into more depth on your outline. And while you can create your outline in any order, it’s helpful to work backwards from theme to plot points if you’re not yet sure of the exact events you want to depict in your story. Evaluate and adjust your roadmap as needed.

Hot tip: If you want to compare and contrast your retelling with the original, highlight in pen or highlighter what you’re keeping the same versus what you’re changing. That way, you’ll be able to assess the differences easier when you place them side by side.

Next steps

By now, you understand the key characteristics of a retelling. If you want an easy place to map out your retelling outline, get my free Story Retelling Workbook. Now all that’s left to do is write your “tale as old as time.”

Attention, Please! 7 Drug-Free Concentration Boosters for Writers with ADHD

Photo by Nubelson Fernandes on Unsplash

Today’s post is by Maggie Langrick, publisher at Wonderwell Press.

Writing takes an enormous amount of discipline, even for the most dedicated and productive writers. For those living with ADD/ADHD, it can be especially challenging. The hallmark symptoms of ADHD such as impulsivity, distractability, and difficulty sitting still can all undermine the focus and consistency required for writing.

Even if you have not received a diagnosis of ADHD, you may be one of the many writers (like me) who struggle mightily to marshal your attention. As with meditation practice, you may find your mind wandering far afield mere minutes after turning on your computer. Or you sit down to write, and suddenly, urgently need a snack or a nap. Somebody (not you, surely!) has opened TikTok on your phone, and before you know it, you’ve lost an hour to doomscrolling.

Writing sessions that end with little to no new work done can leave you feeling like your body and brain are actively working against you, a frustrating and sometimes demoralizing experience. You may even be tempted to give up altogether.

Fortunately, there are methods and strategies to help you mitigate your neurodivergence—and even harness it to your advantage. Here are some tips for writing with ADHD that my coaching clients and I have found useful.

1. Leverage technology for focus

Technology can be a blessing and a curse for the attention-challenged. While it’s all too easy to get distracted by social media and the lure of the internet, many apps and tech tools offer support. I use an online virtual co-working space called FocusMate to harness the buddy system while I write. Apps like Freedom and Stay Focused will block all digital distractions, and can also gather data on which ones are most problematic for you.

2. Right-size your writing assignments

Breaking a large writing project into smaller, more manageable chunks can make a big difference—and it’s OK to make those chunks as small as you need them to be. Instead of thinking about writing an entire book or even a full chapter, set smaller goals like writing 500 words or completing a detailed outline.

If even that feels overwhelming, think even smaller, like writing a single scene or a small section of your outline. Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird, calls this writing within a “one-inch frame.” How much can you comfortably tackle in one writing session? One paragraph? One good line? Start there and let your growing confidence carry you forward. Momentum is the key to long-term success, so don’t underestimate the power of setting tiny writing assignments like these.

3. Create a dedicated writing environment

I’m a huge believer in a dedicated writing space for every writer because it helps to prime creativity by signaling to the subconscious mind that it is time to write. For those with attention challenges, a customized writing environment can be crucial to productivity.

This space does not need to be an entire room—a special chair or desk will do—but it should be designed to foster focus. If sensory distractions are particularly disruptive to you, consider using noise-canceling headphones to minimize auditory interruptions. Face a blank wall or a simple, abstract picture to block out visual distractions. And try to keep your workspace organized and clutter-free.

4. Incorporate movement into your routine

Physical activity can have a profound impact on the creative brain, particularly for those with ADHD. Exercise increases the levels of dopamine and norepinephrine, which are crucial for attention and focus. Incorporating short bursts of physical activity into your writing routine can help improve concentration and creativity. Taking a brisk walk, doing some quick stretching exercises, or practicing yoga during breaks can help you resist the temptation to get sucked into a different task. Some writers even find it helpful to use a standing desk or a balance ball chair to keep restlessness at bay by incorporating subtle movement while working.

5. Consider visual, auditory, and tactile aids

Some neurodivergent folks find it more difficult to concentrate in silence and work better with the right type of background noise. This could be a particular type of music—classical, instrumental/spa music, and electronic music are all worth trying—the chattering voices of a (boring) podcast or TV show, or the soothing static of a white noise machine. (If you want to nerd out on this, check out “brown noise,” a lower-frequency, deeper-pitched type of background sound associated with improved focus and concentration).

On the visual side, using colored pens, sticky notes, and whiteboards can make the planning and outlining process more engaging and satisfying. Mind maps are particularly useful for visual thinkers, bringing order to large, sprawling ideas that may be hard to keep in focus mentally.

Lastly, some writers find that fidget toys or stress balls can help keep their hands busy and reduce restlessness, allowing them to concentrate better on their writing tasks.

6. Lean into your preferred working rhythm

One of the superpowers of the ADHD brain is (for some people) the ability to hyper-focus. While neurotypical writers (and some writers with ADHD) may benefit from a regimented writing schedule, you may work more effectively in big bursts. If your family and work life can accommodate an irregular writing schedule, try experimenting with an intuitive, free-form writing pattern. You do not need to write every day to be a “real” writer. It’s perfectly OK to binge-write in daylong marathons followed by days or even weeks when you do little to no writing.

Similarly, it’s useful to take note of what time of day or night you feel most focused and productive. Don’t feel bullied by all the online buzz around productivity-enhancing morning routines. Many successful writers are burners of the midnight oil, finding it easier to focus when the rest of the world is asleep. Respecting your personal rhythms is not only a smart way to make the most of your energy ebbs and flows, it’s also psychologically supportive as it honors your uniqueness as a human being.

7. Quiet your inner critic with compassion

The writing life can be challenging in all sorts of ways, from emotional and creative vulnerability to career uncertainty. You do not need the added burden of being hard on yourself for having a neurospicy brain! The inner critic (which all humans have) is the foe of creativity, and it can be especially loud and mean in those of us with physical or cognitive differences. Self-judgment can sap our confidence, divert precious time and attention away from the work we want to produce, and increase the friction we experience while writing.

When your inner critic flares up, remind yourself that you are doing the best you can with your unique blend of resources, skills, and talents, and that there is room in the world for all sorts of writers, including you. And don’t forget to celebrate your wins along the way, no matter how small.

Writing with ADHD comes with its unique set of challenges, but with the right strategies and tools, it is entirely possible to harness your creativity and maintain productivity. The key is to find what works best for you and to remain flexible in your approach.

If you often find yourself mired in self-judgment, or tend to berate yourself for writing “too slowly” or not writing “enough”, try this self-compassion exercise.

Close your eyes and picture yourself at your desk. See yourself writing, and imagine that you can also perceive the enthusiasm and life-enhancing intention behind your writerly hopes and dreams.Next, picture your inner critic standing over your shoulder heckling you as you try to work. Listen to its criticisms with detachment, if possible. What is it saying? Notice if it is unfair or harsh. Ask yourself: Do you want its gloomy perspective to determine the outcome of your work? If not, ask it to please take a break while you write.Finally, notice that the “you” who is watching these characters is separate from both of them. See if you can hold all aspects of you—the writer, the critic, and the watcher—in loving kindness and compassion. You are all in this joint creative venture together. By viewing your inner critic as a partner who means well but oversteps their boundaries, you can minimize its power to disrupt your creative process.

Moving Characters Around in Your Story Space: Improve Your Choreography Skills

AI-generated image (ChatGPT): depict a woman standing on the other side of a round dining table, looking out of a window, historic and romantic aesthetic.

Today’s post is by author and book coach Susanne Dunlap.

One aspect of writing that writers have the most trouble with (and, ahem, so do I) is simply the physical presence and movement of characters—in both fiction and memoir—in imaginary spaces: indoors or out, public or private. In effect, choreography.

What do they do? Where are they and why? Which direction are they looking? Where do they move to? How big is the space?

When you start thinking about those things, it’s easy to tear your hair out about how many ways you can say “looking” or “walking.” But the words themselves are often secondary. What matters is the picture you paint in the reader’s mind so they can be in that space with your characters without distractions. They don’t have to see it exactly as you do, they just have to see it enough for it to make sense.

And a character’s movements and gestures in that space similarly must convey enough without becoming too detailed. At the same time, to create that magical sensation, your characters (or you, in memoir) have to bring their whole selves to the spaces they inhabit and occupy them realistically.

That result depends on making good decisions about what to leave out as much as what to put in. It’s a delicate balance that can be hard to achieve.

A little forethought comes to your aid

I’m as guilty as any writer of throwing my characters into a room, knowing vaguely what should happen, and suddenly realizing I have no idea how they will maneuver through it.

But if I stop to think and ask myself a few questions before I launch into the scene, it’s easier to form my own image and then translate it to the page. For example:

Why are they in this particular space?How long will they be there?What do they need to accomplish in that space?Who else is there?What do they see when they walk in?Will they have to move around in the space, and why?Does the space have any meaning to the characters involved?

Those are story-related questions, and if you can’t answer them, it’s possible that the scene in question doesn’t need to occur in that particular manner, or doesn’t need to occur at all.

But in order to give a sense of a room or other environment, you need to know some practical things too:

How large is the space?What are its physical characteristics? (Including smells and sounds) And do they matter?Are there physical obstacles your characters will have to negotiate?Are there expected actions that normally occur in that place (a dining room? A gym? A hiking trail?)

Finally, to sum it all up: How much does the reader have to know about the space and placement of the characters to enter into the scene?

Doubtless there are more considerations, but for now, let’s work with those. To demonstrate how those questions apply, I’m going to use a scene from my own work in progress. I’ll start by lacerating it for the purpose of making different points, so don’t judge!

A tricky scene pulled apart

This is from the second book in my series of unpublished Regency romances. The scene is at the come-out ball in London of the female protagonist, Olivia. It involves her and the male protagonist, Lewiston, who at this point believes he will not be the suitor to win the heiress, because his friend and noted-but-impoverished society heartthrob—the Duke of Hartland—has set his sights on her.

But she has run out of the supper room and escaped the guests after her mother has asked her to sing for the company. Lewiston slips out and goes in search of her, eventually finding her in the breakfast parlor on the ground floor of the mansion.

Here are my answers to the first set of questions I listed above:

They are in this space because Olivia had to find somewhere the guests at the ball would not likely be.The scene is not long, so they won’t be there for more than a few minutes.Lewiston wants to discover what made Olivia run away (she has a big secret that I won’t reveal at this point).In this part of the scene, just he and Olivia are there.Lewiston recognizes the room as the breakfast parlor because of the furniture, and he sees Olivia gazing out of a window.He will need to get closer to Olivia.It’s a neutral space for both of them.

Here is the lumpy, awkward way I may have begun the scene in the very rough draft:

Lewiston went down the stairs to the ground floor and stood in the hall, looking around to see if he could discover where Olivia was. After a minute, he heard a sniffling sound coming from a room on his left where the door was slightly open. He walked over to the door and listened, then peeked around it to look inside. He saw Olivia standing on the other side of the round dining table, looking out of a window. He recognized the room as the breakfast parlor, and realized that Olivia was in distress.

Walking backward with the intention of leaving her alone, he stepped on a loose floorboard. The creaking sound made Olivia turn around to face him. She was crying, and held a handkerchief crushed in her fist, which she lifted up to wipe her cheeks.

Leaving aside the repetitive syntax and other cringe-worthy factors, I’ll just tear it apart—noting especially details that could be left out—before I fix it:

Lewiston went down the stairs to the ground floor

You probably don’t need to say he went down the stairs, since that would be the only way to get to the ground floor. The reader will easily supply the stairs.

and stood in the hall, looking around to see if he could discover where Olivia was.

Again, you don’t have to say he’s looking around to find Olivia because we already know this from his previous actions.

After a minute, he heard a sniffling sound coming from a room on his left where the door was slightly open.

First, you can get rid of the filter (he heard). Filter words are those words that remind the reader that it’s the character who’s in the scene, not the reader (heard, saw, smelled, perceived). Usually they can just be eliminated. And here, it probably doesn’t matter that the room is on his left, and it’s probably obvious that the door would be open if a quiet sound could be heard through it by standing in the hall.

He walked over to the door and listened, then peeked around it to look inside.

He already heard the sound, so he doesn’t need to listen, and of course he’d get to the door by walking over to it, but it might be necessary to say how he approached the slightly open door. Also, why else would he peek but to look inside?

He saw Olivia standing on the other side of the round dining table, looking out of a window.

You don’t need the filter (he saw) and it might not matter that the table is round. That Olivia is on the other side might mean he has to somehow get around the table to approach her, which could introduce an awkward bit of stage management later in the scene that isn’t necessary.

He recognized the room as the breakfast parlor, and realized that Olivia was in distress.

It is to be hoped that the reader would get to this insight before this point if the scene were a bit better written, but there’s nothing to indicate how Lewiston would perceive that she was in distress.

Walking backward with the intention of leaving her alone, he stepped on a loose floorboard. The creaking sound made Olivia turn around to face him.

Subtle movements like this are hard to pull off. This does the job, but not very elegantly. And having to describe the resulting sound is also clumsy. Plus, when Olivia turns around, she’s obviously going to be facing him, so no need to say so.

She was crying, and held a handkerchief crushed in her fist, which she lifted up to wipe her cheeks.

Just stating that she was crying does little to paint an affecting picture. And the handkerchief is an afterthought—it’s important to the rest of the scene, so it has to be there.

The thing is, the way this part is written makes it pretty clear where Lewiston is and what he sees. But there are reminders throughout that place the reader at a distance from the action (filtering), and too much of the page space is taken up describing things that don’t add to the ambience of the scene or provide any insight into the characters themselves.

Remember what I said about knowing what to leave out? You also have to know what to put in.

The same scene—but better

There are, of course, some important elements missing from the example above. For one, it’s completely lacking in emotional content. We have no idea what either of the participants is feeling, although we can guess that Olivia is sad because she’s crying. Even though places are inanimate, how you move the characters in them works hand in glove with getting emotion on the page—which is one of the hardest things to do, in my opinion.

Here’s another draft of the same section:

A sudden desire to see if she [Olivia] was in the library sent Lewiston down to the ground floor.

Now we know why he decided to go down the stairs.

He paused in the center of the hall uncertain where to look, until the unmistakable sound of sniffling issued from a room whose door stood ajar.

We get a sense of his uncertainty, no filtering, and no unnecessary detail.

He crept to it and peeked inside.

The more descriptive “crept” conveys more information about his emotional state, a bit of uncertainty. Also, no need to duplicate peeking and looking.

Noting the table and sideboard of a family breakfast parlor, Lewiston was vaguely conscious of trespassing on a private realm.

Although there’s filtering (noting), it telescopes the information about the function of the room. And then it’s clear that Lewiston is conscious that this is not a space normally appropriate to company—which illuminates something about his character.

Across the room, Miss Fontenoy stood looking out one of the windows at the darkness beyond, her shoulders shaking slightly, her head bowed.

No detail about a table in between, only that she’s some distance away from him, so we don’t have to worry about how he gets around the table when he later walks over to her. And we see her as he does, clearly in distress without saying it.

Intending to leave her to her solitary grief, whatever it was, Lewiston stepped back to withdraw and trod on a creaky board.

Mostly here we get a glimpse into Lewiston’s sensitivity, and we get the creak not through having to describe the sound (still not happy with the sentence, though).  

Miss Fontenoy wheeled around. Her eyes were red and her bunched-up handkerchief sodden. She drew in a shuddering breath and then hastily tried to erase the evidence of tears from her cheeks.

We know she’s surprised (wheeled), and her red eyes and sodden handkerchief convey that she’s been crying without saying it. Her efforts at controlling herself (shuddering breath) and hiding her sadness—or anger (erasing the evidence) in turn give us insight into her character.

The scene above is from a work in progress, as I said, and will doubtless undergo more changes before it reaches its final form.

But it serves to demonstrate that the trick with stage-managing your characters in different spaces is giving enough specificity to inform the reader of where they are without calling attention to unnecessary and distracting details. At the same time, don’t waste any opportunities to deepen characters or move the plot along. When readers complain of long descriptions, it’s often because no matter how beautifully they’re written, they don’t accomplish one of those two important objects.

A challenge for you

Take a scene from your own WIP and subject it to the kind of scrutiny I’ve shown above, rewrite it to fix what you’ve found, and see if it doesn’t make a difference to how your characters feel and behave in space. The goal is for all the mechanics of their movement to disappear, for the characters themselves to be alive on the page, so the reader can just sink into your story—in both fiction and memoir.

How to Create a Believable Magic System in Your Fantasy Story

Photo by Dollar Gill on Unsplash

Today’s post is by developmental editor and book coach Hannah Kate Kelley.

What is a magic system?

A magic system is a map establishing where magic comes from and how it works. It contains a structured set of rules and principles of magical powers in a work of fiction.

Like geography, historical era, and social customs, a magic system is another element of world building. More often than not, your story will employ magic as an agent to instill conflict and drive the narrative forward—and it’s the system that keeps everything organized for both the writer and their readers.

When the young witch Hermione Granger magically lifts her feather in her Hogwart’s Charms class before her friend Ron Weasley can, chiding, “It’s Leviosa not Leviosaaa,” readers understand the scene’s humor. Why? Because author J.K. Rowling has already established a magic system with clear rules. In order to do the levitation spell, the young witches and wizards must pronounce the incantation correctly, which Ron obviously hasn’t mastered yet. Without a magic system in place, this scene would have fallen flat.

Besides the magical world of the Harry Potter series, here are a few more fiction novels and series featuring magic systems:

Fourth Wing by Rebecca YarrosHuntress by Malinda LoMexican Gothic by Sylivia Moreno-GarciaThe Gilded Ones by Namina FornaThe Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by Victoria SchwabThe Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. TolkeinThe Night Circus by Erin MorgensternShadow and Bone by Leigh BardugoWhat makes a magic system believable?

Believability keeps readers immersed. If your readers aren’t engaged with your story’s world, they are more likely to get their DNF (did not finish) stamps out. The more logical your magic system, the more readers can suspend their disbelief.

Before we dive into how to make your own magic system, let’s explore the two most common magic system pitfalls to watch out for:

1. An overly complicated magic system that overshadows the plot

While worldbuilding is a huge draw, your character development and plot should actually take center stage. A complicated magic system often means an overpowering one because readers are spending more time trying to understand your magic system, and not enough time invested in the story.

How do you know if your magic system is complicated? Your best bet is to ask readers—whether that’s an editor, beta reader, or trusted friend. While many readers love in-depth magic systems, if they feel confused or are constantly reviewing details from a previous chapter, it’s time to simplify it.

If you find your magic system is becoming overly complicated, here are a few tried and true fixes:

If one part of your magic system is complex, simplify the other parts. For example, if you have a significant number of magical abilities, simplify the rest of the magic system by giving every ability the same harnessing process.Similarly, if your plot is already complex, keep the magic system simple. A common example of an overcomplicated magic system is one with an excessive number of branches or schools, each with its own unique rules, tools, incantations, and rituals; a dozen different kinds of magic, each requiring specific spell ingredients, incantations in different languages, and physical gestures that vary by moon phase. On top of all that, let’s say you also have 82 different magic beasts. And your plot is complex. Balance the scales by either simplifying the plot and/or the magic system.If two or more creatures, magical abilities or other magical elements serve the same plot purpose, try conflating them. Let’s say your story has sixteen different creatures that attack the protagonist in Book 1, each with their own origin story, abilities, and magic source. While this diversity might feel more realistic, sixteen different beasts is a lot for readers to keep track of. Condensing the creatures into only four or so different types, with a hierarchy of how dangerous their abilities are, will be far easier to follow.Dole out your magical world in waves, just as J.K. Rowling does between Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Book 1) and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7). Though Harry doesn’t discover the horcrux magic until the later books, there are other types of magic to keep readers engaged, as well as well-paced clues pointing to the horcrux magic. Readers slowly build up their understanding, no overloading.

Complex doesn’t mean complicated. A good magic system is simple, made richer when the same principles apply to different characters. Think of a good magic system as an expansion of one central idea, rather than a messy exploration of several ideas. And remember to balance your magic system with the plot itself.

2. An inconsistent magic system

New fantasy writers break this rule all the time, whether it’s for an exciting plot twist or to fix a plot hole you accidentally created back in Book 2. A common example is when, early in the story, a character is said to need a specific incantation to cast a spell. Later, they cast the same spell with just a thought, without any explanation for the change.

Similarly, fantasy writers don’t want magic to serve as an all-too-convenient deus ex machina plot device to solve story issues arbitrarily. Say a previously unmentioned magical artifact appears just in time to solve a major problem during the story’s crisis, with no prior foreshadowing or explanation. That’s an inconsistency that will leave readers confused and frustrated.

What’s the fix for an inconsistent magic system? First, establish your magic system with care. And second, stay organized by referencing your established magic system often and updating it if you decide to make a change.

Now that you know the two common pitfalls to avoid, it’s time to create your magic system.

Define the role of magic in your story

Your magic system needs to operate seamlessly within the tale you plan to tell, not the other way around. That’s why the first step is to establish what role magic will play in your story. Will magic control a society? Or will it just exist in the backstory, in a world where magic is newly eradicated?

Sure, you could throw magic into any story, but unless it plays an important part of the plot and character development, you might be better off writing sci-fi or another genre. Imagine if The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald had a league of magicians tossed into the book. Given that the story is a realistic social critique of 1920s America, this magical inclusion would obscure the point. Magic doesn’t fit into this story. Whereas, in Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo, mapmaker Alina Starkov’s discovery of her latent magic not only changes her trajectory, but also plays a large role in her self-acceptance, romantic tensions, and ethical dilemmas. Magic fits in this story.

Define magic’s role in society:How does magic fit into your world’s history, culture, and everyday life?How does each society in your world regard magic? Do they hold magic in contempt, fear, adoration, or are they oblivious to its existence?How does each society use magic, if different from one another? Are societies separated by geography, class, gender, and/or magic-users and non-magic-users? How does the presence or absence of magic affect social hierarchies?Define magic’s role in the plot:How does magic directly influence the plot and main character development? How does it indirectly influence these aspects?How does your protagonist’s abilities or lack thereof influence their internal conflict and/or the central theme?Does the general storyline function perfectly well without magic? If so, are you interested enough in writing a magic system regardless?

These questions will help you decide whether it makes sense to include magic in your story or not, and if so, what role magic will play.

Research your genre and subgenre

If you plan to publish your story, the next step is to do a little bit of homework on your story’s subgenre because many of them feature magic in different ways. Understanding genre conventions is all about meeting reader expectations. Some magical tropes you’ll use and others you won’t, or you’ll put your own spin on them, but either way, you need to be aware of them.

The genre conventions surrounding magic look vastly different between a gothic horror story like Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia compared to the cozy, low-stakes medieval fantasy Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree. The former uses more ambiguity around the magic’s source, as is typical of the creeping suspense found in gothic horror, while the latter book plays off a D&D-based realm in which magic deeply integrates into everyday life.

Doing this research can also help writers avoid tired tropes and harmful stereotypes. For example, if year after year, all readers get are werewolf stories depicting the “special” or most dominant werewolf with pristine white fur, consider why writers regard the color white as such a predominant signifier of importance and how you can switch it up.

Study 4–5 comparable book summaries or reviews in your subgenre, preferably published in the past two years. If you’re not sure which subgenre you’re writing, this is a good time to uncover that by exploring what subgenres are out there.

While researching each book, ask yourself:

What roles does magic play in this story?Do the protagonists have magical abilities or not? Do the antagonists? Which traits do the main characters possess?What kind of magic exists in this world? How do magic users, if there are any, use the magic? What do they use the magic for?Is magic explicitly stated and understood, or more abstractly understood?Do the societies within the story accept, reject, or remain unaware of the magic surrounding them?What do readers think of the magic system in this story? Are they excited by or annoyed by any tropes?

At the end of your research, you’ll understand your subgenre’s most prevalent magic tropes and conventions so you can both play into and subvert them as you see fit. Whether you choose to publish traditionally or self-publish, your agent, editor, and readers will be glad you did your homework.

Choose a magic system type

Now that you know the role magic will play in your story, as well as how it will fit into your subgenre conventions, it’s time to narrow down the type of magic system you want to use: hard or soft.

Hard magic systems

These systems are characterized by well-defined rules and limitations where the rules are clearly explained and magic functions predictably.

Writers of high, epic, and urban fantasy subgenres enjoy hard systems because the cast of characters and their various plotlines can be very expansive, and therefore easier to track with a concrete navigation. Hard magic systems can also lead to clever problem-solving scenarios where characters use their knowledge of these rules to overcome obstacles.

In Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi, the magic system is rooted in the ten Maji clans, each one able to harness an element of nature (e.g., controlling water, communicating with the dead, and healing). The magic source, known as Ashê, comes from the Maji’s blood. The story provides clear rules about how magic is accessed and used, and there is still room for mysterious and developing elements as the characters discover their powers.In Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo, the Grisha magic (also known as Small Science) has clear categories and rules, with practitioners able to manipulate specific elements like darkness, sun, air, blood, and metal, as well as three orders of classification: Corporalki, Etherealki, and Materialki. Within the Grisha’s clear-cut magic system, the sudden emergence of a Sun Summoner (which the protagonist Alina Starkov turns out to be) is a thrilling phenomenon because everyone is already aware of the legends and the potential impact such a power could have.Soft magic systems

Soft magic systems are more mysterious because they are less defined than their harder counterparts. The rules governing the magic are not fully explained, which can create a sense of wonder, suspense, and unpredictability. In these systems, magic often serves as a plot device or an atmospheric element rather than a tool for problem-solving.

This type of magic system is a good fit for subgenres that lean into the abstract, like magical realism, gothic horror, and supernatural fiction.

Writing soft systems can be trickier, because writers must balance clarity and consistency alongside ambiguity. Some writers accomplish this balance by revealing the source of creeping magic by the midpoint or ever later, while other writers only offer speculation on the source but are clear about how the magic can and cannot be used.

In The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab, the central magical element—a deal with a god-like entity allowing Addie to live forever but be forgotten by everyone she meets—is not clearly explained in terms of rules or mechanics. Readers simply accept the fact that the god can manipulate magic, though the limitations become more clearly defined as Addie actively tries to find a loophole in their deal. The story focuses more on the existential and emotional implications of this magic than on the detailed inner workings.In Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, as well as many other gothic horror novels, the magic source comes from the sprawling, fungus-infested estate itself as it threatens to trap her forever. Because the protagonist Noemí Taboada doesn’t initially understand where the magic is coming from, whether or not it is real, or what it has planned for her fate, the magic feels eerie and atmospheric, creating a sense of dread and wonder rather than explaining the mechanics of the supernatural happenings.

The better suited your magic system to your story, the more believable it will be. Using your understanding of your magic’s role and subgenre conventions, choose either a hard or soft magic system before you iron out the details in the next and final step.

Creating a believable magic system

Now you’re ready to put everything together and parse out your magic source, methods of use, visual and sensory details, rules and limitations, and magical character profiles.

Define the source(s) of magic

Where does magic come from in your world? While magic could come out of an object like the High Place mansion in Mexican Gothic, it could also stem from a genetic ability like the witches and wizards in the Harry Potter series (what a bummer for all the squibs or muggles). Other sources include elemental/natural, divine, arcane, cosmic/celestial, blood magic, psychic mind reading, soul/spirit, and techno magic. If your magic system is abstract enough, a source may never be revealed, though it might help as the writer to have a general idea of the source.

Can you have more than one source of magic in your world? Yes, try keeping the other parts of your magic system tighter to maintain the balance between simplicity and complexity. And if you have more than one source, try introducing classifications and hierarchy. For example, in Shadow and Bone, the Corporalki Grisha manipulate the human body, the Etherealki Grisha manipulate natural elements, and the Materialki Grisha manipulate materials like metal, glass, and chemicals. A Corporalki Heartrender who can control the body is more powerful and feared than the undervalued, less-combative Durasts and Alkemi of the Materialki order.

No matter which source you choose or how many sources you choose, remember to select the best ones for your story’s unique plot and magic role.

Define how magic users harness magic

How do people wield, summon or otherwise use magic in your world? How magic users use their powers will depend on the source of their magic, and writers will likely need a different method of use for each source of magic. If you chose blood magic, for example, will they wield their ability through wands? Or perhaps spoken incantations, hand movements, spells, rituals, or touching certain artifacts? If you’re going for an abstract route, maybe they make deals with a devil or fall prey to curses?

Or come up with your own harnessing method. Though The Magicians book by Lev Grossman doesn’t feature intricate hand motions, the TV show rendition employs hand “tutting,” a type of dance where dancers create harsh geometric shapes with their bodies, in order to cast spells successfully. While this may not come across via written word as easily or interestingly as in the show, it’s a good example of an imaginative use method.

The key here is not only to keep it simple but also consistent. If a magic user harness magic in one way at the start of the book, they need to continue to harness it in the same way throughout the rest of the story, though it’s fine if significant practice makes the magic flow easier.

Define visual and sensory details

What does magic in your world feel, taste, smell, sound, and look like? Emphasizing the importance of descriptive details makes magic feel real to readers. A great example of this is The Night Circus, where the writer’s incredible detail captures each new tent’s magic as the two protagonists compete for the most impressive display of magic. Look at the author’s description of the circus clock, an important element in the story that sits atop the Night Circus:

The body of the clock, which has been methodically turning itself inside out and expanding, is now entirely subtle shades of white and grey. And it is not just pieces, it is figures and objects, perfectly carved flowers and planets and tiny books with actual paper pages that turn. There is a silver dragon that curls around part of the now visible clockwork, a tiny princess in a carved tower who paces in distress, awaiting an absent prince. Teapots that pour into teacups and minuscule curls of steam that rise from them as the seconds tick. Wrapped presents open. Small cats chase small dogs. An entire game of chess is played. […]

An entire game of chess! Though the clock is a fantastical element that could never exist, the description is so detailed and visceral that readers have an easier time suspending their disbelief. Aim to bring your audience the same amount of immersion by defining magic through all our senses.

Define clear rules and limitations

What can magic in your world do and not do? As we know, stories thrive on conflict, and your fantasy story can create a lot of rich tension by stacking rules and limitations on your magic users’ abilities. After all, which sounds more intriguing: an invincible protagonist whose magic reserves never tire, or a vulnerable protagonist who struggles with the limitations of their magic in the face of a powerful antagonist? Rules and limitations make for more plausible storytelling because our lives are full of them.

For each magical element and creature, be clear about the rules surrounding their abilities. For example, let’s say the magic users in your story can manipulate water. Can they manipulate the water at any time? Do they need to be near a source of water? If so, how close do they need to be? Can they manipulate blood and water? Do they tire after using their magic, or not?

Create magical beings profile(s)

What are the classifications, abilities, limitations, and physical descriptions of each magical being in your world? Create profiles for each creature. This will put everything in one tidy place, including their magic sources, use methods, abilities, and limitations. These profiles will keep your magic system organized, especially if you have more than one magical being with their own class or abilities. While you can get more detailed in your profiles, start by hashing out these important characteristics first:

Magical Creature or Being:Classification or Grouping (if applicable):Abilities:Limitations:Physical description or common traits:Next steps

By crafting a magic system that not only works within your story idea and subgenre, it will be believable enough to keep readers engaged. You’ve invested in your story by building up a simple, cohesive map of your magic. And your readers will thank you.

The Florence (Italy) Enigma for Creative People

Photo by Pavle Stankovic on Unsplash

Note from Jane: As many of you know, I recently attended my very first writing retreat in April, on a transatlantic cruise aboard the Queen Mary 2. And I’ve become something of a convert now that I’ve observed the power of writing retreats after 20 years of intense conference speaking. The intimacy and relationships of retreats (and the isolation from “real world” concerns) is powerful.

In a total coincidence: Writer’s Digest (where I was once the publisher) is debuting their first overseas retreat this year, in Florence, Italy. I asked Amy Jones, one of the retreat hosts—and editor in chief of Writer’s Digest magazine—why did she choose Florence? Here’s what she said. (This is not a paid placement; you will find no affiliate links here. I just think it’s a neat opportunity.)

Florence isn’t necessarily the most obvious choice for a writing retreat. Of course, many writing retreats happen in Italy and with the preponderance of memoirs like Under the Tuscan Sun or Eat, Pray, Love, writing in Italy has entered into the cultural zeitgeist.

But if I were asked, where’s the obvious place for a writing retreat paired with literary sightseeing, my first answer would be England. The home of Shakespeare and Dickens, Austen and the Brontës, George Eliot and Tennyson … the list is long with writers that the English-speaking literary world has long obsessed over. Paris would be a close second—where Hemingway had his moveable feast with the Fitzgeralds and Gertrude Stein.

But Florence was my first choice. Not because of those self-discovery memoirs, though I have had moments of self-discovery in Florence. My entire first solo trip in 2016 was when I simultaneously felt more alone than I ever had in my entire life and also the bravest, most fulfilled. I ate nearly every meal alone, climbed bell towers alone, and was the only solo traveler on a wine tour full of 20-something friend groups and 30-something couples. All of that also meant I explored new towns and navigated foreign transportation systems, changed my plans on a whim, and enjoyed the best people watching, food, and wine. To all the people whose first question was “Aren’t you scared of going to a foreign country alone?” (instead of “Are you excited?”), I proved my answer: “Of course not, there’s nothing to be frightened of.” I was empowered.

But none of that is the reason why Florence is my top choice for a writing retreat. The real reason is two-fold.

The city of Florence is a striking blend of old and new. It’s impossible not to be inspired.

To get from the airport to the city center, it used to be that you had to take a bus, hire a taxi, or rent a car. Now, there’s an environmentally friendly tram that stops in several suburban neighborhoods before terminating directly behind Basilica di Santa Maria Novella. Walk around the corner to the front of the cathedral and you’re transported back in time—construction on the basilica started in 1279. Centuries and mere meters separate old from new.

In moments like those, my mind runs wild considering all the lives that had to be lived and the stories that could be told to get from medieval cathedral to environmentally and socially conscious tramway.

Likewise, walk toward the epicenter of Florence to Santa Maria del Fiore. The Duomo you see on the cover of many Italy guidebooks took more than 16 years to physically build and that’s after a nearly 100-year search for an architect and design that would actually work.

From the front of the cathedral, walk to your right, and tucked between a gelateria and an ATM, you’ll see a larger-than-life-statue of Brunelleschi staring up at the dome he engineered, appreciating his biggest achievement (literally and figuratively) for all eternity.

Continue a few more doors down to a smoothie kiosk that, when the gates are shuttered, depicts Dante as envisioned by a contemporary graffiti artist. It’s the old right next to the new again—both wonderfully creative in their own right.

Graffiti image of Dante / statue of Brunelleschi in Florence, Italy / photos by Amy Jones

I make a point to see these sights each time I visit, though the images are already burned into my memory, and I have more photos than I need. These are signs of a city that doesn’t just honor the creators of its past; it also celebrates and encourages the creativity of the people there now. It’s the Renaissance city that continues to inspire innovative thinking today and, for me, it’s places like that where I feel most creative. Imagining, contemplating those lives both past and present sends my imagination into overdrive. I go back to the childlike questioning that’s perfect for storytelling: What if?

There’s something magical about Florence.

My second reason for a writing retreat in Florence seemed silly at first, but the more people I talk to, the more I realize I’m not alone in thinking Florence is magical. Traveling alone in 2016 didn’t only make me feel empowered, it taught me to be open to surprising experiences—and that’s where the magic happens. I went back in 2018 for two more solo weeks, and while I had some general plans, I chose to be flexible in a way that I’m not in my normal life.

I waited until I got to Florence before making a reservation for the Uffizi Gallery so I could pick a day and time that felt right. First entry, 8:15 a.m. on April 25. When I got inside, rather than going room by room according to the path laid out for guests, I hightailed it to the Botticelli gallery. I was the only one there. A private audience with Venus and Primavera. The rooms had just been reopened after renovations (literally the night before—I couldn’t have planned that if I tried), and I didn’t have to share them with anyone except security. I allowed myself to stand there and gape in awe in a way I’d never do if others were around. I stood front and center, then got close to inspect the details, taking up space where I’d usually move to the side so as to not block someone else’s camera view. It may seem small, but the energy in that nearly empty room was a moment of magic I’ll never forget.

A few hours later, as I exited the Uffizi via the back walkway, I heard drumming. A few steps farther and I saw it was a parade—people carrying flags representing various organizations and belief systems all marching together toward the Piazza della Signoria. I watched from the end of the walkway for a few minutes, then asked the Uffizi security guard, “What’s this for?” “It’s Liberation Day, liberation from the Fascists,” he replied. I followed the parade toward the piazza where their march ended and watched the events until they went inside the Palazzo Vecchio.

I had no idea what was being said or chanted, but simply by happenstance, I was part of celebrations going on simultaneously all around Italy. Later that afternoon I went to a cooking class at someone’s home in the hills near Chianti and this began a conversation about the role her family played in the Resistance, hiding paintings from the Uffizi in the cellar of their family church. As a person somewhat obsessed with World War II and its lasting effects (and echoes in the present), it was a serendipitous, and yes, magical, day.

These moments made me feel like I could be someone else for a little while, which allowed my creativity to expand in an entirely different way—what if I let my imagination go to the stories I’ve held back from because they’re not part of my everyday personality or lived experience? Maybe they aren’t stories I’d ever publish, but they’ll influence and grow my writing in untold ways.

When you encounter magic and history like this, it’s hard not to want to share it with others. In some ways, Florence has an unnamable quality, which may be why so many writers, myself included, find ourselves drawn back time and again, trying to understand this enigmatic wonder of a city through our writing.

Have you visited Florence? What did you discover? Let us know in the comments.

Writer’s Digest is hosting a retreat this fall in Florence, Italy, and the surrounding region, hosted by Writer’s Digest editors Amy Jones and Robert Brewer. Learn more and experience the magic of Florence yourself.

Like It or Not, Publishers Are Licensing Books for AI Training—And Using AI Themselves

AI-generated image using prompt “book publishing executives receiving lots of money from a technology company.” Apart from their love of oversized cash, notice their whiteness.

The following article condenses material that I’ve been writing about for the last 18 months in my paid newsletter, The Hot Sheet.

The train has left the station, the ship has sailed, pick your preferred metaphor.

This week, the Copyright Clearance Center (CCC) announced the ability for publishers and other rights holders to include AI training rights as part of licensing arrangements. In other words, they’re giving AI companies a one-stop shop for all their model training needs.

What is the CCC? It is a for-profit company that manages collective copyright licensing for corporate and academic publishers. Generally, its mission is to help publishers earn money off copyright and expand copyright protections for rights holders.

In the CCC’s announcement, the president of the Association of American Publishers says, “Voluntary licensing solutions are a win-win for everybody in the value chain, including AI developers who want to do the right thing. I am grateful to organizations like CCC, as they are helping the next generation marketplace to evolve robustly and in forward-thinking fashion.”

A handful of book publishers have already struck deals with the AI companies directly.

Wiley, a major academic publisher who is also known for the Dummies series, announced two deals in June, to the tune of $44 million. Many major media organizations, like News Corp and The Atlantic, have also struck deals. (Here is a running list.)

I think it’s fair to say that, before long, every major publisher will be earning money through AI training, whether it’s through the CCC, another collective licensing agency, or directly with tech companies, if they are big or desirable enough (as Wiley is).

How do writers protect themselves?

I’m asked this question a lot, and often I say things like “Join the Authors Guild,” since they’re deeply involved in the issue of compensation for authors and advocate for their rights.

But increasingly, I’m also pushing back on the question: What do you need protecting from? While the AI companies will always carry the original sin of training on copyrighted work without permission or licensing, they’re now going through appropriate channels to obtain training material. Yes, there are lawsuits underway (by the New York Times and the Authors Guild, among others) that have to play out and may settle out of court. But even if the rights holders win in the end, the models will not shut down. The AI companies will not go out of business. Instead, remedies will be found for rights holders and business will continue as usual.

Recently, Mary Rasenberger at the Authors Guild told Publishers Marketplace (sub required) that they see AI licensing as a good source of income for writers down the road and that they’ve been talking to publishers for months about who owns AI training rights and how to work the revenue splits. She said, “I am completely optimistic there will be joint agreements between publishers and authors on this. It is not the hardest problem in the world.” Fortunately, she says publishers so far agree they need permission from authors to license books for AI.

Theoretically, authors could object and withhold their material from training, but that would be turning down free money. The average author’s concerns about AI training or ingestion often betrays a misunderstanding about what today’s large-language models are intended to do. They are not databases where you retrieve information. They are not machines that intend to steal, plagiarize, or regurgitate. (If and when they do, the developers consider that a flaw to be worked out.) Benedict Evans has expressed this eloquently: “OpenAI hasn’t ‘pirated’ your book or your story in the sense that we normally use that word, and it isn’t handing it out for free. Indeed, it doesn’t need that one novel in particular at all. In Tim O’Reilly’s great phrase, data isn’t oil; data is sand. It’s only valuable in the aggregate of billions, and your novel or song or article is just one grain of dust in the Great Pyramid.”

That said, authors might certainly object to the AI companies themselves, how they are run, the ethics of the people behind them, the future implications of AI use, etc—and avoid involvement for that reason. But refusing to engage at all with the technology may end up penalizing yourself more than them—not because there’s going to be some incredible revolution (I don’t buy into most of the hype surrounding AI), but because you’ll end up working harder or spending more money than everyone else who is using these tools. The technology is destined to be integrated into daily life, for better and for worse.

Authors and publishers are using AI to write and publish—today.

And it plays a role at all stages of the writing and publishing process that many professionals would find acceptable and ethical. While it may be unethical for someone to use AI to generate 5,000 spammy reviews, in other cases people prefer AI content, like when it’s used to improve summaries of scientific articles.

Publishers are beginning to differentiate between two types of AI use in the writing and publishing process. During a Book Industry Study Group panel about AI use, Gregory M. Britton, editorial director at Johns Hopkins University Press, discussed these two types. One is content creation, which publishers have legal concerns about, and the other is the content management, or the editorial tools, which JHU encourages. “I think it would be foolish for an author to submit a manuscript without running spell check on it before they turn it in,” and he sees AI editing tools as analogous.

One of JHU’s authors, José Antonio Bowen, used AI to find all the places where he may have been repetitive in the manuscript, and he also used AI successfully to help him with fact-checking and citations. He disclosed all of this use to his editors. Some may be surprised that AI can find factual errors in a manuscript, given the problematic results it can generate, but much depends on the tool, the user, and the prompt. Which brings us to the next important point.

Authors are responsible for the quality and correctness of their work, whether they use AI or not. Even if the use of AI in content creation blurs the lines of intellectual property and originality, authors remain accountable for the quality of their work. That means you can’t blame the AI for getting something wrong; you remain responsible for vetting what the AI does.

Even those who question the ethicality of generative AI believe that writers and students today should (or must) learn to use it. “What faculty and teachers call cheating, business calls progress,” Bowen said during the panel. “If you say you can’t use a tool or refuse to use it, your colleagues who use the tool will complete their work faster and better.” In other words, AI is raising the average. However, Bowen said, “AI is better than 80 percent of humans at a lot of things, but it’s not better than the experts. … The best writers, the best experts are better than AI.”

AI is being used to fuel translated works.

Machine translation has been around for a long time, but advances in generative AI are leading to a new renaissance in book translation. Once again, a Book Industry Study Group panel examined how AI is being used right now to translate and to assist human translators; panelists included Robert Casten Carlberg, the CEO and co-founder of Nuanxed, a translation agency.

Because AI-assisted translation is incredibly cheaper and faster, it has the potential to grow the market for translations and lead to new jobs in the management of translations. Founded in 2021, translation firm Nuanxed works mostly on translating commercial fiction between European languages, using a hybrid process that includes AI tools before, during, and after translation. They pass savings onto the publishers while still paying a good market rate to human translators. Carlberg said, “Most publishers we start working with are very skeptical to the way we are working but realize once they’ve tried it, the quality is good, and the readers really like it.” And the authors also like it, he added.

Carlberg’s firm is growing fast, and he’s hearing from more translators who want to work with Nuanxed. He says their big value add is that they pass every translation through the appropriate “cultural lens” and make sure the work is coherent throughout.

Yes, there are still problems and valid fears.

Some writers fear that AI use will pollute the market (as it’s doing now) and lead to various types of AI fraud—the kind of thing that happened to me. Some form of this fraud has existed for as long as Amazon KDP or digital publishing has existed, only it’s more prevalent now and easy to execute with AI tools. I sometimes get upset about the pollution as well and what it might mean for writers and publishers over the long term. But I’m hoping we’ll also gain methods of filtering the garbage just as we have in the past.

The other concern is that AI-generated work will be less creative and interesting in the long run, since it tends to generate what’s rather average or what’s already dominant in the culture. For example, a recent study showed that AI could boost creativity individually, but it lowers creativity collectively. (A friend of mine who reads a lot of genre fiction that’s heavily AI-assisted or AI-generated said she’s read five novels recently all featuring a main character named “Jaxon.”) That’s what AI does. Revert to the mean or what’s most predictable. I expect more progress and more tools that modify these predictable outcomes when they’re not desirable for the user or the output.

I’ll close with the words of The Atlantic’s CEO Nicholas Thompson:

AI is this rainstorm, or it’s this hurricane, and it’s coming towards our industry, right? It’s tempting to just go out and be like, “Oh my God, there’s a hurricane that’s coming,” and I’m angry about that. But what you really want to do is, it’s a rainstorm, you want to put on a raincoat and put on an umbrella. If you’re a farmer, you want to figure out what new crops to plant. You want to prepare and deal with it.

And so my job is to try to separate the fear of what might happen and work as hard as I can for the best possible outcome, knowing that because I have done a deal with an AI company, people will be angry because AI could be a very bad thing, and so there’s this association. But regardless, I have to try to do what is best for The Atlantic and for the industry.

If you enjoyed this article, check out my paid newsletter, The Hot Sheet, which always has the latest news and developments related to AI and book publishing.

The Platform Authors Need Now (That Isn’t Social Media)

Today’s guest post is by Allison K Williams (@guerillamemoir). Join her on the weekend of July 20–21 for the online intensive class Zero-to-Platform Bootcamp.

For many writers, platform is a dirty word. You hear “platform” and think selling and shilling and sacrificing privacy. You think of precious writing moments sucked into the gaping maw of social media.

You’re not wrong! For years now, we’ve been told by agents and publishers, “Nice writing, but you need more platform to sell this book,” or “I’m not sure where this fits in the marketplace—what’s your platform?”

You may be seeing your work dismissed for lack of clicks, low follower numbers, or just the way you divide your time—focusing more on good writing than public presence.

But platform doesn’t have to be a full-time job, and you don’t have to rack up numbers like an influencer. True platform—the kind that sells your book to agents, publishers and readers—actually facilitates writing better, while you reach your readers and learn more about what, exactly, you can write that both sells books and fills your heart with joy. 

The secret of true bookselling platform is the Three Ps:

PublicationProjectsPersonal Connections

These three elements add up to Lived Platform—not fame, not clicks, but your subject-matter expertise, or your lifetime of experience that relates to a cultural moment now. Leveraging your Lived Platform to sell books means knowing the cultural conversation and who is having it, then positioning yourself in that conversation as a thinker with something to add.

1. Publication 

Quite simply, start getting your work into the world.

If you’re a more literary writer (where what attracts readers to your work is the quality of the prose and the depth of the concept), start working your way up the literary magazine ladder. Poet and essayist Maggie Smith published in Sweet, The Rumpus, and diode before The New Yorker and The Paris Review, and her poetry and poetic tweets built an audience for her memoir, You Could Make This Place Beautiful.

If your work is more commercial (your readers want the immediate impact of your storytelling, and you’re in a cultural moment or a genre they love), learn how to pitch stories to a national newspaper or magazine and start looking at your larger story in terms of many smaller angles. Aileen Weintraub’s essays and articles dealing with motherhood, menopause, anxiety and body have appeared in Insider, HuffPost, Newsweek and InStyle (among many others). Readers who like her take on an issue that speaks to them may then seek out her memoir, Knocked Down, about a high-risk pregnancy.

Whether your own work is more literary or more commercial, submit widely and often, which also means writing more, and being more conscious of your writing craft. Literary writers, polish those sentences, and judiciously sign up for classes with potential mentors who can help your craft improve. Commercial writers, analyze the structure of the work you read, and see if you can follow the style and tone of pieces already published where you want to be.

Some authors worry about publishing “too much” of their story. For memoirists and nonfiction writers, publication is also proof your story is interesting and someone wants to read it. Try not to publish more than 30–50% of your manuscript, but standalone work almost always needs serious revision to truly stand alone, so it’s not a spoiler.

2. Projects

Doing what you love makes platform-building the good kind of hard work. Authors who show up regularly for a project they care about build a network of people who also care—and those people become committed to helping you in your work.

Author Courtney Gustafson started a program to trap/spay/neuter cats in her local community. Her ongoing work to raise money for organizations that help animals in need has built 100K+ followers on Instagram. Her pinned post announces her new book forthcoming from Crown Publishing (and with several foreign rights sales): “A memoir about accidentally inheriting thirty cats, going viral, building community, and surviving capitalism.”

Ashleigh Renard and I started The Writers Bridge to help authors navigate the challenges of platform-building. We joked about our mailing list of 3000+, “all it took was showing up to deliver quality information every other week for two years.” Our commitment to building community meant that our community supported Ashleigh’s memoir and my writing craft book, Seven Drafts. We’ve both expanded our audiences by continuing to provide information that, in turn, helps us generate material for future books.

Making time for project-related work often means prioritizing. Start listing what you do—and crossing off activities that aren’t serving your work.

3. Personal Connections 

You don’t have to command a stage like Tony Robbins to make people happy to know you. Whatever your Lived Platform centers on—widowhood, historical fiction, family and cultural history—you have become an expert, and there are people who need your expertise. Consider what you have to share, and who needs to hear it.

We become known as experts by sharing. You may enjoy teaching in webinars or small groups, speaking at your local community organization, starting a podcast, or writing a newsletter that shares your research (and how your readers can use that research in their lives). Practice being present, by truly listening to your audience’s questions, worries and wonderings.

Start looking for events related to your interests, and when you attend an event, make an effort to connect beyond the event. Get the contact list and invite those people (once!) to join your email list. Offer a free resource that allows people to give you their email for something they want and will remember you fondly for. Bring your offline people into your online world, and vice versa, by actively inviting them into groups you know they will enjoy, and connecting people who need to know each other.

Social Media

If you’re working hard on the Three Ps, social media is a tool, not a destination. Your social feeds become a place to share all these other activities, to connect people to each other, and to chime in on conversations about the issues related to your projects. Discussing a mutual fascination is far more enjoyable than posting about your book and waiting for likes.

True platform is Lived Platform. We best create an audience of readers—and reach the audience already there—by publishing our work as widely as possible (which means writing better), carrying out projects we care about (and giving up activities that aren’t serving our work and our goals), and making personal connections by actively reaching out and participating in real life and online.

I love my platform, and you can love yours, too.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join us on the weekend of July 20–21 for the online intensive class Zero-to-Platform Bootcamp.