One of the foremost reasons people read is to experience a character’s arc of change, their transformation, in other words, and transformation stories are among the most powerful and popular in literature and film.

That’s because the human experience is all about change. Each of us is a work in progress—growing, changing our perceptions and how we think—shaping our character.

These stories involve the reader in the course of the character’s change, helping them explore their own potential and desire for transformation, along with the limitations, possibilities, and price attached.

Coming up with a story idea isn’t hard. Coming up with a story idea that hits it out of the park, fires on all cylinders, and has never been done before is. In fact, it’s the equivalent of winning the lottery—an unlikely event that can burn up your resources if you’re not careful.

You just want to tell a story in the best way you know how. You work hard to express yourself, observing the rules of grammar you’ve been taught. But what if those rules aren’t really rules?

When you think about the books and stories that you most enjoyed reading and that stick in your memory, inspiring thoughts and emotions, what comes to mind? Why are those particular stories so enduring?

Chances are, the story’s scenes were woven with something deeper than what appeared on the surface. As writers, we are always working, practicing, studying to make our stories the best they can be. That’s our job, and today we’re taking a look at an advanced technique we can use to add interest to a scene by giving it an underlying meaning implied by the surface action and dialogue.

I’m talking about subtext.

Coincidence is rampant in real life, but readers hate it. In fiction, coincidence feels contrived and reveals the writer’s hand pulling the strings. When you need to introduce something into your story that feels dangerously close to coincidence, the way to do it is with foreshadowing.

Two of the most vital skills you should focus on as a writer are how to tell a story that works and how to develop compelling characters. But once you’ve got that figured out, aren’t there other writing techniques, more subtle perhaps, that draw readers in and make stories shine?

There are. And one of those writing techniques is called euphonics. Rayne Hall, author of the Writer’s Craft series, defines euphonics as “the use of sound devices for prose writing.”

Have you ever faced this kind of issue? You have a scene goal in mind, you know the characters involved, where they are and what they want, but HOW does the scene play out? What exactly happens to bring the characters from Point A to Point B in the story?

That’s when the power of improv might come in handy.

If you’re looking for a surefire way to improve your story, you’ll be happy to know there’s a fast-acting method at your disposal. According to writing expert James Scott Bell, it’s “the fastest way to improve any manuscript.”

I’m talking about dialogue.

But here’s the thing—dialogue is more than just the words you put in your characters’ mouths. On screen and stage, it’s the actor’s job to take his lines and infuse them with meaning, expression, emotion, and so on. On the page, that’s your job.

Imagine attending a football game with no rules. I don’t know about you, but there’s a limit to how excited I could get about watching a bunch of men run around with no particular aim in mind. Really, except for the tight pants, it would be pointless.

What makes the game worth watching is knowing your team has a goal, and knowing there’s an opposing team aiming to stop them from achieving it. That’s what pulls you to the edge of your seat, screaming and pumping your fist in the air.

It’s the same when you read fiction. If the writer hasn’t told you how to keep score, you have no way of knowing whether the characters are drawing nearer or farther from accomplishing their goals, and little reason to care.

So, you’ve figured out how to write a story that works. You know you need a character, in a setting, with a problem. You know you need a series of try/fail cycles, followed by a climactic scene and the resolution. The structure is simple, but it’s not always easy.

In particular, it can be challenging to sustain and escalate the story’s momentum through those try/fail cycles. And it would be nice to have something that could give your story a delicious ribbon of flavor, instilling brilliance and meaning.

Here’s the good news—there is such a technique. It’s called situational irony, and in this article, we’re going to take a look at what it’s made of and how to construct it in your own work.

Atmosphere matters. People will pay a premium to eat at a restaurant with a certain ambience or buy a house in a setting that supports a particular feeling. In like manner, your reader won’t remember every word you wrote, but if you infuse the story with atmosphere, they will remember the way it made them feel. And readers read in order to feel something.

As writers, we want to capture our readers’ attention, rivet them to the page, and leave them clamoring for more. We want to create something that moves people, deepens their understanding, and keeps them thinking about our story long after they’ve devoured the last word.

You may have noticed how I used sets of three in my opening paragraph, and if you didn’t consciously register it, your subconscious mind certainly did. Using the Rule of Three in your writing is one way to meet reader expectations and engage reader interest.

You’ve written some stories, maybe even published a book or two. You dream of being a successful author. But how much do you want it? What does it take to be a writer?

As writers, we are artists. We create through inspiration—a spark brought to fruition through discipline, hard work, and practice. And we draw inspiration from everywhere around us.

That includes the singing competition The Voice. Singing is a different art form from writing, but there are many lessons we writers can draw from it.

Have you ever tried to have a conversation with someone who mumbles his responses, doesn’t make eye contact, and slouches in his chair? You have to work hard at it, and it’s often unrewarding.

Isn’t it easier to talk with someone who sits up and gives you his attention, looks right at you, and speaks his answers clearly? It requires less effort on your part and is primed to yield results.

Weak writing is like that first guy. It makes it harder for readers to follow the story and doesn’t hold out much hope for a satisfying experience. It’s tempting for readers to close the book and move on.

Strong writing commands attention and respect, setting up the expectation of a good story to come.

You craft your story, scene by scene and sentence by sentence, stringing one word to the next with loving care. But what if, when your reader picks it up, the whole thing falls apart?

You don’t want that happening. Continuity is the thread that stitches your story into a coherent package, holding it together and making it a pleasure to read. So how do you make your writing flow?

The scene is the fundamental unit of story. It’s what drives the story forward, instilling purpose, drama, and emotion. It’s critical to understand the elements that make it effective and know how to employ them. In this article, that’s what we’ll examine—plus, how to use Scrivener to make sure all those elements are present.

Consider this: as writers, we employ words. We harness their power and send them out to do a job. So, just like any productive employer, we must choose our operatives effectively and manage them well. In this article, we’ll take a look at some of the ways words can fail and how to avoid that.

Are you wondering what Dan Brown’s MasterClass is like and if signing up would be a good move for you? Do you want to learn how to craft a thriller that works or add suspense to your writing? I recently had the opportunity to take a MasterClass from the man who wrote one of the world’s best-selling novels, The Da Vinci Code, and I’m here to share my thoughts about the experience and give you a peek into what I learned.

Have you ever been told by some well-meaning soul that writing can’t be taught? Have you heard that the ability to create beautiful sentences and convey a heart-wrenching story is inborn, and you either have it or you don’t?

The Argentine writer and poet Jorge Luis Borges said, “Art is fire plus algebra.” That flame blazes in all of us, and can be fanned by passion and dedication. What’s more, we can apply the algebra through deliberate study and practice.

I believe writing can absolutely be taught and learned. Here’s how.