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Hello again! Welcome back to my series of blogs on what it’s really like to be a student on the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme.  

Month three focuses in on the topic of Setting. So, place and time, essentially. We’re talking descriptions of the immediate environment, descriptions of fashion, technology and social norms relevant to the point(s) in time when the story unfolds. It means descriptions of weather too, of the creatures, plants and other people who inhabit the same environment. But the most enjoyable aspect of Setting is the symbolism it enables. This feels really important. Delivering layers of symbolism feels like constructing a secret language between the reader and I. Huge fun. 

My stories are limited only by the stretch of my imagination. My characters can be put anywhere in space and time within the known universe, and if I was writing fantasy or science-fiction, even beyond these. So, it stands to reason that, out of the infinite possibilities, the setting I plump for must have significance. I chose it – I must have reasons. Why select it, otherwise? That’s true of the macro decisions on setting, and the micro. Why 2001 as the time-setting for the story? Why July? Why 6 o'clock in the evening? Why that rainbow in the sky? Why that country and county? Why that town? Why that café? Why that seat?  

This is how I get to perform magic. Via linguistic sleight of hand, the setting can make things apparent in flashy or subtle moments as the story requires. I can lay down a new and unexpected symbolism, with a ‘Did you see that?’ ambition for how the reader will experience it. Obviously (because I am writing books, not performing card-tricks in front of a live-audience) I have to hope the symbolism works in the way I intend – like seeds intended to flower in the imagination. For me, the fun is the idea that one day someone will smile whilst making a connection to their humanity, and murmur: ‘Yes, that’s right. I get that.’ 

In the story that I’m writing while studying on the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme, the main setting is a Suffolk village commune in a grand manor house. The house has been both a Nunnery and Friar Monks Seminary before it was purchased by the commune. It’s inspired by a real-life commune I often go past on long dog walks. The buildings alone are fascinating. But the real reason it is the main setting for my two main characters is that I can play with its meaning - how that relates to and foreshadows the emotional arcs my characters will experience. How they both hide from certain aspects of themselves, shutting themselves off from emotions, but also their definition of what family is, relative to community, relative to society. 

My previous manuscript (currently out querying literary agents – nine rejections so far, thanks for asking) features a woman held unknowingly between life and death. So, I placed her on a Suffolk beach next to the sea-ruined wreck of her ancestral farmhouse, also inspired by real-life events. What metaphor could be better than to sit between land and sea, between life and death, between the choice to carry on or give up? A liminal setting for a liminal story. I had a lot of fun stitching in descriptions of the beach, choosing specific colloquial plant names – Dead Man’s Bells is a real plant name, for instance. I used the rhythm of waves and how they move the land, and worked in the unknowable depths and power of sea and storm. Uncontrollable forces extinguished a whole village practically overnight, so I linked that to the choices my character made – and the emotional storms which had the capacity to ruin her life.  

Is it clear how much I love wielding the craft skill of setting in my writing? I hope so. When I began writing seriously again, it was setting I began with – big, wide-angled shots of the environment my characters moved through. Long passages with all the words! Yes! As tutor Anna Vaught says, I wanted *all* the words! Creating setting is how I came back to writing. I have a theory many new writers begin in this way, describing the world of their story before considering depth of character or even plot. 

I’ve learnt to be more judicious in my deployment of setting. The Ultimate Novel Writing Programme is helping me understand how it grounds the reader, how swiftly the description of a highly-specific setting can connect the reader’s imagination to the story.  

I now know how being selective in what I highlight, using vivid nouns and active verbs, can more effectively deliver meaning, conjuring the how and what the character does and experiences more successfully in the reader’s mind. Setting was a foundational stone of my writing, and this month is definitely underpinning why I still love it so.  

Happy writing, until next time!  
 
Rachel 

Rachel Davidson is a long-term Premium Member of Jericho Writers prior to joining our Writer Support Team, Rachel loves helping hopeful writers, such as herself, to solve their problems and take a step or two closer to achieving their writing dreams. Rachel has previously self-published a trilogy, the first of which achieved bestseller status in fourteen Amazon categories in the UK, US, Australia and Canada and is now seeking her traditional publishing debut with her latest manuscript. You can find out more about Rachel via her Instagram @RachelDavidsonAuthor.

As thrilling as it is to share what I’ve learned in my 20+ years as an editor, one of my favorite experiences as an instructor on Jericho’s Novel Writing Course and Ultimate Novel Writing Programme is watching students learn from each other. 

As the course progresses, and as they get to know and trust each other, they go from suggesting what an author could do to improve their project to what they should do to fiercely protect whatever it is that sparked a story to begin with. Over time, they begin enthusiastically coaxing one another to fan those sparks into something astonishing. 

Whether you’ve written a chapter or a complete draft of a novel, chances are, at some stage, you’re going to feel like you’ve gone as far as you can go on your own. When that moment arrives, it’s time to get some feedback. 

For some writers, it comes when they’ve been over (and over, and over…) a draft and have hit the point where it’s all trees, no forest. It’s time to get some perspective, see what’s resonating with readers, and find out what still needs improvement. Other writers find themselves at a crossroads with their project: a story could go this way or that way, and the implications of choosing either route are huge. In this scenario, an outside reader is a brainstorming partner to help them think through the options.

In either case, sharing your work with others can be a little scary. It’s a vulnerable moment, and having a plan for how to request, receive, and implement feedback can help you make the most of it.

1. Choose wisely

Many writers reach out to those closest to them—friends and family—for feedback, and while that can yield constructive criticism, don’t be surprised if you get a resounding “I love it! It’s perfect! Don’t change a thing!” from dear Aunt Bernice. While that’s lovely to hear, it’s not especially helpful. 

Cherish those champions—that note from your aunt will help you power through your umpteenth revision—but choose readers who are ready to help you improve, too. 

2. Give your readers some direction

Don’t be afraid to guide your readers about what kind of feedback you’re looking for, and avoid asking them yes or no questions. “Do you think the novel is working?” is going to yield less helpful feedback than “What can I do to improve the pacing in the last thirty pages?” 

A list of 5-10 questions can help ensure readers give you feedback you can actually use – and invite them to share anything else they want to with you, too. Whatever you do, please don’t instruct your readers, “Just tell me if I should never write again!” 

Everyone — yes, you included — can improve.

Before I wrote Flat 401, I worked for over a decade as a clinical psychologist. I spent years learning to understand the human mind and people’s experiences, and training to be able to help people overcome emotional challenges. At the time, I didn’t think of it as ‘preparation for novel-writing,’ but it turned out to come in handy!

Below are five ways my clinical background has informed how I write; I hope you might use these ideas too.

1. Tension: threat, not just action

In Compassion-Focused Therapy, we talk about the threat system - the part of the brain that activates when something feels dangerous. Importantly, it doesn’t distinguish between actual threat and perceived threat. The same group of physiological responses can be triggered by a near car crash or by a passive-aggressive text from your partner.

In fiction, this means tension doesn’t require a gun or a chase scene. It can be built on what a character believes might happen: being found out, losing face, hurting someone they love. If your character feels threatened - socially, emotionally, psychologically - the reader will too.

Tip: Identify what your character is afraid of losing (status, safety, love, control), put it in jeopardy – and make sure the reader can see and understand this.

2. Complex characters often don’t act in their own best interests

In the therapy room, people rarely show up with clear motivations. Or, they might express a motivation (‘I don’t want to be depressed or anxious’) but have understandable difficulty getting on board with the path towards that goal – because it’s hard.

Characters don’t need to be likeable (it’s often said), but the more memorable ones do need to be layered. Often, the richest characters are the ones whose behaviour is coherent, but not always free of contradictions.

Tip: Ask yourself, what does this character do that inadvertently sabotages themself? Put some of that into action by showing the unintended negative consequences of them pursuing (or avoiding pursuing) their goals.

Let’s face it - there’s nothing like a good plot twist. That delicious moment when your jaw drops, your brain short-circuits, and you immediately flip back a few pages muttering, “Wait, WHAT?”

Contrary to popular belief, plot twists are NOT just for crime writers. Whether you're working on a thriller, a romance, a fantasy epic, or even a literary darling, the plot twist is the literary version of a mic drop - and readers absolutely eat it up.

But why do we love plot twists so much? And more importantly, how do you pull one off without making readers roll their eyes so hard they sprain something?

Let’s twist again, like we did last chapter... (Ba du dum.) 

Why plot twists are so addictive

Plot twists are the espresso shot in your story cappuccino. They jolt readers awake. They make people text their friends at 2 a.m. with “YOU NEED TO READ THIS BOOK.” They’re proof that the author is five steps ahead, cackling behind the scenes, and we love being fooled like that.  

A good twist does three things: 

• Surprises the reader

• Makes sense in hindsight

• Changes the direction or emotional tone of the story. 

When done well, twists make readers feel smart for spotting the clues - or wonderfully blindsided if they didn’t. Either way, it’s a win. 

Plot twists across genres

You don’t have to write a psychological thriller to serve up a killer twist (though, let’s be real, they practically require one).

Here's how to tailor twists to different genres: 

Crime / Thriller / Mystery 

The plot twist is your bread and butter here. 

Classic moves: The killer was the narrator. The victim faked their death. The detective was the criminal. 

Pro tip: Leave breadcrumbs, but scatter them wide enough that readers miss the loaf. For more advice on pulling this off perfectly, be sure to check out our Crime Writing For Beginners video course with Graham Bartlett. Alternatively, if you’re after that extra level of support, consider our tutored Writing Crime and Thriller Novels course (starting 1 September)...