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With the return of Meet Your Match coming up, we wanted to share the advice of our Meet Your Match 2024 winner, Alessandra Ranelli, to get her top tips for polishing your pitch until it shines. This advice originally appeared in our newsletter in April 2024.

Alessandra's debut novel Murder at the Hotel Orient will be published in the UK on the 30th April 2026 (pre-order here) and in the US on the 19th May 2026 (pre-order here).

Four Things Your Pitch (Probably) Needs

1. A Hook

I know, you’re sick of reading this advice. If you already know your hook, great. If you need help, I recommend a technique I call Finding your Glimmer, which is part of my pitching ritual. Meditate, and recall the initial idea, moment, or question that inspired you. Chances are, that initial spark is closely related to the hook that will make readers buy your book.

2. Be the Same but Different

I can feel you rolling your eyes. Here is a trick: use the comp title plus a clarification.

In my query letter, I quote from one agent who described my book as a “Naughty version of THE MAID.”

• [adjective] + Comp: Dystopian Peter Pan (Lord of the Flies)
• Comp but [Adjective]: Twilight but kinky (50 Shades of Grey)
• Comp with [Noun]: Pride & Prejudice with Spice (Bridgerton Novels)
• Comp for [Target Audience]: Harry Potter for Gen Z (Fourth Wing)
• Comp in [Unique Location]: Scooby Doo in a Retirement Home (Thursday Murder Club)

3. Clear Stakes

To ensure the stakes and motivation are clear, review your pitch with the unstoppable curiosity of a toddler. Why? Why? Why?

Example: Susan Smith has one mission: destroy James Weatherby, and this boat cruise is her perfect chance…

This is going to leave readers asking why? in a bad way.Is Susan an assassin? A vengeful ex? While we’re at it, who even is Susan? Is she a teen or an adult? Be intriguing, not vague.

4. Genre

This can be explicit (In this YA romantasy…) or implied by description.

-Investigate indicates mystery or crime

-Love triangle points to romance

-High School Freshman implies YA.

Your comps may also indicate your genre, without wasting word count.

Things Your Pitch Probably Doesn’t Need

1. Your character’s name.

What’s in a name? Well, unless they’re a historical figure, not much. Consider using their job title, age, relationship status, nationality, or something that provides more information. If they’re a historical figure, their last name often suffices. Sometimes you do need a character’s name, but it’s rare you need their full name.

2. The whole story.

Focus on the inciting incident, save the twist for the synopsis. Think of this like a seduction. Leave them wanting more.

3. Modal verbs, or passive verbs. Aim to use active verbs and eliminate modal verbs. She must battle can be She battles.

4. To Follow Traditional Grammar Rules

This advice is just for social media pitches, where character count, well, counts.

- Don’t spell out numbers under 10, use digits.

- Replace and with &. Use emojis, with caution.

- Go ahead: use conjunctions or adverbs. I know, I know, Stephen King taught you never to use adverbs. He’s usually right. But Stephen King probably isn’t reading your tweet. I, on the other hand, look forward to seeing your pitches, and hope to see some of these tips employed there. Good luck and happy pitching, everyone.

Mysteriously,

Alessandra Ranelli

PS: If you want more advice, or to learn my secret ritual for developing pitches, there’s a post on my website with examples....

I thought it would be nice to start this newsletter with a profound quote about what makes a satisfying ending. What a fool. It was immediately clear that the internet has as many opinions on what makes a good novel ending as whether pineapple belongs on pizza.  

I should have seen this coming, because even among my author friends there is huge variety in our approach to endings. Some of us absolutely have to know the ending before we start writing, seeing it as a destination to be driving towards even if there are detours along the way. Some of us like to set out without a map, excited to see where the journey takes us. Some of us love ambiguous endings while others want to wrap absolutely everything up. For some, the most important thing is a last-minute twist.  

So in lieu of an amazing catch-all quote, I will tell you how I approach endings. But I will also remind you that reading helps develop writing muscles. As a reader, you know instinctively when a story is heading for its conclusion. You know which endings you have found satisfying and remember years later. You also know which endings have felt like a damp squib, a cheat, a “what on earth just happened”?  

Even if you have never written an ending to a novel before, you have experienced hundreds, probably thousands of them. As ever, listen to your internal reader!  

I don't always know how my books will end

This makes me jittery, so I have to have an ending idea before starting out. I outline my novels before I begin a first draft. But that first draft is exploratory and about halfway through, I’ll realise I know so much more about the characters but also what is and isn’t working with the plot. So I never get to the end of that very first draft.  Sometimes, I have several false starts and they all teach me something valuable to take into the next version.  

When I start the first full draft, the one that I know I will finish, I will know the ending.  

I don't save everything for the final page

If you cook someone a three-course meal, you don’t serve everything up all at once. The main course will go cold while they eat their starter, the ice cream will melt before they get to it. Your dinner guest won’t have time to savour and enjoy each dish.  

It’s the same with ‘reveals’ and wrapping up plots and sub-plots. Give each reveal and resolution a little space to breathe. Let some smaller sub-plots conclude in the run up to the end, as an appetizer for the main conclusion.   

Consider if all the storylines need to run that far or if a midpoint reveal might lift the pace, while surprising and delighting the reader.  

Reflect the ending

You don’t have to lay this on too thick, but having a mirroring moment to the opening chapter will remind readers how far a character has come. For example, if a character runs away from something in the opening chapter, have them stand their ground in the final chapter.  

Ambiguity and playing fair

Ambiguous endings are controversial. That’s why people are still arguing over the Sopranos ending nearly 20 years on. If you’re going to let readers decide how a story ends, it’s important to play fair. Give them enough tools to draw a conclusion even if you’re not confirming that conclusion on the page.  

Consider how you want your readers to feel

It’s a huge privilege for a reader to trust me with ten or more hours of their life by reading my book. I get to plant stories, images and characters in their minds, and that’s a serious honour.  

I give a lot of thought to how I want them to feel after they finish my novel and what impact I want it to have on them. It’s not just about answering the narrative questions established in the beginning, it is also about giving them something to keep.  

Do you want to give them hope? Do you want them to feel inspired to try something new or make a change? Maybe you want to leave them scared or thrilled? I like to stay with them while they reflect on the story, but some authors like to cut away early. What do you like as a reader? Chances are, that’s the kind of ending you’d also enjoy writing.  

And just remember, you don’t have to get it right first time. Like parking in a tight space, endings can take multiple attempts! You will get there in the end, and your satisfied readers will never know how many swearwords and balled up pieces of paper it took. Good luck!  

I know. You likely read the title of this piece and thought: “Mateo, why would I want to learn how to write in multiple genres, when I’m just trying to find my way through one genre?”

A valid question, but hear me out. Even if you don’t have plans to write in multiple genres (yet!), learning the how behind the why of the what will help you expand your creative arsenal, which will make telling the stories you want to tell more manageable. 

As someone whose contemporary, satirical debut novel (Black Buck, 2021) was quite different from their speculative, dystopian sophomore effort (This Great Hemisphere, 2024) this is the type of piece I wish I’d read before embarking on that journey.

Reasons for writing in multiple genres

The reasons for writing in multiple genres are vast and varied. Perhaps you wrote something and it didn’t move people. Or you went against your heart, hopped on a trend, and failed to produce anything of personal artistic value.

Then, of course, some of us are masochists (shocker!) and need a thrill in order to feel our most creative. Especially because, as the cliche goes, there’s no such thing as a loss so long as you walk away with a lesson.

And sometimes, the reason is as simple as writing a story for the story’s sake. Genre be damned.

The risks of writing in multiple genres

The thing is, writing in multiple genres comes with plenty of risks. There is a reason people say “Stephen King” and think “horror.” It’s because it’s advantageous, and financially lucrative, to carve out one lane for yourself. If you suddenly decide to swerve out of that lane, it may confuse people.

At the same time, certain genres come with certain expectations. If those expectations aren’t met, then you’ve both alienated your core audience and missed your new one.

There’s also the trap of becoming a jack of all trades, master of none. The authors we associate with certain genres have written extensively in them, taking the time to master them. This is harder to do if you’re writing widely across genres. Not impossible, but harder.

Right now, you may be thinking, “Christ, Mateo. This is a bit bleak. What are we to do?”

Fret not! Writing in new genres is hard, but not impossible. I’ll show you.

Lay the foundation

Before entering a new genre, lay the proper foundation by boiling a story down to its most basic elements: plot, dialogue, setting, character, structure, narrative style & POV.

None of this needs to be concrete, but jotting down thoughts on all of the above will make it so that you’re not starting from square one. What are some of the larger, tentpole plot points? Who is your main character and who are the people in their orbit? Is this first-person, third-person, multi-POV? Is the narrative style fast-paced, long and descriptive? Is the work split into many parts, epistolary, maybe even includes images?

List the tropes

Ideally you’ve read a few works in the genre you’re stepping into. If not, please do that! As you read these books, write down the typical tropes associated with that genre. Then decide how, if at all, you plan to adhere to or subvert them in order to realize your vision.

Just because something is expected in a genre doesn’t mean you have to do it. But if you don’t, it’s advisable to render that expectation a moot point with all of the other choices you make.

Read a craft book or two

Not all feedback is good feedback. Not all advice is good advice. But reading one or two craft books a year sharpens your creative senses, provides new strategies for how to approach a certain issue, and sometimes even gives you that boost of inspiration you need to start something new or finish your current work-in-progress. My favorites are Stephen King’s On Writing, James Scott Bell’s Plot & Structure, and Roy Peter Clark’s Writing Tools.

“Okay, got it! Good to go. Thank you.”

Wait, wait, wait. We writers know that the practical, nuts and bolts of it all can only take us so far. There is that other, more abstract aspect of what we do, which speaks to those moments of vessel-like divining, so I’d like to leave you with a few things to keep in mind.

Hone your why

Ask yourself, seriously, why you want to write in this new genre, and write down a serious answer. Adding “and for whom” is also valuable. Clarifying and affirming your why will sustain you, no matter the ups and downs.

Get comfortable with feeling lost

If you’re comfortable in one genre, stepping into another could feel as if you don’t even know how to write. This is normal and to be expected. But remember that this feeling will only last until it doesn’t, and to return to your why and for whom in order to see it through. The previous steps will also help to truncate this period of feeling lost, even though there’s much to be discovered in discomfort.

Focus on the story

Focus on the stories you want to tell, with the time that you have, then go tell them. Experiment with romance if you feel as though you have something to say about the difficulties and joys of finding love in the Tinder generation. Try your hand at sci-fi to make better sense of the rise of AI, or just to expose the conspiracy that is Apple airpods, which are so expensive, yet so easy to lose. Or test the dark waters of horror because our current circumstances have more than enough to pull from in order to scare the pants off someone.

No matter what happens –– if the book you write gets you an agent, or sells one or one-million copies –– you will, without a doubt, be a better writer for having challenged yourself and expanded your creative arsenal, which will go beyond one book, and enrich your entire career. I promise you.

Trust in the process, trust in yourself, trust that the stories you want to tell want to be told. And that if you persist, you will find a way to tell them.

I had absolutely no idea what the Johari window was until my missus told me.

It’s this (image via Global Coaching Lab):

The idea is that there are things known to me and known to others, which belong in the top left panel: I have blue eyes. I write books. I like working outside. I’m bad at crosswords.

Then - more interesting now - we have things that are not known to us, but are clear to others. Maybe I’m a terrible public speaker, but think I’m good. Or perhaps I dance like a giant insect, but don’t know it. Or maybe someone fancies me, but I’m the last to know.

And the double unknown? Well, how I manifest when on my own is experienced only through my own, unreliable, inner world, so maybe there’s some significant truth about me that no one knows. For example:

If I go to bed alone, perhaps my movements seem forgetful and a little jittery, a little uncertain. But in my mind, my going to bed is the same as it’s always been, and perfectly swift and purposeful.

Or maybe I write books thinking consciously only about what would please my readers … but all the time, an early childhood tragedy threads through all my work, unseen by me and not glimpsed by others.

Now, if you use this window in the context of personal therapy, your job (as I understand it) is to shrink the right-hand side of the window, pulling the unknown into known. And perhaps you may also want to reveal more of yourself to others (shrinking the bottom left pane) in order to achieve greater intimacy with friends and loved ones.

But - ?

We’re novelists. We don’t want our characters to be too perfectly therapised – rather the opposite. We don’t want them to have great, open relationships with others. We want them to be twisted, complicated, interesting – and probably even a bit nuts. That means finding juicy ways to populate all those quadrants that the therapists want us to shrink or destroy.

And, oh boy, those quadrants are rich places to explore.

Plot-led blind spots

Obviously, there are plenty of blind-spots generated by your plot. We see our hero relaxing in a jumbo hot tub, with a bottle of champagne and a whole fleet of rubber ducks. But little does he know that the baddies are speeding towards him …

That kind of thing is commonplace, but it’s not quite what I’m talking about here. What I’m interested in today is the notion of psychic blindspots or hidden nooks. For example:

Known to others, not known to self

When Lee Child’s Jack Reacher encounters ordinary people, those ordinary people keep expecting him to react in ways that he doesn’t. His brother’s died? He’s just come through  shootout, unharmed? Ordinary People expect some grief, some shakiness – some something. But Reacher gives them... just Reacher, the same as he always is.

Those encountering him see his absences and deficiencies. Reacher himself seems barely aware of them. (Actually ignorant? Or are they just so unimportant that they don’t need head space? Not sure. It isn’t clear.) Either way, the gap between Reacher and the rest of the world is a huge part of what elevates this character from the million other action heroes.

Or take my own personal nut-job, Fiona Griffiths.

Here’s a chunk, where Fiona is having an after-hours meeting with her boss (Watkins) and her boyfriend (Buzz, who is also a police officer.)

Watkins grabs all the paperwork now and bends over it, leaving nothing for the others. I’m fed up with the overlit room and turn all the lights off, except the spot directly over where Watkins is sitting. When she glares at me, I say ‘Sorry,’ but don’t put the lights back on. It feels better now. The prickling feeling is still there, but not in a bad way. I like it. I’m beginning to feel comfortable now.

‘Isn’t this nice?’ I say to no one in particular. Everyone stares at me, but no one says anything.

Then Watkins is done. […] The meeting breaks up. Watkins says to Brydon and me, ‘Good work, well done.’

Brydon says something. I nod and look like a Keen Young Detective.

In the street outside afterwards, Brydon says, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll be OK driving?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not too fast, all right?’

‘All right.’

‘Back to mine?’

‘Yes.’

I don’t know why I’m talking like everyone’s favourite village idiot, but it doesn’t bother me and Buzz is used to it.

Buzz (who is stable and sane) clearly thinks that Fiona is behaving strangely, hence all the are-you-OK-isms. Watkins also clearly thinks that Fiona’s behaviour with the lights is off, even if she says nothing.

And Fiona’s self-insight here? It’s close to nil. She notes a prickling  feeling, but can’t name it. She thinks she looks like a Keen Young Detective, though it’s clear that’s not how she’s coming across. And when she talks like ‘everyone’s favourite village idiot’, she doesn’t evince much surprise or have any insight into why this is.

The delicious thing for the reader here is that we don’t actually know for certain what Buzz and Watkins see, think and understand. But we get teasing glimpses and enjoy the gap between those glimpses and Fiona’s own (hopeless) reflections.

Known to self, not known to others

Here are two more chunks:

Dad and Buzz are both tall, big men. I am five foot two and hardly big built. There’s something about the scale of the car, the size of the two men in the front, and me all alone in the back which makes me feel about eight years old. Like I’m swinging my heels on the way to the beach while the grown-ups talk about grown-up things.

The men in the front aren’t Neolithic. They’re intelligent guys who know that Fiona’s own brainpower goes far beyond theirs. So they aren’t in fact patronising her in their minds, but in Fiona’s world, she’s turned to an eight-year-old, kicking her heels and thinking about ice cream.

Another example:

I stare at my face in the mirror for a minute or two, wondering if it feels like mine. In Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the dark count is invisible in mirrors and I often feel something similar is true of me too. I can’t feel any deep relationship between the face that is mine and the person I am. Like they’re two different things. I don’t know if this is something that everyone feels.

No, Fiona. No one else thinks like this. It’s definitely just you. But this is a lovely private little place shared only by Fiona and the observing reader. We take this little nugget of insight back into the story proper, where Fiona engages with people in the world who don’t know what she thinks about when she looks into mirrors.

Not known to self or others

And in the darkest quadrant of this window, we novelists can still find something to interest us. For example:

Watkins looks up from the desk, staring at me. I don’t look away.

She says, ‘So, your hypothesis is that Langton was working for tips only on some of the nights that Khalifi was there?’

There’s a prickling feeling in the room. A sense of movement or hidden life. I don’t know why.

I say, ‘Yes.’

Three heads go back to the lists. Not mine. I’m trying to work out what this prickling sensation is. I can’t. I try to understand the feeling. What bit of me is feeling what? I try to dissect my own sensations the way my psychiatrists once taught me to, but I don’t get anywhere.

I say, ‘Langton called her mam most nights.’

Fiona, typically, confides in no one regarding her inner strangeness. What she says to her colleagues is perfectly professional, perfectly straightforward, but what’s going on is simply indeterminate at this point. It’s a feeling, yes, but she can’t name it and the others don’t even know that it’s there.

What does the reader do with this? Well, they’re also not sure of what this prickling  feeling is – but what a joyous mystery to have, and to stuff with hypotheses, and to read on to learn the answer.

The results of this use of the window is to enrich the book, enrich the text, make it multi-layered and yumptious, like the very best Parisian croissant.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / The Johari window

No prizes for guessing this week’s task.

Go to your manuscript and pluck out some short passages that exemplify:

1. Known to others, not known to self
2. Known to self, not known to others
3. Not known to self or others.

Throw in any reflections you may have about the process of looking for those things. If you can’t come up with something, does that mean anything significant about your book?

I love tasks like this, because they’re so far away from normal creative writing challenges, but they do really feel like they might reveal something about the way we do (or ought to) write. Have fun, and go at it. When you're ready, post your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

Whether you’re a meticulous outliner (guilty!) or someone who sits at their desk each day with no idea what magic they’ll create (jealous!), you can set yourself up for success by determining seven crucial things about your story right at the start.  

As a tutor on the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme, I always begin the course by going over these elements with my students. In my view, they’re the framework around which almost every writer’s story should be built…  

1. Your character’s world view 

During your set-up, you’ll establish your protagonist’s world before everything changes. But even more than what their daily life is like, we need to know their world view, dictated by their flaw or false belief.  

By flaw, I don’t mean things like ‘they’re forgetful’. I mean something that taps into the root of who they are and informs the lens through which they see the world. 

In my novel Thicker Than Water, there are two protagonists, sisters-in-law Julia and Sienna. Sienna’s flaw is that she’s ‘rabid about injustice’ (Julia’s words). Right and wrong are black and white to her, and she becomes enraged when justice isn’t served. She believes that if people do bad things, then they’re bad people who need to pay the price.  

There’s typically a wound from which the flaw originates. Sienna’s wound is that her parents were killed by a drunk driver, who subsequently spent only a year and a half in prison. Sienna sees this as an insultingly miniscule price to pay for the two lives he took, and it’s made her hypersensitive to injustice.  

2. The catalyst  

Otherwise known as the inciting incident, this is the event that disrupts the status quo, and it should be something uniquely suited to your protagonist’s flaw.  

The catalyst of Thicker Than Water is that Jason, Sienna’s brother, gets into a car crash that puts him in a coma, at which point police discover evidence that implicates Jason in the brutal murder of his boss. Now Jason is the prime suspect, unable to defend himself, and this is especially unjust to Sienna because, in her eyes, her brother can do no wrong. 

3. What your character wants 

This one’s kind of like a math equation: your protagonist’s flaw + the catalyst = what the character wants.  

Sienna’s flaw (becoming incensed by injustice of any kind) plus the catalyst (her brother accused of a murder she’s positive he didn’t commit) equals her goal: prove that her brother is innocent.  

Every ensuing plot point after the catalyst must make it harder for the character to achieve that goal. In some cases, though, a plot point might make it easier for the protagonist, giving them a false sense of victory — because what they want is never what they actually need... 

4. What your character needs 

This is something that, in the early stages of your book, your protagonist doesn’t know. In fact, if you told them what they need, they’d tell you you’re crazy.  

That’s because their need should be at odds with their want. For example, what Sienna really needs is to accept that justice often has shades of grey: that good people can do bad things, just as bad people sometimes do good things.  

Ever since I was a small child writing stories about witches and fairies, I have identified as a writer. In my younger days, I blithely assumed that one day there‘d be books with my name on the cover and spine, just as there were by my favourite authors, Lewis Carroll, Noel Streatfeild and A.A. Milne.  

When my school careers advisor told me that sitting in a garrett writing stories until I sold some didn’t count as a proper job, I trod a more conservative career path, going from university to a series of office jobs that paid the mortgage and the bills. All of those jobs involved some kind of writing – journalism, public relations, charity administration – but on the side I kept writing my own stuff. I managed to get a few short stories and some freelance journalism published, but books remained out of reach. Despite amassing a shelf of abandoned draft novels and oodles of assorted short fiction, somehow, by the time I hit my half century, no publisher had beaten a path to my door and wrested my manuscripts from me. Then I realised I needed to seize the initiative before I ran out of life. 

To my eternal gratitude, this new resolve coincided with the emergence of self-publishing in its modern digital form. It was the age of the internet, the era of the ebook, and the advent of Amazon. These three vital developments put indie publishing and global readership within reach of every aspiring author from the comfort of their own home - in my case, from a Victorian cottage in a little Cotswold village. 

At around the same time, my journalism and PR experience led me into a part-time role at the Alliance of Independent Authors (ALLi) as Commissioning Editor of their daily Self-Publishing Advice blog. The learning curve was intense but exciting. I couldn’t wait to put what I was learning into practice. 

Used to the small canvases of magazine journalism and press releases, I wasn’t initially confident of writing a novel fit to self-publish. So, I tested the indie waters with some non-fiction and some collections of short stories. The relative success of these niche publications gave me the courage to write and self-publish my debut novel in a more commercial genre, Cotswold Cozy Mystery. Best Murder in Show was quickly followed by six more in the same series and the first two in a different series, plus three novelettes. I was on a roll. 

Learning to market and promote my own books gained me thousands of reviews and a significant sales record - social proof of the value of my work. Then, out of the blue, my Amazon footprint was spotted by a relatively new publisher, Boldwood Books (now five years old, with over 200 authors and 10 million sales to their credit).  

When Boldwood offered me a contract for my nine backlist novels plus four to six more, I decided to give traditional publishing a chance, while reserving the right to continue to self-publish other books that did not fit Boldwood’s list. By the way, all trad publishing companies have a clear vision of the kind of books they need to acquire to satisfy their particular target market and thus their shareholders. Self-publishing is a great way to curate your own list and readership, rather than having to march to the beat of trade publishers’ drums. 

So, I continued to self-publish short fiction and non-fiction, and I have plans for books in other genres such as children’s fiction. I have plenty more self-published projects in the pipeline. My only constraint is time. 

In my view – and my agent’s - I have the best of both worlds: a trade publisher to extend my reach and reputation, plus the freedom to write and publish what I like, retaining creative control of emotive issues such as title and cover designs, and a larger percentage of royalty per sale on my self-published books. I’ve also recently started writing plays for my village drama group, which I plan to self-publish as scripts, as well as turning them into novels. As an indie, I’m not shoehorned into a narrow niche. I can diversify as much as I like. 

I’m also living proof that self-publishing is not a block on the road to traditional publishing, if that’s your ultimate goal. Having said that, I have many author friends who are so contented with their indie status that they would never cross over to the traditional sector, not even in part, as I have done. Equally, many traditionally published authors reaching the end of their contracts are migrating to self-publishing. It’s a two-way street these days, which is very empowering. 

My own success as a self-published author has made me evangelical. Having stepped down from my ALLi role a few years ago, I missed the fun of helping other aspiring authors. So, when ALLi founder Orna Ross recommended me to Harry Bingham as a potential course tutor for Jericho’s proposed self-publishing course, I jumped at the chance. And I’ve been jumping ever since - for joy at seeing so many of the course alumni go on to self-publish their books to professional standards, across a wide range of genres, from family history and autobiography to historical fiction and romantasy, and much more. 

So, is learning how to self-publish the right route for you to becoming a published author? To find out, check out the course and brochure here. Registration is now open for the Spring 2026 Simply Self Publish course, which kicks off in April. I can’t wait to meet my new students and to start them on their road to self-publishing success! 

Hello again! Welcome to the final blog in my series of monthly insights into what it’s like to undertake the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme.  

So, we’re here: month 12. 

A year ago, I joined the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme hoping to learn how to write a better novel. What I didn’t expect was that it would change how I understood myself as a writer. 

I think back to my initial decision - that this was the year I would apply for the course. I’m reminded of the definition of success I set myself, so I could judge whether the time and expense had been worthwhile. I expected to leave the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme with sharper tools, clearer habits, bigger ambitions, better plotting ability... fixes for my nascent manuscript. Greater discipline, overall. 

I expected to know exactly what questions to ask of myself. 

What I didn’t expect was to leave with fewer technical questions, but larger and more meaningful ones. Because when craft becomes embodied, the questions stop being mechanical and start becoming existential. At first, I worried this meant I had lost curiosity. In fact, it meant I had crossed a threshold. 

What this course has given me is not just skill, but self-trust. 

The writer I was a year ago chased hooks. The writer I am now trusts accumulation.  

The writer I was a year ago tried to sound like “a writer.” The writer I am now recognises my own voice.  

The writer I was a year ago thought I needed to write fast books. The writer I am now knows I write deep ones. And that isn’t a flaw—it’s a signature. 

So, back to that moment of decision. 12 months ago, I told myself that, even if nothing else were to come out of this year, I’d be happy if I could get to the point where my tutor, a two-times Booker shortlisted author, said of my work: “This is good. I like it.”  

When that day came – after being guided and challenged throughout by my tutor – it was a moment of coalescence. A bringing together of not only who I am as a writer, but why I write, and what a meaningful writing life looks like for me.  

The writer I was a year ago used to think in terms of “How do I write a great novel?”. The writer I am now is confident and happy to ask, “How do I behave in a way that makes a great novel possible?” 

As the course ends, I am realising this isn’t an ending so much as a change in how I walk into the work. 

The Ultimate Novel Writing Programme did not simply improve my manuscript. It altered my relationship with writing itself. I leave it not with certainty, but with something far more durable: clarity about who I am as a writer, and the resilience to keep going. That, I suspect, is where the real work truly begins. 

Thank you for being here across the 12 months with me in these blogs. It has been a pleasure to write and share them with you. 

Rachel Davidson was 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. She is now seeking her traditional publishing debut with her latest manuscript. You can find out more about Rachel via her Instagram @RachelDavidsonAuthor. 

I became a Jericho member back in 2018 and my debut novel THE LAST STARBORN SEER publishes with Head of Zeus/Bloomsbury this week. One of the things I love most about Jericho is that it offers such a wide range of resources, tailored to every stage of the writing journey.

Here’s my rundown of the ways Jericho Writers helped me at different stages in my journey to publication and additional resources to help you on your writing path too.

1: Planning Stage

While I was plotting and outlining the manuscript that would eventually become my debut novel, I wanted to absorb as much information about writing craft as I could. Jericho has a huge digital library of articles and videos, which I fully immersed myself in it. Much of this material is available for free. I remember three masterclass videos being especially helpful. They addressed ‘Show don’t Tell’, ‘Psychic Distance’ and ‘Voice’ – concepts I’d found harder to grasp from craft books alone, and ones that – once properly understood - really levelled up my writing.

Top resources if you're in the planning stage:

• Free resource: From Spark to Story with Becca Day
• Free resource: How To Plan A Novel: A Step By Step Guide
• Premium Member resource: Building your book with Becca Day
• Premium Member resource: 5 Things You Need to Nail Your First Draft
• Take it to the next level: Novel Writing Course: Write a novel in 8 months

2: Drafting Stage

Once I’d completed a full draft and had taken the manuscript as far as I could on my own, I was eager to get some expert feedback on it. I signed up for a manuscript assessment with Jericho, which was enormously helpful. It focused on both the positive elements of the manuscript, and those that needed further thought. It was a good introduction to constructive criticism, something writers have to navigate at all stages of their careers. Above all, it helped me hone my instincts about how to judge when editorial feedback is helpful. Oftentimes, the reader will correctly identify an issue with a piece of writing but not necessarily suggest the correct fix. Judging when to accept an editorial note - and when to challenge it - is a valuable skill all writers need to develop. The manuscript assessment with Jericho functioned as an excellent launchpad for me to then embark of self-edits. I had a clear plan in place for the areas I wanted to work on and refine.

Top resources if you're in the drafting stage:

• Free resource: 5 Steps to Turn Editorial Feedback into Action
• Premium Member resource: The Different Types of Editing with Margaret Kirk
• Premium Member resource: Take Your Novel From Good to Great video course
• Take it to the next level: Manuscript Assessment

3: Editing Stage

After I’d completed my initial self-edits and had a fairly clean manuscript, I decided to enrol on the Jericho Self-Edit Your Novel course, led by Debi Alper. I’d heard excellent reviews and was looking to elevate my editing skills. I loved the writing community I established with my course cohort and I learnt so much from reading and critiquing their work. The course was well organised and full of valuable content. What I took away from the course, was a renewed sense of confidence in my writing and my manuscript. This encouraged me to take the plunge and embark on my querying adventure.