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Novels, I think, have two main engines: two primary reasons to drive the reader on through the book. Those engines are:

Propulsion. Anything that makes the reader think, ‘What’s going to happen next? This is exciting. I can’t tear myself away from this moment.’

Adhesion. Anything that makes the reader think, ‘Wow, this feels so real. It’s like I’m really there. Yes, I know I exist in the real world, but while I have this book open in front of me, its world seems more real (and more fun.)’ The adhesion stuff is what makes the book stick. It’s what makes readers think about your world when they’re on the journey to work … and months after they’ve finished the book.

So: if you want your reader to plough excitedly through the book, you need both engines burning away nicely.

All propulsion, no adhesion? Your book is full of wham, bam, action, but it doesn’t feel real, so the characters and the situations don’t really stick. Readers skate through the book and forget it (if you’re lucky) or don’t even skate through it.

All adhesion, no propulsion? Congratulations. You’ve written a work of literary fiction that people praise but very few people actually read.

So that seems like a nice tidy plan. Write your book, make sure both motors are firing up nicely – job done.

The trouble is these engines fire in more or less opposite directions. One (propulsion) is urging you to stick in more people-with-guns / love-mishaps / zombies-with-interesting-superpowers and the like. The other engine (adhesion) is asking you to slow down and describe all that stuff in enough detail that you can give it a weight and credibility that makes all the stuff feel real and present when it’s happening.

So, what to do?

Well, one of the magic solutions is one we spoke about last week. What matters to the reader isn’t really ‘how much plot-style propulsion does this book possess?’ It’s more, ‘how much propulsion exists per thousand words?’ Same sort of thing when it comes to adhesion.

So deleting surplus word count is THE technique for improving both things at the same time. It’s just about the only method that does that.

And remember: you’re not aiming to reduce the amount you express. You’re aiming to express the exact same substance, but with greater density.

One of the things to watch for here is list-making. So you may want 5 sentences to describe (say) a romantic beach-side cottage. But if you whittle that down to just 2-3, you may get the same effect … or actually greater, because readers read what you’re telling them instead of just skimming.

Another key technique is frequent switching. So instead of:

1. Gunmen (or gunwomen; I’m not fussed) burst into a room, spray bullets around, and protagonist hides behind an old oak sideboard.

Or:

2. Gunpeople burst into a room. Then a two page consideration of what they look like, the room’s furnishings, the protagonist’s past experience with gunpeople, a discussion of the weather, and then spraying bullets.

We do roughly this:

• Gunpeople burst into the room
• Protagonist’s view of what they look like, what atmosphere there is. MC’s observation is probably a sentence or two at most. They’re kinda occupied.
• First bullet is fired
• MC observation of the moment. Quick thought about what action to take.
• Another bullet or two.
• More observation.
• Attempt at evasive action behind sideboard, tuned in with earlier thought process.
• Success / failure of evasion. More reflection / thought / MC-centric text. Back to more action

In effect, you’re constantly offering action and making sense of it via your protagonist.

Are there genres where this doesn’t matter? Yep, maybe. I’ve just read a chunk of my daughter’s Rick Riordan book (Heroes of Olympus / House of Hades), and it seemed all propulsion and so little attempt at adhesion, it wasn’t even clear to me who the MC was supposed to be.

But most books, most of the time? You need both engines firing. Or, to be more accurate, that’s true of all books, all of the time – just you need to strike a different balance depending on genre and audience.

That is it from me. I have no moustache and I do not smoke a pipe.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Action and reflection

Let’s see a 250-300 word chunk of text with nice flip-flop between action and reflection. If your passage has lots of dialogue in it, then check that the dialogue flip-flops in the same way. (‘Get out of here! That thing’s about to explode!’ vs ‘This reminds me of when …’)

As ever, let’s have title, genre and any context we need to make sense of things. When you're ready, upload your work here.

Til soon. 

Harry

On 2 July this year, my debut novel The Summer We Lied will be released into the world. Less than a month before that, I turned fifty. Fifty!? What on earth have I been doing with my time, you may well ask.  

I often wonder that myself when I see all the wonderful young writers out there, working full time and wrestling small children to and from school or nursery, yet still somehow managing to polish a manuscript worthy enough of publication.  

But what I’ve realised, over the last five years, is that we all come to writing on our own terms. For some of us that may be straight out of school or university. For others – like me – it might just take that little bit longer, and require a little more help.  

In 2021, after moving house and postcode, I took a break from teaching to try and finally do what I’d always said I wanted to do: write a book. By that stage, I had several notebooks full of ideas, a drawer full of half-finished manuscripts, but nothing I’d ever seen through to completion. Work got in the way, or having a child got in the way, or divorce got in the way. Life, in general, provided a plethora of excuses and reasons as to why I couldn’t just sit down and write a book. In reality, the only thing holding me back was myself.  

With no more excuses to be found, I sat down, got to work, and within a year had finished a manuscript that was perhaps less a novel than it was a jumble of ideas and genres. I’d proved to myself I could write 100,000 words, but I definitely needed help to take it to the next stage.  

Then, at the end of 2022, I had an idea for a new novel that really excited me. It fit the kind of genre of books I liked to read (crime thriller) and also felt cinematic in its sprawl. I had the characters, the stepping stones of a plot, but still no real clue how to hang it all together.  

After searching online for some available courses, I found the Jericho Writers website and applied for a place on their Ultimate Novel Writing Programme. I was thrilled to be accepted onto the 2023 Spring/Summer course and put everything I could into getting the most out of the amazing resources available. Over the months that followed - with feedback from my brilliant tutor, Holly Seddon, along with an equally fabulous peer group of fellow writers - I finished a manuscript that I felt confident enough to send out on submission. 

Back at the start of my writing journey, I’d attended an online event led by Juliet Mushens at Mushens Entertainment, which was hugely insightful. Juliet seemed genuinely passionate about her role as an agent, and I decided to send the opening of my completed novel to her first, just to test the water.   

Remarkably, Juliet requested my full manuscript and, after a couple of weeks of discussions about how better to structure the novel, signed me as a client. I couldn’t have been more thrilled, but the work only increased from there. It took three or four more iterations to get the story right; restructuring and reshaping, rewriting and editing. All the way through this period, I had Holly at the end of an email offering advice and cheering me on, and I had my UNWP fellow writers on WhatsApp and Zooms keeping me sane.

It took months, but by the June of 2025 it was ready to be sent out to Juliet’s list of editors. ‘Gird your loins,’ she told me. ‘This bit can be painful.’ I duly girded . . . then came the email: Alison Hennessey, at Bloomsbury’s Raven Books was taking it to acquisitions! 

The first person I texted was Holly – I knew she’d be just as thrilled as I was, and would also be there to offer me a steadying word if needed – then I texted my UNWP WhatsApp group to share the news: Shhh, don’t tell anyone - a two-book deal! An absolute dream, and I signed without any hesitation. 

Just as before, the work didn’t stop there. More edits, and a full year later, the finished, physical book is now in my hands at last.  

It feels both incredible and terrifying, when finally it happens. But I like to hope that - even at fifty - I’m just getting started. 

My top tips for aspiring authors

1. Embrace feedback

Get as much feedback on your ideas and writing as possible, whether online or in person. I’ve found everyone at Jericho Writers to be incredibly generous with their time and thoughtful in their responses. We are all learners in the beginning and finding a group to inspire and cheer you on can make all the difference. I couldn’t be without my UNWP alumni group and we still Zoom almost every month. 

2. Brace yourself for rejection - but see it as useful, too

Be prepared for rejection but also be ready to learn from it. If you get constructive feedback from agents who seem to be picking up the same issues or suggesting similar solutions, be open to their suggestions. Rewriting and revising your manuscript is all part of the process and if you’re rigid in your thinking, you maybe limiting your story’s potential without realising.  

3. Keep on keeping on

Don’t stop at the first hurdle. I know everyone says that feedback is subjective but it’s true! You only need one yes for the project to begin its journey. 

4. There's no such thing as 'too late'

Finally, remember there is no age limit on creativity. However old you are when you come to writing, or whatever your situation, all you can do is try. Even the humblest, messiest first draft has potential if you are willing to keep working at it.  

A law graduate and English teacher for almost twenty years, Rebecca Hardy is is currently taking a career break to pursue her love of writing. She lives in East Sussex, with her wife and teenage son, in amongst the fields and hills where her novel begins. A place which is, thankfully, far more tranquil in real life than on the page. Rebecca is a graduate of the Jericho Writers Ultimate Novel Writing Programme, and her novel The Summer We Lied releases on 2 July.

Want to find out more about the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme or apply for the next course? Let us know and we'll send some helpful information direct to your inbox.

Every year, the London Festival of Writing leaves us with that unmistakable post‑Festival glow — the kind that makes you want to write more and read more. So, in true Jericho fashion, we asked some of the team to share one small moment from the weekend that stuck with them. The brief was simple: one thing you learned, were reminded of, or will carry into your own writing practice.

And the results? Pure gold. From the electric buzz of community, to the joy of seeing writers cheer each other on, to those rare moments that remind us exactly why stories matter...we think the team captured the heart of the Festival perfectly!

Below, you’ll find their reflections and a little post-Festival warmth to keep you going until next year. If reading these gives you the urge to join us in 2027, you can always sign up for Festival updates or dive deeper into the community with Premium Membership.

Now, onto the good stuff…

Sophie Flynn

At this year's London Festival of Writing, I saw first-hand just how much excitement there still is from agents about discovering new writers.

It’s easy, especially when you’re deep in the querying trenches, to start seeing agents as gatekeepers, or to feel worn down by form rejections and silence. But spending the weekend surrounded by agents and publishers was such a good reminder that they actually just real people who genuinely love books and are actively looking for brilliant new talent.

On Saturday night, I watched a fantastic agent literally sprint across the hall to catch one of our Friday Night Live finalists before they left, because the agent didn’t want to miss the chance to speak to them. A dream scenario for any writer!

As writers, it’s so easy to focus on the rejections that we forget this: agents want to fall in love with your work. They’re hoping for that feeling just as much as you are. Some of them will even abandon their prosecco to sprint across a hall to tell you.

Becca Day

The main thing that really struck me this year was how valuable people found the lunch and tea & coffee breaks. When we’re planning the festival we’re often wrapped up in thinking about which authors we should invite to speak and which agents we want to be offering one-to-ones, which of course is all super important, but it’s often easy to miss what having breaks between all that excitement provides: the opportunity to chat with other writers. That’s the big difference between the London Festival of Writing and a weekend of online workshops. While the latter is still brilliant for learning, it lacks that face to fact interaction. I’ll never grow tired of seeing friendships form over coffee and pastries.

Rachel Davidson

Always a big highlight of my year. It's enormous fun, full of energy, enthusiasm and a particular shared excitement that bringing so many writers together in one place evokes. I invariably end the weekend exhausted, but it's the satisfying kind from doing something worthwhile - days spent beneath a benevolent sun, tending important crops and preparing a good harvest kind!

Everywhere I looked there were conversations, laughter, encouragement and smiles. Writers arriving hoping to learn, improve and make connections, and leaving having done all three. It's an opportunity to meet many of my writing friends in person rather than through our emails, Zoom squares and Townhouse forums. Every year it is confirmed that writers are some of the most generous, thoughtful and interesting people you could hope to meet. I'm already looking forward to the next one."

Imogen Love

Every year at the Festival of Writing, I like to think that our community proves why writing should never only be a solitary pursuit. Although writing will always involve a lot of time in front of the computer, we see how the insight and support received from being around other writers really is invaluable. I'm always aware that for many attendees, this will be the one weekend a year where they can devote their entire waking hours to being a writer, and I hope all take away that buzz of creativity, understanding, and community. I like seeing attendees gain the courage to put their hand up in a workshop and share something about their own writing practice that resonates with others, finally finding other people that 'get' their experiences as a writer. But my favourite moment is always Friday Night Live, where the finalists and shortlisted writers get wholehearted support and encouragement, and writers celebrate each other. It’s a reminder that generously swapping ideas, experiences, and learnings makes us all better writers!

Emily Mitchell

One thing I was reminded of at the London Festival of Writing was the sheer support and atmosphere that comes from a good writing community. Conversations were buzzing and new friendships made throughout the weekend. It is such a lovely thing for us to witness as people return with the friends they made in previous years and continue to expand their circle. Community is critical, especially when it comes to writing, where the industry can be quite quiet and isolating at times. As always, my highlight of the festival was the Friday Night Live competition. It's amazing to hear the finalists read their work live and they were so brave to share their work. I need all six of them to be published so I can find out what happens next. The gasp in the room at Denny's reveal in the extract was exquisite and the type of moment that reminds you how electrifying stories can be. However, what I most love about FNL is how supportive the entire room is of these writer's work and how much everyone is cheering one another on. It is a wonderful environment and always feels so special.

Tanya Lewis

One thing that really struck me at this year’s London Festival of Writing was how grounding it is to meet the people behind the industry. The agents, the authors, the publishers— and realise they’re not distant figures at all. They’re real humans with stories, nerves, excitement, and the same love of books that brought all of us into the room in the first place.

Across the weekend, I found myself chatting to agents who were excited about discovering new voices, and authors who spoke openly about their own messy drafts, long waits, and unexpected breakthroughs. Hearing those stories (the honest, unpolished versions) was such a powerful reminder that no one in this industry is gliding effortlessly from success to success. Everyone starts from somewhere.

It made the whole writing world feel kinder and far more accessible. And I left feeling reassured that the people we sometimes imagine as gatekeepers are, in reality, fellow book‑lovers rooting for writers and stories just like yours.

Laura Starkey

There were a couple of highlights for me this year. First, it was such a privilege - and a real buzz! - to see how far last year's Friday Night Live winner Kate Emilie has come in just 12 months. From competition winner to agented author with book deals in multiple countries, she's travelled such a distance in a single year: proof that believing in yourself, and pushing onwards with your dream, really can pay off. You never know whether the next competition you enter will be the one you win, whether the next agent you query will be the one who picks you up, or whether the next publisher you submit to will jump at the chance to sign you. It's a cliche, but it only takes one 'yes' to kickstart a career.

As always, the atmosphere at this year's festival was fantastically positive, too. I love that LFOW is an inclusive event where there's joy and camaraderie  to be found at any age, whatever your chosen genre and regardless of where you come from. What an amazing thing it is - and what an honour - that writers travel from as far afield as Australia, New Zealand and the United States to be with us each year! The Festival is always a brilliant opportunity to connect, and reconnect, with other people who love stories as much as you do. This year, I was lucky enough to see an old university friend there after we lost touch twenty years ago. How's that for a plot twist? 

This month’s learning is all about setting. It was real mindset shift when, on the Lead Tutor call this week, we were told that setting is not just about place – it's time too. And it’s not just about place and time, it’s all the other stuff like culture, traditions, politics, norms (the list goes on). This seems like a logical point when you spell it out, but I don’t know that I’d been thinking of it this way (especially when coming up with ideas, as I’m a plot-first kind of writer). Prior to the course, I’d been writing speculative and fantasy stories which, by nature, require a lot of consideration for world building. But now that I’m writing a psychological thriller set in our world, I thought the setting side of things would need less attention. Not so! 

Working through our weekly tasks, I’ve realised that while I’m making some use of my coastal setting, I’m not yet pushing it to its full potential. Is it atmospheric? Yes – I like to think so. Is my character a product of the setting? Yes, but I have some work to do on bringing this to the fore. Is the setting serving the story as effectively as it could? Not yet. It’s here that I need to knuckle down and lean into to what should be a really evocative setting. I mean, it’s got the SEA, right? One of the most powerful, expansive natural forces on earth. I’d be silly not to use it.  

This week during our tutor group workshop, we gave live feedback on each other’s works in progress. While we’ve done this on the forum (in writing), it’s the first time we’ve read our work aloud and received feedback ‘in the moment’. This is the sort of thing that would usually fill me with nerves and while I definitely stumbled over words when reading aloud (even though it was my own writing), I didn’t mind! Everyone in the group is so supportive – it feels like a safe space to get honest and constructive input. It’s such a boost to hear other writers enjoying your work and so useful when they spot things that you haven’t. I also love hearing everyone else’s excerpts – not just because they’re interesting stories, but because we all approach description differently and that’s what makes reading so enjoyable! 

So, not a part of the course exactly, but I was very fortunate to attend Jericho's London Festival of Writing last weekend (honestly probably my favourite writing event ever!). What was especially fun was meeting members of my tutor group in person and chatting with other course students and alumni. It’s such a lovely and supportive community and I’m so grateful to be a part of it. There’s just that instant understanding when you meet other writers. They get it.  

This week, I’ve had my second round of feedback from my tutor, Holly. I mentioned in the previous month about a ‘whacky’ idea I’d had and how without Holly’s encouragement, I’d have been too afraid to implement it. Well, I tried it out and the feedback was great (hurray!). It’s really boosted my confidence to take risks and play with the manuscript more. I love twisty and surprising stories, so why can’t I have a go at writing one? Turns out – I can! I wouldn’t have done this without Holly’s guidance.  

So, my key takeaway from this month... 

Use setting purposefully. Settings should serve the story and there are a whole host of ways they can do this; creating obstacles for the character, developing tension, reflecting mood etc. If like me, you have a tendency to focus on plot and let setting fall by the wayside – this is your call to action. Think about how you can make setting work best for you and be specific in it. We’re not talking reams of exposition but targeted, choice references that ground the reader and build trust. And, most importantly, have some fun with it and don’t be afraid to take a risk! 

Want to follow in Rachel's footsteps? You can learn more about the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme and how it can help you on your writing journey.

Apply before 30 June 2026 to save 10% off our Winter 26/27 course (up to £603 / $774 USD!). Just enter code EARLY10 when you apply to secure your discount.

Summer 2023 feels like a lifetime ago. In fact, very few things about my life remain the same from that period. I no longer live on a canal boat, or in the same part of the country. I'm in a different relationship, and I'm now a mother. The one constant is that I am still a writer, and the extract I nervously read live at Jericho Writers' 2023 Friday Night Live is now printed in hardback, about to be released as a lead title for Bantam, an imprint of Penguin Random House.

Looking back, the extract I read that night was far, far from its finished form. But sharing my work publicly, and winning the competition, gave me the confidence to keep going. The prize — a manuscript review, which I chose to have with the brilliant Debi Alper — gave me vital guidance on how to strengthen the novel before I started querying agents. Debi's notes were both validating and constructively critical, and once I'd put them into action, I felt confident that I'd done the best I could before I hit send. I know having the FNL win listed in my covering letter helped catch agents' attention. It signalled that other people believed in the work, and that I was prepared to put myself out there as a writer, even before I had the stamp of approval from the industry.

I was thrilled to sign with Megan Staunton at Bergstrom Studios, who sifted my query from the slush pile and replied with such enthusiasm that I knew she'd be the perfect champion for the story I wanted to tell. After another round of edits and changing the novel's title from Emotional Transport to The Carrier (thank you Megan!) we went out on submission. The wait was excruciating. There were months of silence, a string of enthusiastic-but-no thank you passes, and then, finally, an offer from Thorne Ryan, Deputy Publishing Director at Bantam Books. I was six months pregnant at the time, taking Megan's call while looking around a prospective rental flat with my now-husband. The estate agent looked a little perturbed when he saw me crying on the phone in the garden, but was patient enough to let me gather my thoughts and relay the information to my husband, before we politely declined the lease. The offer felt like a dream, but one that came with a note of caution, Thorne was clear that while she loved the premise, there was significant work to do to ensure the novel fitted firmly in the thriller genre. I was more than happy to do this, viewing it as another opportunity to learn from someone far more experienced than me, but I was also nervous about the practicalities. I had three months before my baby arrived and was still working full time. I didn't know how I'd feel after giving birth, or if I'd have the headspace to write with a newborn baby.

We managed to complete a structural edit before my son was born, and then another pass after his arrival — possibly more than one, the postpartum period is a little hazy in my memory. Eventually The Carrier was ready to go to copy edit, and the marketing and publicity team got to work planning the launch.

Now accurately packaged as a feminist thriller, The Carrier imagines a society where, if you're wealthy enough, you can pay to outsource unwanted emotions to an underclass of women known as the Carriers. It's been strange to watch something that began as a daydream on a long drive, morph into something with a team behind it. It takes so many people to release a book into the world, from the editors, to the proof readers, the cover designers, sales teams, publicists and printers. There is so much that happens behind the scenes to get a book onto the shelves, and I still find it hard to believe mine is one of them. Described by Pandora Sykes as "timely and fantastically compelling," The Carrier is currently making its way into readers' hands and I'm so excited, and a little anxious, to see how it will be received.

If there's one thing this whole journey has taught me, it's that the path to publication is long and winding. There are potholes and detours, and it can be tempting to give up. Opportunities like Friday Night Live helped keep me on track. Even if I hadn't been shortlisted, or won the prize, entering still gave me something to aim for and a milestone I could celebrate along the way. And that probably is the best advice that I could give anyone currently wrestling with a first draft or waiting to hear back from agents or editors. Celebrate all the wins along the way, because if you wait until your book is on the shelf, you're going to be waiting a very long time. Finishing a draft is worthy of celebration, as is hearing from an agent, or being longlisted for a prize. Even abandoning a novel that doesn't quite work deserves acknowledgement, you still put time and energy into creating something from nothing.  In a world full of distractions that are goading you to consume, giving your attention to writing and creativity is a brilliant and quietly radical thing to do. So keep going.

The Carrier is out on July 2nd, with Bantam. You can preorder it now. 

The phrase ‘kill your darlings’ originated with a British writer, Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, who said, in 1916:

“Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it – whole-heartedly – and delete it before sending your manuscript to press. Murder your darlings.”

That phrase was picked out and adjusted by the worse-named but more famous William Faulkner who said,

“In writing, you must kill all your darlings.”

Now, a few observations to start with:

1. Why did all British writers of a certain generation have names like Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch - and why on earth was I not issued with one of them?

2. The phrase does seem to be a particularly bloodthirsty one to use when your country is right in the middle of the bloodiest way it’s ever fought. Maybe chill a little, dude?

3. Faulkner’s version of the phrase is better than Q-C’s. The one-syllable click of ‘kill’ works better than ‘murder’ when laid against the two-syllable ‘darlings’. Maybe that explains why WF is more famous even though he’s got an obviously worse name.

4. While we’re on the topic of names, I feel obliged to point out that Sir Arthur Q-C also had a better moustache than WF, although both men put in a jolly decent effort. Well done to both. I’d say the two men were evenly matched in the matter of pipe-smoking.

But here’s a bigger observation:

5. The phrase is bullshit, no? I mean it’s  fur-lined, ocean-going, gold-plated, 36-carat, spit-and-polish nonsense. 

I never kill my darlings. I look after them.

This is my policy as a proud family man. (Number of children born: 4. Number of children so far slaughtered: 0.)

But it’s also my policy as a writer. If you write a great scene, keep it. If you have a good joke, retain it. If you nail a descriptive sentence, hang on to it.

Yes, a lot of deletion will happen in your work. And the more inexperienced you are, the greater the ratio of deletion to final output. But killing darlings is not really the way to do it.

In practice, I think there are two or three real guidelines that apply when it comes to deleting your material.

1. Compact is always better

It’s pretty much inevitable that if your first draft just spins productively off your pen, that plenty of what you’ve written can be made more compact. Sometimes, that’ll be a 12 word sentence that you can turn into a 9 word sentence (that says the exact same thing.) Other times, there’ll be a para that can lose a sentence. Or a chapter ending that offers a page of farewell, when really a single paragraph will do.

There are inevitably opportunities like this throughout your text and you should take them all. Perhaps the single most dependable, most surprising, most effective editing tool at your disposal is simply deleting the unnecessary. It still astonishes me quite how much deleting text can improve a manuscript. Everything gets better. A dull chapter becomes a good one. A soggy book becomes a propulsive one.

2. Delete more than you think

This is especially true for newer writers. I’d say most manuscripts that come through our doors for editing are at least 20% too long. 30% is perfectly common. And even if your manuscript is only 10% too long, that could easily mean that you have 10,000 words that really don’t want to be there.

Set your sights high when it comes to eliminating surplus. And bear in mind that the goal here is mostly to eliminate word count whilst communicating exactly the same thing as you did before. You want the same narrative power, but delivered with fewer words.

3. Some of your text will have been direction-finding

When you’re writing your first draft, a lot of what you do will have been effectively probing around on a misty mountain at night, searching for the right path forward.

That’s fine. We’re not issued with a very precise map at the start of writing, and even if we have pre-planned everything to the last detail, those plans may need amendment.

So your way – my way, anyone’s way – to resolve that uncertainty is just to write. We throw in a bit of this, a bit of that, see what sticks. When we find the way forward, we take it. That’s absolutely the right policy.

But when you come back to your manuscript, you need to find the bits of it which were just casting about for direction.

With those bits, you mustn’t think, “Hmm, how can I make this more compact?” You need to think, “Yeah, I just don’t need any of this, do I?”

It’s never as simple as just Select-Delete. There are always dabs of crucial information that you need to replant somewhere. There are joins to smooth. Character insights to adjust.

But roughly: direction-finding text will be baggy and useless. Your aim is to knock down the whole unnecessary structure, then do what you need to do to make good afterwards.

But killing darlings?

Nope. I don’t do that in my family. And I don’t do that with my text. I rather suggest that you wax your moustache, fill your pipe – and love your darlings.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Delete, delete, delete

Once more, there are two FF options this week. One for those taking the Plan Your Romance Novel video course, one not.

Plot Your Romance Novel video course task: Write a final 400-word pitch for the romance novel you would like to write. Your pitch should include: The type of romance (sub-genre), the central premise of the story, the key trope or tropes, the spice level and your reader promise. When you're ready, post your work in the forum.

General task: Find a 300 word passage in your text and cut it down. Your aim is to have the text say, essentially, the same thing as it said before, but with fewer words. I'm not going to be impressed unless you cut at least 30 words, and really, you're going to try for 50+. When you're ready, upload your work here.

Til soon. 

Harry

I like to think that, during my forty-ish years on this planet, I’ve picked up some pretty useful lessons for living.  

• Telling someone you love them is almost always a good idea, so long as you mean it 

• Life holds few pleasures more perfect than nice cup of tea + sit down + good book 

• Cheap bin liners are an utterly false economy.  

Five books into what I hope will be a long and happy writing career, I’ve acquired a few author-specific insights, too.  

I’m still learning all the time – but here are the most useful pointers I’ve gleaned thus far…  

1. Writing is hard 

The crafting of a novel is difficult. It’s a feat of creativity, but also of strategic planning, discipline and determination. At some point during the drafting of every book, I experience a crisis of confidence so profound it leaves me crying into my keyboard.   

The task seems harder still when you consider it in the context of real life, where many of us have day jobs, children or other dependents, and homes to run.  

But as Miley Cyrus famously said, ‘It’s the climb’ – and since when has anything worth doing been easy? I’ll probably always have days when I’m reduced to weeping at my desk. I’ve just learned to see them as part of the process: signs that I’m Doing The Work, and that it matters to me. 

2. Writing is joyful 

Consider the rush of crafting a conversation between two people who sound and feel real, even though, five minutes ago, they only existed in your head.  

Remember the kick of satisfaction that comes with making yourself laugh, or sending a shiver down your own spine, as you type.  

Think of those moments when you’ve hit upon precisely the right words to describe an emotion – a sentence that you know, in your bones, rings true.  

They are your reward for the times when everything seems wrong, and you feel like giving up.  

They are beautiful and you must savour them. 

3. The book in your head will never exist in real life 

Don’t ask me why – but something happens when you try to extract your lovely, shiny book idea from your brain and commit it to the page.  

Maybe it’s that character sketches and plot points are stress-tested when they’re stretched over thousands of words. Perhaps it’s a strange kind of alchemy: the base metal of your book turning into gold, even if it doesn’t feel that way as you work on it.  

Anyway, I’ve found stories rarely take the shape you initially expected when you actually start writing them. I have come to accept this. 

4. Publishing is not a meritocracy… and luck does a lot of heavy lifting 

The most talented authors are not always the ones who get the best deals or sell the most books. The vagaries of the market are too mad to make sense of, and the entire business is subjective. One editor’s trash is another’s treasure – particularly if it seems likely to blow up on BookTok. 

In my experience, it’s liberating to accept that some proportion of the success you find (or keep striving for) will always be down to luck: your book finding its way to the right people at the right time.  

Sidebar: I cannot stress enough how pointless it is to resent someone else’s achievements or feel bitter that yours don’t match up. Comparison is the thief of joy, but it’s also a total waste of time. Time you could be spending on honing your craft or pushing your own project forward.  

5. Fashion fades, style is eternal 

On a similar note, I think writing to fit in with a prevailing trend is risky – unless, of course, you’ve been commissioned to do so by a publisher and paid a tasty advance.  

As Yves Saint Laurent supposedly said: ‘Fashion fades, style is eternal.’ What’s selling today might seem old hat by the time you’ve got a full manuscript together - but a great story, beautifully written in your unique voice, will always have its place.  

Last week I took a Great Icon of English literature and trashed his cliffhanger chapter ending. And I think I was right enough about the badness of his endings, but I also realise that I didn’t actually offer much about what good endings actually look like.

So, today we investigate that.

I’m going to look at chapter endings from Katherine Rundell’s Impossible Creatures, a book aimed at roughly 10-12 year old readers, but which also sold plenty to adults too. The book won a ton of prizes and sold lots of copies, so it’s a pretty fair place to look for inspiration.

I’m going to put chapter ending techniques in different buckets, and we’ll see which bucket fills up fastest. The book starts out with two characters (Mal and Christopher) and I’ll label chapters accordingly.

Here goes.

Prologue (Mal)

“ … when there was a knock on the door.

It was the murderer.”

That IS kind of a cliffhanger-y chapter ending, but the chapter doesn’t finish in the middle of the action (Hardy-style). Instead, it closes on the cusp of something dramatic that's about to happen. 

Also, this is really a prologue – it’s only a page long – so it plays by different rules.

Bucket: Cusp of drama

Chapter 2 (Mal)

“But they were busy, and people mostly let her be, to run and eat and fly.

Except, that day, for the murderer.”

This just picks up the exact same tune as the prologue. If we’re being honest, that tune has only very recently been played and it’s a bit weak to revert to it quite so soon. But? OK, I’ve done things like that myself. It is a compromise, but not an especially grievous one.

But the prologue was ‘cusp of drama’, because there was an actual knock at the door. Here, no action is on the point of being launched, so this is a promise of action but (because of the ‘that day’) with the status set to imminent.

Bucket: Promise of action (imminent)

Chapter 3 (Christopher)

“The way grew steeper, and the earth darker, a peaty black dotted with gorse. The air began to smell different – richer, and deeper, and wilder.”

This is an interesting one. You can’t really say that this foreshadows future action, because there’s not even a whiff of what any action might be. What there is here, however, is a sense of change, and a hint as to what that change is going to be.

It’s going to be richer, deeper and wilder, of course. But it’s also going to be steeper / darker / blacker. That is, it’s going to be tough and dangerous. This is good writing, for sure, because a perfectly normal comment about the changing landscape is interpreted – correctly – as a comment about the boy’s future.

Bucket: Foreshadowing change (non-specific)

Chapter 4 (Mal)

“She flew there, 23 feet up in the sky, the wind buoying her, her feet pointed behind.

She did not see that the murderer watched her go."

This is now the third Mal chapter in a row that uses the exact same device – the exact same word – to propel reading. Honestly? I think it grates now. I’d have been happier with an ending along the lines of “She was confident that she’d escaped. Perhaps now, things could return to normal.” Any reader would interpret that as “Of course she hasn’t b****y well escaped, you idiot...”

But in terms of chapter ending style, we’re still in the same place as for the last one.

Bucket: Promise of action (imminent)

Chapter 5 (Christopher)

“’You're welcome here: you're my grandson, and it's right that you should come. But don't forget what I said [regarding a forbidden pond].’

He left. He didn't notice – for even the wisest of the old forget, sometimes, the care and subtlety of the young – that Christopher had made no promise [again, in relation to the pond].”

This, by contrast, seems like a pretty much perfect chapter ending. The author is effectively promising that her character is about to do something that he shouldn't do.

We don't at this stage know what the consequences of that transgression will be, so we can’t quite bracket this as a promise of action. All we really know is that whatever Christopher does is going to alter things in an exciting way. So our verdict is …

Bucket: Promising change (non-specific)

Chapter 6 (Mal)

“She had thought about writing to them, to tell them what she knew, but had decided not to. She could not bear to risk him [her griffin, the last one left alive] being taken.

She shivered, hard. She tucked her hair into her navy fisherman's jersey, and prepared to fly home.”

This chapter ending seems to me a little inert. And, OK, a great book can cope perfectly well with a few rather flat chapter endings, so I don’t want to make too much of this criticism. But the ending actually flattens any change, rather than creating it. The ending has a feeling of “OK, so we’re done here” to it, without undermining that statement, even metaphorically.

Bucket: Flat ending; no promise of change

Thoughts on all the above

What’s interesting to me here is that the best endings, to my taste, were the Christopher ones. They revolved around foreshadowing change / promising future action (not imminent).

The Mal chapter endings seemed either too flat (the last one) or too constantly dramatic (all the murderer-based ones). When I look at my own chapter endings, they tend to cluster very much in Christopher type territory: foreshadowing change / promising future action (not imminent).

That’s not at all saying that cusp of action endings don’t work – they certainly do, but they are the raisins in the pudding. They’re not the pudding.

Perhaps all this is just a matter of personal taste, but I really don’t think it is. I think that gives us a sense of what good chapters endings generally feel like. Join us over on Townhouse, if you can, and jump into this week’s Feedback Friday discussion. I think it’ll be very illuminating!

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Chapter endings

Again, there are two FF options this week. One for those taking the Plan Your Romance Novel video course, one not.

Plot Your Romance Novel video course task: Write one or two sentences about how you plan to combine or subvert common romance tropes. Share this in the forum.

General task: Give us two or three of your chapter endings, just as I’ve done in this email. Share your reflections on whether they work and what you think they’re doing - and as always, please provide your book's title and genre. When you're ready, upload your work here.

Til soon. 

Harry