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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

The first time I attended the Jericho Writers Festival of Writing, over ten years ago, I felt out of my depth. I’d written a novel that I thought was decent, and I’d be pitching it to agents that weekend. I didn’t know it then, but I still had a long way to go on my writing journey.

I have so many memories of that festival weekend – meeting other writers, speaking to agents, attending workshops. But what sticks in my mind most was an event called ‘Slushpile Live’, led by Harry Bingham, in which writers could hand in their cover letter, synopsis, and opening pages, and receive live feedback from agents in front of the whole room.

I was too nervous to hand in mine. We went around the room, hearing lots of useful feedback about people’s submissions. Mine was sitting on the desk in front of me.

‘I think we’ve got time for one more,’ Harry said.

But I still didn’t put my hand up.

I didn’t think my heart could take it. The feedback was all constructive, but tough to hear. None of the submissions were ready. It was clear that getting published would be even more difficult than I thought.

Still, I wished I’d put my hand up.

Harry and the agents gave feedback on the final submission.

Harry checked the clock again. ‘Alright, one more,’ he said.

My hand shot up. Harry took my pages. This was the first time anyone had ever seen my work, beyond family and friends. I was ready to run out of the room, to give up on this whole writing thing.

Harry read the opening paragraphs aloud. He paused.

‘That’s pretty good,’ he said. And he proceeded to dissect specifically what he liked about it, what I’d done well, and why it might entice an agent (and readers).

That moment will always stay with me. Because I knew I had something. Even if this novel never got published (and it won’t be), I knew I was on my way. That festival gave me the confidence to keep going, and a direction to get me there.

Over the following years, I used Jericho Writers for finding agents, for submission feedback, for agent one-to-ones. I attended more festivals. I was shortlisted for Best 500 Words and read my work in front of the entire festival. I was shortlisted for Best Opening Chapter, and more recently, Pitch Jericho. Each of these achievements felt like a little landmark – a sign that I was onto something, and that my dream of being published might come true eventually, if I just stuck with it.

I did stick with it. And in 2024 I was lucky enough to win an international writing competition, secure myself a wonderful agent and now I’m being published in multiple countries, with another book on the way.

My biggest piece of advice, which might seem unconventional, is to enter competitions. Of course it’s easy for me to say that – if I hadn’t won the Bath Novel Award, I might not have found my agent. But I also found an agent when I was shortlisted for Best 500 Words (for a novel which was ultimately never published). Always send your work to agents, but competitions are where I’ve found the most joy. Even if you don’t win, you might get longlisted or shortlisted, and you might receive feedback, which is huge for any aspiring writer.

Of course, I still had to put in the work. I had to write several failed novels, read lots of books about writing, and send my novels out in spite of the countless rejections. But by the time I wrote this latest novel, I felt like I knew (for the most part) what I was doing. I felt like I understood stories, and characters, and all the things we love about literature.

For anyone looking to write great stories and become a published author, you need two main things – to write a great book, and to pitch it well. Both of these are much easier said than done. It can often feel like you’re wandering alone through a long dark tunnel.

What Jericho gave me was a torch, a path, and a ray of light at the end.

The term cliffhanger derives from a famous scene in a Thomas Hardy novel, A Pair of Blue Eyes.

Now, I should probably say upfront that I think the novel is bad, the scene in question is worse, and that Hardy himself is monstrously overrated as a writer. If those thoughts mark me down as a Literary Infidel, then by all means print off this email, so you can tear it to shreds with your teeth, and shriek around your local shopping centre denouncing me and mine to everyone you meet. [Statutory warning: actually doing this may cause you some difficulty with your local mental health services. You do it at your own risk.]

Here’s what happens. (Because Hardy is extremely verbose, I’ve edited sharply to stop your eyes boiling in your head.) The hero is Mr Knight, and he’s at the tippy-top edge of a cliff, along with the lovely (but really quite useless) Elfride.

By an ill fate, the force downwards of her bound, added to [Knight’s] own weight, had been too much for the block of quartz upon which his feet depended …

It moved. Knight seized a tuft of sea-pink with each hand.

The quartz rock which had been his salvation was worse than useless now. It rolled over, out of sight …

One of the tufts by which he held came out at the root, and Knight began to follow the quartz. It was a terrible moment. Elfride uttered a low wild wail of agony, bowed her head, and covered her face with her hands.

Between the turf-covered slope and the gigantic perpendicular rock intervened a weather-worn series of jagged edges, forming a face yet steeper than the former slope. As he slowly slid inch by inch upon these, Knight made a last desperate dash at the lowest tuft of vegetation--the last outlying knot of starved herbage ere the rock appeared in all its bareness. It arrested his further descent. Knight was now literally suspended by his arms.

You’d think that Elfride’s job was now rather obvious: help her buddy from an obvious death. But she’s useless and Knight isn’t much better. Here’s Hardy in action again:

A minute--perhaps more time--was passed in mute thought by both. On a sudden the blank and helpless agony left her face. She vanished over the bank from his sight.

Quite why any pair of idiots would be so clownish as to pass a minute or more doing nothing and formulating no plan is left unclear. Perhaps the best thing would have been for the two of them to jump off the cliff together and save the world from some quite questionable DNA.

However, that’s not what happens.

The next chapter opens with over two thousand words (Two! Thousand! Words!) of reflection of trilobites and much else. Then it turns out that Elfride has taken her greatly-skirted underthings off and is proposing to knot it into a rope. There follows the normal unhurried discussion of these things. (‘Now,' said Knight …, 'I can hold three minutes longer yet. And do you use the time in testing the strength of the knots, one by one.')

Then the rescue is effected.

A glorious narrative technique propelling the reader further and faster through the book?

Or a horrible mess?

I don’t, in all honesty, think there’s any real defence of the writing. I think, even taking period into account, it’s just bad prose. (You’re welcome to disagree.) But on the cliffhanger technique, I think:

• It was a good ploy for Hardy,
• And a terrible ploy for you.

Hardy, remember, was writing this book in serial form. So he needed a powerful way to keep his readers – and buying – from month to month. The cliffhanger technique certainly delivers a reason to make that additional purchase.

You’re not writing that way. A reader has paid their money and can, in principle, put the book down any time they want. Now, assuming that you are half-decent at your job, no reader will want to stop reading when your character is hanging by his fingertips from a cliff. So they’ll read on until your character has either plunged to his death, or been rescued via a string of knotted underwear.

So your chapter breaks need to reflect the natural beats of your reader. They’re a way for you to say:

“Now look, old buddy, in a way I’d prefer you to read my book at a sitting, then race around telling all your friends to buy a copy for themselves. But I know life isn’t always like that. Maybe you’ve reached your train stop and need to get off – or it is past midnight and you need to get up early in the morning – or perhaps one of your more beloved children is on fire and calling for help.

Whatever the case may be, there are times when you want to put the book down and would like a gentle hint from me – the author – as to when a break would feel most natural. I call those hints ‘chapters’ and I have marked them typographically, so you really can’t miss them when they arise.”

A cliffhanger is the absolute opposite of a natural break and I almost can’t think of a good reason why you should ever have one.

That doesn’t mean you can’t do a little bit of foreshadowing – effectively a ‘tune in next time, because …’ sort of message. Those things might show up as little closing snippets – this sort of thing:

‘She tried to sleep, but the moon flew high in the ragged clouds, and an owl screeched nearby, and her dreams were full of fighting.’

‘He stood up. He knew what he had to do. Now he – somehow – had to find a way to do it.’

Those things are not cliffhangers. They don’t stop the novel in the middle of a narrative beat. They are just a way of closing the beat, while at the same time making a promise that what follows will be worth reading.

That’s it from me. If you have written a cliffhanger worse than Thomas Hardy’s please send it in to me direct, and I shall buy you a cake as big as your head. The downside is that I’ll publish it.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Showing emotion

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 a short romantic moment between two characters in two different ways:  One version with minimal spice. One version with a higher level of spice (don’t force yourself to write anything you feel uncomfortable with). Reflect on which approach feels most natural for your story (and for you) and share in the forum. Make sure to include trigger warnings where applicable. 

General task: Let’s do the same thing – pick a scene where two characters are becoming emotionally close. That could be a classic romantic scene. Or it could be a different sort of love manifesting – a mother greeting a long lost child, a son at his father’s deathbed.

Think about how you show emotion. What mixture do you make of: (a) straightforward emotional statements, (b) bodily sensations, (c) dialogue, (d) action, (e) more oblique suggestions of mood (e.g.: weather, atmosphere, surroundings.) And please make my day: let’s not just have a long list of body parts! When you're ready, upload your stuff here.

Til soon. 

Harry

When a manuscript is on submission, one of the most commonly heard reasons for rejection is that it fails to be ‘stand out’ enough in a saturated market.

With the number of books being published, there are few markets which don’t feel saturated these days. So how do you give your novel an edge that sets it apart? 

1. Hook

Introduce an unusual hook or ingredient. Perhaps it’s a chilling or unreliable narrator, or heady nostalgia that captures a certain era. Gone Girl gave us the twist we didn’t see coming at the midpoint, rather than at the end of the book. Colin’s Walsh’s literary thriller Kala plays with strands of time in a haunting, lyrical way that gives it a class all of its own. 

In my novel Two Little Liars, readers have cited the thread of witchcraft running through the story as adding something new and different compared with the average thriller. Whatever your element (or genre) is, aim to invoke a particular feeling or response in your reader, or a unique atmosphere that lingers long after the final page.

2. Setting

One of the finest compliments a writer can receive about their setting is that it feels like a character in itself. There are many ways in which this can be achieved, whether it’s an everyday domestic setting that should be one of safety and routine, or something unfamiliar such as a lonely mountain lodge or remote island. 

Homes, schools, and shopping centres can quickly become places of real menace when the uninvited is introduced: a window that shouldn’t be open, a noise where there should be silence, a nerve-jangling walk to the only car in a usually packed parking lot.  

3. High stakes

In any thriller, the standard ultimate cost to a character is their life, their liberty or the life of one of their loved ones. But think about other ways to elevate the danger.

What sort of toll will the events of your story take, both physically and emotionally on your protagonist? What will it do to the fabric of their family, their person, their reputation, or their conscience? These things show us who a character is and what they stand to lose, and ultimately they are things that make us care about a character’s fate.  

4. Characters you root for

Characters that feel real and authentic are flawed. They not only have surface flaws, such as being a bit clumsy or forgetful - they're characters who are capable of making life-changing, catastrophic errors of judgement or doing terrible things in moments of madness or to protect the people they love.

My character Erin is haunted by a past mistake that affects every facet of her life and her family, but it is possible to be invested in her because of her deep regret over her actions, and the love she has for her mother. While she acknowledges that she might deserve whatever is coming to her, her mum doesn’t, and it is this love that drives her and helps us to be on her side. 

And while we may not root for some characters, we can still be invested in their outcomes. I have never turned pages faster than when reading the diary entries from Colleen Hoover’s Verity, or despised a character as much as Beatrice Lacey in Philippa Gregory’s Wideacre, even though I understood what propels her to act as she does. We do not have to empathise with a character to care what happens to them next. In fact, a story is no less compelling when the opposite is true. 

5. The payoff

With any book, we want the ending to be a satisfying experience. By definition, a thriller should be thrilling: exciting, high octane, and a little bit scary (or very scary, even). 

A rewarding payoff could be as simple as a classic ‘kill or be killed’ showdown between your main character and the antagonist. It could do something that shocks or surprises the reader, such as offer a huge twist that turns the entire book on its head. It could have the villain seemingly getting away with it in a move that’s totally unforeseen. I barely breathed through the final scenes of Promising Young Woman, unable to believe what was happening.

The key to making these things emotionally gratifying is to thread obstacles to be overcome, and clues to be unravelled, leading up to this point. Twists that aren’t adequately seeded are more likely to leave a reader feeling cheated than fulfilled, so it’s vital there are breadcrumbs or double bluffs along the way to provide the ‘Aha, of course!’ moment as everything comes together. Ultimately, you goal should be to leave your reader feeling that their time with your book was well spent. 

Michelle Harrison is the bestselling author of twenty books for children, published in twenty-five territories. Her debut novel, 13 Treasures, won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize. Prior to being a full-time writer, Michelle was a bookseller for Waterstones and then an editorial assistant for Oxford University Press. She lives in Essex with her son and cats. Two Little Liars is her first novel for adults. Released on 4 June 2026, it's a chilling psychological thriller inspired by Osea Island, and the witch trials Essex was once well-known for. 

Some characters stay with us long after the book closes. They breathe. They ache. They remind us of someone we love – or someone we used to be.

“There is also the fact that you don’t want to get married,” I finish simply. “We are just too different. In the end, emotions, chemistry and sharing great banter just is not going to be enough to keep us together. Let me release you so you can find a nice uncomplicated woman who isn’t as goofy as me.”

“Suppose I just want goofy,” he says simply.

– The Marriage Monitoring Aunties Association (One More Chapter Books)

Sade and Jimi are the main characters in my latest romcom, where I show them loving, yearning, hurting and disappointing each other and walking away. Yes, they get back together in the end – but not without a big build-up of emotions.

Then there are characters who feel like cardboard cut-outs: technically correct, but emotionally hollow.

The difference isn’t the author’s talent. It’s emotional architecture – the inner scaffolding that makes a character feel real, layered, and alive.

This is the part most writers skip. Not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know how to build it into their work.

1. Start with the wound, not the want

Every unforgettable character carries a wound – an old story they’ve been telling themselves about who they are and what they deserve. This wound shapes their choices, fears, and relationships.

• A woman who was overlooked as a child becomes hyper‑independent.
• A man who was abandoned becomes the one who leaves first.
• A girl who grew up invisible becomes the loudest person in the room.

When you understand the wound, the plot stops feeling forced. Your character’s decisions make emotional sense.

Once youembed some behaviour/habit/intuition in another character that unlocks or perpetuates your protagonist’s wound, everything else flows.

2. Give them a contradiction

Real people are messy. We say one thing and do another. We want love but fear vulnerability. We seldom say what is on our minds.

We are silent when someone says something that troubles us or makes us reflective. Sometimes we pause so that someone else knows we are irritated with them. We crave success but sabotage ourselves. We want peace but create chaos.

Characters who resonate with readers are those capable of holding two truths at once.

They might be…

• Confident but terrified of being truly seen
• Kind but capable of pettiness
• Loyal but secretly longing to escape.

Contradiction is human – and we need to see conflict within, as well as between characters.

3. Let their desire drive the plot

A character’s desire is the engine of your story. Not the external goal (“get the job”), but the emotional one (“prove I’m worthy”).

When readers understand what your character really wants, they root for them – even when they make mistakes.

This is why romance and romcoms hit so hard: the emotional desire is always front and centre.

4. Show the cost of staying the same

A character arc isn’t about change for the sake of change. It’s about the moment they realise:

“If I keep living like this, I will lose something I can’t bear to lose.” Maybe that’s the male or female character in a novel – or even their sense of self-worth or self-respect.

That’s when the story deepens. That’s when readers lean in.

5. Build emotional resonance through small, specific details

Readers don’t fall in love with characters because of grand speeches. They fall in love because of:

• The way she rearranges her mother’s flowers after every argument
• The way he checks the door twice before leaving
• The way she laughs too loudly when she’s nervous
• The way he gets silent the moment he gets defensive.

Specificity illuminates intimacy. Think of the rom coms or films that you remember today and what it was about the characters that still endears you, or energises you, years later. Use this to add intentionality to your characters.

That will keep readers with them on their journey.

Want more from Ola? She’s now available for one-to-one mentoring through Jericho Writers. Ola brings both warmth and experience to her mentoring, with a genuine desire to support aspiring authors to write the books that they’ve dreamed of.

Rachel McLaughlin, recipient of the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme Bursary, is currently studying on the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme. She’s agreed to share her experience of the course with us month by month.

Wow, month two already – how time flies! Suffice to say, I am fully immersed in the course and loving every minute. 

This month, we’ve been focused on point of view. I’ve always gone with ‘what feels right’ for POV choices and, admittedly, will sometimes get tens of thousands of words into a draft then decide I MUST switch it up. I’m definitely guilty of treating a POV change as a ‘magic bullet’ for all everything that isn’t working. But the work this month – including our Lead Tutor call from Holly Seddon – made me realise that POV can be a much more deliberate and nuanced choice. I’m not promising that I won’t flip-flop on POV in future drafts, but if I do, it will definitely be a more informed decision!  

So, I have to mention my first official round of tutor feedback, because this was a big deal for me. While Holly had taken a look at my plan already, she’d not read any of my actual draft until now. And having my writing reviewed by an author whose work I admire? More than a little nerve-wracking! I delayed opening the email until I was home, in case it was overwhelming. Honestly, I’m glad I did because the second I read it, I was grinning and kicking my feet! Holly had written the loveliest things! Praise for the lines I thought worked, laughter in all the right places and constructive feedback on how to sharpen the passage – all of which I agreed with. There’s nothing more validating than having an author whose work you enjoy, write positive and helpful things about your draft. It was exactly the boost I needed. 

Following on from this, we had a one-to-one in which I was able to sound out a new idea I had for the manuscript. In the past, I’ve talked myself out of changes that felt too wild or ambitious but being able to talk it through with Holly was a complete game-changer. She wisely advised me that it can often be some of the more ‘whacky’ ideas that are exactly what a manuscript needs (especially if you as a writer are casting about for these). I’m excited to be implementing my plan to help make my story even twistier, so, watch this space... 

In our tutor group workshops, we’ve played around with point of view and narrative distance (the latter took some time to get my head around). The interactive element to these sessions has been so fun and it’s given me even greater appreciation of everyone’s creative abilities! It’s also just enjoyable to have a play with writing, especially when I’ve been so head-down in my manuscript.   

There was one week this month when life was just too busy for me to manage the homework. What I appreciate so much about the course is that this was totally fine! There’s such an understanding amongst the tutors and other course members that life can sometimes get in the way. After all, we all have other commitments, be it work, caring responsibilities, health etc. I was so grateful to be able to step back for a week, then pick back up with the content when I was able. I struggle with writers' guilt on the days I don’t progress my manuscript, so I was very thankful that there was no additional pressure from the course.  

So, what’s my learning point from this month? 

It has to be about intention. Holly quite rightly challenged me to think about some of the decisions in my manuscript – mostly because they weren’t decisions at all, I’d just fallen into the ideas. They ‘felt right’ (I’m learning that I’m somewhat of a ‘vibes’ writer at times!) I’ve realised it can be so helpful to wind back and think about the WHY. Why this point of view, why this level of narrative distance, why this setting, this character? It’s not that I think my choices aren’t valid, but if I’m more intentional, I can use them to my advantage. And this is where I think I can really elevate my writing. So, if I were to share any tips from this month, it would be that – think about what key choices you’ve made for your book and either lean into them or switch it up. It doesn’t matter which, as long as you’re intentional

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.

Ever read the first few lines of a story and just had to keep going? That’s exactly what the Friday Night Live (on a Saturday) competition is all about with the London Festival of Writing, but it's also about so much more. For example, last year's winner Kate Emilie kindly put together a guest article for us sharing her experience of the festival, competition and how it helped her land a two-book deal.

Don’t just take it from us. Let’s hear from some of last year’s finalists. They’ll tell you what the festival was like, how they found community and how those first few hundred words changed their writing game.

Tori Howe, 2025 Friday Night Live finalist

The London Festival of Writing was an incredible experience for me personally. I decided I had nothing to lose by entering the Friday Night Live (FNL) competition not expecting to get selected so when the email landed in my inbox telling me I was a finalist I was shocked & delighted.

I was nervous to read on stage, but I want to continue to grow as a writer and set an example to my children to ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ in life. It was the first time I’d shared my romantic comedy material publicly, to hear laughter from the audience felt very gratifying and receiving live feedback from the judges was invaluable. 

At the festival I also had a One-to-One booked with an agent who gave me fantastic advice and encouragement. I left our meeting with my first full manuscript request and a renewed sense of focus on finishing the final third of my first draft. 

When I began querying a few months later I was fortunate to receive five offers of representation and have signed with my lovely agent (Sarah Brooks at Darley Anderson). 

I couldn’t have predicted any of this before the festival. The Jericho Writers team were a pleasure to deal with, their website is a treasure trove of resources. Meeting and chatting to other authors on the day and hearing inspiring talks were also highlights.

It’s a cliche but the writing community really is the best. All the FNL 2025 finalists have stayed in touch, and we continue to support each other a year later. 

Isabel Norris, 2025 Friday Night Live finalist

The London Festival of Writing was the very first writing event I attended, and I’m so glad I did. It was a truly transformative weekend for me. For a year beforehand I’d been working on my novel, watching the video masterclasses with Jericho, and even completed the Self-Edit Your Novel course, but it was the festival, where I had the opportunity to meet agents, industry professionals, and connect with fellow writers, that I finally felt like a ‘real’ writer. 

The Friday Night Live competition was the cherry on top of the cake of the weekend. To be chosen among so many talented writers was a thrill in itself, but to share the opening of my novel with the judging panel and a room full of my peers was both challenging and so rewarding. Though I didn’t win, I was approached by so many people that evening and the next day of the festival, many of them complimentary and excited by my work (one comment that my writing reminded them of Throne of Glass will stay with me forever!). That, and the bond I made with the other finalists, really gave me the confidence to start querying. Later that year I signed with an amazing literary agent, and I’m now preparing to get a new novel out on submission to publishers with them.

I left the festival with a notebook full of ideas, new connections that kept me sane through the tribulations of querying (and no doubt will support me as I go on submission), and a beautiful sense that the writing community is truly something special. My advice to any authors considering attending? Go for it!

Laura Daniels, 2025 Friday Night Live finalist

The London Festival of Writing 2025 gave me a fabulous opportunity to meet industry professionals, experience a mix of writing craft and community, and submit to the competition. 

On hearing I had made the final of Friday Night Live, my excited shock quickly turned to panic. I was advised by friends to video myself reading my opening pages, which I duly did. It was initially toe-curling, but it gave me the opportunity to practice, and on the night, it helped me get on stage. 

Facing a ballroom full of industry professionals and writers was daunting, but once I began to read from SMILE WHEN I WAKE, I realised many in the audience were not looking up at me as they were listening intently, which made it less intimidating. 

Receiving positive feedback from the panel members and other writers was a huge boost and has encouraged me to hone my novel. 

As I embark on the submission process to agents, being in the Friday Night Live final is a lovely accolade to include in my covering letter and a memory to treasure. I am excited to return to this year’s festival!

Larry Reynolds, 2025 Friday Night Live finalist

Attending the Jericho Writers London Festival of Writing was an immensely beneficial experience - great workshops and a wonderful opportunity to meet other writers. Being shortlisted for the Friday Night Live event was a huge boost to my confidence. For the first time I felt like my work might be good enough to get published. I’ve stayed in contact with my fellow FNL finalists and have found their ideas and practical support invaluable. More recently I’ve received some incredibly useful feedback from a Jericho Writers editor and now I’m ready to start querying!

Davina Bhanabhai, 2025 Friday Night Live finalist

It’s fair to say that the 2025 London Festival of Writing aligned my writing constellations and helped me secure agent representation!

I was initially invited by Becca Day as a speaker to the Festival, to present a workshop about Authenticity Editing. I’d never been to a writing festival before and was thrilled that Becca gave me the push I needed (thanks Becca!), to attend both as a speaker and a writer. I invested in myself and bought tickets to the whole weekend and enjoyed a stay in our gorgeous capital city, London.

The weekend was packed full of great sessions and workshops, talks by authors such as Ruth Ware, Sophie Flynn, Becca Day, Nikesh Shukla and Aliya Ali-Afzal, advice from industry professionals and helpful feedback from agent one-to-ones.

I entered the Friday Night Live (on a Saturday!), not expecting anything given I’d never entered before. To my astonishment, I was one of eight top finalists, chosen to read the first 500 words of my fiction novel. I was nervous, but I enjoyed reading my writing to an audience of over 300 people and a panel of judges, who gave positive, live feedback afterwards. Though I didn’t win on the night, it still ended up being a winning month for me as I secured agent representation from one of the judges on the panel. The night also gave me the confidence and motivation to complete my fiction novel, which was subsequently longlisted for Simon & Schuster’s New Chapter competition. I’m now on submissions for a non-fiction book, as well as working on edits on my fiction book.

If you’re considering attending, do it. A day, two days, the whole weekend, it’ll help get your creative juices flowing and you’ll meet a community of fellow writers who enjoy the same things you do, ‘get’ your writing obsession and open up conversations with “So, what are you working on/writing?”, and who will become good writerly friends. It may just give you the push you need to believe in your dreams, network with an exceptional team of trusted experts at Jericho Writers (Kat, Laura, Emily, Tanya, Imogen to name a few!), to help you along the way…maybe it’ll help align your writing constellations, too!

Here’s a thought.

I’ve always said that every chapter needs to destabilise the situation that prevailed at the end of the previous chapter.

And that’s true.

The simplest way of thinking about this is:

• What was my character’s relationship to his or her goal at the end of the last chapter?
• Has that relationship been destabilised (even ever so slightly) in the course of this chapter? Are we now in a new place at the end of it?

That disciplined way of thinking essentially never fails, but maybe there’s a more interesting way to look at it, too.

The way I’ve just phrased it puts the emphasis on the exterior. (Does Bond defuse the bomb? Does Lizzy Bennet get closer to her Mister?)

But what if we look at the same thing in interior terms? So the questions might shift to something a little bit more like these:

• What was my character’s state of wisdom / learning / emotion at the end of the last chapter?
• Have those things been altered (even ever so slightly) in the course of this chapter? Are we now in a new place at the end of it?

Obviously, that interior focus will work quite badly for some books. Any geo-political thriller shouldn’t really be too interested in Jack Ryan’s state of maturity and wisdom. Those books really do need to care, mostly, about saving the world. Likewise, crime fiction that’s written as part of a series can’t really do the Ascent to Wisdom journey time after time after time. (Yes, you can have some personal challenges / insights in each book, but they won’t have the scale and import of those in standalone novels.)

But a rule with exceptions can still be a pretty handy rule. If you’re writing a coming of age novel, or a romance, or really anything with an emphasis on interior development and learning, then this is a very handy rule to set alongside the other.

And just as you find familiar tropes emerging when you use the exterior rule, you’ll find familiar tropes emerging when you use this interior approach, too. For example:

• Your character faces a challenge. She trains and fails. She trains and succeeds. When the Big Challenge arrives, she is nervous but prepared.
• In a romance, your Mister is deficient. He fails with his future Missus. He works on that deficiency in some way and fails. Works again and succeeds. Everything goes swimmingly with the Missus.
• Your young adult protagonist has never really had an encounter with the other sex. But the girl/boy has some mission to do with a boy/girl, and they become highly engaged in that project, and then they develop feelings for each other... and that manifests as romance, not just as project work.

You’ll notice that in all these cases, the themes are learning, training, development, new accomplishments. I suppose that’s because those things are the nature of life, or at any rate the bits of life that a novelist is most interested in. And following these tropes just isn’t a negative. You’re not being unoriginal; you’re delivering to the reader the exact thing that brings them to the book in the first place.

And of course, you can have learnings of this sort that a character is only jerkily aware of. So let’s say that you have a 14-year-old girl training for a big karate fight. She can enter a chapter believing she’s going to lose. She can end the chapter thinking the same thing. That wouldn’t violate our rules, so long as the reader sees that some kind of transformation is happening, unaware of it though the character may be.

As a matter of fact, imperfect self-awareness in a lead character is a really excellent thing to make happen. It creates real texture in the book. You’re forcing the reader to read your character, not just your words – because yours words aren’t (directly) revealing what’s going on. Readers love those challenges, so the more of them the merrier.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Character blind spots

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 a short profile of your ideal romance reader, including: the types of tropes they enjoy, what emotional experience they want from a story and what kind of ending they expect. Share this profile in the forum.  

General task: Show me a 250-word scene that exhibits a blind spot in your character. I do know that’s hard to understand out of context, so please be generous in giving us the context we need. Also, as ever, title and genre, please.

I’m happy with blind spots (a) where the character doesn’t see him/herself properly but those around them do, or (b) where the character and everyone else are in the dark. Just show us the character failing to understand him or herself. When you're ready, upload your stuff here.

Til soon. 

Harry

I run the Jericho Writers’ Self-Edit Your Novel course, which launched all the way back in April 2011. I built the course together with Emma Darwin and June will be our sixty-second group. We now have 717 alumni, well over a hundred of whom are published. If you want to see the evidence, have a look at the Hall of Fame on my blog.

Practical, not theoretical

So, what’s the reason for this amazing success rate? I’d say it’s because we impart general advice, techniques and guidelines in the detailed tutorials, but the exercises are based on your own work in progress. That means the course isn’t merely theoretical, it’s practical: we show how to apply the tools and techniques you’re learning to your writing, in real time.

Not only that, but students also see how to apply them to the work of the other eleven writers in their group. Through critiquing each other, you hone your editing skills at every stage – learning how to analyse and deconstruct a draft, seeing what works and what doesn’t (yet) and deciding what tools to apply to make it work better.

Each week, I give everyone very detailed feedback on their writing. People can then compare that with the feedback they’ve given and learn from it.

Transferrable skills

The skills you learn when you study the principles of self-editing are skills you’ll have for life. It’s not hyperbole to say that gathering the tools that enable you to stand back and analyse a draft will change your writing forever.

Many of our alumni are published with different novels from the one they were working on during the six weeks, but they all credit the course, acknowledging the difference it made to their writing.

Let’s break this down...

Structure, plot and pace

In week one of Self-Edit Your Novel, we identify what your story is and talk about where it sits in the market – but the main topic for the week is structure, plot and pace.

We talk about what readers are looking for on a first page, what they expect to find on the last page, and techniques for getting between the two. Once you know how to work out where your story begins, you then learn about ways to ensure the narrative drive never falters, and everything has a function in pushing your story forwards to the end.

Though we’re working specifically on your current work-in-progress, these are techniques which will be applicable to any future stories you write.

Crafting authentic characters

Week two focuses on character. Making your characters leap from the page is vital – after all, they are the readers’ representatives in your story.

Characters don’t have to be likeable, but they do have to be compelling. There are certain elements that apply to all main characters, in every story. In a group of twelve students, we always have a diverse range of characters, so you’ll see the importance of showing characters in action and the various techniques that ensure a character is compelling.

Voice: finding and refining it

In week three, the topic is voice. Your current work-in-progress might be in first or third person, past or present tense – or you might have a combination of voices.

Unless you’re writing a series, your future books will have a very different voice, so you need to train your writerly muscles to stretch in the direction that works best for each story you want to tell.

Given that we’re constantly told voice is the first thing an agent – or any other reader, for that matter – looks for on the page, the importance of understanding what constitutes a fresh and distinctive voice can’t be overstated.

Psychic distance: the gamechanger

Week four is the one most of our alumni describe as the gamechanger. The topic is point of view (POV) and psychic distance (PD).

Psychic distance is the most transformative tool in the novelist’s kit, holding the key to voice, POV, character, show and tell. It’s to do with how deep we go into characters’ heads and the extent to which their voices colour the prose.

In third person, this might be a matter of distinguishing between the voice of an external narrator – a storyteller, of some kind – and that of the character in whose POV we are. In first person, it’s about distinguishing between the voice when it’s in narrator-mode and when it’s in character-mode.

But this magical tool is infinitely flexible. It will apply differently to every story on the course and, once you understand the potential of using the PD spectrum to bring your writing to life, you’ll know how to apply it to any future projects.

The prose microscope

In week five, we put an extract from your draft under the microscope and analyse every word, every punctuation mark, every line break. We also talk about showing and telling, dialogue, adjectives, adverbs and rhythm.

This is the kind of fine polishing that you should only do once you’re preparing a final draft – but again, there are general lessons to learn that will apply to all your writing, not just your current work-in-progress.

Confidence beyond the course

By the end of the course, you’ll have the tools, skills and confidence you need to edit the current draft of your novel. More than that though, you will have learnt techniques that will apply to editing everything you write in the future. You can also revisit the content at any time, as you have lifetime access.

As an added benefit, your first drafts are likely to be in better shape than they would have been before you internalised what makes stories work for readers.

If you’d like to join us for round sixty-two (!) of Self-Edit Your Novel, we’d love to have you. Don’t forget: there’s a fully funded bursary place available for each course. Several of our previous bursary winners are already in our Hall of Fame, so please apply if you qualify.

If you’re not ready for an in-depth tutored course on this topic, why not consider Introduction to Self-Editing – a self-guided video course that will give you some basics to build on? It’s free and included with Premium Membership, or just £99 to buy as a standalone option.

EL Doctorow – a genius – once said, ‘Writing a novel is like driving at night in the fog. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.’

And that’s true. Give or take a few extreme plotters, essentially no novelist knows the full route their book will take when they start out. Worse still, it’s extremely hard to know if all your effort is even productive. Are you making this trip in the fog to reach a dead end? Or to reach the kind of literary nirvana, represented by a literary agent and a modest book deal?

This email offers no solution.

But driving in fog is scary and it’s easy to get off track completely … or to be bang on track but spend your days worrying that you’re going wrong. So this email tries to address a fairly narrow question. Namely, what does it feel like when a book is going well?

So here are some things you may be feeling, and here’s what I think they mean.

“The bit I’ve just written seems poor. I’m not that thrilled with the bit I wrote last week either.”

If you have any feelings along those lines, I’d say they’re just par for the course. First drafts ought to feel a little ragged. If they don’t, you may be spending too much time editing and too little time plunging forwards. (I’m a big over-editor myself.)

“I’ve got a plot niggle that I haven’t been able to solve and it’s doing my head in.”

That too feels to me so commonplace as to be hardly worth bothering about. I mean, yes, you need to solve that plot niggle, but the fact that you have a plot problem just doesn’t tell you anything meaningful about whether your book is heading for fundamentally OK or fundamentally ’orrible.

Of my Fiona books, I’d say that only one plotted itself without much headache. The rest were pretty headachey at times. With the novels I wrote before Fiona, two or three were very headachey, one really wasn’t, and one was a total mess.

Only the total mess book was, in my opinion, a bad one … and even then, it sold well and ended up being nominated for an award.

“The book feels a bit laboured, a bit slow.”

It’s positive if you feel that. Your book probably is a bit slow, because you probably need to cut 10-20% of what you’ve just written. But that feeling says nothing at all about whether you’re on the right road. You can be perfectly on track and still have that feeling.

Just write that draft, then cut it. Easy.

“I really question whether this voice is right.”

That concern really matters. You risk going quite wrong if you don’t have the right voice from more or less the outset – just because a faulty voice will encourage you down lots of faulty pathways. That’s definitely one to fix first. Don’t neglect any concern along those lines.

“I just keep feeling unsure about whether this book even has legs commercially.”

That’s a feeling that, again, you need to inspect with real care.

One of my more popular books is a contemporary police procedural about King Arthur. (And, I know, modern police forces don’t normally have a lot to do with Arthur, but …)

I had plenty of plot challenges with that book. Not more or fewer than usual, but plenty. But although those challenges, I remained absolutely confident in my core idea.

That idea was essentially this: bad guys create a fake Excalibur and a whole trail of fake authentication for it. They want to sell their Excalibur to the highest dodgy bidder. Fiona figures out that the only way she can get face to face with the bad guys, in order to arrest them, is to make a fake Excalibur of her own, and then seek to sell that. She knows that bad guys have to take her sword off the market before they can sell theirs – and that essentially gives us the denouement of the whole story.

What I loved about the idea was the sort of double-switcheroo structure. That structure gave the reader three jaw-dropping moments:

1. Wow! They might have found Excalibur!
2. Oh! They’ve totally faked Excalibur and all the things that authenticated it.
3. What?? Fiona’s built a fake Excalibur of her own?!

Those things wrapped around normal crime-novel basics (a decent amount of corpses and personal jeopardy) plus the sheer merriment of dealing with Arthurian Britain told me that there was, in principle, a thoroughly entertaining and saleable book to be written.

So no matter how tough the plotting issues got, I knew that there was a shiny, bright and enjoyable book at the end of it. The book might be tough to write at times, but I grappled with those challenges knowing that there was a prize to be had at the end of it all.

If you can’t look at the core idea for your book and think, “Yes, this basically works,” then you risk putting in a vast amount of effort to write something that even in its best incarnation won’t tempt an agent. So: take care. And (I know I’m repetitive on this topic) make sure that the basic pitch for your book is sound.

“I absolutely love writing this book. I think about it when I’m walking the dog or washing up or (naughty me!) talking to my partner about admin.”

This is a superb sign, I think. Whenever that’s been true for me, one of my best books has emerged – whether fiction, or non-fiction.

You can write a good book without that feeling, but it certainly helps. A lot.

“I wish I weren’t alone.”

Well, yes, most people think that and it’s not a dumb thing to think. I do think that the Townhouse community should be a real part of your self-care routine here. It doesn’t matter what you’re writing or how good you are or precisely what your set of issues is. You’ll find a friend on Townhouse and someone who cares about exactly the same things as you do. (If you’re not a member, then do join. It’s free and easy.)

If you’re feeling like investing a bit more than nothing at all, then there are two basic options for you: mentoring and editorial feedback. On the whole, I advise against getting feedback until you are quite a long way down the line – simply because your own self-editing work will pick up most of what an editor would say. Once you’ve written the book and edited hard – that’s the time to get an editor involved.

With a mentor, it’s different. There, you really are asking a wise navigator-cum-friend to come with you on that journey through the fog. That mentor has a few advantages over you. For one thing, they’ve written successful books and know what you need to achieve to succeed. For another, they’re much less invested than you in the detail and in the emotion of writing, so they bring a kind of wise distance to their advice. It can, honestly, be career-changing.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Together and apart

Two FFs again this week, one for those taking the Romance course, one not.

Romance course version: Come up with a story seed for your novel using the formula: Trope + Sub-Genre + Situation.  For example: Second chance + Small-town romance + School reunion. If you’re not sure which direction to take your story, share up to 3 potential story seeds. Look at other people’s story seeds. Would you read them? Why/why not? Share in the forum.

General version: I enjoyed last week’s challenge,so we’ll just go again with the same one. Obviously pick a new scene to look at, but otherwise the challenge is the same again:

Most books have got some kind of romance in them – or at least a deep bonding experience of some sort. So: let’s see a key scene between your pair (250-300 words). It could be falling in love, or rejecting each other, or first meeting, or any other key moment. As always, provide us with title, genre and any context we need to make sense of things. Upload your stuff here.

Til soon.

Harry

Raymond Carver once said: "There are significant moments in everyone's day that can make literature. That's what you ought to write about".

Some of my favourite stories feature ‘ordinary’ or quiet lives: The Remains of the Day, for example. If you slow down and try to notice details, then the extraordinary can always be found in the ordinary.

Here are my top tips for hunting it out...

1. Be curious

Always, about everything. Not only what interests you, though – that’s easy! T

ake, for example, that person you hate? Spend time thinking about why you hate them. This might be your neighbour, a celebrity, a politician or your ex.

Do they behave in a way you find despicable? Why does it offend you? Have they wronged you? Or are you jealous – perhaps they have something that you want? If so, what is it?

Imagine them as a ten year old. Does this change the way you feel? Is there any empathy? Investigate your own likes and dislikes and be curious about those too.

2. Be in the world when you're out

Unplug often, but especially when travelling. Headphones off/out and phone away.

Instead of getting annoyed by waiting in a queue, why not observe everyone else? People-watching is easy these days because most people look at their phones, so you’ll easily fly under the radar.

You never know who you might meet on a bus, train or a plane, especially if you appear ‘available’. If you don’t want to engage with a stranger, then still… turn that device off. Invite your imagination out to play. Daydream. Get curious (see tip 1).

Listen to the couple opposite. How do you think they met? How long have they been together? What gives you that impression? What are they saying - and not saying?

Look for the stories around you or just out the window. If there are no people, let your self wonder who lives in those houses or tends those fields?

Why is that businessman speaking so loudly about his latest deal? What if (tip 3) no one is on the other end and he’s just faking the whole conversation? That person holding the flowers… have they received them, or are they giving them? Are they on their way to a hospital visit? A date? Planning to make an apology?

Jot down a sentence or two about a passenger, focusing on a specific detail that’s not obvious. Every time you do this, you’ll be creating a character bio you can use later.

3. Always ask: What if...?

The gap between real life and fiction is often just a question: What If?

For instance, people check their phones constantly - we take it for granted. But what if they’re waiting for life-changing news? Test results? What if that news never arrives?

Exercise: take an ordinary moment (the more universal the better) and jot down five different ‘What ifs’. The stranger or more unrealistic the better.

Example: The woman next door took in your Amazon package.

What if...

1. She refuses to give it to you?
2. She claims never to have received it?
3. She gives it back to you, but it's clearly been opened?
4. She claims a different neighbour has it - the scary neighbour?
5. She doesn't answer the door, even though you see her curtains twitching...

4. Variety is key

Step out of your routine when you can. Do you take the same route to work or school pick up every day? Do you always shop at the same supermarket?

We’re all creatures of habit, but with routine comes autopilot - and complacency. How can a surprising or original idea turn up if your day is predictable?

Try to surprise your subconscious by feeding it new experiences. Walk a different route. Go to a different supermarket or library or cafe. Get a train just one stop away from where you live and spend a few hours wandering. Write down any impressions that come to you.

And encourage variety in your actual ideas, too. Sometimes combining the unexpected and/or illogical is what leads to interesting and surprising ideas. (It’s why the TV show Breaking Bad worked so well!) What if your local W.I. group was made up of ex-cons? Maybe that local bakery is actually a criminal operation?

5. Focus on emotions, not events

Readers connect with how something feels, not just what happens. Think about the last time you felt something strongly. What emotion was it?

Even if it was only for a moment – road rage for example – try to describe the emotion without mentioning what happened.

Can you list the physical sensations? The thoughts? Try and make up a fictional scenario that creates the same feeling in a character.

6. Consume stories

This might not be by reading! Stories aren’t just in films, plays and TV shows, but also in gaming, songs, art, museum exhibitions...

Observe and record what you’re drawn to. Ask the people in your life what stories they’re drawn to, especially in a medium you’re not familiar with (your teen's into gaming for example – but what is it about Life is Strange or The Walking Dead that they enjoy?).

Love the fashion at the V&A? Maybe there’s a story waiting to be written about someone who wore one of the costumes? Or the person who commissioned or made it?

Fill up on stories, recognise them everywhere - and soon your brain will be primed in all the tips above!

E.L. Norry will be appearing at the 2026 London Festival of Writing, chairing the Idea Generation: Harnessing Your Creativity workshop on Sunday 14 June. Grab your ticket here!

The best and worst kind of rejection in publishing is always the same. It’s any variation on, “I thought this was really impressive, but it’s just not for me.”

It’s the best possible rejection: you were close!

It’s the worst possible rejection: you have absolutely no idea of what you need to fix.

So it’s worth laying out a couple of things here.

The first is that there are meaningful and broadly objective standards of excellence.

Those standards look different as applied to, say, historical romance than to literary fiction, but the standards are pretty clear, nevertheless.

If you give the same manuscript to any two Jericho editors (and it’s happened now and again, either by accident or because a client has specifically asked for it), the two editors will say broadly the same thing. Yes, there’ll be a roughly 20% margin of variance. Yes, there will be some different emphases or ways of explaining things. But you could look at each report and realise that it wouldn’t be all that hard to create a single unified document on which both editors would basically agree.

It’s the same at the agency level. It’s not that hard for agents to weed out the ‘definitely not’ manuscripts (some of which may be Really Pretty Good, but this is a world where RPG is not enough.)

It’s also not that hard for agents to pick out the blindingly good manuscripts. Yes, there are famous exceptions, but they’re famous precisely because they’re relatively rare. It’s also true that agents can reject a book for a million totally innocuous reasons (“I’m just too busy”, “I’m trying to move away from this kind of fiction” “I represent an author who’s just too similar.”, etc)

On the whole, it’s fair to say that if you produce a really excellent manuscript, in line with what the market for that kind of book is at the time, agents will generally (and subject to the kind of reasons just noted) grab the book with both hands.

Same too at the publisher level. Here the reasons for rejection can be more complex. Does the proposed new title fit on the list? Have they already made an acquisition which would fill that hole? Does the editor have the level of authority and persuasion to build in-house support for a title?

Some of the reasons for rejection are worrying, not innocuous. In the good old days, editors had a fair amount of autonomy in terms of which books to acquire. The marketing folk were there to sell the books the editors had bought. These days, and for good reasons, it’s not like that. Everyone chips in. Marketers are more inclined to play safe. If a book looks risky, they’ll maybe prefer something else. It doesn’t help that, while the editor will have read the whole book, others on the acquisition committee may have read no more than 50 pages (plus the editor’s summary, setting out the case.)

But in summary:

• Yes, there are broadly objective standards on which most competent pros would agree;
• Yes, there are, at every stage, local factors which will influence whether you get a yes or a no.

Broadly speaking, if you get your manuscript out to 10-12 agents, you’ll override any temporary, local factors and get a proper read of the market as a whole. When it comes to publishers, there just aren’t that many big publishers, so you have to go to the ones who look just about right for your book. Quality does normally win out.

All that said, there’s another factor in play here.

Does someone actually like your book?

An editor doesn’t have a shortage of books to choose from. It’s not enough that they admire your book and rate it as excellent. This person is actually going to have to spend time with it – and with you – and with your next book – and maybe a number of books after that. Do they want to do that?

With agents, it’s the same but even more so. Lots more manuscripts to choose from. Generally, much longer relationships too.

Now, yes, everyone wants to make money and do well in their careers. So, in a good way, not a bad one, agents and editors tend to bend their definition of “Books I actually like” to conform, more or less, to the set of “Books that will actually sell.”

But that’s only a partial bending. If an agent admires your book, but it doesn’t really hit their own personal tastes – well, that agent may not be right for you.

And all of this just ends up telling us two things:

This game is hard.

Spread your bets. Approach 10-12 agents. Get those agents to pitch to multiple publishers (which is, any event, their default choice, almost always.)

Oh yes, and one more thing:

Write well, edit hard.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Together and apart

Two FFs this week, one for those taking the Plot Your Romance Novel video course, one not.

Plot Your Romance Novel video course version: Write a short concept (300–400 words) describing your idea for a potential romance story. Who are the characters? What brings them together? What keeps them apart? Share in the forum.

General version: Most books have got some kind of romance in them – or at least a deep bonding experience of some sort. So: let’s see a key scene between your pair (250-300 words). It could be falling in love, or rejecting each other, or first meeting, or any other key moment. As always, provide us with title, genre and any context we need to make sense of things. Upload your stuff here.

Til soon. 

Harry

I first joined Jericho Writers in about 2015. I’d just started writing that story I’d been carrying around in my head for years, but I knew nothing about writing, and not one person in the writing world. I was also recently redundant, at home with a baby recovering from critical illness, and grieving my mother’s death. So ‘getting out there’ wasn’t an option - but Jericho Writers gave me a whole world of writing advice, helped me feel less alone, and reassured me I wasn’t entirely bonkers to be doing this - trying to create something beautiful - because it turned out lots of other people were doing the same thing, meaning at least we were all the same kind of crazy.

When I got to the end of the first draft, I hadn’t the first clue what to do next. Most importantly I wasn’t even sure I’d written a real book. I come from a background of poverty and addiction, which had left me with the ingrained belief that someone like me doesn’t get to write. So when I booked a manuscript assessment, what I was asking before anything else was – is this a real book?

I can still remember the day the report came back - it’s one of the few days in my life I can honestly describe as life-changing. My husband had just returned from a work trip, I was exhausted from solo-parenting three small children, and then Philip Womack's report arrived. And it was so thoughtful, encouraging and above all kind, that for the first time in my life I had an attack of vertigo. I couldn’t see straight, and like a Victorian lady with her fainting couch, I had to go lie down. It meant that much to me, that someone else had read it (all of it!) and put together so many insightful suggestions on how to make it better. (It’s why I always say that if I could only have one kind of writing support, I’d pick a manuscript review because it’s laser-targeted on your writing and what’s holding your story back.)

After that report, it looked at first like I might be one of the lucky ones – I re-wrote the story based on the feedback and found an agent in London; only for the book to fail on submission, and the agent to leave the agency, sending me right back to square one. But I still believed in the story, so I edited it again, submitted it directly, and this time got a two-book deal with a small fantasy publisher. For a year then, I worked with them on editing, copy-editing, type-setting - only for the publisher to go bust on publication day. Leaving me with one book (sitting on pallets in a warehouse somewhere), a draft of a second book, and no home for either.

During this time, Jericho helped me keep going – I went to the Festival of Writing and had the best time, feeling simultaneously supported, (a smidge) envious, but also inspired. I went to a self-publishing day in London and appreciated so much, how hard they worked to demystify something that scared the pants off a techno-klutz like me. But I decided to give traditional publishing one last try, found a new agent and went on submission in 2023 - not knowing that in the interim the market for romantic fantasy had exploded thanks to books like Fourth Wing. Meaning that after a mere eight years of rejection my series was in demand, and in 2024 we signed a three-book deal with Penguin Random House. Since then it’s sold in multiple territories, and when it published in March, it was a bestseller in Ireland, the UK and the US.

But absolutely none of this would’ve happened without that first manuscript assessment; it gave me the confidence to believe I’d written a real book people might want to read. And that initial belief helped me keep going through years of rejection because I knew I had the kernel of something worthwhile; and it was getting better with every iteration as I slowly, painfully, learned my craft.

And if I had to take one piece of advice from those years of rejections, rewrites and resubmissions: it is that editing is a super-power. Writing in itself is already a form of magic, because it lets you turn the inchoate mess in your head into something beautiful. But editing, I’ve learned, is that, squared. A way of taking the very best of your ideas, sentences, words - all bubbling up at different times, often over many years, but which, when edited down together on the page, creates something that’s the best of you across time.

Though I started and stopped many times, it wasn’t until the year I turned forty that I actually completed a whole novel. After consulting the Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook, I sent it out to six agents. One of them got back to me almost immediately and asked to see a full copy of my manuscript. For the next three weeks, I was floating on air. I thought I’d made it.

When the reply came, it was a pass. Although the agent liked the premise, and my writing, the novel itself needed too much work for her to offer to represent me. I came back down to earth with a big bump. Then I read her email again. Alongside the ‘no’, she’d given me some detailed advice about what the novel needed and she’d been really encouraging to try again.

That’s when I realised that the real work comes in the editing.

Over the next eighteen months, I took the Self-Edit Your Novel course with Jericho Writes, read books and blogs on novel writing, pulled the whole story apart and put it back together again with all I’d learned. This time, when I sent it out, I got an email from Bookouture within two days and – a week later – signed my first three book deal.  From that process, and through working on another eighteen novels with Bookouture, these are five things I’ve learned about self-editing.  

Begin with a Bang

The first chapter is so important for hooking your reader and giving them a taste of what they can expect from your story and writing style. Before sending off a manuscript, ensure that your first chapter is your best foot forward. Have you started in the right place in the story? Is there enough action? Are you hooking your reader with a question they will want answered? Is there a promise of conflict? An element of mystery? A protagonist they will enjoy spending three hundred pages with? Is it clear what your character wants to achieve?

Up the stakes

Once your reader is clear what your protagonist wants, they will need to know what the consequences are if they succeed or fail in achieving it. The bigger those consequences, the bigger the impact on the reader. When you are editing, ask yourself how you can increase the danger for your protagonist. Where is the jeopardy? When will the reader be shouting at them to do, or not do, something? Raising the stakes will elevate a good story into a great one. Consider the threats to your character’s survival, relationships, security and sense of self.

Hit the beats

Writing two books a year, I find it hugely helpful to have a detailed plan for my story before I begin. If you’re more of an organic writer and prefer to build the story as you go, it will be during the editing process that you wrestle your manuscript into shape to ensure that your story is hitting the beats in the right order at the right time. This is vital to avoid having ‘saggy’ sections in your novel which might cause readers to stop reading. The two books which have taught me the most about story structure and the beats of story are John Yorke’s ‘Into the Woods’ and Jessica Brody’s ‘Save the Cat Writes a Novel’ and I still refer back to them both for every book.

Cut, cut, cut

Stephen King wrote that you need to ‘kill your darlings’ if they don’t serve the story. When you know you’ve spent hours (Days? Weeks? Months?) of time on a scene and you’re really proud of the prose, it can be very hard to cut it. But readers want a plot that keeps moving, characters who keep evolving and everything has to serve the theme of your story. Take each chapter in turn and ensure that the reader learns something new in that chapter or that it moves the story on in some way. If not, it needs to go.

Polish your Prose

Look for unnecessary filter phrases – she thought that, he knew that, they believed that – which can create distance between your character and your reader. Be vigilant for any ‘tics’ that your characters have developed – nodding heads, rolling eyes, lumps in throats all lose their impact if they’re repeated – and any that you have as a writer. I know that I have a tendency to overuse the words ‘so’ and ‘really’ in my dialogue. So, I really make sure I check for that. (That one was on purpose.) All of these can creep into a first draft without you realising it.

Feeling inspired? Join our best-selling Self-Edit Your Novel course with Debi Alper on the 16 June. Last few spots available!

Last week in the happy land of Feedback Friday, we took a look at passages that writers had switched from present to past tense, or vice versa.

A couple of things struck me. One was the number of people saying that they disliked the present tense. Absolutely no one said the opposite. I’m in rather low-key agreement… agreement rather undermined by the fact that I write in it. 

The other was the weird way that the present tense somehow invites the kind of off-key writing that the past tense doesn’t. In particular, really weird things seem to get personified and made the centre of things. Take this (invented) snippet: 

I am running fast, feet pounding the road. Sweat gathers under my T-shirt on this hot night, and dark patches start to appear on my upper chest. 

Now that, I think you’ll agree, is the sort of writing you quite often encounter in first person. And it’s weird. All of it.

Take the very first bit: I am running fast.

That sounds like a Russian trying to speak English and getting muddled with our multiple present tense option. Surely it would be more natural to say, I run fast. The tense there is just as much in the present as the first version, but it’s not waving a banner saying, ‘Look how very present tense I can be.’ It’s a way – quietly and neatly – to transmit the information you want to communicate. 

And then: feet pounding the road.

Assuming that you are on a road to start with, I challenge you to run in any way other than one that involves feet pounding road. You can’t do it. This is empty, pointless text. But somehow people writing in the present feel the need to add things like this. I think the impulse is something like, ‘I need to be immediate and present and descriptive. I need to make the reader feel what it’s like to run on a road at night.’

And OK. I’m all for being immediate and present and descriptive, but just don’t do that in a stupid way – a way that’s as daft and unnecessary as ‘I breathe big breaths, using my chest muscles and diaphragm to rapidly inflate both lungs, allowing me to draw oxygen into my surging bloodstream.’ 

Next, we have: Sweat gathers under my T-shirt on this hot night.

This bit is still weird. If you wanted to call attention to your sweat, you’d probably say, ‘I’m sweaty.’ You’d make yourself the subject of the sentence, not the sweat. And although the ‘gathers under my T-shirt’ bit isn’t quite as empty and pointless as the feet ‘pounding the road’ bit was, it’s still very pointless. Sweat isn’t really going to gather above a T-shirt, is it? 

The same thing can be said of the next bit: dark patches start to appear on my upper chest. 

Again, the speaker is not the subject. The speaker seems to have been pushed out of their own experience, in favour of body parts, sweat and T-shirts. As a matter of fact, it’s unlikely that anyone running hard will pause to pull the top of their T-shirt out to see if there’s a dark patch at the neckline. So the point of view character here is someone jumped out of the speaker’s own body – which is plain nuts. 

Something else happens here as well. Because the subject is pushed out of their own experience, ordinary descriptive writing seems to vanish. 

In practice, if you’re running hard down a dark street, a good part of your attention is with your surroundings, not with your T-shirt. So you’d probably say something like:

The road is lit by dim orange streetlamps that seem only to thicken the shadows. The sea, to my left, is visible only as an uneasy grey restlessness, an animal moving out of sight.

That’s maybe a little bit fancy, depending on what kind of book you’re writing, but I hope it strikes you as perfectly acceptable. And notice this: 

1. You didn't even notice what tense it's written in. It doesn't matter. 
2. The subjects of these sentences are the road, the lamps and the sea - all of which are inanimate, none of which are the narrator, and none of which have anything to do with body parts.
3. And yet - because the narrator is seeing these things, experiencing them as he/she runs, because they're a natural part of the narrator's own viewpoint - these sentences actually stick more closely to the narrator's point of view than all those sentences about road pounding and sweat ever could.

The lessons?

Well, the lessons are to stick with your character’s point of view in a natural way… which generally does not involve making list of body parts and what they’re doing at any point in time. 

And yes: that lesson has nothing at all to do with the present tense itself. The present tense is an innocent bystander, a spectator at the drive-by shooting. The real culprit is weird writing; people suddenly deciding that they have to write weirdly, just because they’re writing in the present. So don’t. Just write normally, and in whatever tense you choose. 

Here’s our original passage in a perfectly acceptable present tense:

I run as hard as I can. The road is lit by dim orange streetlamps that seem only to thicken the shadows. The sea, to my left, is visible only as an uneasy grey restlessness, an animal moving out of sight. I’m running hard, but at a pace that I think I can keep up, till the road ends and the I reach the shelter of the dunes.

And there we go. No weirdness. All present tense. All perfectly centred on the character’s own experience.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY // Body parts

Find a chunk of text that has too many body part / clothing / sighing-nodding-shaking-panting type references. Then rewrite it in a way that doesn't make me want to rip my own teeth out.

Let's see before and after, please. Max 250 words each passage. As always, please give us title, genre and any context we might need. When you're ready, post your work here.

If your writing is already perfect, then give yourself a spoonful of salted caramel ice cream and take the week off. 

Til soon. 

Harry

As I’ve been preparing to launch the new Writing Romance Novels course this May, I have been thinking a lot about the craft and skill it takes to write a really unforgettable love story.

What are the key elements that can help a writer conjure the alchemy that turns words on a page into emotions and experiences that stay with a reader long after they’ve turned the last page?

Here are my five ingredients that every epic romantic novel needs:

Authentic Characters

It doesn’t matter if your story is set in a romantasy universe, high-end fashion industry, or a cottage in Cornwall, if you create characters that feel real to the reader then you are giving them a reason to keep reading. Sometimes creating a character that readers invest in can be as simple as building them around a particular kind of inner conflict, past loss, fear of commitment, or lack of self-belief, for example. What really makes that character come to life, though, is attention to the details you discover about them during the writing process. Why do they have that scar on their knee? What might you find in their fridge? Why are they afraid of the dark?   There are many ways into creating characters but always make sure that your fictional people are individual enough to feel like you might meet them in real life and never fall into the trap of stereotypes or cliches.

High stakes

Unforgettable love stories tend to have main characters with a lot to lose and much to gain if they are willing to take the risk. The kind of stakes that you throw at your characters depends very much on the kind of love story you are writing. For example, in my novel From Now Until Forever, an immortal woman meets a dying man and they fall in love. Vita risks endless centuries of more loss if she allows herself to love again, Ben knows that if he loves Vita, he will inevitably break her heart. Do they risk it all for love? The drama, the rising tension, the risk and reward will to some extent be guided by whether you are writing a romantic comedy or perhaps dark romance, but the stakes should feel real and important and the consequences of things going wrong urgent and compulsive. Then your reader has to know what will happen.

World-building

This doesn’t just apply to romantasy or fantasy novels, where world-building is about creating a whole alternative universe for readers to explore. Where and how we set our stories is always so important. Setting informs plot and it shapes character. Would Cathy and Heathcliff be who they are without the wild Yorkshire Moors? Would Claire and Jamie’s love story in the Outlander novels feels as sweeping and as all-encompassing without the Scottish Highlands and a stone circle or two? Even if your story is centred around a coffee shop on the high street, your readers want to inhabit a three-dimensional world that evokes all of their senses, and using setting intentionally can add emotional depth and richness to every story. 

Romantic tension

Unresolved romantic or sexual tension is essential to a love story that seeks to build on yearning and anticipation. Romance readers want an uplifting, emotionally satisfying ending, but they can take a lot of build-up, near misses and outright pain on the way there! Creating crackling chemistry between your two lovers is essential. Think about their arc of attraction as a separate entity to see how you might track your romantic throughline. How and where are you going to take your main characters from first meeting to first kiss? What’s the tension that keeps them apart, the longing that pulls them together? What obstacles will they face? Who are they on page one, and who must they become by the end of the novel to have earned their moment of fulfilment? After the big sweeps pay attention to the details; these are often the sexiest moments in a love story, glances, the lightest touches, proximity, the sensation, the emotion, the longing built into something epic through many small moments. 

Emotional fulfilment

Within the romance genre readers want a happy ever after or a happy for now and they want it to feel like a satisfying payoff, where your authentic characters overcome high stakes to finally let the sparks fly in their sizzling chemistry. In love stories in a broader sense, the ending might not always be happy in a traditional sense, but it should always leave the reader brim full of emotional fulfilment. Everything you do as a writer is building towards that end sequence, and you want it to be not only a resolution but a memory that will live on in the mind of your reader. The ending of an unforgettable love story will feel earnt, it will feel cathartic. It should feel inspiring and aspirational. If you’ve done a really good job, the story will live on in the minds of your readers without you.

Rachel McLaughlin, recipient of the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme Bursary, is currently studying on the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme. She’s agreed to share her experience of the course with us month by month.

Oh my. A whole month already? There’s so much I have to say about my first month on the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme! But first, let me start with how things were going before I joined the course (promise there won't be too much exposition!) 

I’d been writing on and off for years, but it wasn’t until I went to the London Festival of Writing in 2024 that I felt I was finally allowed to call myself a writer. (Why do we hold ourselves back like this? Self-rejection is something I’m still trying to unlearn.) The festival was my first proper toe-dip into the writing community and honestly, I LOVED it. Considering I’m usually introverted with a limited social battery, I felt like a different person around other writers. Just more me. This was probably my first clue that a writing course would be a great fit.  

Fast forward a couple of years and I had one completed manuscript and several part-baked ideas. There was one idea that kept niggling at me, desperate to be written. I went all in, wrote 20,000 words, then hit a wall. I'd tied myself in knots with character arcs, story beats and plot lines. It suddenly felt like more effort than it was worth, and shiny new ideas were calling.  

This was when the bursary opportunity popped up. I’d entered writing competitions before but never won anything. The thought of a structured course, with guidance, feedback and a supportive community was enough to push me to give it a go, despite my doubts that I wouldn’t be ‘good enough’. SO glad I didn't self-reject this time! 

I truly couldn’t believe my luck when I received the email that I’d won. I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I immediately sent it to my mum (and fellow writing buddy!) to check it was real!  

Our first call happened to be on my birthday and though I was initially nervous, it was such a lovely introduction to how everything would work. Everyone was friendly and I was quickly reassured. 

Our first month has focused on planning. Ideal for me since I’m convinced it was the lack of a coherent plan that stalled my progress. I didn’t know what to expect, but our first Lead Tutor call was fantastic. Andrew Miller presented a narrative about coming up with ideas that was so incredibly relatable, it was almost spooky! How did he know about my stash of patterned notebooks, that I came up with the idea at the beach, that I’d got so very stuck with it? Suffice to say, it was all very validating! 

The first tutor group session with Holly Seddon, was wonderful. Holly’s introduction was so kind and inspirational that I immediately knew I was in safe hands. I must admit, I did read her latest book which prompted a fan-girl moment combined with minor panic (she’s going to be reading my work? Gulp!) But I didn’t need to worry. As I’m writing this, I've just opened up my first assignment feedback. Did I delay opening the email because of nerves? Yes, I did. There was no need! Holly’s comments were thoughtful and encouraging, and I’m so excited to chat it through in our one-to-one session next week!  

One of my favourite things so far has to be my lovely Tutor Group. We give each other weekly feedback, which has already been so helpful. Being able to share in someone else’s writing journey is such a privilege, and I can already tell these are connections that will last well beyond the course. Can’t wait to see their books on the shelves! 

So, what are my takeaways? A few things: 

• Be prepared to be lost. This was from Andrew’s call, and it was a real eye-opener. I’d always thought of the writing journey as being relatively linear (silly me!) and that stepping away from a manuscript meant it wasn’t good enough or I wasn’t good enough to write it. Hearing that this is often a necessary part of the process was SO encouraging.  

• Writing peers are invaluable. They bring their own worlds and perspectives to your work that can really help you grow.  

• Don’t self-reject! Take the chance, do the competition, put your work out there. You never know what it might lead to... 

I can’t wait to see what the course brings next! I hope you’ll join me on the journey... 

Want to follow in Rachel's footsteps? You can learn more about the Ultimate Novel Writing Programme and how it can help you write a publishable novel in a year!

Before we get to walks long or short, I have news:

FRIDAY NIGHT LIVE

Coming to the Festival of Writing in London on 13/14 June? Then remember we are now open for Friday Night Live submissions. That competition can be career-altering for the winner, and has been so ever since we first launched it fifteen years ago. We also have two bursary opportunities for All Access Passes, so if you’re interested in exploring those, please go for it. And if you’ve not yet booked your ticket – well, you dullard, you dolt, you clown, you clot, what do you think you’re waiting for?

SCAM ALERT

Also, just be aware that I've had this message from Al Campbell, a web-savvy self-publisher. He tells me that there has been a "rise of scammers sending self-published authors very well constructed (AI) based emails with very positive reviews of their books, offering paid-for promotion. In the past 3 weeks I have had offers for coverage on two major radio stations in the UK (including Classic FM), a proposal from a named and actual editorial director at a well-respected US platform called Shelf Awareness, and sundry other offers. Having checked these out directly with the stations, and spoken via email to the editorial director of Shelf Awareness,  they have all been scams."

Those scams may be extremely plausible with accurate scans of the signatures of real decision-makers. So, please, always check these things out with care. If it looks too good to be true, it almost certainly is.

OK, walks.

Sinclair Lewis (the American novelist, who went on to collect a Nobel Prize), was advised, at an early point in his career, that ‘The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.’

That is: the only walk you ought to be doing each day is from your kitchen to your office, mug in hand, ready to bash at that keyboard for as many hours as your real work / annoying spouse / yet-more-irritating kids / broken cars / needy mothers / unmown lawns allow you to do.

There’s truth in all that, yes.

Novels don’t write themselves. They also don’t edit themselves, title themselves, or market themselves to agents. I’ve never actually counted how long it takes to write a novel, but we’re well into hundreds of hours. Perhaps if you count all the editing / submitting / marketing / working with agents and publishing work, then the average novel clocks in at well over a thousand hours of hard graft.

So: seat of pants / seat of chair – a good basic rule to apply often.

But often, even very often, isn’t quite the same as always.

In my last email, I spoke about the disaster that happens when a writer applying the ‘seat of pants / seat of chair’ rule too obediently charges off into chapter two, before properly finding the voice that will sustain the book and make it stand out from the crowd.

That’s one version of the risk – but really, you can create huge issues for yourself whenever you prioritise building word-count over checking for problems.

• Would your villain be better as a woman or as a man?
• Have you foreshadowed your themes early enough in the novel?
• Is there a proper coherence or resonance between your A-story and your B-story?
• Does your basic concept still feel like it works now that you’re 20,000 words into the novel?

And so on. There are a million questions like this which might arise as you work, and which can’t best be answered while staring at a computer screen.

So that’s when it’s time for your long walk. Ideally, you do that properly. You book a little retreat cottage somewhere. You turn your phone off, or at least ignore it. You go on long walks with the wind on your face. And you allow your mind to drift widely and loosely over your story.

If you find yourself encountering a niggle – an awkwardness, a sense of something not fitting – you need to attend to that thought. Be open to other possibilities, to what seem like radical changes.

If you are too close to the novel – if it’s literally open in front of you – those thoughts are always at the back of the queue for attention. If you’re too obsessed by building word-count, you’ll tend to neglect the little voices of caution or concern.

So, yes, let the short walk from the kitchen to your laptop be your main walk. The one you do almost daily. The one that gets you to that thousand hours.

But give yourself space for the wind-on-you-face walk too. The ‘what if I …?’ type thoughts. Open a door to possibility and see if inspiration happens to wander in, carrying flowers.

And there endeth the lesson. Tis a (mercifully) short one today.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Present tense

A quirky little challenge that comes from a couple of things I’ve read this past week. And the issue is this: are you writing in the right tense, and if you are, are you writing well or badly in that tense?

So, the task this week is either:

Take 150-200 words of your text and swap into past tense (if you now write in the present) or vice versa. Which works best? Are you happy with your choice?

Or:

If you’re writing in the present tense and you’re worried that your prose feels a bit artificial – a bit writer-y – then give us a chunk that you’re worried about.

Either way, as ever, we want title / genre and any context please.

That will help others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

What’s the most important part of a book? Well, it’s either the beginning or the ending, but in commercial terms, you’d probably have to pick out the start, because if that bit flunks, no one will find out what you do later on.

So beginnings matter.

And which bit of the novel does a new writer tackle first? Well, duh, the beginning, of course.

So the normal way of doing things is that woefully inexperienced writers take on the most important part of their projects first thing. It’s like a newbie architect deciding that he’ll tackle the Dome of St Peter's as his first build, rather than say, a school toilet block, or a nice little kitchen extension.

Now, yes, writing is easier to revise than a large stone dome, but there are some important issues here.

First, as you all know, I think it’s beyond essential to get a proper concept for your book in place, before you start to write it. I know it’s tempting just to race away when then ideas start fizzing, but it is a disaster to race off west-nor-west, if you’re actually trying to head north. I’ve known a zillion manuscripts where a writer has battled endlessly with trying to get it just right … and more or less did so. But when the fundamental concept was not saleable, all that work was for nothing.

So get that concept right. Don’t put pen to paper until you’ve done so.

But that’s not today’s topic. Let’s assume you have a cracking concept. Let’s assume you have started writing – the first two or three pages of your new book.

What’s the one thing you really need to check before you go any further? What’s the one bit that has to be right?

Story? I don’t think so. I’ve written books where nothing much happens in the first chapter. Yes, there’ll be a wriggling hint of an emerging story, but (a) not a lot and (b) it wouldn’t take more than a few lines of editing to get one in there anyway.

Character? Well, yes, that’s a better guess, except that you don’t necessarily start with your main character, and the early-on character reveals are likely to be quite modest anyway.

So what I think really matters – matters so much that it comes second only to basic novel concept / pitch – is voice.

If you start bland – if you accept bland – if bland is how you begin your book – then the entire novel is likely to drive down the Autoroute de Blandeur, the Autobahn von Boring, the Motorway of Mediocre.

It’s not that books without voice can’t sell – they do – it’s just that they are up against a ton more competition. Why should an agent or publisher pick out your basically cookie-cutter book from the pile? I mean, yes, a strong concept will always help, but you’re giving yourself a huge and needless handicap by taking that route.

Here are the openings of a handful of kids’ books:

1. The Sword in the Stone, by T. H. White (1938)

“On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, it was Court Hand and Summulae Logicales,  while the rest of the week it was the Organon, Repetition and Astrology. The governess was always getting muddled with her astrolabe, and when she got specially muddled she would take it out on the Wart by rapping his knuckles. She did not rap Kay’s knuckles because when Kay grew older he would be Sir Kay, and the master of the estate. The Wart was called the Wart because it rhymed with Art, which was short for his real name. Kay had given him the nickname. Kay was not called anything but Kay, because he was too dignified to have a nickname and would have flown into a passion if anybody had tried to give him one.”

My comment:

Yes, this text is almost 100 years old and wouldn’t work well today. But it already boils with invention and wit and a bubble of character interplay. You pretty much know from this tiny chunk that you are going to be happy to curl up with this author for the next 300 pages. (He won’t disappoint you.)

2. Jolly Foul Play, Robin Stevens (2016)

“We were all looking up, and so we missed the murder.

I have never seen Daisy so furious. She has been grinding her teeth (so hard that my teeth ache in sympathy) and saying, ‘Oh Hazel, how could we not notice it? We were on the spot!’

You see, Daisy needs to know things, and see everything, and get in everywhere. Being reminded that despite all the measures she puts in place (having informants in the younger years, ingratiating herself with the older girls and Jones the handyman and the mistresses), there are still things going on at Deepdean that she does not understand  - well, that has put her in an even worse mood than the one she's been in lately.

And, if I am honest, I feel strangely ashamed. The Detective Society has solved three real murder mysteries so far and yet we still missed a murder taking place under our noses.”

My comment:

The prose here isn’t bouncing with obvious invention, but it’s slick enough to do the two things it wants to establish immediately. First – establish that this is a book about some girls solving murders. (Brilliant idea.) Second – establish that this will be a book about characters and personalities and emotional interplay just as much as it’s about clues and corpses. (There is, in fact, much more of the former than the latter in this small chunk, even though it’s ostensibly about murder.)

The prose isn’t showy, but it is supple enough to handle all this. When the narrator wants to emphasise quite how much Daisy needs to know things, she gives us a sentence so big, it bulges at the seams. When she wants to address her sense of shame, she does so in fewer than 10 words.

3. The Dark is Rising, Susan Cooper (1973)

“He remembered Mary had said, ‘They all speak Welsh, most of the time. Even Aunt Jen.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Will.

‘Don't worry,’ his sister said. ‘Sooner or later they switch to English, if they see you're there. Just remember to be patient. And they will be extra kind because of your having been ill. At least they were to me after my mumps.’

So now Will stood patiently alone on the windy grey platform of the small station of Tywyn, in a thin a drizzle of October rain, waiting while two men in the navy-blue railway uniform argued earnestly in Welsh. One of them was small and wizened, gnome-like; the other had a soft, squashy look, like a man made of dough.”

My comment:

Again, nothing ostentatious here, but still sophisticated. We learn immediately that this book will be careful where relationships, feelings and morals are concerned – that’s the message of the first three paragraphs – whilst the physical description of the last paragraph is original, age-appropriate and interesting, without attempting to be “LOOK AT ME” interesting. It’s carefully judged and spot on. You already believe in the setting, believe in the relationship between the kids – and believe in the author’s fundamental humanity.

4. The Accidental Secret Agent, Tom McLaughlin, (2016)

“‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have spent a lifetime hiding in the shadows but today we finally get what we've all been waiting for. For today is Judgement Day. I look around this room and it makes me proud.’ Mr X paused to puff on a large cigar.

‘Look at the great things we've already done. We steal, not to make us rich, but because we can. We hurt, not because we're scared, but because we are courageous. And today, we destroy the world!’

Knowing nods rippled round the room which corrupt politicians, ghastly gangsters, and vile villains. [sic – this is how the sentence actually reads.]

‘We are finally ready,’ said Mr X, sitting at the end of a very long table. ‘All I need to do is press this red button and –’

‘PIZZA!’ a chirpy voice interrupted.”

My comment:

This is all just shouting. It’s cliché, but not even clever cliché. It’s a desperate (and successful) attempt to get publishers and kids to attach to the book by offering maximum volume, maximum knockabout humour from the very first paragraph. What makes it worse, is that all this is just a dream – as bad a way to start a book as you can find.

Again, I’m not saying you can’t be commercially successful doing that, but (a) you have to fight off a lot more competition and (b) there is not a chance that this book will be read or in print in 50 or 100 years’ time, unlike the books by White and Cooper.

And you?

Well, take care. In all four of these cases, the author established very, very early the approach they were going to be taking in all the rest of the book.

As you can see from both the Robin Stevens example and the Susan Cooper one, the approach can be subtle – not loud – but still perfectly pitched to the kind of books they want to write. A less highly attuned version of either voice would have set the authors off on a much poorer journey altogether.

And because voice goes under the radar a bit – it feels much more productive and important to draw up mind maps of your plot and spreadsheets of character interactions – you can easily misnavigate from the start.

Don’t.

Get your concept right. Get your voice right. Do those two things, do them well – and you’re good to go.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Voice

Give us any 250-word passage that properly exhibits the voice you’ve adopted. (Probably don’t choose the very opening chunk of your work, just because we do that quite often.)

As ever, give us the title, genre and context of your chunk, but also say something about what you’re trying to do with that voice – what characteristics do you think it has, and why does that work well with your novel?

Please title your post in this format: title / genre / [anything else we need to know]. That will help others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

By now, you’ve probably heard that 2026 has been declared the UK’s National Year of Reading. This is a campaign that’s close to the hearts of many book lovers – some of whom you’ll find right here at Jericho Towers.

Reading for pleasure is in decline, but the National Year of Reading aims to change that by reconnecting reading with everyday culture and experiences. Throughout 2026, initiatives to celebrate books and encourage more people to pick them up regularly will be rolling out through libraries, schools, community organisations and workplaces. We’re delighted that Jericho Writers is now a National Year of Reading Pledge Partner.

No doubt you’re familiar with the phrase ‘Readers become leaders’ – but here, as you’d expect, we’re more likely to be found chatting about how and why readers become writers. What can we learn from other authors? How can their work inform our own, or light the creative spark that powers the invention of a brand-new fictional world?

In this blog, members of Team JW shine a light on their own reading habits, highlighting the books that have meant something special to them...

"When I look back, it's as though my childhood was mapped out in books. The first one I really, properly remember was The Fantastic Mr Fox. I pretty much taught myself to read with that book. Then, zooming forwards, childhood flew by via Roger Lancelyn Green's Tales of the Greek Heroes, and Le Morte D'Arthur (with Rackham's illustrations) and The Once and Future King, and Sherlock Holmes and Hornblower and Dick Francis and Raymond Chandler and Vanity Fair (Becky Sharp was the first fictional woman I ever fell in love with…) Finally, I was onto all the big Victorian novels and some Russian doorstoppers. I still feel genuine love for all those things - and I notice how much they've since fed themselves into my own writing. Lucky we are, to have such riches."

Harry Bingham, Founder

"The Family by Mario Puzo and Carol Gino is a page turner full of intrigue, betrayal, and corruption that keeps the drama coming and had me absolutely hooked. It was unputdownable, and even after the last page it stayed with me - I had to just sit for a while thinking ‘My God!’ It was the sort of book that really makes you want to up your own game as a writer."

Cleo Slevin, Writer Support Assistant

"The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are books that will always be special to me because they were read as bedtime stories by my father, God bless him. The Ents, in particular, are a standout memory for me as my father just loved them and did spectacular voices to bring them alive. My dad was an Ent to me - oak tree solid."

Rachel Davidson, Writer Support Executive

"I've been reading My Friends by Fredrik Backman on and off for a couple of months – which is very unlike me as I generally speed read. The reason is that I find it so deeply human and devastating that I have to keep taking breaks. There is something about his writing that just gets to the core of what it means to be a human - flawed and sad and happy all at the same time. I can never put my finger on exactly what he does or how he does it, but as a writer I desperately wish I could unlock that secret magic he has."

Sophie Flynn, Managing Director 

"I was introduced to the work of Agatha Christie as a child and a lifelong fascination was born. I loved cracking the puzzles of her stories and seeing just how everything would eventually come together. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is still my all-time favourite and a book that defines the murder mystery genre. Reading it for the first time is a brilliant experience and one that I almost wish I could relive. As an adult, I can see the tropes and paths Christie created for the genre and recognise their homages in more modern work, as people also respect these great classics of the mystery genre."

Emily Mitchell, Marketing & Membership Assistant

"I’ve been story obsessed from as far back as I can remember and was always one of those kids with a reading age ‘above her actual age’. For a long time – partly because I was deemed ‘capable’ of reading them and then because they were mandatory on my English degree course – I thought it important to read Proper, Serious Novels. It wasn’t until later that I embraced the joy of reading brilliant commercial fiction. Rapidly turning their pages during my first baby’s nap times, I devoured novels by the likes of Marian Keyes and David Nichols. Totally swept away, I laughed and cried, but also marvelled at the authenticity of the emotions they managed to convey. It’s easy to sneer at books that entertain en masse, but novels like One Day are popular for a host of very good reasons. In my own writing, I strive to perform the sort of magic I found there. I want my work to be unapologetically entertaining, but also to offer truth, humanity and a sense of connection."

Laura Starkey, Senior Marketing Executive

"I can't remember one particular book that made me fall in love with reading. Books were a big part of my early childhood, especially if unicorns or fairies were involved! But I can remember wanting to write when I read Double Act by Jacqueline Wilson. As a shy and cautious child, I identified with the quiet twin, Garnet, and felt the full plethora of emotions as the twins grew up and apart. Both the humour and the ubiquity of Jacqueline Wilson meant that it was also popular with my schoolfriends, and I can remember us trying to copy how the twins would walk and swing their hair in unison! I soon started writing my own story about twins on the family computer."

Imogen Love, Senior Writer Support & Courses Assistant

"It was a routine in my family whilst growing up that, every Saturday afternoon, we would spend it in the library, picking out our books for the week. It was during one of these fated trips I came across A Series of Unfortunate Events and the elusive Lemony Snicket. I was pulled into a world of three orphans and a tyrannical “actor” desperately seeking their fortune, where the author continuously broke the fourth wall to address its reader. I finished all 13 books in just two trips to the library and was overjoyed when my dad found a box set in a charity shop so I could delve back into the Baudelaires’ story whenever I wanted. I still have that boxset, and it sits on my desk - a reminder of why I started writing and the power of a good story."

Verity Hicks, Courses Executive

"Some of my earliest memories are tied to books. I remember being a tiny little thing on my weekly trips to the library with my mum, and I can still feel the excitement of choosing my eight books (the maximum you were allowed). I was determined to read them all before the next week’s visit and book top up. I devoured everything from Roald Dahl to Jacqueline Wilson, and I felt a special connection to stories like Matilda, where books were a kind of magic. As I grew a little older, one book that really stood out was Inkheart. It was a hardback with a beautiful cover, and I’ll never forget how special it felt! The weight of it, the characters inside it, the idea that stories could spill into real life…. if only!

Later on, I found myself drawn to darker, more atmospheric stories like Wuthering Heights and Rebecca, and that gothic thread has stayed with me ever since. I still can’t resist a mysterious house, or characters acting so weird that it keeps me up past my bedtime."

Tanya Lewis, Senior Marketing Executive

"For any creative mind, Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert is the bible for artistic acceptance. I first read this book in my early twenties, and it now sits torn, dog-eared and annotated to within an inch of its life on my bookshelf. It has been borrowed, re-read and lovingly admired for over ten years. It's weird to think of it as a friend, but sometimes you read a book that just connects with you. This is that book for me. I would urge anyone who has not read it, or any book by Elizabeth Gilbert for that matter, to pick it up. It's your permission slip to be your gorgeous, creative self." 

Alison Hill, Content Assistant

Stay tuned for more Jericho Writers content connected to the National Year of Reading! To find out more about the campaign and how you can get involved, visit the National Year of Reading website.

I still can't believe how much has happened since winning Friday Night Live writing competition at the 2025 London Festival of Writing. Mere months after the festival, I landed an agent and an international two-book deal, but my path to publication was far from straightforward and it took many years—and abandoned manuscripts—to get here.

When I found out I was a Friday Night Live (FNL) finalist, I was in a creative slump. I'd recently finished the first draft of my novel, Seven Dishes to Fall in Love, but was struggling to move forward. The voice in my head told me it would end as it always had: with my novel dying in the query trenches. So arriving at the festival brought an unexpected wave of imposter syndrome. Here I was, a top eight finalist, and I felt self-defeated rather than hopeful.

And then I heard about a writer's wellness area at the festival run by Zoe Richards and stopped by for a chat. Zoe introduced me to the seven types of rest and helped me put into perspective everything I'd already achieved, despite the obstacles and rejections I'd faced. I carried her calm with me onto the stage that night, where I was first to read among the finalists.

I'd never read my writing in front of an audience before, let alone one this size. Over 300 people and a panel of judges—I was nervous! But as Becca Day introduced me, Jericho tutor Debi Alper leaned over and whispered, "Remember to breathe." I took her advice, doing my best to read slowly and steadily, and enjoy being up there too!

I genuinely didn't think I'd win. When my name was called, it took me a moment to even stand up, like my brain couldn't compute what was happening. I couldn't believe it. I was the winner of FNL at the 2025 London Festival of Writing and suddenly it was so clear to me—I couldn't let my writing slump drag on any longer.

That night, winner's certificate in hand, I looked at myself in the mirror and said, "Your dreams can come true, but there's still work ahead." No shortcuts, no getting excited and querying early as I'd done in the past, just a focused dedication. I set a deadline, asked my writing friends to hold me accountable, and got to work. When I finished my edits about a month later, I reached out to fellow FNL finalist, Isabel Grace, who beta read my manuscript and told me to "hit send."

What happened next was surreal. Within days, I had over 20 requests for my full manuscript. I met with 14 agents and received 14 offers of representation. About a week after signing with my agent, we went on submission to publishers. Two weeks later, we had an eight-way auction in the US, a four-way auction in the UK, and multiple foreign territory deals. After years of struggle—of wondering if I should just give up, yet unable to actually walk away—all my dreams were suddenly coming true. And I had Friday Night Live to thank for giving me the final push I needed.

Why the Festival Experience Matters

The London Festival of Writing wasn't just about the competition—it was about connecting with the community and continuing to hone my craft by learning from the best. The agent one-to-ones were really valuable, and I thoroughly enjoyed the sessions, but what struck me most was the vibe: a conference full of book people who just got it. 

Writing is an investment-first experience. Unlike other jobs where you're paid to show up and can develop on the clock, writing requires commitment with no guarantees. But at the festival, everyone was there for the same reason: because they love writing. Being surrounded by other writers who share that passion, who understand the struggle, and keep going anyway was invaluable. 

Kate’s 5 Tips for Getting the Most Out of the Festival

1. Talk about your writing

At the festival, I LOVED that it was totally normal to start a conversation with, “So, what are you writing?” It's scary to share, but these are your people. Try talking about your story, even if it’s not “pitch perfect” yet. 

2. Manage your agent one-to-one expectations

Getting an invitation to query isn't the only marker of success. Listen to their feedback and insights—it's all valuable.

3. Build in moments of rest

For people who spend a lot of time writing in quiet and comfortable solitude, the festival is full-on. I'm not saying hide in a corner, but do give yourself breaks when you need them.

4. Connect with your peers

Swap contact details, follow each other online, and support one another even after the festival ends. The writing community is worth its weight in gold.

5. Take notes

Whether on paper or in voice memos to yourself, make notes about what you've learned. It's a stimulating weekend with a lot to glean, and you'll want to remember it when you return to your desk.

If you’re thinking about entering the Friday Night Live competition, I’d say… go for it! You don’t even have to win to get something out of it—many writers gain recognition through the longlist, shortlist, and finalist positions. And even if you aren't listed, it's still great practice in putting yourself, and your work, out there. 

Who knows? This just might be a career-changing night for you, like it was for me.

If you enjoyed this story, don’t miss your chance to be part of it—grab your ticket to the London Festival of Writing and step into the room where it all begins. Friday Night Live submissions open this Thursday, so now’s the moment to put your work out there. And don’t miss Kate Emilie’s opening keynote, Some Things Are Worth Waiting For.

Loved this story? Now it’s your turn. Secure your place at the London Festival of Writing and be part of the journey from the very beginning. Friday Night Live submissions are open until 18 May, with finalists taking to the stage at the Gala Dinner on Saturday 13 June, reading live to a panel of literary professionals, with the audience deciding the winner.

And don’t miss Kate Emilie’s opening keynote, Some Things Are Worth Waiting For, a full-circle moment from last year’s winner!

I knew a novelist, a good one, who believed in research. For her first book, she made notes so extensive that they were longer than the book itself.

I do not recommend this approach.

But no research? None at all? I don’t recommend that either. Even if you write straight-up fantasy, that’s probably not the right approach to take.

Research falls, I think, into two broad categories. One optional, one really not.

The optional kind of research is the sort you might do for a university dissertation. Ages ago, I wrote a book about the oil industry in the interwar years. I needed to know which oilfields were opened when, and by who, and how it was done. I needed to know about the major companies and the struggles for rights and the advances in technology. When it came to my climactic chapters around the Second World War, I needed to find out about PLUTO, the PipeLine Under The Ocean – which pumped fuel from England to Normandy, in the wake of D-Day.

All this is Sensible, Serious Stuff. If you’re writing historical fiction, you know you need to do it, and you don’t need me to lecture you.

But that kind of work simply means that your novel won’t end up being defective at a broad historical level. It’s research that ensures you don’t have your heroes drilling in Saudi Arabia, when they should have been drilling in Iran.

The second – more interesting – category of research falls under the general heading of “digging around to see if you can find details to enrich your story.”

For example...

Finding words

Words flavour a text. My oil book was peppered with terms like anticline (‘an arch-shaped structure buried deep beneath the ground’). Hog-nosed skunk. A coring barrel with jammed flaps. Baling tool. Prime steam coal. Meat cakes and yogurt. Calico flags. Wellhead pressure.

Those words deliver flavour – excitement even. The smell and feel of a place and time.

Readers don’t even have to know exactly what these things are. When I spoke about the coring barrel, my text dwelled mostly on the fact that the flaps had jammed and needed to be forced open. If my readers had been asked to sketch a coring barrel, they’d have been unable to do so. But it didn’t matter. It felt real, felt exotic,felt authoritative.

Finding details

That book also had a surprising amount of numerical detail.

What pressure does oil exert at the wellhead? What was the going rate per acre for land around the Signal Hill oil strike? How high was a gusher capable of throwing oil? What length were drill pipes?

But the book was also full of food details, transport details, military details.

All these things act as authenticators (“this guy knows what he’s talking about”) and as flavourings, lifting the whole text. Readers don’t in fact become expert on a place and time by reading fiction – but they feel as if they almost do. They get that excitement of new discovery.

Finding anecdotes

That oil book borrowed freely from life. The description of at least two of the oil-discoveries were based very closely on what actually happened. But often the details that really work are genuinely tiny – wholly immaterial to the story. So here, for example, is a piece of dialogue – an oilman telling a story (drawn from fact) about a recent incident:

“They were bringing pipes up, so one of the roughnecks had run up eighty foot to rack ’em as they came. But he musta lost a hold of the ladder or something, because the next thing I hear is a yell. Guy comes tumbling down from eight feet up, hits a beam in the derrick, spins over and lands on the pump shed, new tin roof, nice and springy. He looks at me. I looks at him. He says ‘Gotta cigarette?’ I only had my chew-tobacco, so I says, ‘No.’ He looks at me, real sad, and says, ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Go get a smoke for this dumb, broken-assed son-of-a-bitch.’”

That kind of loveliness, in my experience, comes more often from research than from pure imagination.

Genres other than historical fiction

Now I said, up top, that you should do your research even if your book doesn’t obviously demand it. And you should.

Let’s say your book is set in a location you know well – Berlin, London, New York, wherever. You still need to find the little bits of glitter that bring those places to life. Contrast these alternatives:

“They passed by a chunk of the old Berlin Wall, left standing as a reminder of how things were.”

“They passed by a chunk of the old Berlin Wall, graffitied and decaying.”

“A stump of the old Berlin Wall had been left standing. The old grey cement still bore its original graffiti. A spray of huge red-and-white magic mushrooms surrounding a man – Honecker? Brezhnev? – in a grey suit and a bewildered expression. The stump was only two panels wide and contained part of a slogan, ‘Wer macht …’ They passed by in the silence those memorials still created.”

Now, to be clear, any of those might be right for your book. Do you need to pass on fast through that moment, or do you need to dwell? That all depends on what weight you want to give it. But would your imagination come up with those magic mushrooms? The bewildered Honecker? I found those things by rooting around online. I don’t think I’d have come up with that idea myself. In fact, I didn’t find the Honecker and the mushrooms in the same image, but that doesn’t matter. Research is there to provoke the imagination. Your job is to go and hunt down those provocations.

If you’re writing about diamond trading in Antwerp, then learn about it. Not just the technicalities, but the details. How does a diamond get polished? How does the transport work? How do the bourses work? Find the details and pass them on.

Oh, and fantasy? You think that fantasy needs no research?

Well... the best fantasy always has its roots in something real. A place that’s just full of castles and princesses and magic seems unanchored in anything. A place that also has jerkins with horn buttons, and falconers with a variety of hoods for the birds, and haymaking done with scythes and ricks, and libraries cluttered with medieval French and degenerate Latin… that place you already half-believe in, so when the magic happens, you believe in that, too.

If there’s a general moral to these musings, it’s this: fiction is most powerful when it’s most specific. And your imagination has its limits. Research breaks those limits – and turns up jewels. Find them, use them, pass them on.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / A calico flag

Dig out any passage from your book where a detail – or several details, or the whole passage – was inspired by some bit of reading or other research.

Give us the normal 250-300 words. If you want to tell us more about the research and how it embedded itself in your passage, then you be you – and give yourself a flower.

Please title your post in this format: title / genre / [anything else we need to know]. That will help others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

During the last few years, mentoring has become extremely popular. As a writer, editor and mentor myself, I’ve come to understand the important role that mentoring can play in supporting a writer’s journey. But I’ve also realised how it must be tailored to suit the writer’s character and needs. It’s definitely not a one-size-fits-all service. 

Choosing the right mentor – and building a great working relationship with them – takes time and care. And I’m purposely using the word ‘relationship’. In commissioning the service, you are making an investment in your mentor. And, of course, your mentor will invest their time and expertise. But for it to be a success, it also requires commitment from you both. In that sense, it’s more than a transaction. It’s a partnership. 

With this characterisation in mind, there are three fundamental questions to ask of yourself as you anticipate, shape and engage in a mentoring relationship. 

1. What are your ambitions as a writer?

A mentor can provide some insight into what I call the ‘writing life’. What are the realities of being a writer? Are your hopes realistic? What can you expect when you succeed… or don’t? What can it feel like?  

You may not have given much thought to such things, but these are all matters which can hinder or contribute to the more mechanical aspects of writing. You might want to secure an agent or a publishing agreement. You might want to share your life-story with friends and relations. You might want to be more productive, more efficient and less side-tracked by the distractions of life around you. You might want to earn a lot of money. 

Your mentor may challenge you to reflect on your expectations and support you as you define and refine your purpose and motivations as a writer.

2. What are your ambitions for your book and/or your writing practice? 

This is what I mean when I refer above to the ‘mechanical aspects’ of writing. Your mentor is a writer too. They’ll have studied writing, practiced it and learned from it. Want to understand how Show, Don’t Tell might work in your own writing? Your mentor can help you to identify opportunities to apply it. Unsure what narrative voice to use? You and your mentor can explore the pros and cons of different options. 

Perhaps you’ve one or more ideas for a book and have been struggling to know which project to pursue? One of my clients was torn between the urgency of a fictional idea that excited him, and the rugged practicality of writing about a subject area in which he was a world authority. Together, we found a way through his confusion.  

Or perhaps you’re facing a blank page, not knowing what – or how – to write? You wouldn’t be the first. Your mentor can help you explore and apply techniques that get you writing.  

With the right mentor, you can unlock the means to pursue your writing projects and enjoy the process.

3. What would you like to gain from a mentoring relationship? 

As you may have already begun to realise, the relationship with a mentor that I have described bears some similarity to that of a counsellor and a client. In such a framework, there are opportunities to share, explore and become aware of your insecurities, your frailties, your strengths and motivations. In doing so, there is the potential to grow and develop as a writer and to gain greater enjoyment and fulfilment from your writing practice. If that’s an attractive model, the relationship with your mentor will work best when you are both honest, trusting and committed. Sometimes, you may not like what you hear, but with a reflective mindset, you may benefit from it. 

Alternatively, you may have decided that you require support that is tailored around the mechanics of your writing practice. I have worked with clients who have sent me regular blocks of writing that can be discussed and developed. We may have come to know and like each other, but the focus has been on technique and productivity. 

And of course, you may want a relationship with someone who can share their knowledge of your preferred genre or market. Having specialised in all forms of non-fiction, I can offer an authoritative and informed perspective for writers in these areas. 

As in life, there are few if any rules about what makes a good relationship. However, it can certainly help to be honest not only about what you want, but also what you are prepared to commit. 

So, when you’re looking for the right mentor, ask for an initial, exploratory chat. Any mentor worth the investment will be happy to talk with you about your needs, preferences and character. It will give you both the opportunity to determine whether you’re right for each other. 

And having challenged yourself with the questions above, you’ll stand a much better chance of finding the mentor that’s meant for you. 

Work one-on-one with Paul Roberts or any of our expert writing mentors & book coaches. Our mentoring service is like a choose-your-own-adventure for writers. Pick a package that fits your needs, and use your hours however you like. Each package includes your mentor’s reading, editing, and any calls or video chats. Our mentors provide clear, actionable advice with warmth and encouragement. Find out more.

For many writers, querying literary agents can feel like shouting into the void, carefully writing a pitch, hitting send, and hoping it lands in the right inbox at the right time. That’s exactly why Jericho Writers Meet Your Match event was so popular: to make that process a little less mysterious, and a lot more human.

Across a 24-hour window, Premium Members shared their elevator pitches and genres on Townhouse, where a selection of literary agents could browse and request submissions. Alongside this, our team matched writers with agents we felt could be a strong fit for their work, giving them a clear and confident next step on their querying journey.

In total, we saw 337 pitches and 214 requests from agents. We were genuinely blown away by the quality on display!

Here’s what the winner, runners-up and shortlist had to say about taking part in Meet Your Match and what they gained from putting their work out there.

Duncan Munge, winner of Meet Your Match 2026

This is my second book, and last time, I really struggled with distilling it into a decent pitch. This time round, I decided that I wasn’t going to write anything that couldn’t be articulated in a sentence (I think inspired by one of Harry’s emails). So, it’s fair to say, the winning pitch for ‘Nothing Like the Truth’ has been there since the beginning. It’s an amazing feeling knowing that people seem to think it’s a good idea too. 

And so, my queries have been sent, and I’m trying to line up the Agent One-to-One. Fingers crossed they all like the next 73k words as much as they do that 20.

Ben Gould, second place in Meet Your Match 2026

I’m surprised and delighted to come second in Meet Your Match. As every writer knows, pitching is hard – the skills we use for writing novels don’t automatically make us good salespeople! Competitions like this offer an excellent opportunity for us to hone our pitches and get instant feedback from industry experts. Plus, it’s inspiring to see everybody else’s brilliant ideas. Thank you Jericho!

Karin Dahan, third place in Meet Your Match

Being part of Meet Your Match was such a rewarding experience. Not only did my pitch for Swiping Through LA reach industry professionals, but it also resulted in multiple agent requests. As the self-published author of Secrets We Burn (written under the pen name Florence Wren), I particularly appreciated the opportunity to receive feedback within hours, which is rare in both the querying and the self-publishing process.

Kris Williams, Meet Your Match shortlist

Preparing for and then entering the Meet Your Match event really helped me to refine and hone my pitch, based on advice and skills learnt from taking part in numerous Feedback Fridays.  By reducing it to its key ingredients, whilst making sure the stakes were front and centre, I was able to get to the core of the story efficiently and effectively.

Being matched with an agent was really useful for my forthcoming submission campaign, and reminded me how good Jericho’s Agent Match tool is.  The cherry on top, though, was having four agents ask to see more of my manuscript, not only confirming my pitch is working, but also giving me a real shot of motivation about my writing.    

Vicky Ellaway-Barnard, Meet Your Match shortlist

Without wanting to sound like a complete swot, entering the Meet Your Match event was a no-brainer because I already had my one line hook ready to go. Thank you, Harry Bingham, and your Elevator Pitches masterclass! Genuine top stuff. Receiving interest from five agents on the basis of that one line was quite honestly an exhilarating experience… the buzz still hasn’t worn off and it’s been over a week! Plus, it’s shown me that a) binging all the Jericho Writers masterclasses is totally worth it, b) it pays to be prepared, and c) sometimes you just have to put yourself out there and see what happens.

Emily McKeith, Meet Your Match shortlist

Taking part in this year's Meet Your Match really forced myself to look at the integral bones of my story and think about what its unique selling points are, and I really enjoyed the challenge of having to condense it into such few words. I’m at a stage now where I’m editing my draft, so getting matched has really made me think about getting ready to query. I’ve added a great name to my query list who I think is a great fit for my project when my submission package is finally ready. It has given me such a confidence boost about my idea that I will carry with me as I continue to write. 

Alice Hall, Meet Your Match shortlist

Meet Your Match was a great opportunity for me to get my pitch in front of agents. I was so excited to see that there was a positive response, and it has encouraged me to keep querying!

Tolu Kehinde, Meet Your Match shortlist

Meet Your Match was a wonderful opportunity to test out my recently re-worked novel pitch. Making it to the shortlist in spite of the numerous intriguing pitches I read on the site was validating and has given me more confidence in my ability to distill my novel’s idea to its heart. 

The process was well-explained and the event running over the course of a day meant people across timezones had reasonable windows to submit their pitches. I also found the agent matches instructive and the pitches being public meant I could learn from my colleagues and observe which submissions generated interest from multiple agents. I am grateful to the Jericho Writers Team and participating agents for their hard work in making the event possible and for shortlisting my pitch. 

Anne Goodwin, Meet Your Match shortlist

Miss Eyre’s Wild Ambition is set in a society where a woman’s success depends on hooking a suitable husband. My decade-long hunt for an agent feels almost as awkward. Following a fruitless first round of queries for this current manuscript, and a one-to-one with an agent commending the writing while doubting its marketability, Meet Your Match provided the impetus to polish my pitch and the opportunity to test it. So I was delighted when an agent already on my wish list invited me to submit. Conscious of the high standard of entries, and that most participating agents bypassed mine, I was amazed to be shortlisted. Thanks to Team Jericho for this wonderful confidence boost and good luck to everyone else on this arduous quest for The One.

Daniella Byroo, Meet Your Match shortlist

Distilling the premise of your book into fifty words is challenging, but is so useful to ensure you really know what your hook is. Getting positive engagement from an agent was a bright spot in what can feel like a relentlessly bleak querying journey. It was also useful to see how hard it must be for agents as I saw so many fantastic pitches from other authors on pitch day!

Last week’s email was entitled, No – a reference to Jack Reacher’s norm-breaking plain-speaking under pressure.

Today, we’re on an Easter-y Yes.

The fact is that writing is a tremendously hard activity. Just off the top of my head, if you’re a pro author (with an agent and a publisher), then:

You write alone.

You have to put a vast amount of work in before you can sensibly even get feedback on your work. Indeed, while some agents or publishers may be helpful in looking at early drafts, it’s one hell of a coin-toss. I once showed an early draft of a book to a publisher (a draft that I was writing under contract, with the subject matter of that book already fully agreed) and the publisher had a total meltdown and ended up asking for a completely different book. Yes, it so happened that my editor was leaving the firm, and she had probably not ‘sold’ our jointly conceived project adequately in house – but the one losing out was me, not her and not the publisher.

The quality of feedback you get is desperately variable. (Something we are keenly aware of when we recruit editors for our feedback services, and something we’re keenly aware of when we monitor all our editorial output.)

Being a writer means living from hit to hit. A writer can literally go from selling 250,000 copies of one book to maybe 10% that figure with the next one. And of course, most writers never even get close to selling quarter of a million books .

Writing pay isn’t just unpredictable; it’s low. The various surveys that purport to estimate writing income are so poorly put together that their various conclusions are basically junk. But is writing badly paid? Yes, of course. It always has been.

You can be excellent at your job and still struggle to put together work of dependably high quality. The reason is simply that some ideas turn out to work really well; others not so well. You don’t really know until the work is so close to complete that you might as well complete it anyway. And, of course, since it probably takes you a year to write a book, you can’t really junk that work, even if you’re tempted to do so. A painter, by contrast, might work for a day or two on a painting, then think, ‘Nah, this isn’t working,” and just scrap it. We don’t have that ability.

Agents are generally pretty steady (once you have them and are making an income for them), but publishers come and go like migratory waterfowl. You may well have had your book acquired by one editor who absolutely loved it, darling – but then find yourself being published by someone who, though perfectly professional, isn’t really the person you’d have picked to do this with.

On which topic – you have vastly little power, insight or control. Let’s say you don’t love a cover. Your editor tells you that it’s great; that it’s just the kind of thing the supermarkets love; that the sales team is massively supportive. Well you still don’t like the cover, but what do you know? You’ve never sold books to supermarkets. So you say yes, please, and thank you very much, and do please go ahead, and then the book doesn’t get bought up in volume by the supermarkets, and you’re left wondering whether you were right all along. Multiply that little eddy of activity by about 20 or 30 times and that’s what it’s like being published by a big (and capable) company.

And, of course, most books fail. That’s not me being snarky: it’s industry economics. Most books underperform the publishers’ budgetary forecasts. But, of the ones that out-perform the forecasts, enough will do so well that they repair the losses of the others, and then some.

Communications are often patchy. Publishers are often – almost always – nice, but they’re not necessarily honest. Far too often, a publisher will avoid conveying a hard truth that the author really needs to know, because the publisher is worried (correctly) that the author will be upset by it. So they don’t say the thing that they ought to say. So the author is 5x more upset down the road, when they do eventually learn the thing.

Professional standards are patchy, on Planet Agent especially. Yes, most agents are dedicated and superb at what they do, but agents generally don’t think of themselves as having any deep obligation to non-clients (which means they often fail in basic comms and courtesies.) Additionally, and in smaller agencies especially, pressures of time and work can mean that even clients get treated poorly (and often abruptly, and often after an extended period of more comms).

That’s hardly an exhaustive list, of course, and the pressures on the not-yet-published writer are in many ways greater – especially if you are having to explain to your partner quite why you are spending so much time on this not-yet-money-earning activity. And if it comes to that, you are also having to explain to yourself why you are spending so much time on this activity, where prospects of success can seem so itsy-bitsy, eeny-weeny, wrong-end-of-a-telescope small.

But all that is really by way of intro to my Easter-y Yes.

Because writing is hard –

And because it’s really hard to write creatively and well if you are feeling under pressure or stressed or conflicted or anxious –

Then give yourself permission to do whatever you need to do about those feelings.

That could be:

• Putting the writing aside for a while, as you turn your attention to the real-world issues that are causing stress.
• Putting down Project A so you can turn to Project B.
• Accepting that you are primarily writing for yourself and your own joy, with publication as a desired, but not essential, outcome.
• Turning to the Townhouse community to seek help and advice.
• Or something else.

The point really is that self-forgiveness is essential. Life is hard. Writing is hard. Sometimes, you just need to let something drop, even if that means your Publication Plan has to have a few extra weeks or months inserted into it somewhere.

Just give yourself that big fat YES of permission to do what you need, for now.

And – use Townhouse. A community of writers completely understands whatever pressures or doubts you may have. It’s utterly friendly and full of wisdom. It’s like a hot sausage roll on a cold night, only one with much more knowledge of the publishing industry.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Elderflower mousse

In an Easter-y yes mood, just show us a passage that pleases you to a ridiculous extent. Something which you read, then feel all pink & giggly afterwards.

As always, we need title, genre, any context, and 250-300 words of your most delicious text. Like an elderflower mousse, eaten with a spoonful of gooseberry.

Please title your post in this format: title / genre / [anything else we need to know]. That will help others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

The world of children’s literature is a wonderful place for young readers to explore. Equally wonderful are the worlds inside the books. But how, as writers of fiction for 8-12 year olds, can we create a world so rich, believable and memorable that it will live on in children’s minds long after they have finished the story? 

Tip 1: Space and place

The first aspect you might consider is the physical landscape. Woods and wild places with an unsettling hint of magic are enduringly popular, for good reason: forests have a long history as contentious spaces where it’s hard to see what’s coming – or what’s behind you! Brilliant ground for stories, especially those that feature an outsider on a quest.  

You might decide to set your story in a real, familiar place – a city or town you know well or a favourite holiday spot. There’s much to be said for this approach (so long as it fits the story) as it cuts down on research. While often fun, research can lead you down so many fascinating paths that you forget to finish the manuscript and it can even entrench the tendency to procrastinate that haunts many writers. 

Tip 2: Can you see it, feel it, smell it?

When writing landscape, whether real or imagined, it’s important to use all the senses. What does the grass sound like when it moves in the wind? What kind of bricks are used for the buildings and what do they feel like? What does the city smell like in summer as opposed to winter? It can be helpful to create a colour palette for your work, to help you see your setting clearly through your characters’ eyes. This is closely tied to the season(s) you choose to work with, and the weather you might invoke to amplify a dramatic moment or signal a period of calm.  

If you’re creating a unique, original or magical world, all bets are off – snow may be blue, soil might burn human skin – the important thing is to construct it with logic and consistency.

Tip 3: Make it with a map

Many children’s writers love literary maps but worry about their own artistic skills. Sketching out the environment for your story, however roughly, can be a great help when it comes to aspects like scale, distance, proportion and position. The ‘quality’ of the drawing doesn’t matter as it’s for your eyes only.  

A map can help you with your storytelling in so many different ways: how many days will it take your heroine to reach that castle? How wide is the river she must cross? Do all the place names work when viewed as set?  

You can apply this to the built environment too. Home is the bedrock of life for young children so bringing to life a fictional home with lots of warmth and detail will engage them. You might draw the rooms, indicate where the staircase is, sketch how many windows there are. And of course add unique, memorable and funny details to amuse them (and you). 

Tip 4: Create cultural treasures

The physical world is a great place to start, but a richly imagined story setting has many other dimensions. These are sometimes called ‘cultural treasures’ and are all the things that make up a real society and community – whether contemporary, historical or one you’ve invented. This includes everything from belief systems to recipes; festivals to fashions; lullabies, legends and songs; jokes with a punchline that everyone knows; and sports and pastimes.  

Then there’s the serious stuff: medicines, laws, rules, punishments and the whole business of who’s in charge (and who wants to be!). The best plan is to create a tapestry of cultural treasures but weave them into your text stitch by stitch rather than explaining things directly.

Tip 5: What's on the table?

Food is so important in childhood that it deserves a special mention when considering worldbuilding. It’s good to think about the rituals and customs around food that’s eaten every day; on special occasions such as a feast; at communal celebrations or major events; and in times of hardship.  

This could change as your characters move through their world, especially on first encounters or moments of danger: golden plates that shine like the sun in the palace you’ve longed to see, rock-hard ship’s biscuits on a scary maiden voyage, sour berries in that corner of the forest where you’re trying so hard not to be found. 

Tip 6: Build a happy reader!

A richly-developed story world encourages a sense of glorious immersion. For newly confident readers – children who’ve recently graduated from the enchanting world of highly-illustrated picture books and early readers – this offers lasting benefits. 

As a Middle Grade author, you’re conjuring a fictional world largely with words. When this is done really well something magical occurs, almost like alchemy: it feels real! This encourages children to read on, even if or when the work of ‘decoding’ the text feels challenging. It’s a vital part of encouraging and supporting children to read for pleasure. This in turn opens up opportunities to imagine, as a pre-teen, what it’s like to be someone else, perhaps someone from a different culture, era, realm or country. And this helps develop empathy – a key ingredient in the recipe for happiness not only for book-loving individuals, but society too. 

So let’s hear it for Middle Grade authors – published and aspiring – who are helping to build confident readers, one story world at a time. 

Kate is currently working on a middle grade novel set in a snowy, gently magical wonderland and is taking her own advice about setting! If you'd like advice and support with your own writing project, Kate is available for one-to-one mentoring.

She will also be leading an interactive workshop on ‘Worldbuilding and Setting for Children’s Authors’ at the 2026 London Festival of Writing on 13 June. Fine out more here.

‘Tale as old as time, true as it can be / Barely even friends, then somebody bends unexpectedly…’  

Yes, I’m probably showing my age here – and yes, you can quibble over whether Beauty & The Beast is a true enemies to lovers story (it’s arguably a dark romance with shades of Stockholm syndrome). The fact remains that enemies to lovers – the trope that sees two people who intensely dislike each other fall deeply in love – remains one of readers’ all-time favourites. And for very good reason... 

Enemies to lovers stories are, by their nature, tense, dynamic and exciting. Characters must move from one way of thinking – and feeling – to another that’s diametrically opposite where they began. They have significant distance to travel and a whole gamut of emotions to navigate along the way. In the hands of a skilled author, that journey can be gloriously entertaining – not least because friction between characters sparks chemistry, as well as conflict.  

So how do you make sure your enemies to lovers arc soars convincingly from ‘never’ to ‘forever’? How do you hook readers with hate, then encourage them to invest in true love? Here, I offer five tips that should help you.  

1. Consider the reasons for conflict

You need to establish your characters’ status quo before you shake it up. Why do they dislike one another, and how deeply rooted is their enmity?  

In a story with fantasy, speculative or sci-fi elements, this might be straightforward. Perhaps your characters are on opposite sides in a war for territory in space – or it could be that one is a witch hunter, while the other possesses forbidden magic and is trying to evade capture.  

Scenarios like these are fertile ground for enemies to lovers plots and tend to have high stakes – reasons for the reader to care – baked in. The fate of a civilisation might be on the line, or one protagonist’s life might be at risk if the other turns them in. 

In a real-life setting, the reasons for dislike between characters may be more subtle, and you’ll have to work harder to make that conflict matter. Perhaps your protagonists are long-term work rivals, political opponents or live life according to wildly different values. Finances, careers or reputations might be at risk, depending on the circumstances. 

It could be that your characters loathe each other after a disastrous first encounter – a ‘meet-hate’, if you will. In Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice – originally titled First Impressions – Mr Darcy acts the pompous snob, but he also bruises Lizzy’s ego by referring to her as merely ‘tolerable’. This sets the stage for deepening dislike, in a great example of how brief moments can spark major misunderstandings. Now primed to dislike Darcy, Lizzy believes every awful thing she hears about him until she’s forced to think again. 

2. Shape your characters carefully  

Character is king in any great story. In an enemies to lovers novel, you need to design protagonists whose preconceptions and past wounds prevent them from seeing each other clearly. 

Ideally, the qualities of one character should trigger a strong, negative response in the other – probably one that’s rooted in the ‘mirror effect’. If Character A seems careless and irresponsible, for example, ultra-cautious Character B will likely disapprove – but is this simply because they wish they could live more freely?  

Considering this sort of dovetailing when you first design your characters is key to making an enemies to lovers arc work. It’s the complementary nature of the differences between your protagonists that will lead them to better understanding of themselves, opening the way for feelings they’d never have imagined possible. 

3. Shove them together somehow  

Some kind of forced proximity is crucial in an enemies to lovers story, because you’re dealing with people who wouldn’t breathe the same air as one another unless forced to. As an author, you have to fashion the circumstances that will bring them – believably! – together.  

In the witch hunter / secret magic story mentioned above, perhaps the hunter’s beloved little sister is dying and only an illicit spell can save her. In a contemporary romcom, it could be that two colleagues find themselves in charge of a crucial work project – and if they don’t pull it off, their firm will fold.  

Whatever the situation, your characters’ loathing of one another should be outweighed by the advantage of working together. Suddenly, they’re no longer enemies but reluctant allies – reliant on one another to achieve a goal and pushed into problem-solving as a team. 

This stage of your story offers abundant opportunities for building romantic and sexual tension, as well as including lots of witty banter – crucial if you’re writing a romcom. 

4. Plan your plot, but overlay emotion 

The road from enemies to lovers is paved with moments of realisation – revelations that show the characters they might be wrong about one another. The devotion the witch hunter shows his younger sister might humanise him, for example. Or perhaps it turns out the devil-may-care heroine in a contemporary romance is a chaos demon because she had an unstable childhood.  

Your characters might discover they have certain things in common or find themselves sharing secrets they’d normally keep locked down. Each should have traits and vulnerabilities the other would never have suspected – and every discovery should narrow the distance between them, encouraging empathy and admiration.  

Each shift in your protagonists’ thinking should be driven by plot. You need to create a sequence of events that have emotional side-effects if you want your characters’ changing feelings to seem realistic. Incidents such as getting stuck in a lift together, being held up by armed bandits or having to stand up to a bully can be revealing – prompting everyone involved to think a little differently afterwards.  

Eventually, there’ll come a point when your characters finally accept they don’t loathe one other – a-fork-in-the road moment that might involve a physical encounter or vital emotional support. If you’re writing from two points of view, characters’ realisation of their true feelings might come at different times, deepening the tension. 

5. Earn the ending

Finally, your characters need to profess their love for each other – but not before they’ve vanquished whatever force was pushing them apart, or casting them as enemies, to start with.  

In contemporary fiction, your characters will need to deal with whatever fatal flaw you gifted them at the start of your novel – the problem that, via the mirror effect, drove them to hate their former enemy.  

In a high-stakes sci-fi or romantasy story, it might be that there’s a choice to be made: betrayal of a former mentor in favour of new love, or rejection of a whole belief system.  

Whatever kind of story you’re writing, your characters need to have changed – and their individual growth should be what makes a romantic relationship between them possible.  

Want to learn more about writing romance? Join Sunday Times best-seller Rowan Coleman on our Writing Romance Novels course and learn how to create a compelling, emotionally immersive love story.

We talked last week about publishers, and whether they wanted Same-As-Yesterday-But-Different, or whether they wanted startlingly new. I said they wanted both, and I’m sure that’s right.

But how to create that shimmer of the new, the unexpected?

And, OK, there are lots of ways and I don’t propose to list them all, not least because I’d have no hope of giving you a complete list. That said, there is one superbly reliable technique that is a sheer joy both to read or write. Here’s what I mean – an example of dialogue from the delightful Alan Ritchson-led Jack Reacher series. Reacher has been arrested by the police and he’s sitting with his wrists tied with cable ties. Here’s what happens:

Oscar Finlay: Reacher, come with me.

Reacher: No.

Oscar Finlay: Excuse me?

Reacher: Not until you let these zip ties come off. We both know I didn't kill anybody, and they are uncomfortable.

Oscar Finlay: [turns to officer Roscoe] Get the box cutter.

Reacher: That's okay. I got it.

[tears off the zip ties that cuffs his wrist, then picks them up from the ground]

Reacher: You guys recycle?

The last line of that dialogue – the thing about recycling – feels to me, although perfectly fine, the weakest bit. It’s standard-issue tough guys being tough. It’s not far off Roger Moore’s James Bond dropping somebody into a vat of boiling glue and quipping, “he came to a sticky end.” And it’s all good. Remarks of this sort make for good solid genre fare, and we love them for that reason.

But the best bit of dialogue? The bit that makes you sit up and suddenly pay extra attention to what’s happening in front of you? It’s that ‘No’.

There’s no apology there. No insult. Nothing unruly. Just a simple, absolute refusal to play by the expected rules.

Reacher could have skipped the ‘No’ and gone straight to the ‘Not until you let these zip ties come off.’ That would still have communicated refusal, but it would have offered a negotiated settlement along with that refusal. And that negotiated settlement – that search for conflict resolution – is what nearly of us do, nearly all the time. If we don’t want a particular outcome, we try to dangle a better alternative in front of our counterpart’s eyes.

Indeed, this email has many tens of thousands of readers and not one of us, if tied up in a police cell, would simply say ‘No’ to Finlay’s request.

And yes, OK. Reacher is immensely strong and was never all that bothered by the ties: he knew he could remove them at will. But that act of strength is just mechanical. Big guy vs plastic: big guy wins. The more interesting part is the social part. I know what the norms are, but I’m going to act outside them.

Encountering those rejections of the socially expected is always interesting.

We’re social monkeys. Exceptions are potentially dangerous to us. If people refuse to play by the rules, our own security is suddenly in question. So – in fiction, as in life – we become hyper-attuned to non-standard behaviour.

Reacher offers, of course, a very traditional masculine toughness (combined with a very traditionally masculine lack of emotional fluidity.) But that outsider quality can come from anywhere.

It could be neurodivergence. It could be shopping addiction. It could be manipulation and lying. Or extreme shyness. In my own Fiona’s case, it’s a combination of brains and weirdness and a surprising capacity for violence. You can create your mixture as you wish.

As I say, if you get that character right, the approach always works. The thrill of that norm-breaking is so great that we never weary of it. Reacher is always Reacher. Fiona is always Fiona. You’d think that our monkey brains would say, “OK, I’ve figured this person out now, and I don’t need to get all hyper-alert when I’m round them.” But they never do. Reacher being Reacher is always thrilling. Maybe the thrill declines a little, but not much.

And –

Well, I just want to be clear that nothing about this is compulsory. You can certainly work with everyman-type characters: you just have to make sure that they encounter things that will offer a different kind of startlement, a different type of grip.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Reacher-y

Go on then.

Show us one of your characters being Reacher-y – acting outside the expected norms. We want to feel that sudden bit of sit-up-and-take-notice: we weren’t expecting that.

Normal rules, please. 250-300 words. Title, genre and any necessary context. Now over to you.

Please title your post in this format: title / genre / [anything else we need to know]. That will help others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

The best thing about finishing your book in 2026 is the staggering array of options for reaching your readers. But here’s the catch: if you pick the wrong route, you could face a detour into disappointment or, worse, a total dead end. Knowing which path to take is daunting. As an author who has navigated the Big 5, worked with agile indies, and self-published my own hits, I’ve seen the pitfalls and the shortcuts. So, fasten your seatbelt. Let’s plot the route that suits your book’s unique DNA.

1. The Watercooler Wonder

Is your novel driven by juicy moral dilemmas or a what if hook that demands to be debated? Agents and publishers call this ‘upmarket’ or ‘book club’ fiction. It’s the sweet spot where commercial pacing meets literary depth. Because these books rely on word-of-mouth and physical visibility, the right publisher is essential.

• Your Destination: A major traditional imprint. You need their sales and marketing teams to get your book into high-street windows and supermarket shelves where reading groups congregate. The prestige can also help you score screen and translation deals.
• Question to ask yourself: When I tell people the elevator pitch, do they immediately start arguing about what they would do in my character’s shoes? If yes, you’ve got a Watercooler Wonder.

2. The Hot Take

Is your book inspired by a TikTok trend, a current news event, or a cultural moment that’s white-hot right now? Trends move at the speed of swipes. And trad publishing, which can take 18 months or more from contract to shelf, is way too slow.

• Your Destination: An agile Indie press or high-quality self-publishing. You need a route that values speed-to-market so your story or guide lands while the conversation is still happening.
• Question to ask yourself: Will the central theme of this book feel so last year next year? If the answer is yes, embrace the heat and move into the fast lane.

3. The Binge-worthy Brand

Are you a prolific writer of romance, cosy mystery, or high-octane thrillers with six more plotted out? Then you could become a brand that appeals to hungry genre readers, who’re dying for the next book from their new favourite author. To succeed here, you need to be up-front and online.

• Your Destination: A digital-first specialist. They can use metadata, rapid-release schedules, and direct-to-reader lists to make your name a brand. Many also do translations because these stories can go global.
• Question to ask yourself: can I imagine a whole shelf full of books with the same huge appeal, rather than crafting one title at a time? If you’re a storytelling machine, and write the pages as fast as a reader will turn them, a digital partner could match your speed and ambitions!

4. The Cult Classic

Are you writing life-changing non-fiction, a specialised memoir, or a genre so specific it hasn’t hit the mainstream yet (Dinosaur Detectives, anyone)? If your audience is small but incredibly passionate, a big publisher might not make the sums add up. But for you, ‘niche’ is a superpower. You don't need a million readers; you need the right five thousand.

• Your Destination: Self-publishing or a bespoke small press. And you can use non-fiction content beyond books, in audiobooks, courses or paid Substack posts.  Selling direct also means you keep more profit.
• Question to ask yourself: Do I already know exactly where my readers hang out online because I am one of them? Then you don't need a gatekeeper to show you the way – or take any of your royalties! Cult books thrive on indie energy.

5. The Voice of a Generation

Is it your unusual, captivating, or experimental prose that everyone comments on first? Sometimes the hook isn't the plot—it's the way you see the world. Literary fiction or experimental memoir requires a prestige route where the brand is built on critical acclaim and awards.

• Your Destination: A literary specialist: either a boutique imprint within a big house or a prestigious independent press. They have the kudos to get your book into the hands of prize jurors and critics.
• Question to ask yourself: Is my book’s greatest strength its voice or rarity? If so, you want to find an editor with the same passion.

Remember too that books can change lanes. I first self-published my 5:2 books but conventional publishers soon made an offer that got them in stores and translated into multiple languages!

The path to publication isn't a straight road; as writers, we now have to power to pick and choose the route that matches our writing and our deepest bookish desires. Pick well and you’ll find your dream destination…

Want to dive deeper into finding your route? I'll be at the London Festival of Writing this year exploring these decisions in two panels: 'Deciding what route to publication is right for you' and 'Writing in Multiple Genres.' And if you're leaning toward the traditional route, my Path to Publication course starting 20 April 2026 walks you through crafting the query letters and synopses that open those doors.

People planning to self-publish are often advised to target a commercial genre and write a book that matches its readers’ expectations. Many indies have built successful careers on that principle, e.g. JD Kirk, Rachel Maclean and LJ Ross. However, self-publishing can also be a brilliant channel for non-commercial manuscripts in small niche markets that you want to get into the hands of readers for your own reasons. 

For example, you may have had a remarkable life experience that you’d like to share to benefit or inspire others. Or you might wish to leave a printed written record of your family or local history for the benefit of future generations. Unless you’re a celebrity, such projects are unlikely to appeal to traditional publishers, whose business model is to acquire only those books that will make a significant profit on their investment in editing, design, production, and marketing.  

As an indie author who calls the shots, you are free to publish whatever you like, regardless of profitability. Profit and sales are not the only justifications for self-publishing. Professor Dr Alison Baverstock, teaching the publishing degree at Kingston University, once said self-publishing can be justified even for a print run of a single copy. Scale and financial gain aren’t everything.   

Indeed, some of the most rewarding self-publishing projects I’ve been involved with have been low budget and low profit. In some cases, the resulting books haven’t even been put up for sale, but given away.  

My very first self-publishing project was a collection of blog posts raising awareness and understanding of what it’s like to live with Type 1 Diabetes, which affects my husband and our daughter, and by extension our whole family. No commercial publisher would have touched it, but it was a sufficiently worthwhile project to gain endorsement from the CEO of JDRF, the Type 1 Diabetes charity, and BBC Radio 4 Today anchor Justin Webb, whose son had recently been diagnosed with Type 1.  

More recently, I self-published a funny little novella – a quirky blend of second-chance romance, magical realism, and a tribute to the beauty of the Cotswold countryside in spring, and a complete departure from my established line of cosy mystery novels. Mrs Morris Changes Lanes (the title a cheeky take on Christopher Isherwood’s classic Berlin novel, Mr Norris Changes Trains) was so niche a proposition that I knew it wouldn’t sell in huge quantities, but I loved the story so much that I was prepared to invest in a beautiful hand-drawn cover by Rachel Lawston (www.lawstondesign.com) and a professional edit by Alison Jack, who had provided design and editorial services for all my self-published books. I was very proud of the resulting books. The novella took years to break even, but I’m so glad I had the skills and courage to make it happen.  

I was also involved with a series of local history books in my home village, for which I was one of the contributing writers. We had a very limited target market: local residents and the village diaspora. Yet sales have not only covered production costs, but made enough profit to fund substantial donations to local causes. 

I’ve worked on two books produced to be given away, both memoirs of terminally ill men who wanted to turn their typescripts into printed books before they died. Perhaps the most rewarding moment of my whole self-publishing career was receiving a photo of one of these gentleman with a huge smile on his face as he held the printed proof of his book. He died the next day. 

I’m delighted that two alumni of my Simply Self Publish course have recently used what they’ve learned to launch their own very valid niche book projects of their own: John Goodall’s The Infallible Fortune Teller, a widower’s memoir about his marriage to an Iranian, and Stella Darvey Joory’s Rachel: A Life in a Turbulent Country, a biographical novel based on the life of her mother. “This book was my life’s work,” says Stella.  

So, if you have a passion project that you’d like to share with the world, I hope these case studies convince you that self-publishing could be just what you need to turn your vision into reality.  

Find out more about the Simply Self Publish course here (insert link). Registrations are now open for the next course, which will run April-June. I look forward to hearing about your self-publishing ambitions.  

© Debbie Young 2026 

Last chance to register for the Spring 2026 Simply Self Publish course, which kicks off 7 April. To find out more, check out the course and brochure here.

There is a fair amount of – understandable – authorial concern about what publishers actually want.

Do they just want to follow the same-again-but-slightly-different formula? So if werewolves and vampires are all the rage, are publishers cynical enough simply to want a same-again W + V story but with a twist (set in an Inuit village, set in Edwardian London, told through the voice of a were-druid)?

Or are publishers more Zen than that? Do they wait with an open mind, not asking or expecting anything from the next manuscript they open, just waiting to see if this new tale feels new and amazing and just insistent on being published?

Because there’s reasonable support for both hypotheses, you’ll see plenty of online chat amongst writers debating this question.

But the answer is simple, and encouraging. It’s simply this: publishers operate in both ways. In fact, it’s probably fair to say that nearly all publishers operate in both ways pretty much all the time.

First, the cookie-cutter approach.

Yes, publishers like making money and they’re not complete idiots.

So if they notice were-books selling like hot garlic on a full-moon night, they will naturally want to get their hands on were-books. They’ll operate in precisely the way I’ve just described, applying a two-stage test:

1. Does this book involve werewolves and vampires?
2. If so, does it do so in a way that moves the boundary forward in some way? Does this book promise to seem fresh to a reader who’s already deeply steeped in the genre?

That second question is a complex one, because agents can’t determine the answer in light of books that have already been published. If your book gets taken on by an agent now, it may be 12-18 months before it’s available for sale. So really agents are reading the submissions pile. They’re talking to editors about what they're acquiring right now. They’re trying to judge from that evidence what will feel fresh in a year or so’s time.

Because agents have access to a much wider data pool than you do, they’re well-equipped to answer that question in a way that you’re not. And – tough. There’s no workaround, except knowing your genre and writing at what you take to be its leading edge.

There are times of publishing frenzy when this cookie cutter approach works with an insane intensity. That was true of vampire-lit. It was true of misery-memoirs. It was most astonishingly (but briefly) true of spanking novels, in the wake of 50 Shades Of Grey.

But most genres operate like this, at lower pressure, all the time. A crime editor needs to buy crime books. He or she simply won’t find a dozen astonishing novels a year, so they’ll be perfectly content to buy on the same-but-different basis. And that makes life easy. Cover designers know what kind of designs to use. Marketers know what approach they need to use. Publicists know what doors to knock on. And so on.

All that said, no one has ever entered into the books trade in order to pursue a same-but-different approach. It just never happens.

If you hang around with publishers (at glorious festivals like ours, for example), you’ll hear them talk repeatedly about passion. They all claim that theirs is an industry driven by passion, and it really is. You could work in a vinyl flooring business and have no strong feelings at all about the stuff you make and sell. That is never, ever true of publishing – not at any level, or in any firm.

So, publishers do buy cookie-cutter books and they do so all the time and without any sense of shame and they’re perfectly right to do just that.

But they also buy the bolts-from-the-blue, the lightning-strikes, the black swans. Lincoln in the Bardo and Twilight and Gone Girl and Where the Crawdads Sing, and any number of other books that looked at what everyone else was writing and just said, “Yeah, don’t care.”

Now, it’s also true that publishers have to operate under the shadow of the spreadsheet, the invisible maths of profit and loss.

Some editors, faced with something astonishing, will have a failure of faith. Roughly, “Yes, I liked this, but can I get a minimum of 10-25,000 people to think the same way? I’m not sure. This is weird.”

But phooey. Some people are cowards. There are plenty of publishers out there. There are, in fact, for any genre, easily enough editors at easily enough imprints that a really good book will find its home.

Here’s a story from film (the quote comes from this Guardian article):

As Six Feet Under producer and director Alan Poul recalls: “The story is that they did a focus group with The Sopranos pilot and it got horrendous reactions. It was one of the lowest-testing focus group scores ever – people just couldn’t understand the idea of this protagonist who wasn’t super-handsome. Chris [Albrecht from HBO] was faced with the choice of tinkering with it or just putting it on as it was. And he went with the latter. That single decision changed the face of television.”

As a group, publishing is more like HBO than not. It’ll take a risk.

In television, that kind of gutsiness is difficult and rare – because budgets are big, schedules are small, and failures matter.

In publishing? None of that’s true. Budgets are piffling. Books are abundant. Failures are so common that it’s the successes which are genuinely unusual.

From the same article, HBO’s current CEO says:

“To this day, we don’t test things,” he says. “We don’t do research about what sorts of shows we should make or what talent we should work with. It’s never been something that HBO has relied on. For me, it’s just been: ‘Is this a good show? Do we like it? Does it feel different?’"

In TV, that’s so unusual, they write articles about it. In publishing, it’s completely standard. No one ever tests. They do conduct research, yes, but (in my sense at least) that’s more because research is something that big corporates feel they have to do. I think the impact of that research is marginal at best. In the end, an editor’s judgement matters more.

The moral for you?

Don’t worry about it. Don’t sweat it. Immerse yourself in your genre, yes. (And if you don’t have a clear genre, just immerse yourself in the kind of books you like. Read lots. Read intelligently.)

After that, just write the story that grips you. Let that character invade your head. Find the voice. Believe in it. Write really well. (Craft matters hugely. It’s key.)

In the end, it just doesn’t matter much whether your book is another cookie from the same mould (but with interesting differences from the last one) or whether it’s genuinely, startlingly different. Both books – if they’re good enough – will find a home.

Publishing is a capacious industry. Its appetite is omnivorous.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Keeping it simple

Plain vanilla this week, folks. Just give us a passage – 250-300 words, plus a little context - and we’ll give you the best feedback we’ve got. Both barrels of it.

Please title your post in this format: title / genre / [anything else we need to know]. That will help others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post your work here.

Til soon.

Harry

The first thing is that all agents will be drawn to different things. I am not a visual person so I am often not drawn to mood boards (I find them overwhelming), and I will scroll past most pitches that rely upon listing tropes. This is because many books in the same genre will be able to list the same tropes and it doesn’t really tell me anything about your book.  

Six key tips for pitching:

1. Genre/ title/ word count is really important. At a first glance it tells me if a project is something I COULD work on. 

2. A snappy one-line pitch is helpful, and I have requested many pitches over the years based on a hooky one-line. But they are hard to do well. So I am really looking for a short pitch that can tell me: who I am following, where we start, inciting incident (doesn’t have to be action but it will be the catalyst that changes things for the main character) and then where we are going/ who we are going with. This last bit will set up if it’s a new romance, if it’s a horror story, if we’re going on a quest, involved in a battle and so on. Whatever is at the heart of your book. 

3. Unique Selling Points are hard to get across in a short pitch but try and think about what makes your book special. When you talk about it what makes you excited? What makes your story stand out from potentially many other stories with similar plot points/ tropes? I always look for the pitches that tell me something about the book I am considering reading beyond vague vibes.  

4. Although I like comparisons, if you rely on the comps to be your whole pitch, I will likely scroll past. Comps help us work out the vibes of the book and how we might market it, but they do not tell us about your plot. 

As an author, approaching genre can be tricky – particularly when you consider the line between what could be considered as ‘book club’ and what counts as ‘literary’ fiction. How do you know where your manuscript sits in the market?  

As a literary agent, I spend a good chunk of my career working on fiction, thinking about how novels are marketed and trying to gauge which publishers will go for the projects I’m handling. Equally, in my work with Jericho Writers as an editor, I find it’s something that authors are always curious about: when their manuscript is ready to go to agents, how should it be pitched, and why?  

Here, I hope to unpack some of the distinctions between literary and book club fiction and help you understand five key differences between them. However, the book club and literary genres are areas of fiction where there is some overlap – it’s not so definitive as, say, thriller vs romance as a contrast of genres. Inevitably, therefore, there will be some crossover.  

In fairly broad strokes, book club is often based around more ‘traditional’ plot structures and development, whereas literary might tend to be more experimental – and foreground elements of voice, dialogue, and characterisation over plot. This could be put as simply as prioritising plot vs prioritising stylistic elements.  

Structure and character arcs: clear or ambiguous? 

When approaching story structure and characterisation, most novels will follow a traditional three-act structure: set-up, confrontation, resolution. Whereas this is typically adhered to in the plot development, building of narrative tension and character arcs of book club novels, in literary fiction the boundaries are a little more blurred.  

Literary fiction tends to be more led by theme and character; so, if your novel is written with this three-act structure informed mainly by plot events then it would fall into the book club genre. Equally, if your novel is written in a way in which this three-act structure isn’t so clearly defined (and perhaps your writing foregrounds those other stylistic aspects), then you’re likely working in the literary genre.  

Writing style and voice 

In terms of writing style, literary fiction is often championed as ‘voice-driven’. So, in the same way that structure and characterisation might inform approaches to the shape of literary fiction, so too does this level of characterisation-led storytelling often shape how that story is told. That is, literary fiction could be accessed through a unique voice with certain quirks, streams of consciousness, or in a writing style with this that reflects the character’s psyche.  

In a literary fiction novel about an unreliable narrator, the voice might be unbroken in this stream of consciousness form, or a style point might be adopted. No punctuation for dialogue, for example.  

In the way that structure generally sticks more to the traditional three-act story format in book club fiction, an unreliable narrator might in that case be shown through the escalation and reveal of plot events that highlight dishonesty.   

Consider your novel’s concept 

Think about the ‘high concept’ of your novel. Can your novel easily be pitched in a one-or-two sentence summary that will universally be understood?  

Typically, if your novel has a high concept – if it’s an easily pitch-able ‘x does y and what happens will lead to z’ sort of a set-up – then you are writing more clearly in the book club arena.  

If the concept of the novel isn’t so easy to pitch in a one- or two-liner and is more informed by themes, then that sounds like a work of literary fiction.  

Your reading habits are a tell 

In as much as the old adage ‘write what you know’ holds water, so too does ‘pitch the genre that you know’. If your reading habits tend towards book club fiction, the tendency will be that you write book club fiction. The same is true for literary fiction.  

So, when you get to that stage of submitting your novel to agents and thinking about how to pitch the genre, a key thing to do would be to work backwards in thinking about how your work might reflect your reading habits, and how this might have informed the novel you’ve written. 

Remember, the line is blurred

Lastly, to caveat all this at the very end… you’ve probably come across a big literary hit being republished as a book club edition with questions for discussion at the end. The boundaries are clear in the distinctions I’ve outlined above, but the end product of this all is publishing as a business: these genre boundaries aren’t, as mentioned, akin to romance vs. horror.  

Although you should definitely understand what you’re writing and how you should pitch it, there is room for manoeuvre in a publishing market that is (we hope) constantly developing. 

A book is a book is a book

Books are books, right? It doesn’t really matter whether you read them on a phone or a Kindle, or whether you read the paper sort. A book is a book is a book.

And yes, a pulpy thriller is very different from a piece of classy literary fiction, but most passionate readers read widely – the pulpy thrillers and the literary fiction and the niche non-fiction and work in translation and other things that just happen to strike our eyes and our appetites at the right moment on a sunny day. That’s the best way to read.

__________________________________

NEWSFLASH

We’ve extended the application deadline for Ultimate Novel Writing Programme and the Novel Writing Course to Sunday 22 March. The course starts on 1 April, so this is your last chance saloooooooon.

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At first glance, the market for books operates just as you might imagine.

Everyone sells in all formats

Ebooks are usually said to account for maybe 25% of the overall books market. I’m sceptical of those estimates, however, certainly as applied to novelists.

Self-publishers – who are overwhelmingly ebooky – don’t generally assign ISBN data to their books and those sales are excluded from most industry data. Further, the “25% overall” figure ignores vast genre disparities. Non-fiction (especially reference) is heavily print-led. So is children’s fiction.

Indeed, I had an argument just now with an AI-bot, challenging its summary and it acknowledged, “You're right that once we look specifically at adult fiction and account for the "dark matter" of the industry—self-published digital sales—the picture shifts significantly … the adult fiction category is the one place where electronic formats (e-books and audiobooks combined) are arguably the primary way people consume stories today.”

So let’s say that for adult fiction, electronic formats account for half or more of unit sales. (Print, being more expensive, accounts for more than half of revenues.)

Naturally, trad publishers offer books across every major format.

All digital-first and indie publishers do the same.

It’s true that the digital-first folk can’t usually reach High Street bookstores, but they can easily offer print books through Amazon and Amazon is still by far the most consequential bookshop in the world, accounting for more than half of most trad publishers’ revenues.

So no matter how you publish, everyone can publish in all formats, with ease.

And yet …

Despite all this, the market for books cleaves into two vast hemispheres with stunningly few points of connection.

Tradworld looks to physical bookshops as its north star.

It thinks about print before ebook. It thinks about physical bookstores before Amazon. It thinks about critical acclaim from newspapers and other sources far more than it does about reader reviews on Amazon.

To be clear, this isn’t a dumb strategy. Tradworld publishers make very healthy profits. Ten or fifteen years ago, I thought there was a significant chance that traditional publishers would just fold up and shrink to a fraction of their previous size. They haven’t. They’ve thrived.

In the meantime, there’s a flourishing host of digital-first publishers (including self-publishers, all of whom are digitally-led.)

Those guys – the Digifirsters – don’t care about physical bookshops: they have no access.

They don’t care about newspapers and traditional sources of literary praise: they don’t get any love from those places and, even if they did, it would make no difference to sales.

They may or may not care about Apple and other non-Amazon bookshops, but really Amazon is the thing. The Digifirsters are all about selling on Amazon. They arguably have more in common with people who sell household wares on Amazon than they do with the fine old literary houses who once sold Jane Austen or Herman Melville.

And as I say, these worlds barely connect – or connect to a remarkably small degree.

You can literally sell 1,000,000 ebooks on Amazon and yet struggle to shift 20,000 paperbacks through physical stores.

You can sell 1,000,000 ebooks and yet have zero reviews in newspapers. Indeed, it’s stranger than that. If newspapers do end up writing about you, they’ll say things like, “the million-copy selling author that no one’s ever heard of.” By which they mean, “the million-copy selling author that we’ve never noticed because we were looking in the opposite direction.”

What’s more, Tradworld still operates in a universe where there are such things as nation-states. Woe betide you if you sell a British book to an American reader, or vice versa.

Digifirsters don’t really notice the existence of nation-states. Book covers, blurbs, marketing strategies and digital support in general cross continents, with barely more than a tweak or two along the way.

What this means for you

All this is my own long and winding road leading up to Mount Useful.

And on the tippy-toppy summit of Mount Useful there is a sign which says: “You need to know what kind of book yours is.”

If your book is better suited to the Digifirsters, you may as well skip over agents (to start with) and submit straight to the better digital-first houses. Or, if you approach agents, you should do so aware that those agents are not about to get you a trad deal with Penguin Random House. And, of course, if your book is naturally digifirst, then self-publishing is also an option, and a very good one.

If on the other hand, your book is better suited to Tradworld, then you need to go there (via an agent) without much pondering the alternatives.

There are some general pointers to how to understand your book.

Is it commercial genre fiction, with plot more important than prose style? It might well be digital-first.

Is it a standalone book, not part of a series? It might be more suited for trad.

Is it going to appeal to somewhat self-important newspaper reviewers? Think trad.

Do you see a properly global (albeit English-speaking) market for your book? If so, digital publishing beckons.

And so on.

These are hints, not final determinations. I said the two hemispheres connect to a remarkably small degree, and that’s true. But there are still plenty of books where you could choose to go either way, and your final judgement needs to take into account all the factors, including of course your own preferences.

And – as usual, this email is too long

And – as so often, it’s hard to set out reliable, general rules.

But –

Worry ye not, oh Friends of Jericho. We created a whole month of events to help you tease these things out for yourself. We thought for a very long time about what to call this group of events – we summoned brand advisors, logo designers, and a troupe of creative artistes from Mongolia – and, for reasons that now escape me, we ended up calling it GETTING PUBLISHED MONTH.

We have sessions on self-pub, on publishing with digital-first publishers, and on traditional publishing, as seen through the eyes of a literary agent. If you’re worried about which route is right for you, then you really need to join (and watch them back on replay).

The sessions are open to Premium Members only but – and here’s a tip you can use at any time – you can join us for just one month for £30 (using the “Flex” option). Just be sure to cancel your membership to prevent auto-renew. Or get 10% off pay-upfront and pay-monthly plans by using the hard-to-remember code GETPUBLISHED10 at checkout, offer ends 31 March.

That’s it from me. I leave you with a sea shanty and a small ginger biscuit.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / Ask us anything

Simple Feedback Friday this week. Do you have any questions? Then ask. I’ll do what I can to chip in, but I hope the Hive Mind gives generously of its honeyed wisdom. Please title your post in this format: Genre / question / [anything else if you want]. That helps others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post it here.

Til soon.

Harry

Before I start, I just want to say that you guys did a good job on the Johari window / Feedback Friday exercise last week.

When I wrote the email and then set the exercise, I did wonder if lots of you would just think, “Huh? What?” and ignore the challenge. But you didn’t. If you haven’t already looked at the discussion, then do. (If you’re not a member of Townhouse, that link won’t work, but you can sign up for free here. You now don’t even need to set a password: you can just use your Google account to wave the magic wand.)

Anyway. Hold-scanning: the topic of the email.

I used to climb pretty regularly at a climbing wall centre in Oxford. I’m not an especially good climber, but there were plenty of really strong people climbing there.

Indoor climbing (especially bouldering, which is what I mainly did) tends to be short and intense. You attempt a hard route, and either get to the top (yay!) or drop off at some point along the way. Either way, your muscles should be burning a bit, so that even if you want to re-attempt the route, you need to rest a couple of minutes before you’re in a state to go again.

So: you have two minutes when you’re resting and not climbing. Or, in fact, you have quite a lot of those two-minute windows. What do you do with them?

One option is just to lie on your back and pant and look at the super-climbers who seem to bounce up routes that you can’t even contemplate.

But there’s an alternate strategy, and a better one.

You still lie on your back. And pant. And look at the super-climbers.

But this time, you really look at them. When they move so effortlessly onto that bulgy yellow hold you can barely reach, do you notice that they rock their weight away from it, before moving back towards it? Maybe that pendulum motion is part of what gives them that mysterious ability to grab it.

Or as they swarm up that overhanging wall, do you notice that they’re not readjusting their hands on the hold each time?  Maybe the seconds they shave from not readjusting their grip means they’re less likely to run out of puff near the top?

The climber who uses his or her lying-down-and-panting time to study other climbers is much more likely to progress than the rest.

The same is true, my darling sparrow, my blue-footed booby, of you.

Obviously, when you write, you work hard at putting down the best prose you can to tell the strongest story possible. Jolly good. Here’s a fresh worm for you by way of reward.

But what about when you’re doing the writer-equivalent of lying down and panting? What do you do then?

Specifically, when you read published work by others, how do you read it?

I know when I was engaged in writing my first novel, I became obsessed with trying to understand how other writers were achieving the effects they were achieving. If they did something great – how did they do it? If they did something disappointing – what lay behind that failure?

The act of reading changed completely for me. I’m now a bit less obsessive than I was, but not all that much. My editor-brain is now so automatic, I can’t switch it off.

It should be the same for you.

When you’re reading, not writing – use that time to learn. Every novel (and plenty of non-fiction) has things to teach you, but you’ll only hear those teachings if you’re alert to the messages.

If you read a book by John Smith – are his sentences better than yours? Are his descriptions more evocative? If they are: why? Does he use more complex words? (Probably not.) Does he pick out better details? If so, what makes those details better than yours? Are you not writing your description as well, or are you not seeing the scene in the first place with as much clarity?

If you read a book by Jane Brown – is her plotting better? More exciting? How does she generate the excitement? Is it greater speed (more car chases)? Or is it greater depth (greater emotional jeopardy during the chase)?

You have to track these things down. It’ll change the way you read, but so much the better. It should do.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / That bulgy yellow hold

Bit of an experiment this week, but let’s give it a go.

Take a 250-word chunk of text from your work in progress. Pop it up on Townhouse with title, genre, and any context we need.

Please title your post in this format: Genre / title / [anything else if you want]. That helps others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you're ready, you can post it here.

Then – ignore your work. Go and jump around on other people’s posts. In each case, read the work and give a comment on it. Aim to do that with 5-10 posts in total.

And I don’t just want a comment – I want a useful comment.

A comment that’s good is, “The second sentence is given particular menace by noting the knife’s blade as well as the vase of daffodils. This is a domestic scene, yes, but we already feel the edge of danger.” That’s specific and reproducible. OK, you may not want to write a knife-blade and daffodil sentence of your own, but you can use the insight you just had when writing your own material.

A lousy comment is, “I really liked this. It felt atmospheric.” That’s not specific at all. (What did you like? How did the author create the atmosphere?) And because it’s not specific, it’s not reproducible. It gives you no insight into how you can achieve (or avoid) the same effects.

I don’t actually mind if you pop work of published authors up on Townhouse instead of your own. But the heart of this exercise is in the comments you make. Flap to it, my crested grebe. Jump to it, you wagtails and oystercatchers. I’m going to be very interested to see how we do.

Til soon.

Harry

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.