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Over the past month, the Jericho Writers team has been tightly focused on helping you to write better scenes.

Through the Write With Jericho video course – free for Premium Members – we’ve explored:

• Making each scene purposeful
• Creating atmosphere in your scene
• Dynamic dialogue and internal monologue
• Show, don’t tell - and when to break the rule.

Many of you have shared examples of your work with us during the course, and our four tutors fed back on the writing they saw via the forums over on Townhouse.

Here, I’ll share some of the most common challenges authors experienced as they worked on perfecting their scenes – as well as our top tips for overcoming them.

Making each scene purposeful

Following lesson one, best-selling author Becca Day had the following advice to share with her fellow writers:

Remember the purpose of your B plot: This seemed to be a sticking point for some authors, but – in a nutshell – the B plot sums up the reason why the A plot is your character’s story to tell. What is it that makes this tale, and this scene within it, so personal to your protagonist?

Make sure the stakes are personal: Even if you think you’ve come up with something suitably emotive, Becca suggests digging a little deeper to see if you can make it more so. Instead of ‘My character will lose her job if XYZ,’ consider: ‘If XYZ, my character will lose her job – and it’s the job her father always wanted for her. She’ll be letting down his memory if she’s sacked.’ This calls into question whether the character actually cares about her job as much as her father did, or if she’s merely doing it because she feels like she owes it to him. See how much more powerful that just became?

Creating atmosphere in your scene

Meanwhile, Jericho Writers founder Harry Bingham shared these thoughts after teaching Write With Jericho lesson two:

Consider what to leave out, as well as what to put in: Repeated words and phrases, or detail where it isn’t necessary, can detract from the atmosphere you’re working so hard to create. It might sound contrary, but keeping your writing spare – choosing your words carefully – is a terrific technique for building atmosphere.

Be mindful of pace: On the flip side, make sure you’re not hurrying past moments where the reader might like to linger. As you’re describing a setting, ask yourself – does this need a reaction shot? Do I need to dwell, just for a moment, on the feeling this elicits in the character(s)?

If you create a moment, let it live: To some extent, this is about pace, too – but also the natural ways people react to things. When you introduce some action into your setting – a loud noise, say – make sure your character(s) respond to this in a way, and in an order, that feels believable. They won’t know what the sound is, so let’s see their experience of it, their shock and confusion, and then perhaps their relief at figuring out the reason for the din. Don’t name the noise or its source until your character(s) could reasonably know what it is and where it’s coming from or the moment will lose its authenticity.

Dynamic dialogue and internal monologue

In the lesson three forum, I shared the following feedback with our authors:

Avoid excessive formality: In my Write With Jericho lesson, I talked about the importance of keeping speech natural and appropriate for your characters and setting. This advice applies to internal monologue, too. If you want readers to feel close to your protagonist or narrator, you must make them feel like a friend. That means using contractions (‘won’t’ instead of ‘will not’ / ‘don’t’ instead of ‘do not’), and avoiding the sort of stiffness that might feel more ‘job interview’ than ‘intimate, honest conversation’.

Keep an eye on your POV: All writers are guilty of letting their point of view wander from time to time – but it’s important not to let it amble too far! If you’re working in first person or third person close, you need to be vigilant and stay mindful of what your main character can reasonably know about others’ thoughts, feelings and motivations. Be careful not to stray too far into omniscience, if this isn’t the mode you’re actually working in.

Watch out for clunky self-referencing: This is a pet peeve of mine, but in first person narratives (where protagonists are forced to think and talk about themselves constantly), I think it’s important to keep self-references natural. Does anyone really think about the colour of their own hair as they shove it out of their face? Or the precise shade of their eyes as they close them in despair? Obviously, your readers want this information – they need to know what your protagonist looks like – but real internal monologues simply don’t work like this. You need a reason for your character to be thinking about whatever they’re contemplating, so find one! Or, save the eye colour info for a moment where it will slot in seamlessly.

Remember, punctuation affects pace: The way you punctuate speech can have a huge impact on how it sounds – and whether it lands with a big bang or a whimper. If in doubt, read it aloud (even if your nearest and dearest will fear you’ve lost the plot). Consider the difference between: ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that,’ and ‘Sorry. Really. I didn’t mean that.’

Show, don't tell - and when to break the rule

Finally, over on the lesson four feedback forum, Sophie Flynn suggested the following fixes for writers trying to strike the right balance between showing and telling.

Beware of filtering: Words like ‘seemed’, ‘appeared’, ‘noticed’ and ‘felt’ can signal you’re a step too far away from your main character’s point of view – that you’re filtering their experience through a second pair of eyes. Minimise this if you can, and you’ll find your writing feels sharper and more immediate.

Watch out for showing that feels like telling: Running a fingertip over a barely healed wound, for example, is an act that needs to be connected to a thought or conversation that’s happening in the moment. Otherwise, it won’t feel natural.

Don’t show where telling would be clearer: Again, this is a question of getting the balance right – but if trying to show something takes longer, is more effortful and is potentially confusing for the reader, don’t be afraid just to state a few simple facts.  

Ready to dive in...?

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This week is a good and beautiful week, but also a sad week; a week that enters with the last note of a bugle fading on the evening air. 

Why? Because it is week four of our Write with Jericho course, and therefore the final week of the course. Premium Members will be sad because WWJ is drawing to a close, but they will also be happy because there are a host of other courses they can relish - and because new courses will be popping up all through this year like mushrooms in a damp October. 

And yes, non-members will have an extra sadness because they've missed so much excitement of late... Except that they know doing this one small thing will give them abiding and highly cost-effective joy. 

(Also: if you're a non-member and want to enjoy week one of Write With Jericho for FREE, then go on. Enjoy it. It's open to all.)

In this week's final lesson, my colleague Sophie Flynn is teaching about showing & telling, which is a topic that kinda drives us mad at JW Towers, because so many people get it wrong.

The rule is “show, don’t tell,” and it’s a good rule. I like it. It’s always helpful to have at the back of your mind.

But it’s also a terrible rule, because it’s so often false.

Sophie gives an example of this.  

Telling: “It was now midday.”

Showing: “The short hand was already more or less pointing at the twelve and Josie saw with panic rising in her throat that the long hand was now all but upright too.”

That second version is terrible in so many ways it’s hard to count. For one thing, it’s mystifying. It’s so obvious what “it was now midday means”, whereas the second sentence needs a kind of anxious decoding… And even once decoded, it leaves the reader with a slight well, that was weird feeling. 

Of course, the second version is also far baggier and less efficient than the first. What's more, it still uses telling, because it tells the reader that poor old Josie – trapped as she is in a terrible novel – has panic rising up her throat. On a strict show-don’t-tell model, you’d have to somehow show that panic rising. How you’d go about doing that, I just don’t know.

So, the Idiot Version of the rule is just plain false.         

In a way, I’d prefer it if we replaced that formulation with a simple command to dramatise. Suppose Jane Austen had written the following:

Telling: “Mr Darcy proposed to Elizabeth Bennet, but she refused him with some asperity.”

That’s a perfectly accurate account of one of the most famous scenes in English literature – but also quite clearly a terrible replacement for the scene that Jane Austen actually wrote.

Dramatic action needs to unfold in what feels like real time to the reader. Everything else can just be neatly stitched in with brief but accurate snippets of telling.

I won’t talk about this more – Sophie does all that in her course video – but I’ll do again what I’ve done throughout these Write With Jericho emails and just take a look at what one of my own scenes does. I’ll use the same scene as I used last week which, if you remember, I just picked at random.

So here we go again. The scene itself is in bold. My comments are in italics. Where possible, I’ve shortened the text for brevity.

Dad is talking about the security issues that his clubs have faced recently. Nothing out of the ordinary. The occasional idiot with a knife. The odd binge-drinker who gets violent.

This is telling: Fiona’s swift summary of something that isn’t that interesting and doesn’t need to detain the reader for long.

I don’t premeditate the thought, just blurt out, ‘I know. I sometimes think I should get myself a gun. You never know what might happen.’

That’s all I say. A stupid thought that wouldn’t have lasted out the minute. But Dad’s on to it straight away.

‘What do you mean, love? You want to become an armed officer, is that it? Are detectives even allowed to carry guns?’

This is showing – dialogue always is. Even here, though, Fiona doesn’t try to show that her statement was a a stupid thought that wouldn’t have lasted out the minute. That’s not something that can be easily shown. It’s not dramatic. So she just tells it in a perfectly straightforward manner.

I backtrack straight away. No, I don’t want to join some armed response unit. No, I can’t see the South Wales force thinking that DC Griffiths would be the right person to wave the heavy weaponry. No, it’s probably a stupid idea.

This is still probably showing. We’ve dropped the direct speech, but Fiona is summarising reasonably accurately what she actually said.

‘You mean have a gun at home? A licensed thing? But you know, these days, you can get a shotgun or whatever for going out hunting. Air rifles, that sort of thing. But they won’t let people carry handguns. Not off a shooting range. And quite right too. The number of crazy people there are. If I could ban the whole damn lot of them, I would.’

‘Yes, me too. I’m not really saying anything. Just, like you say, there are some idiots out there.’

‘You worried about something, Fi girl? If you are, you need to say. Maybe the police isn’t the right job for you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re fabulous. CID bloody lucky to have you, never mind what I might have said. But you mustn’t take risks you shouldn’t, you know.’

Dialogue = showing. This is the dramatic heart of this (tiny) scene. But just feel how flat the scene would be without this dialogue at its heart. The heart of ANY scene should be showing, That’s where the drama is.

He pauses, the shadows of our old arguments crossing our lamplit present.

His suspicion of anything to do with the police. His fear. My determination to pursue the career of my choice. Two obstinate people, digging in.

And to be fair to Dad – and I didn’t perhaps understand this as well as I should have done – he was worried about me too. He’s always been protective of me, doubly or trebly so during my illness and afterwards… even when my life was all put back together again, he felt that a career in the police force was absolutely the wrong one for me. Too much danger. Too much stress. Risks physical and mental…

Anyway. The present pause compresses that whole debate into a few seconds of silence. It’s Dad’s way of saying that I can always quit the police, come home, take a job with him. My silence is my way of saying, ‘Thanks, Pa, but no way.’ Our argument unfolds in a few beats of nothing at all.

All telling.

But there’s absolutely no way to show this past history without diving into entire chapters of pointless backstory. Those chapters would have murdered any forward momentum in the plot, whereas three or four paragraphs of reflection work perfectly fine – especially because the reader will by this point be very curious about that past of Fiona’s. (They’ll still be curious, because Fiona still hasn’t talked about The Big Thing that makes her the way she is.)

Then it finishes. Finishes with a truce.

‘You look after yourself, love. If you need anything, you just say.’

‘I will, Dad. Thanks.’

Back to showing.

It’s bedtime. I feel oceanically tired. Tonight, I know it already, I’m going to sleep well. I’m home.

Back to telling.

REFLECTIONS

In a way, there's not much to reflect on this week. For me, two things stand out:

1. The movement between showing and telling is constant and seamless. A reader wouldn’t remotely notice the movement from one to the other.
2. The dramatic heart of the scene is shown – in this case through dialogue, but you could imagine something purely physical instead, a fist-fight, for example.

Really, the choice between showing and telling is a choice between Efficiency (telling) and Drama (showing.) 

Altering the reader to the fact that it’s midday? Probably better told. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth Bennet? I’d show that if I were you.

***

FEEDBACK FRIDAY

Once again, Feedback Friday comes straight from the Write With Jericho course this week. Sophie has asked you to:

• Rewrite a scene from your novel or non-fiction project, focusing on when to show and when to tell.
• Choose 250 words of this scene and share the before and after over on Townhouse. 

Once you're ready, post yours here.

***

That’s it from me for this week. 

Til soon,

Harry

Dialogue is one of the cornerstones of great fiction writing. Whatever genre you’re working in, and whether your novel is literary or commercial, your characters need to speak to one another.

Why? First, because talking is just what people do. A book where the characters didn’t have conversations would feel totally unrealistic, not to mention decidedly odd.

Just as importantly, dialogue provides blessed relief from long stretches of narrative description. While these are crucial for establishing context, worldbuilding and setting readers’ expectations, they simply aren’t sustainable over 300 pages. Dialogue is immediate and immersive: it lifts the tone of a scene and quickens its pace, providing vital balance. I think of it as a load-bearing wall: something that keeps the shape of your story sound, and its structure strong. Without it, your novel could sink beneath the weight of too much ‘telling’.

This leads me on to another reason why dialogue is so very useful for us authors. It allows us to show, clearly and effectively, all sort of things that might be tiresome to describe. Want to make clear that one character has history with another? Give them an opportunity to bicker about something that happened years ago. Need to signal that someone in your novel is more educated than they claim? Give them a short speech where jargon they’ve no business knowing creeps in.

In my Write With Jericho lesson, I go deep into the theory and practice of writing great dialogue – and I also explain how internal monologue can intersect with what your characters say out loud. Here, I’m going to share a few dos and don’ts that should help you while you craft or edit your characters’ dialogue. I hope you find them useful.

Do give your characters distinct voices.

Think about accents, dialect and vocabulary. A wealthy, Oxbridge-educated lawyer will likely sound different from someone who’s grown up in poverty, left school at sixteen and has spent time in prison – and please note, that remains true even if the characters are of equal intelligence!

What can the way your character speaks tell us about their background, upbringing, education and social status? Does their voice truly reflect who they are inside? If not, why not? (I’m looking at you, Charlotte from The Traitors…)

Do make characters' speech appropriate for the situation.

We all modify the way we speak, depending on who we’re speaking to; we chat with friends and family in a very different way than we’d talk to a job interview panel! While your character’s dialogue needs to stay consistent with who they are, you also need to allow for subtle shifts in how they speak.

Do remember that most speech is informal.

Unless you’re writing dialogue for a novel set in another world or time period, I’d always recommend using contractions and keeping your characters’ speech casual. In real life, we usually say ‘I can’t’, or ‘I don’t’, not ‘I cannot’ or ‘I do not’. Informality is key for making your characters’ speech believable. It ensures their conversations feel overheard, rather than artificial.

Don't allow your characters to speak in soliloquy or conduct Q&As.

Unless you’ve created a Winston Churchill-style character, it will feel unnatural for them to make long, uninterrupted speeches. Likewise, most conversations involve meandering and obfuscation – especially if one person is trying to extract information that another isn’t keen to share. Very rarely do any of us give a straight answer when we’re asked a point-blank question, so bear this in mind as you write.

Do make your dialogue work hard.

We’ve all heard the advice to strip adverbs out of our work and use simple dialogue tags – and I’m not the woman to gainsay it. Broadly speaking, if you’re choosing the words your characters speak carefully enough, they can do an awful lot of heavy lifting for you. Want to imply your character is shouting? Show their growing exasperation through the words inside the speech marks. Want to make it clear they’re grief-stricken? Use words that show this, so you don’t need to tell readers how they feel.

Don't overuse exclamation marks and italics.

This is an especially useful tip for when you’re editing dialogue: if it’s riddled with exclamations and italics, you probably need to tighten it up. Too much shouty, slanty content is a sign your dialogue isn’t strong enough, or that you didn’t have full confidence in it as you were drafting. Review it and see what could change.

Finally, don't worry that everything your characters say needs to match up perfectly with what's going on inside.

In fact, it’s thrilling for a reader when a character’s internal monologue contradicts what they’re doing and saying. This dichotomy is often key for developing a strong connection between your reader and your story’s protagonist – so exploit it if you can. Show them that your character’s outward loathing of their workplace rival hides a powerful, secret crush; signal that the perfect wife’s devotion to her husband is the smokescreen for her dastardly murder plot.

For more on dialogue and internal monologue, don’t miss lesson three of Write With Jericho – now available for Premium Members.

As always, happy writing!