Good dialogue will punch you in the chest.
It will swing like a fist out of the dark, and when it hits it will make your heart stop.
But when writing dialogue, most writers miss. Even professionals make some major mistakes (I’ll show you a few examples in a minute).
There are five things you need to stop doing when you write dialogue…
Fix these, and you will write dialogue that will smack your readers right in the emotions:
Continue reading 5 Ways You’re Writing Your Dialogue Wrong
Short post, (because I’m kicking NaNoWriMo’s ass).
Let’s say, you just wrote a chapter.
You worked hard on it. You followed the outline. You’re pretty sure it’s the greatest thing anyone has ever written.
Until, a week later, you re-read it …
…it’s a boring, drivel-ly, snot-filled MESS.
When did this Chapter get so boring?
There is a fix. This technique will instantly make all your chapters irresistible page turners, and readers will glue themselves to your book:
Continue reading How to Make Every Chapter an Irresistible “Page Turner.”
His fingers drip with ink; his face – with sweat. The candlelight flickers, casting shadows across the spidery, illegible scratch and ink stains.
Inching closer to the page, the Writer inches reads from his own words – “…to become a real writer, to climb the ranks into Authorship, one must write everyday.”
But, like all of life’s solutions, there is a problem. As he chews on his quill, a new question rolls around his mind…
How DO you Write Everyday?
These 9 strategies will help you build a daily writing habit so powerful, your own friends and family will think something is wrong with you:
Continue reading Write Everyday with these 9 Habit-boosting Strategies
In this line of work there were few answers, and many questions.
One question, in particular, stuck out like a knife from a dead man’s chest: “Could you ever kill a friend?”
For years, Blay the Assassin thought about it, turning it over and over in the quiet hours of the long, cold nights. The unanswered question never diminished. Blay’s passion for the craft, however, did. He found himself a rich man, and even the luster of “professional power-shifting” had grown tiresome to him.
Blay the Assassin was done.
Or so he thought.
Continue reading A Professional Question of Murder – (Flash Fiction)
Number Eight didn’t know it, but I knew she wasn’t an Android.
I don’t blame her. I’m no Robot either. The Masterson’s only bought me believing I was an Android. I’ve been lying to them since.
Understand this: it was a matter of air quality. The Masterson’s, my employers, were one of the few upper-city families who could afford a Dome, complete with the latest in air-scrubbing technology.
You didn’t even need a mask inside the Dome. You could just walk around, and breathe in the air.
I caught Number Eight when I was walking into the East Wing’s kitchen. Number Eight had her back turned to me, and was printing meals from the Dinner-press.
Continue reading Our Human Secret – Flash Fiction
Quick: what is the most excitable organ in the body?
That’s right – it’s the imagination.
Sometimes, when you’re getting all hot and bothered creative, you get too eager (don’t worry, it happens to all of us).
You get this urge to create, and create, and create. Before you know it, you have a glut of characters:
- 4 protagonists, with 4 distinct groups of companions
- 6 love interests
- 12 dwarves
- And a guy named Frank because you couldn’t think of a better name, so you just used this as a place holder until a better name comes along…
Is that too many names? How many characters SHOULD your short story/novel/Harry Potter fan fiction have?
Continue reading How Many Characters Should Your Story Have?
I was this close to falling asleep, when my sheets were ripped away. I thought I was going to die of cold shock.
The cracking of naked knuckle bones broke the silence, and a long, white finger speared out of the dark. It stopped an inch from my nose.
“CHOOSE!” the voice tolled louder than an iron bell. I couldn’t see the face behind the deep-cowled hood, but somehow I knew it was better that way. Frost fringed his hood, despite the mid-summer heat.
“Did you come to kill me?”
“CHOOSE!” the long, bony finger jabbed at me.
Continue reading An Unexpected Death | Flash Fiction