The Unreliable Narrator: How to Heighten Suspense and Keep Readers Guessing in Psychological Thrillers

By Carol Willis

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One of the most powerful tools in a psychological thriller is the unreliable narrator—a character whose perception, memory, or understanding of reality is compromised. This technique pulls readers deep into the mind of the protagonist while simultaneously keeping them at a distance, sowing doubt and suspicion. When done well, it heightens tension and fuels page-turning suspense.

In psychological thrillers, the unreliable narrator isn't just a stylistic choice—it's a structural engine. First-person narration lets readers experience the character’s inner turmoil, but what happens when that narrator cannot be trusted? Whether the cause is head trauma, substance abuse, mental illness, or sheer denial, the effect is the same: uncertainty. 

And uncertainty is the lifeblood of suspense.

What Makes a Narrator Unreliable?

Unreliable narrators are those whose version of the story is distorted by deception, delusion, or impairment. Some lie deliberately; others mislead unintentionally due to mental illness or altered states of consciousness. In psychological thrillers, the latter are especially compelling. These narrators believe what they say and yet the reader comes to understand that what they believe may not be true.

Let’s take a closer look at how several authors, Annie Ward in Beautiful Bad (2018), Tana French in The Witch Elm (2018), and Imran Mahmood in I Know What I Saw (20210) use head trauma, addiction, and psychological instability to create deeply unreliable perspectives that drive suspense and emotional tension.

Head Trauma as a Narrative Device

Set in the American Midwest, Annie Ward’s Beautiful Bad is a tightly constructed domestic psychological thriller centered on Maddie, a devoted wife and mother, her war-scarred husband, and their young son. As is typical of the genre, nothing is as it seems: buried secrets and simmering tension culminate in a shocking murder. During a camping trip, Maddie suffers a traumatic brain injury that leaves her memory fragmented. Much of the novel hinges on her attempts to piece together what really happened. Ward structures the story through short, staccato chapters and a nonlinear timeline that mirror Maddie’s cognitive disorientation. She also weaves in her husband’s PTSD and alcoholism, which amplify the emotional instability and deepen the atmosphere of dread. Readers are drawn into a fog of partial memories and unreliable perceptions, forced to navigate Maddie’s fractured psyche in search of the truth.

Tana French’s standalone psychological suspense, The Witch Elm offers a more introspective, character-driven psychological thriller, where trauma fractures not only memory but identity. Toby, a privileged and affable young man, survives a brutal home invasion that leaves him with a severe head injury and a lingering sense of cognitive instability. As he retreats to his family’s ancestral home to recover, a skull is discovered in the garden, triggering both a police investigation and a deeper unraveling within Toby himself. French masterfully entwines the external mystery with the internal one: who was Toby before the attack, and can he trust the person he is now? The narrative blurs the line between guilt and innocence, perception and denial. Toby’s unreliable memory becomes the novel’s engine of suspense, compelling readers to question not only what happened, but whether Toby himself might be capable of violence he can no longer remember.

Imran Mahmood’s I Know What I Saw (2021) offers another powerful example of how head trauma can fracture both memory and identity. The narrator, Xander Shute, is a once-successful barrister now living on the streets of London. When he accidentally witnesses a murder in what he believes is a break-in gone wrong, he reports it only to be told by police that no such crime occurred, and the apartment is occupied by a completely different couple. What follows is a tense unraveling of Xander’s mind. His past trauma, mental health struggles, and head injuries blur the line between what he remembers and what may have never happened at all. Mahmood uses fragmented memories, dreamlike logic, and time slippage to keep the reader guessing: Is Xander witnessing a conspiracy, or is he caught in the spiraling aftermath of untreated trauma? His voice is sharp, intelligent, and self-aware. Yet the more he insists on what he saw, the more readers question whether they should believe him.

Other Forms of Unreliability

Substance abuse is another common and highly effective device in thrillers. Alcoholism and drug addiction introduce uncertainty, distortion, and mistrust—the perfect ingredients for narrative suspense. These altered states skew perception, bend time, and create memory gaps that leave both the character and the reader struggling to connect the dots. In Paula Hawkins’s The Girl on the Train (2015), for example, blackouts erase entire chunks of the protagonist’s experience. The narrator becomes both detective and suspect, trying to solve a mystery she might have unwittingly caused.

Mental illness—especially dissociation, anxiety, and PTSD—can also destabilize a narrator’s grasp on reality. A character may be telling the truth as they see it, but that version of events is filtered through trauma, fear, or delusion. These internal fractures not only add emotional complexity but also keep readers questioning what’s real, and what’s imagined.

Why It Works

Unreliable narrators heighten suspense by withholding clarity. In a genre driven by twists and revelations, these characters provide fertile ground for ambiguity. The reader doesn’t simply ask, "What will happen?" but, more compellingly, "What is really going on?"

Unlike thrillers that rely solely on external threats, psychological thrillers with unreliable narrators turn the narrative inward. They make the protagonist’s mind the true battleground. The suspense comes not only from what the character might do, but from whether they even know what they are capable of.

For Writers: Using Unreliability to Build Suspense

Start with character: What might your protagonist be unwilling or unable to see clearly? Consider layering trauma, denial, or dependence on substances to introduce narrative distortion.

Use memory loss or selective recall to reveal truths in increments. Structure scenes around flashbacks, contradictions, or moments where the narrator second-guesses themselves. Let your setting mirror the character’s instability—fog, rain, locked rooms, or chaotic domestic spaces can reinforce psychological disarray.

And most importantly, root the unreliability in emotional truth. Readers don’t need to trust your narrator to follow them—they just need to believe in their struggle. Suspense thrives in this space between belief and doubt.

Crafting Killer Back Cover Copy

By Lois Winston

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How do most readers buy books when they’re not searching for a specific title or author? They either scroll through an e-tailer site or stroll around the aisles of a bookstore. Either way, the first thing that will catch their attention is a book’s cover. In a bookstore, the reader picks up a book, flip it over, and reads the back cover copy. On an Internet site, the reader scrolls to the book’s description. 

The primary goal of back cover copy is to act as a tease. If the tease works, the reader flips to the first page or clicks on the sample to read a few paragraphs or pages. If she likes what she’s read, she’ll buy the book. If those first few paragraphs or pages don’t grab her, she continues to scroll or stroll. The back cover copy is the first step in whether a reader decides to buy a book. That’s why back cover copy is so important. It’s meant to whet the reader’s appetite and hook a potential customer. 

Back cover copy should consist of one or more short paragraphs that describe the main plot and main protagonist(s) in a book. If you’ve ever queried an agent or editor, it’s like the section of the query letter that describes your book. Sometimes, an editor may even use the author’s query blurb—with or without a few tweaks—for the back cover copy.

So what should go into back cover copy, and what should you omit? First, you want to include enough information to pique the reader’s curiosity about the book. That means giving an indication of the overall story arc and the main character(s). Who are these people you’ve written about, and what is it about them that will make a reader want to care about them, their world, their relationships, and their problems?

That sounds like an overwhelming task to accomplish in a few short paragraphs, but it’s quite easy if you rely on GMC—goal, motivation, and conflict. GMC is not just for plotting a good story and creating compelling characters. Nailing down characters’ GMC provides an author with a toolbox for creating every other aspect of the book—from the query to the synopsis to the novel to the back cover copy.

Step 1: Define Your Main Character

Use a few adjectives and a noun to define your main character. Be specific. These few words will tell exactly who your character is. This gives you a framework from which to work.

For example, in Love, Lies and a Double Shot of Deception the heroine is described as a “poor little rich girl.” The book is a heart-wrenching romantic suspense. Therefore, the back cover copy is crafted to evoke an emotional response in the reader.

In my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series, my protagonist is a “reluctant amateur sleuth.” Since mysteries are plot driven, I created back cover copy that speaks to the cataclysmic upheaval in Anastasia’s life which propels her into solving each mystery.

Step 2: Define Your Main Character’s Internal and External Goals, Motivations, and Conflicts

Every book must have a balance of plot and characterization. External GMC speaks to plot. Internal GMC speaks to characterization.

For each of your main characters, answer the following questions: 
1.  What does your character want?
2.  Why does he/she want it?
3.  What’s keeping him/her from getting it?

Do this for both the external (the plot) and the internal (the characterization) GMC. Keep each answer to one sentence. When you’re finished, you’ll have six sentences, three that speak to plot and three that speak to characterization.

Avoid unnecessary description. No one buys a book because the heroine is a redhead. Include setting, occupation, and other specifics only if they’re pertinent to the plot and main characters. 

For example, in Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun, the first book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series, the back cover copy doesn’t mention that the book takes place in New Jersey because it doesn’t matter. However, it does mention that Anastasia is a magazine crafts editor. Why? Because Anastasia discovers the murder victim sitting in her cubicle—glue gunned to her chair. If I didn’t mention Anastasia’s occupation, the circumstances of the victim’s death wouldn’t make any sense.

In Love, Lies and a Double Shot of Deception, I don’t mention Emma’s occupation in the blurb because it’s not relevant. I do mention that the story takes place in Philadelphia because the city plays an important role in the story.

Step 3: Define Other Essential Characters

Back cover copy will often, but not always, mention two or three characters because they’re essential to giving the reader an indication of what the story is about. This will vary depending on the genre and plot. Sometimes only one character is mentioned. If other characters play essential roles in your story, repeat Steps 1 and 2 to define their GMC. You probably won’t use all the information on these characters in crafting the blurb, but writing the information out will help you decide what’s important to include and what you can omit in crafting your back cover copy.

Step 4: Voice

The final component of your back cover copy is voice. Describe your book in a voice that matches the voice of your novel. Look at the examples at the end of this article. Love, Lies and a Double Shot of Deception is an emotionally driven romantic suspense, A Crafty Collage of Crime is a humorous mystery. The voice used in each is different. If you haven’t incorporated the voice from your book in your answers to the GMC questions, go back and tweak the sentences. 

It’s important for the reader to be able to determine whether your book is a romantic comedy versus a romantic suspense or a cozy mystery versus a police procedural. You want to meet reader expectation from the very beginning. Readers usually like surprise plot twists, but they don’t want to be tricked into buying a book that purports to be one genre, only to find it’s a completely different genre.

As a side note, cover art should also convey the tone of your book. The cover art and back cover copy should complement each other.

Step 5: Put it All Together

Look at the sentences you’ve created. Depending on the genre, you may or may not use all the sentences you’ve written to develop your back cover copy. Some back cover copy works well as one short paragraph. Most require two, three, or four paragraphs. Choose the sentences that best convey your story. String them together to create your back cover copy, fleshing the paragraphs out with any other pertinent information you believe is essential to hook the reader. Your paragraphs should be tight, concise, and free of unimportant details. Your goal is to make the reader want to flip to the first page of your book to read the opening paragraphs, then head to the cash register or click the Buy Link.

Samples of Back Cover Copy

Humorous cozy mystery:

A Crafty Collage of Crime

Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award for Best Comedy

Wherever crafts editor and reluctant amateur sleuth Anastasia Pollack goes, murder and mayhem follow. Her honeymoon is no exception. She and new husband, photojournalist (and possible spy) Zachary Barnes, are enjoying a walk in the Tennessee woods when they stumble upon a body on the side of a creek. The dead man is the husband of one of the three sisters who own the winery and guest cottages where Anastasia and Zack are vacationing.

When the local sheriff sets his sights on the widow as the prime suspect, her sisters close ranks around her. The three siblings are true-crime junkies, and thanks to a podcaster who has produced an unauthorized series about her, Anastasia’s reputation for solving murders has preceded her to the bucolic hamlet. The sisters plead for her help in finding the real killer. As Anastasia learns more about the women and their business, a host of suspects emerge, including several relatives, a relentless land developer, and even the sisters themselves.

Meanwhile, Anastasia becomes obsessed with discovering the podcaster’s identity. Along with knowing about Anastasia’s life as a reluctant amateur sleuth, the podcaster has divulged details of Anastasia’s personal life. Someone has betrayed Anastasia’s trust, and she’s out to discover the identity of the culprit.

Emotionally driven romantic suspense:

Love, Lies and a Double Shot of Deception 

Life has delivered one sucker punch after another to Emma Wadsworth. As a matter of fact, you could say the poor little rich girl is the ultimate poster child for Money Can’t Buy Happiness—even if she is no longer a child.

Billionaire real estate stud Logan Crawford is as famous for his less-than-platinum reputation as he is his business empire. In thirty-eight years, he’s never fallen in love, and that’s just fine with him—until he meets Emma.

But Emma’s not buying into Logan’s seductive ways. Well, maybe just a little, but she’s definitely going into the affair with her eyes wide open. She’s no fool. At least not anymore. Her deceased husband saw to that. Besides, she knows Logan will catch the first jet out of Philadelphia once he learns her secrets.

Except things don’t go exactly as Emma has predicted, and when Philadelphia’s most beloved citizen becomes the city’s most notorious criminal, she needs to do a lot more than clear her name if she wants to save her budding romance with the billionaire hunk someone is willing to kill for.

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USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. Her most recent release is Sorry, Knot Sorry, the thirteenth book in her Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series. Learn more about Lois and her books at www.loiswinston.com where you can also sign up for her newsletter and follow her on various social media sites.

Whose Head Are You In?

By Lois Winston

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I cut my writing chops in the romance industry, first publishing in 2006. During the years leading up to my first sale, I was a member of Romance Writers of America, an organization with both online and local chapters. RWA National and many of its chapters ran writing contests for unpublished authors, and I entered quite a few. The upside was that finalists in these contests were judged by agents and editors, which could lead to representation or a book deal.

The downside, unbeknownst to me at the time, was that the first-round judges were often unpublished authors with questionable knowledge or expertise. Case in point: I once had a contest judge write on my scoresheet, “I don’t really get Point of View, but I took off for your use of it because I don’t think you understand it either.” (There was nothing wrong with the point of view in my entry.)

Another time, a friend had a contest judge tell her that she’d gone into the dog’s Point of View. (She hadn’t.)

Point of View (also known as Viewpoint or POV) is often a very difficult concept for beginners to grasp. But if you don’t understand something, how do you know if you’re handling it correctly?

Simply stated, Point of View is the character chosen to be the camera lens for your story, the person from whose eyes the reader sees the action unfolding. It’s the telling of the story or part of the story from that person’s perspective.

Viewpoint is usually either First Person or Third Person. First Person stories are told by a single protagonist. They’re the “I” stories and can be written either in present tense or past tense.

First Person Present Tense POV: I sit by the window and stare out at the crowd in the street.

Example of First Person Past Tense POV: I sat by the window and stared out at the crowd in the street.

Third Person POV are the “he/she” stories. They can be written entirely in the viewpoint of one character or in multiple viewpoints. Third Person POV is almost exclusively used in past tense. Although there are probably some novels written in Third Person Present Tense, it’s not very common. The only place I routinely see it is in stage direction in play scripts and screenplays.

Example of Third Person Past Tense POV: Emma sat by the window and stared out at the crowd in the street.

Example of Third Person Present Tense POV: Emma sits by the window and stares out at the crowd in the street.

Omniscient Viewpoint is a story told through the eyes of a disembodied narrator who is privy to the thoughts of all the characters in the novel, even the most insignificant bystander on the street. It’s often referred to as God’s POV. Omniscient POV is considered archaic and is generally not used in any genre of modern commercial fiction because it distances the reader from the story. However, it does occasionally turn up in some literary novels.

Years ago, nearly all romances were told strictly through the eyes or Point of View of the heroine. Today, most romance novels employ the POV of both the hero and heroine and sometimes at least one secondary character. 

Most mysteries were told only through the eyes of the sleuth. Now, depending on the sub-genre, a mystery might also contain multiple POVs (even the dog or cat’s POV in some paranormal cozy mysteries). Suspense and thrillers often incorporate the POV of the antagonist. Multiple points of view allow an author to tell a bigger story because she can enter the thoughts of more than one or two characters. 

If a story is told in multiple points of view, the writer must decide which character should be the point of view character for each scene. Scenes will have the most impact if the chosen POV character is the one who has the most to lose at that moment. This makes for greater tension and emotional impact within the scene. It’s also the reason that omniscient POV, or choosing a disinterested bystander as a POV character, has come to be associated with archaic writing styles. 

There is no rule that states each chapter must be in one character’s POV or even that each scene must only be in one character’s POV. Some authors switch POV within a scene. However, the author should not be moving the point of view back and forth between characters throughout the scene. POV shifts should be logical and smooth, not jarring. If readers find themselves rereading a paragraph or a page because they’re confused as to whose thoughts they’re reading, the author hasn’t handled the shift well. Point of view that ping pongs all over the place will give readers a reason to toss a book aside.

It’s also important to remember that while you’re writing in a particular character’s POV, that character can’t be telling the reader what another character is seeing, thinking, feeling, or hearing. For instance, if a character is sitting in the living room on the first floor, she can’t be thinking about what another character is seeing as he looks out a window one flight up. She has no way of even knowing he’s in that room, let alone that he’s standing at a window. If she can’t see him, she has no way of knowing what he’s doing. 

If a book is written in first person, there probably won’t be any POV shifts, but there’s no rule that says there can’t be. For every rule there are exceptions and writers who have broken them. Many books are written in First Person from the point of view of two characters, including the first book I ever sold. Talk Gertie to Me, is written in First Person from the viewpoints of a young woman and her mother. The POV shifts in alternating chapters. There are also books written where First Person is used for one character, and the author shifts into Third Person for the other POV characters.

Fiction isn’t static; it’s always changing. Writers experiment and take chances all the time. Sometimes those chances pay off in successful novels. Editors and agents want well-written stories. It doesn’t matter whether you write in First Person or Third Person, Present Tense or Past Tense. What matters is an author’s voice and the story she tells. Most anything can work if done well. But to do something well, you first need a firm understanding of what it is and how to use it. That’s definitely the case with POV.

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USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. A Crafty Collage of Crime, the twelfth book in her series, was the recipient of the 2024 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award for Best Comedy. Seams Like the Perfect Crime, the fourteenth book in the series, is her latest release. Learn more about Lois and her books at www.loiswinston.com where you can also sign up for her newsletter to receive an Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mystery.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night: Effective Use of Weather to Create Tension and Introduce an Atmosphere of Menace

By Carol Willis

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Dark atmosphere and ominous weather can be effective ways to immediately introduce tension and establish a menacing mood. Let’s look at several psychological thrillers for a few excellent examples. Consider Imran Mahmood’s gripping thriller, I Know What I Saw (2021). The book begins with ominous weather:  

The sky is a bruised sea. It threatens to burst and split the night. 

These two sentences are short, but they create tension and a dark mood. I promise to not bog you down in grammar, but let’s linger on these two sentences a bit longer and consider the word choice. The image of a “bruised sea” immediately invokes an image of violence; a violence that is expansive and dark and deep as an ocean. Then look at the second line. "Threatens" is the main verb in the present tense and "to burst and split" is an infinitive phrase acting as the direct object of "threatens." The verbs "burst" and "split" are connected by "and," indicating two actions that "it" (the sky) threatens to do. The sentence ends with "the night" which is the object of the infinitives "burst" and "split," showing what the sky threatens to affect.  

The nouns sky, sea and night are expansive, all-encompassing. We know what they are and can even picture them in our mind’s eye. But they are also difficult to contemplate. The sea and the night sky extend beyond the horizon, beyond the limits of our vision. And the choice of verbs bruised (used as an adjective to modify the noun sea), threaten, burst and spilt are all violent. Two sentences. Fourteen words. There is immediate, almost epic feel of impending doom. Do you feel it? I can.  

Writers are often taught, don’t start with the weather. But this example proves that rules can be broken. The short punchy sentences also help characterize the main character who is a battered and bruised homeless man about to stumble over a dead body.  

Let’s take a quick look at Black Car Burning (2019) by Helen Mort, a poet and her debut novel.  

Today the sky is full of thunder. Great gobs of cloud above the Penistone Road. The girls don’t have an umbrella and they’re shrieking, laughing as the rain starts to strike.  

A brief description of weather can lend itself to beautiful and lyrical writing. These three sentences are wonderful – they set the scene but also tell us so much about the novel using weather as metaphor to the loss of innocence that is about to happen. 

In The Patient (2022), Jane Shemilt’s moody suspense thriller begins with a dark, rainy night to set the tone and create an atmosphere of menace: 

The footsteps were buried inside other sounds to start with. Rain pattering on leaves, branches sighing in the wind, a lorry in the distance on the Blandford Road. I thought I was hearing things again. Things that Nathan had told me weren’t really there. There were few street lights along this path. The floodlit Cathedral behind the trees cast shadows on the gravel. A woman had been murdered here at night a hundred years ago. On cloudy nights like this one, walking here felt dangerous… I was out of luck tonight. I began to hurry. The footsteps were louder now.  

As with all great openings, we get a lot of details in a few short sentences. She sets up the atmosphere: dark, rainy night and the sound of footsteps following—something every woman in the world has experienced at one time or another—and the immediate fear it invokes. Then we get the hint that she might not be reliable and the introduction of Nathan. Then we get the sentence about the murdered woman. So, we get a dead body—the body is not described for us—but we see it nonetheless. Murdered. She doesn’t say killed—which could be an accident—but murdered gives us the evil intent and links us to the sound of the ominous footsteps introduced in the very first sentence. Then she says, it felt dangerous. And we feel the danger, too. As the footsteps get louder, we sense the urgency, the immediacy of the situation. So far, the image in these sentences is very effective.   

Atmosphere is everything in psychological thrillers, and few things conjure menace more powerfully than the threat of something—or someone—lurking just out of sight. In just a few deftly crafted sentences, the author immerses us in a world of unease, where the sound of footsteps on a darkened path doesn’t just suggest danger—it demands we keep turning the page. 

The sky doesn’t have to be dark and stormy to create an atmosphere of menace. Take a look at what Laura McHugh does in What’s Done in Darkness (2021). This is the fifth book by Laura McHugh. She writes books inspired by true crime and often sets them in the Ozarks or rural Kansas. Her main characters are often poor and part of marginalized communities (religious or otherwise) but she does not veer into sentimentality or glamorization. Let’s take a look at the opening paragraph:  

Sarabeth – That day, age 17 

The blacktop road stretched empty in either direction. The sky hazy. The air heavy as a sodden sponge. The heat of the late morning sun amplified the autumn scent of drying cornstalks. The putrid sweetness of persimmons rotting in the ditch. Insects swarmed the fermenting fruit buzzing like an unholy plague. Sarabeth brushed away a sweat bee. She had walked the long twisting road from the house to roadside stand alone pulling a wagon with one bad wheel, her legs sweating beneath her ankle-length skirt. Her little sister, Sylvie, sometimes worked the stand with her but today she was home with a fever and vicious sore throat. Her mother had spent the morning praying over her.  

The book begins with the inciting event: 17-year-old, Sarabeth, is abducted while attending the family’s roadside vegetable stand alone on one hot autumn day.  

What do we see in the set up?  

We get a sense for the time of year—autumn with its smells, but still hot. The air is hazy and heavy. There is something already oppressive in this opening paragraph. The road stretching empty in either direction is a clear image and as we read on it adds to the characterization of this teenager who is alone and isolated in a rural community. Her family’s religion with a distinct undercurrent of something rotting is conveyed in this paragraph with the use of words like empty/alone/putrid sweetness/rotting/ unholy plague/ankle-length skirt/praying over her.  

Just from the opening, we know something is likely off or wonky like the “one bad wheel” of the wagon. Why is she in a long skirt on a hot day? Why is a 17-year-old not in school? Why is her sister, obviously sick and with fever, lying in bed and being prayed over instead of being taken to the doctor? The long twisting road she had to walk—we get the sense that her life is or soon will be a long twisting road. Just like the blacktop road, her life is empty in all directions.  

From this opening paragraph we know a lot. We know that Sarabeth is 17 years old, lives in a rural community, is isolated, not in school, and is likely oppressed (atmosphere of menace) and rotting away under a strict religious family. Again, we see the use of a crime or conflict in the beginning. The ordinariness of the day – a girl taking vegetables to sell at a roadside stand. It is the epitome of rural Americana which only adds to the internal dread and anxiety we feel.  

This is an excellent example of opening with atmosphere/weather that are brilliantly used to characterize themes of rural life in Arkansas, isolation, religious extremism, loss of innocence, women’s rights/inequality, which are all are part of this propulsive thriller.  

Next month, we will consider one of the biggest questions in psychological thrillers: the mind and behavior of the main character.  

The Difference Between Passive Voice and Passive Verbs

By Lois Winston

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I began writing fiction nearly thirty years ago. Over the years, I’ve attended dozens of writing conferences, both in the romance genre and the mystery genre. Most of what I learned was invaluable toward advancing my writing career. However, occasionally I’d come across inaccurate information. Such is the case with passive voice and passive verbs.

Once upon a time, somewhere during some talk or on some panel, someone emphatically stated that authors should NEVER use any form of the verb “to be.” That misinformed person said using “was,” along with its brothers and sisters (is, am, are, were, been,) was passive voice and a surefire way to receive a rejection from agents and editors. Like a bad rumor, this piece of writing advice flew from writer to writer, taking on a life of its own, until it became gospel. 

I’d like to set the record straight. There’s a huge difference between passive verbs and passive voice.

Passive voice is when an action is acted upon the subject, rather than the subject acting. The car was driven by Anna is a passive sentence. Anna drove the car is an active sentence. However, Anna was happy to drive the car is not a passive sentence. Anna is expressing emotion. She is acting, rather than being acted upon. Of course, there are more interesting ways to write the sentence to show Anna’s emotions, but that’s a separate discussion.

One of the easiest ways to tell whether your sentence is active or passive is to analyze the position of the subject, verb, and direct object. In active voice, the subject (the one performing the action) will come before the verb (the action), and the verb will come before the direct object (that which is being acted upon.)

There are instances, though, when passive voice is necessary to the unfolding of a story or better suited to the realism of the dialogue. When we speak, we don’t first think whether our sentences are active or passive before uttering them. We just speak them. The same is true when writing dialogue. Manipulate a sentence to avoid passive voice in a conversation between characters, and you often transform snappy dialogue into stilted dialogue. 

For example: Billy ran into the house and cried, “Mom! Come quick. Snoopy was hit by a car!”  This passage accurately illustrates the way a child might respond to a car hitting his dog. Snoopy was hit by a car is a passive sentence because Snoopy is being acted upon by the car, but the child mentions Snoopy first because the dog’s welfare is uppermost in his mind. Also, by placing the last sentence in passive voice, the author is ratcheting up the tension. We don’t know until the very end exactly what hit Snoopy. A stray baseball? A nasty neighbor? A falling tree limb? Although A car hit Snoopy, is active voice, using it lessens the impact of the sentence.

Still squeamish about the use of “was”? After you finish your manuscript, do a search of the word. Check each sentence to see if you can rewrite it to avoid using “was.” If you can, and it doesn’t detract from the pacing, dialogue, or meaning of the passage, do so. If not, leave it. Some “was” are meant to be.

EXCEPT in the subjunctive.

The what, you ask? Subjunctive case or mood is one of the most misunderstood rules in the English language because it runs counter to subject/verb agreement. In other words, if a subject is singular, the verb must also be singular. But not in the subjunctive.

The subjunctive applies to cases of “wishfulness” or “what if” situations. In these cases, “was” becomes “were,” as in, I wish I were taller. “Were” is also used when a sentence or clause uses “if,” “as if,” or “as though,” but only in instances where the statement is contrary to fact. 

Examples include: 
If I were taller, I could see the stage better.
Her twelve-year-old son acts as if he were in kindergarten. 
The maid behaved as though she were queen. 

Because I cannot grow taller, the twelve-year-old is not in kindergarten, and the maid is not a queen, all the statements are contrary to fact, and “was” becomes “were” even though the subjects are all singular.

Keep in mind, though, that the key statement here is “contrary to fact.” “If” statements that are not contrary to fact retain the singular form of the verb. If I was at the store that day, I don’t remember is a correct sentence because the statement is not contrary to fact whether I can recall the event or not. 

So don’t be afraid to use “was” and “were” in your writing but be sure to use them correctly.

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USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. Her most recent release is Sorry, Knot Sorry, the thirteenth book in her Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series. Learn more about Lois and her books at her website www.loiswinston.com where you can also sign up for her newsletter and follow her on various social media sites.

Character as a Haunted House

By Aimee Hardy

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Establishing engaging and relatable characters is one of the most important parts of storytelling. Characters should have compelling backstories, relatable flaws, and fulfilling character arcs, but one of the best tools that I’ve learned about creating characters is to think of them like a haunted house. 

Each house has a facade that everyone sees. This is usually the most complimentary view of the house. Passersby can admire the paint, the sweeping porch, and the manicured lawn. Everything is usually neat and tidy, and all its secrets are safely locked away inside. Even haunted houses look best from the outside. 

Similarly, everyone sees certain aspects of a character. This is the image they present to society. It’s the suit jacket worn for status, the combat boots worn for protection, the high heels worn for seduction. It’s the gruff voice to establish dominance or the motherly coo to show nurturing, the helping hand they give when on the train or the kind words said at the gas station. These are the outward images that we must establish from the very beginning because they show how the character would like to be seen from the outside. 

Friends are allowed access inside the house, however. Acquaintances are invited in and can see the common rooms. Those rooms are still cultivated, yet they are a little more intimate. As acquaintances become friends or loved ones, they are invited further inside the house. They see the dishes that have been piled in the sink, the laundry that is overflowing, or the tub that is in need of a good scrub. In a haunted house, we can see the evidence of ghosts. We can hear strange footsteps, feel cold spots, and see apparitions, but we can’t quite determine what is haunting the house. 

Just as with houses, our characters will reveal more intimate details about themselves (and their own ghosts) as they make bonds with other characters and as we (the reader) get to know them in the story. We can see that they are kind by the way they treat their loved ones but that it hurts when no one says thank you. We can see that they are jealous of an adversary, but we can also see that it’s because they were never given the same opportunities to be great. We can see that they are smart but that they are terrified of losing their top spot. They become nuanced–both kind and resentful, jealous and righteous, smart and insecure. 

Then, there are rooms in this haunted house that are so scary that the main character would not dare to enter. These rooms contain the worst secrets that will not leave us alone, and with characters, these rooms contain their deepest fears. The kind and resentful mother might fear that she isn’t worthy of being loved. The jealous and righteous bully might be afraid of being weak or controlled by others. The smart but insecure scientist might fear they are useless. The main character is haunted by these fears and can’t move on until they confront their ghosts. 

So, when I write stories, I always ask what is haunting my main character. If they are worried that they have no identity, maybe they fill their “rooms” with collections. They might appear to know a lot of things in their search for their identity and might even adopt different identities as they interact with different characters. On the outside, they might overcompensate by wearing elaborate costumes or may even be so insecure that they only wear black. However you design your character, keep in mind that their house is haunted, and that in the end, their ghosts will have to come out. 

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Aimee Hardy is a writer and editor in Birmingham, AL. She is the author of Pocket Full of Teeth (September 2024 Running Wild Press). She has been published in Stonecoast Review, Running Wild Press’ Short Story Anthology, Havik2020, Bluntly Lit Mag, Adelaide Literary Magazine, and Lost Pilots Lit and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2020. She has a B.A. and M.A. in English from National University. When she’s not writing or editing, she enjoys going on hikes with her husband and two kids or curling up with a good book and a hot cup of tea. For more of Aimee’s work, please visit www.aimeehardy.com.

The Scene Of The Crime

By Shannon Hollinger

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Location. Location. Location.

It’s true for real estate, restaurants, and even books.

As a reader, I’ve lost track of the number of times that I’ve purchased a book based on the setting. Whether it was a place I’ve always wanted to visit, an area I was already familiar with, or a spot that promised a form of intrigue that I just couldn’t pass up, no other part of a book has the ability to create a picture quite as quickly and thoroughly as where it is set.

That’s because a location has the uncanny ability to transport the reader to a new world. It’s cheaper than a vacation, less crowded than the airport, and safer than traveling by car, but like anything you’re looking forward to, readers have certain expectations. Your setting is a promise you make to them, a pact that that small town will be brimming with secrets… that beach filled with romance… or that jungle saturated with suspense.

When writing, ask yourself—how much thought have you put into your setting? Do you craft scenes oozing with atmosphere? Are your locales drenched with details? Or is your setting simply the place where your fascinating characters bring your stellar plot to life?

I have to admit that while I occasionally focus on developing an atmospheric setting in my short fiction, in my novels, the settings tend to be the trunk on which my plot branches and my characters grow their leaves.

The idea for my Chief Maggie Riley series, set in the fictional town of Coyote Cove, was inspired by the real-life, no stoplight town where my husband and I spent our honeymoon years ago. 

That’s right. I spent my honeymoon plotting a murder. Fortunately for him, it wasn’t my husband’s.

But it wasn’t the thought of the impending ups and downs that marriage would bring once the honeymoon was over that had me thinking about death. There was something magical about that small town in Maine nestled in a mountain valley on the edge of a lake. A spot where moose outnumbered people three to one, the annual snowfall numbered in the triple digits, and everywhere you looked, you saw a postcard setting. 

It just seemed so… perfect. And I wasn’t buying it for a second. 

Call me cynical or jaded—or a mystery author—but the more we explored this seemingly flawless place, the more I became convinced that beneath the peace and the quiet and the enchanting beauty lurked something dark and sinister. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that this idyllic little burg would be the perfect breeding ground for crime. 

But would the setting be able to carry a series? To answer this question, I considered the location in terms of being its own character. 

It was wild. Unpredictable. Moody. Vulnerable. In short, yes, it would.

I decided that the remoteness, aided by the harsh environment, would be ideal for creating suspense as well as conditions that could be used to torture my heroine and further complicate her struggles. 

Sitting beside that lake—one that surely hid at least a few bodies—all those years ago, goosebumps peppering my flesh as I listened to the chilling cry of a loon, answered by the hungry howl of a predator, I knew the scene was prepped for murder. Coyote Cove was born. Some small towns hide big secrets. And some secrets are deadly.

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With degrees in Crime Scene Technology and Physical Anthropology, Florida author Shannon Hollinger hasn't just seen the dark side of humanity - she's been elbow-deep inside of it! She's the author of both adult and YA standalone psychological thrillers as well as the gritty Chief Maggie Riley series. Her short fiction has appeared in Suspense Magazine, Mystery Weekly, and The Saturday Evening Post, among a number of other magazines and anthologies. To find out more, check out www.shannonhollinger.com.

Writing From a Male POV – As a Woman

By Laurie Stevens

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If the author’s axiom “write what you know” is worthy advice, I haven’t heeded it. From the get-go, with my first series, I wrote from a man’s point of view.  It felt natural, which makes me wonder if a psychologist would have a field day with my psyche.  My surface reasons for writing from a man’s perspective, however, are less complicated. The series features a masculine homicide detective crippled by the effects of child abuse. When I began researching this subject, male molestation was underserved in psychotherapy, which is exactly why I wanted to shed light on it. Many people bury their crisis instead of facing it head on, and I instilled in this protagonist the desire to unravel his mental knots. Conveniently, for Gabriel McRay, the main character, each case he solves triggers a vital point in his recovery. 

Writing from the male victim’s point of view gives his journey-to-better-mental-health more impact than, say, if I wrote from the perspective of his girlfriend or his mother. I purposely made the psychotherapy in the book as true to life as possible. More than one male psychiatrist guided me in my research because I wanted to cover the right bases. 

Of course, when you want to “think like a man,” there’s always a risk…

“Men mistakenly expect women to think, communicate, and react the way men do; women mistakenly expect men to feel, communicate, and respond the way women do.”
Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus― John Gray

While that may be true, thankfully, there’s a lot more gender-blending going on these days than in years past. The roles of males and females (or non-binary people) are not so traditionally defined.

Still, there are practical considerations.  I found myself asking my husband things like, “Couldn’t men sit down when they urinate?” and “Do you absolutely hate having to shave every day?” 

He’s a patient man. I even hit up my son with lots of questions. It’s okay. They know me well.

To an extent, my efforts have paid off. I have an equal number of male readers as I do female, so I must not have alienated menfolk. The best email I ever received was from a man who confided to me that he suffered the same sort of childhood experience as Gabriel. I deeply sympathized with the reader but felt a sense of satisfaction when he said he found the therapy sessions in the book helpful. 

Despite these successes, the female in me did manage to edge into Gabriel’s POV.

Students of creative writing at the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA) did a character breakdown of the books and pointed out how much they enjoyed the role reversals. Whaaat? 

Okay, I admit that Gabriel does the cooking, and his high-powered girlfriend, Dr. Ming Li, earns more money than he. The students, however, took well to Gabriel and Ming’s yin-yang, dualistic relationship and found it believable. I kept my mouth shut and pretended I created the role reversals on purpose. The upshot is, I don’t think any of us writers can escape putting a little of ourselves into every character. Perhaps the more people do this, the less one can accuse us of coming from different planets.

But It Really Happened

By DP Lyle

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But it really happened. I swear. 

This is the defense fiction writers offer when someone says their story isn’t believable. “That could never happen,” they say. But, it could. It did. Still, their disbelief lingers. 

I write both fiction and nonfiction. When people inquire about the difference between creating the two, my response is, “They are exactly the same, only different.” With NF, the research comes first. It must be gathered, fact-checked, and organized. Then, the writing begins. With fiction, you must first know your characters, plot, and setting before researching the materials needed to create a story that rings true.  

Fiction writers often base their stories on a true crime. A look at best-selling books and iconic movies over the years underlines this fact. The horrific slaughter of the Clutter family in rural Kansas became Truman Capote’s masterpiece In Cold Blood—a book that sits somewhere between fiction and true crime. Serial killer Ed Gein fashioned furniture and clothing from human skin and inspired Hitchcock’s Norman Bates in Psycho and Buffalo Bill in Thomas Harris’s Silence of the Lambs.  

For fiction writers, a true crime book, a news story, maybe a blog post sparks the idea. For my third Samantha Cody book, Original Sin, I created a character who was a snake-handling preacher. My research led me to the National Book Award finalist Salvation on Sand Mountain by Dennis Covington. It chronicles the story of Glenn Summerford, pastor of the Church of Jesus with Signs Following, who employed a rattlesnake in the attempted murder of his wife.  You bet that little wrinkle appeared in Original Sin.  

Or Victor Borkov, the bad guy in my first Jake Longly story, Deep Six. His enemies often found themselves lashed to an iron ring and dropped into the Gulf of Mexico. Alive. This is based on the actions of Skylar Deleon. Look up sociopath. You’ll see his picture. Under the guise of buying their boat, Skylar and a thug friend convinced Jackie and Thomas Hawks to go for a test cruise. It ended with the Hawks bound to an anchor and dumped in the Pacific Ocean.  Alive. 

These true stories are unbelievable. Yet true. For fiction writers, the trick is to morph unbelievable fact into believable fiction. 

We fiction writers owe a great debt to true crime writers. They do the heavy lifting, the research, the telling of the crime, and we use that to inspire and create our stories. Ann Rule once told me that when she approached a true crime story, she looked for the person who was the heart of the story. Not the bad guy, often not the victim, but someone who was deeply affected by the crime. In fiction, we do the same, but have the added freedom of not being bound to the facts. 

The marriage between crime fiction and true crime is alive and well. 

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DP Lyle, Award-winning author, lecturer, story consultant 

www.dplylemd.com

A Killer Voice That Makes an Impact

By Alexandrea Weis

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When you think about a rampaging murderer out to destroy his victims, what comes to mind? Most of the time, it’s their iconic voice. Imagine Candyman without the breathy and slow speech of Tony Todd or Ghostface without Rodger L Jackson’s craggy mix of sadism and insanity. Who can forget the deep, dark, dulcet tones of the Master of Macabre, Vincent Price? That’s what you want to give readers when your character speaks—a taste of their depravity.

Finding that unique resonance can be challenging, but like any diligent author, you appreciate the value of research to carve out a brilliant inflection that will capture your delinquent’s soul. Breathy, croaky, cracking, soothing, alarming can all describe a voice. Vivid comparisons can also bring the essence of someone alive in a reader’s mind. Does her breathy narration sound like a gentle breeze moving through a tree plump with the leaves of spring? Does his laugh remind you of the bray of a donkey? How a death-dealing degenerate sounds can influence what your readers take away from a scene. 

Sentence structure plays a vital role in intensifying a character’s emotions. A nervous woman convinced she’s being followed might require short, clipped phrases, imitating the twittering of a skittish bird. Or there are those long, flowery sentences that could represent the pompous police chief or dense detective who doesn’t believe the victim. Punctuation can also add impact. A frightened person’s dialogue can frequently trail off with ellipses, exemplifying their wavering train of thought. Or a brash thug might add terror to his loud, paranoid ramblings by ending everything in exclamation points.    

A voice doesn’t have to be menacing to create a shudder. An ordinary, quiet man with a somber or even childlike tone who carries out ghastly deeds can elicit chills. Think Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs. A monotone, emotionless pitch can tell us more about the inner workings of a psychopath than a shrieking mother frustrated with her children. Remember the crazed computer Hal 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey? 

Don’t forget about the intense horror of silence. The doomed want answers before they take their last breath. Not having the solace of another’s voice could be more hair-raising than a sinister hiss or last malicious chuckle. A memorable example is the unsettling nothingness of Michael Myers as he sliced through his victims in Halloween (1987). 

You may want to design a manner of speaking that becomes your transgressor’s trademark. Police often ask survivors of violence about the voice of their attacker. Even if a victim doesn’t look at the perpetrator, they will never forget how they sounded. The way your slayer stays with those they have tormented can be as important as what they say or do. Inflections, the rise and fall of their tone, the deepness or high-pitched way they laugh, and even the pauses they give when speaking are all critical. The Grady twins from The Shining delivered their creepy invitation to Danny to come and play “forever… and ever… and ever,” scaring theatergoers.

Also, keep in mind dialects do matter. Whether it’s a southern drawl, Texas Twang, the guttural angst of New Yorkers, or the dropped Rs of Bostonians, give your killer some flare. But don’t overdo it. You want authenticity without coming across as stereotypical. Research how people speak naturally in the area you’re writing about. Go to restaurants, walk the streets, sit in coffee shops, and eavesdrop. Get a sense of rhythm and the way people talk. It will give your scoundrel depth and believability. 

Don’t forget the backstory, especially when dealing with physical or emotional traumas. A brute with a history of throat damage, whether through strangling or a sliced larynx, can have a wispy way of speaking that sets one’s teeth on edge. Damage to the mouth, either through the loss of teeth or cut nerves, can provide relevant clues to why your murderer speaks as they do. A maniac who’s suffered immense sorrow or abuse might carry the past in their voice. Cold, unemotional, lifeless tones can tell you a lot about the pain behind someone’s words. Red’s rasp in the movie US becomes even more horrific when the audience discovers rats have gnawed through her vocal cords. A cringe-worthy backstory can ramp up the fear factor.

There’s nothing more insightful than a voice. It’s the true window to one’s emotions and personality. So when creating a killer character who will leave readers mesmerized and terrified, don’t forget their distinct, haunting vocal expression. Take the time to make it compelling, and your villain will live on long after your story’s climactic ending.   

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Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is an award-winning author, screenwriter, advanced practice registered nurse, and historian who was born and raised in the French Quarter of New Orleans. She has taught at major universities and worked as a nurse dealing with victims of sexual assault, abuse, and mental illness in a clinical setting at New Orleans area hospitals.

Having grown up in the motion picture industry as the daughter of a director, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story moving and memorable. The first person to give her writing advice was Tennessee Williams, a family friend. 

Weis is a member of the International Thriller Writers (ITW) and Horror Writers Association (HWA). She lives with her husband outside of New Orleans where she is a permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife & Fisheries and rescues orphaned and injured animals.

The Importance of Strong Pacing and Dynamic Structure in Science Fiction

By Stu Jones and Gareth Worthington

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Pacing, style, and structure. Why does they even matter? I have worlds to build!

This mindset is the downfall of even some of the most accomplished science fiction writers. To a sci-fi author, world-building is often the driving force for the book in the first place. “I want to spend page after page describing, in vast detail, the intricacies of my new world.” After all, isn’t that the fun of being a writer? Creating every nuance and allowing readers to enter the world of our imagination? What could be better for a story than that?

Indeed, historically, this was the status quo. 

Once upon a time, taking our readers through endless reams of description was possible. Hell, it was standard practice in sci-fi and fantasy, as evidenced by many of the greats. From the late nineteenth to mid-twentieth century, a reader was more likely to shell out their hard-earned cash for an author’s latest work. If reading it didn’t conflict with listening to one’s favorite radio broadcast or later, catching one’s favorite television show at five p.m. on a Friday, then there wasn’t much else at home outside a game of cards or a roll in the hay, with which to conflict.

Not so today, at least for the most part.

While there are still readers who enjoy longer novels, with incredible depth of world-building, for the average reader—and therefore the majority of our audience—long side stories about how a certain kind of flora came to be grown on a terraformed planet just isn’t going to cut it. 

And why? 

Because, dear authors, we are competing for attention. In today’s world, a person’s phone is only an arm length away—if that. And if our story lags into page after page of lavish descriptors, our reader will yawn, set the book down, and start browsing cat videos. Or worse, reach for the TV remote to see what’s streaming. And there, in the world of television and cinema, lies our greatest ally and enemy. While we all yearn to have our book adapted for the big screen and enjoy watching the imagined worlds we read come to life, movies and television series mean that our audiences who also read no longer need us to describe things in ridiculous detail. The average reader now has so many visual frames of reference we, as the author, don’t need to work so hard to help them along.

Let’s try it.

Mars. One word. You are already conjuring an image of a red planet, dry and desolate without oceans. A rocky surface and a thin atmosphere. We did not need to tell you those things. One word was enough.

With this in mind, has the entertainment industry destroyed the beauty of science fiction writing? “What can we do against the tyranny of Facebook, Instagram, and three-hundred-million-dollar movies?” you cry.

The answer is two-fold.

Firstly, we can address structure and prose. We can describe where it is necessary, where the reader may not have encountered our particular nuance for a given fictional ecosystem. But where just a few words will suffice to give the reader that visual nudge, we can move on. We can drive the story forward. We are, of course, referring to pacing.

 So, what do we mean by pacing?

It means two things. Number one, always be moving the ball down the field. Something has to happen. And it needs to happen often from the work’s start all the way to the finish. Every chapter should have a purpose to move the story along, not just describe something we would like to tell the reader about our world. If we want to convey a detail, make that detail important to the narrative. Now don’t get us wrong and interpret what we’re saying as descriptors aren’t vitally important. Descriptive prose is the perfume that helps to draw the reader closer to your vision. But perfume alone the beauty does not make. In the end, it’s a delicate balancing act between enough description to draw the reader in, without detracting from where the story is going. It takes constant vigilance to ensure we, as authors, do not wax or wane too far one way or the other.

When we were writing It Takes Death To Reach A Star, we struggled with this. After all, we’d created this whole new world and there were so many elements to show and so many factions vying for a moment in the spotlight. Even though our entire story was set in a single city, we had created a universe with religions, cultural factions, and histories---not to mention the merging of real scientific theories and religious doctrine. At times we were totally overwhelmed with the scope of what we were trying to accomplish.

To our great relief, we feel we managed it with reviews applauding our world-building and comparing it to the likes of Philipp K. Dick. Yet the book is only eighty-four-thousand words. Quite average by any fiction standard. How did we achieve that?

Well, during the refining process, our amazing editor, Jason, came to us with a formula which we both now use in all our writing: The 25, 50, 75 rule. He said that at regular intervals, things should be happening. Little things. Everyday moments of story intrigue and character development. But interlaced between those moments, at major quarter intervals, something big should happen. Maybe it’s a major character reveal, a plot twist, or the development of an unforeseen love interest who promises to change the scope of the story, or a look into the villain’s plan to do something dastardly. But something important that is central to the story should happen. Then, between the little moments and the big moments, the reader is anchored to our story.

No more checking the smartphone or Netflix, because now our readers have to know what happens in our story. If we can achieve this, then it’s safe to go ahead and pop the champagne. When an author nails pace and structure and their story leaps to vivid life, everyone wins.

So, next time you’re outlining your book, think about the rule above. What are the big moments in the narrative? When you’re writing, try to include your descriptors as part of the story, the narrative. Let your characters experience the world and relay what you see in detail, but keep the experience moving. We don’t sit at our desks contemplating the shape of the keys at which we tap away. Instead, we press them and move our story along.

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A Dragon Award Nominee, Stu Jones is the author of multiple sci-fi/action/thriller novels, including the multi-award-winning It Takes Death To Reach A Star duology and Condition Black, written with co-author Gareth Worthington (Children of the Fifth Sun, A Time for Monsters).

Gareth Worthington is an authority in ancient history, has hand-tagged sharks in California, and trained in various martial arts, including Jeet Kune Do and Muay Thai at the EVOLVE MMA gym in Singapore and 2FIGHT in Switzerland. His work has won multiple awards, including Dragon Award Finalist and an IPPY award for Science Fiction.

Subplots Can Tighten Your Story’s Saggy Middle

By Martha Reed

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We’ve all experienced that feeling of keen anticipation and undiluted terror when starting a new story, staring at that initial blank page, and wondering how on earth we’re going to fill it.

We may start out with an amorphous idea of what our story might be about, select an intriguing cast of characters, and develop a plot outline before committing ourselves to the months or even the decades of willful intent and devoted effort it takes to write 85,000 words in the right order.

For me, beginnings are easy enough. In between drafting books, I keep an untidy stack of newspaper clippings and screen capture print outs bearing provocative headlines hoping to plant these magical little seeds in my subconscious and trigger an idea or two down the road. How will these suggestions connect in my new stories? I have no idea, but I do know that they will. It’s part of that writerly sorcery, the creative fiction necromancy I’ve learned to enjoy—and to rely upon—because it’s that wizardry that keeps both me as the writer and my readers entertained.

Endings aren’t difficult because it’s our job as writers to wrap up loose threads. If our characters have followed their true hearts, their heads, and the story’s logic trail, then it should lead them and us to an ending that at least makes sense. It’s our writerly duty to make sure we provide readers with a compelling ending that satisfies them as a reward for following our words. If correctly done, we will gift our readers with a story they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.

Once we hook readers with that dynamic beginning, how do we entice them through our story’s middle act, so they’ll reach that magnificent ending? The answer is by using subplots.

Subplots are the unsung mighty little engines that could. They’re the smaller sidebar stories that support our main overarching storyline, and when we weave in subplots, they can reveal character insights, increase dramatic momentum, raise the stakes, and present plot twists. While subplots are connected to the larger story, they run parallel to the main plot, sub-surface, and they should end before the larger story arc does—or at least be a part of the final wrap-up.

There are dozens of subplot ideas. Here are a few I’ve used:

• A character background subplot/flashback helps a reader understand why a character is behaving the way they do. Did your protagonist grow up abused and dirt poor? Were they a spoiled only child? What made them the way they are now?

• A love interest subplot makes the protagonist more vulnerable since they’ll be revealing their emotions and/or personal attachments. Use this subplot to engage reader empathy.

• A comedic subplot can change the story’s pace, give the reader room to breathe, and lighten the mood.

• A parallel subplot shows two different sides of the same story that will eventually converge—for better or for worse. This convergence adds tension and dramatic suspense, especially if the reader sees it coming.

• A foreshadowing subplot can be used to insert red herrings, key hints, and clues.

Here are some subplots I like to use:

• Suggest a minor or secondary character in act one, but don’t introduce them until act two. Have other characters offer dribs and drabs of that backstory to tease reader interest, suggest potential plot complications, and prefigure unforeseen obstacles.

• Give your secondary character a skill in act two that your protagonist will need to use in act three. This is particularly effective if there’s an ongoing misunderstanding or rivalry between them that must be overcome.

• Misunderstandings are great subplot devices. Emails and text messages are often misread and feelings get hurt, increasing the dramatic tension because of the conflict.

• Every character hides a secret uncertainty or fear, and no one likes to admit to a weakness. In act two, offer an earth-shattering reveal that causes extensive personal and relationship repercussions between your characters and triggers new and surprising plot twists.

The trick with subplots is to correctly use them. Weave them into your story and they will support your plot with elastic drama and tension like a trampoline. Use too many and you risk muddling your plotline, confusing your readers, and derailing your tale. Practice makes perfect and the trick, as they say, is in the telling. Don’t be afraid to try.

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Martha Reed is a multi-award-winning mystery and crime fiction author. “Love Power,” her new Crescent City NOLA Mystery featuring Gigi Pascoe, a transgender sleuth won a 2021 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Best Attending Author Award as well as being a Silver Falchion Finalist in the Mystery category.

​Her John and Sarah Jarad Nantucket Mystery series garnered an Independent Publisher (IPPY) Book Award for Mid-Atlantic Best Regional Fiction. Her short story, “The Honor Thief” was selected for the 2021 Bouchercon anthology, This Time for Sure, edited by Hank Phillippi Ryan.

You’re invited to visit her website www.reedmenow.com for more detail.

Show Don’t Tell

By James Glass

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What Does “Show, Don’t Tell” Mean?

Good writing tends to draw an image in the reader’s mind instead of just telling the reader what to think or believe.

Here’s a sentence that tells:

Mr. Jeffries was a fat, ungrateful old man.

That gets the information across, but it’s boring. Most writers who tell tend to lose, rather than gain readers.  

Here’s a way to create an image of Mr. Jeffries in the reader’s mind:

Mr. Jeffries heaved himself out of the chair. As his feet spread under his apple-like frame, his arthritic knees popped and cracked in objection. Jeffries pounded the floor with his cane while cursing that dreadful girl who was late again with his coffee.

In the second example, I didn’t tell you Mr. Jeffries is fat. I showed you. I also didn’t tell you he was old, but showed you by mentioning his arthritic knees, his cane, and that he has a girl who tends to him. You probably guessed by now that he’s not a nice man. 

One of the most hideous examples of telling rather than showing is the “As you know, Mr. Jeffries,” dialog. This is when one character tells another something they both know. It’s almost as hideous when an author painstakingly uses dialog and action to convey something the characters all know.

However, like most rules of thumb, “Show don’t tell” is excellent advice most of the time, but writers can apply it too broadly, or in situations where it hurts more than it helps. You must be aware of the spirit, as well as the letter, of this particular law. New writers tend to lecture their readers. It’s never a good idea to bludgeon your readers with information. Or they may try to explain through dialogue. The key is to find the right mix between showing and telling. You don’t want to bore your reader. Pick up one of your favorite authors’ books and see how they capture your attention in the pages. Reading is one of the most effective leaning tools for a writer.  

If you find your writing feeling flat, take a step back and imagine the scene yourself. What sounds do you hear? What smells are in the air? What expression does your character have on his face? What are his motivations? Once you dig deeper into your own imagination, see if you can make your writing better by adding a few specifics. This will transport the readers to the scene you have in your mind.

So, let’s make today a good writing day. Whether one sentence, one paragraph or one chapter. It’s all progress. Make today a good writing day. 

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James Glass achieved the rank of Command Master Chief before retiring after 22 years in the United States Navy. After retiring from the Navy, he exchanged his rifle for a pen. He and his family moved back to Florida. James is also the president of the Panhandle Writers Group. He’s published five novels, one novella, and two (you solve the crime) chapter books.

The Magnificent 7: Universal Story Plots and the Twelve Archetypes

By Martha Reed

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I was asked by a curious fan how I built my stories. Not where my story ideas came from, but about their actual construction, their underlying, underpinning architecture. Writers already know how to use the basic three-act structure, but are there other options in our writerly toolbox that we should be using to lure our readers in?

The answer is ‘yes.’ Human beings have certain story expectations bred into our bone marrow. Developed in pre-written history, seven universal plots and 12 archetypes have successfully survived into our modern era, crossing multiple cultural divides. That’s not to say writers should rigidly follow a static and unwavering formula or create stale and hackneyed characters. Those would instantly turn an avid reader off. But do the following inherited plots and archetypes still have something to offer?

First, let’s look at definitions:

• The basic story question is: “What happens next?”

• Plot happens next. It’s the sequence of events inside the story.

• An archetype is a story element like an idea, a symbol, pattern, emotion, character type, or event that occurs in all cultures. Archetypes represent something universal in the overall human experience. (I’ll share an example. The international movie, “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” used so many common archetypes that I found myself repeatedly wondering if I’d seen the movie before.)

In 2004, literary theorist Christopher Booker wrote “The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories,” basing his premise on the following seven plots:

1. Overcoming the monster – An evil force is threatening the hero/heroine and their world. The h/h must slay the monster to receive a great reward.

2. Rags to riches – The h/h is insignificant and overlooked by others. Because of a trigger event, they are revealed to be exceptional.

3. The quest – The h/h sets out on a long, hazardous quest, overcoming all obstacles until they reach their goal.

4. Voyage and return – The h/h travels outside of their comfortable world into the unknown before returning to the safety of their home.

5. Comedy – A series of trigger events involving mistaken identity or a fundamental misunderstanding that results in hilarious chaos.

6. Tragedy – A story without a happy ending that ends in loss or death.

7. Rebirth – The h/h falls under a dark form of control before breaking free and being redeemed. 

Regarding archetypes, psychologist Carl Jung theorized that we use such symbolism to grasp complex concepts more easily. He stated: “There are forms or images of a collective nature which occur practically all over the earth as constituents of myths and at the same time, as individual products of the unconscious.” Jung maintained that these archetypes remained unchanged and recognizable and that they exhibit personality traits that are commonly understood.

The 12 archetypes are:

1. The Innocent – Seeks to do things the right way in harmony, free of corruption or influence.

2. Everyman – Seeks connections and belonging. Supportive, faithful, and down-to-earth.

3. Hero – On a mission to make the world a better place.

4. Outlaw – Questions authority and breaks the rules.

5. Explorer – Inspired by travel, adventure, and risk.

6. Creator – Imaginative and inventive, driven to create things with real meaning.

7. Ruler – Creates order from chaos. Typically controlling and stern, yet responsible and organized. 

8. Magician – Makes dreams a reality.

9. Lover – Inspires intimate moments with love, passion, romance, and commitment.

10. Caregiver – Protects and nurtures others.

11. Jester – Uses humor, irreverence, mischief, and fun to bring joy to the world.

12. Sage – Thoughtful mentor or advisor bringing wisdom and deeper insight.

Taking this information, try these exercises to tighten your creative focus:

• Name a book or movie that uses each one of the seven plots.

• Name a character from a book or a movie that fits each of the 12 archetypes.

• Using your current work in progress, which of the seven plots fits your story? If you discover some overlap, which plot is stronger? What happens to your storyline when you focus only on that one?

• Identify an archetype for each one of your characters. Next step: which archetype do they think they are? Do the two choices match? What happens to your focus and your character’s motivations when they do?

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Martha Reed is the IPPY Book Award-winning author of the John and Sarah Jarad Nantucket Mysteries and of “Love Power,” her latest mystery set in the spellbinding city of New Orleans featuring Gigi Pascoe, a transgender sleuth. 

She’s an active member of the Florida Gulf Coast and Guppy chapters of Sisters in Crime, a member of Mystery Writers of America, and in a moment of great personal folly she joined the New Orleans Bourbon Society (N.O.B.S.)

Her stories and articles have appeared in Pearl, Suspense Magazine, Spinetingler, Mystery Readers Journal, Mysterical-e, and in “Lucky Charms – 12 Crime Tales,” an anthology produced by the Mary Roberts Rinehart Pittsburgh chapter of Sisters in Crime. Her story, “The Honor Thief” was included in the 2021 Bouchercon anthology, “This Time For Sure,” edited by Hank Phillippi-Ryan.

Martha adores travel, big jewelry, California wine country, and simply great coffee. She delights in the ongoing antics of her family, fans, and friends who she lovingly calls The Mutinous Crew. You’re invited to follow her on Facebook and Twitter @ReedMartha.

Fact to Fiction: Turning Real Crime into Story

By Anne Da Vigo

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Almost everyone has some memory of a real crime that has stuck with them.

Maybe you saw TV news about a strange disappearance. Or a great-uncle spun a tale of a brazen heist. When you worked for a former employer, you heard whispers of evil deeds.

For mystery writers, that’s how novels are born: an earworm of an idea sparked by real crime that won’t shut up until it’s transformed into fiction.

I started on the road from fact to fiction in the late 1970s. I was working as a journalist back then, in the agricultural and oil industry town of Bakersfield, California.

My editor sent me to cover a murder trial. The jury found the accused not guilty of stabbing and beating to death a local businessman. I wrote the story and within months had moved on to a bigger newspaper. 

But I was haunted by trial testimony about a thirteen-year-old boy abused by the victim.

Three years later, the boy murdered another of his abusers, a top county government official.

The victim was part of a secretive group of powerful men in business, law enforcement, and the district attorney’s office who abused vulnerable teens. These and other murders involving the circle were dubbed the Lords of Bakersfield cases. 

I spent years thinking about the Lords, and eventually began writing what would become my thriller, Bakersfield Boys Club.

As I sat down at the computer, I faced decisions many crime writers face: how to craft actual events into fiction.

First, I needed a unifying character to knit the story of the murder series together, someone with a passionate commitment to uncovering the truth.

My solution? Creating a struggling widow whose teenage son was ensnared by a circle of dissolute men. She wasn’t a real person, which gave me the freedom to delve into her innermost thoughts and feelings and share them with the reader.

Her harrowing journey from disbelief to relentless outrage also formed the essential character arc for the story.

Next, I wanted to include several characters in the thriller that were loosely inspired by real people, but I wasn’t certain how to protect myself against an accusation of defamation.

I found several internet sites that helped address my concerns. You can find a list on my web page, www.annedavigoauthor.com.

Basic advice for authors: mask characters by changing their names and physical characteristics.

Another aspect of defamation law was helpful as I wrote the thriller. Most of the prominent players in the Lords cases had died by the time I began writing; only a living person can file a claim for damages to their character or reputation.

Truth, of course, is the basic defense against allegations of defamation.

In my case, the local newspaper had written a series about the Lords of Bakersfield, winning a major journalism prize. I felt confident about using events that had been vetted by their lawyers and disseminated widely in the press.

Pacing was another issue that had to be dealt with in morphing the story from fact to fiction. Because the actual events occurred over a period of nearly twenty-five years, I was finding it difficult to build suspense.

Several drafts and thousands of words later, I decided to compress the murder series into a two-year time frame. That way, the frantic mother was working against an escalating threat to save her son.

I chalked up my strategy as a success when several readers said they stayed up late to turn the last page.

Finally, the facts, incidents, and characters that formed the factual story needed to be woven into a theme for the fictional mystery.

The theme wasn’t clear in my mind when I began writing, although my outrage at the abuse experienced by young people had been brewing for years.

As I wrote, the theme began to emerge: those who exploit the weakest among us must be punished, no matter what the obstacles.

My commitment to the theme of Bakersfield Boys Club led me to write a conclusion I’d never considered when I began the mystery.

Now I’m at work on another thriller, this one sparked by a mysterious tale I heard at my husband’s college reunion.

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Anne Da Vigo is a former journalist and public relations professional who lives in Northern California. Her thriller, Bakersfield Boys Club, is available from Amazon or on order from your bookseller.