KN Magazine: Articles
Name that Song…Just Don’t Use the Lyrics
Quoting song lyrics in your novel? Think again. This blog post explores the legal risks and creative alternatives for referencing music in fiction, including fair use exceptions and ways to work around copyright law without crossing any lines.
Yes, I know, Stephen King makes it look so easy with his habit of using song lyrics in his novels. But here’s a head’s up: He’s a world-renowned bestselling author, so most songwriters are going to be more than okay with granting permission. They get recognition from a very recognizable name, and he gets to use their words: a win-win. Besides, he’s got money, and plenty of it, if he needs to come up with some cash. Odds are if you’re reading this, you’re not a world-renowned, bestselling author, and you’re not filthy rich. I know I’m not.
Which brings me to the point of this article. Can you, as an author, quote song lyrics in your novel or short story? The short answer is “No.” Song lyrics are copyrighted, and quoting any copyrighted material requires permission. Just flip to the copyright page of any novel on your bookshelf to find an example of a statement saying just that.
Of course, there is something called the “fair use” clause. For an 85,000-word novel, quoting a sentence or two likely falls under “fair use.” For music, however, where the entire piece is a few verses long, the prevailing wisdom is that you will absolutely need permission from the songwriter, record label, and who-knows-who-else, to quote as little as a single line. Even attribution of the lyric and copyright to the songwriter/artist is not enough. And we live in an increasingly litigious society.
Of course, there are exceptions. If a song is in the public domain, then copyright law no longer applies. Here’s a handy dandy list of songs in the public domain: https://www.pdinfo.com/public-domain-music-list.php.
Another exception would be when a common expression is used in lyrics. For example, if a song included the lyric, “People like him are a dime a dozen,” and you wrote something like, “Chad was like that song, SONG TITLE, where people like him were a dime a dozen,” you should be okay, because that’s a common expression, and not something unique to the writer. You can also reference, by name, any song title without fear of reprisal. That’s because titles, whether a book, movie, or song, cannot be copyrighted.
It’s also acceptable to imply a song lyric. I'll use my story, ‘Goulaigans,’ which appears in the anthology Heartbreaks & Half-truths, as an example. The story is set in a much-fictionalized Goulais River, a small town in northern Ontario on the shores of Lake Superior. Here’s a snippet of the dialogue (and if you’re unfamiliar, or just want a reminder, here’s a link to Lightfoot’s song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PH0K6ojmGZA).
Laura’s body washed up on shore three days later, about a mile from the old Donaldson place.
“Whatever happened to Superior not giving up its dead?” Tucker asked me. We were sitting in my cabin, sipping on twelve-year-old whiskey. Now that Laura was gone, we could be friends again. Or at least pretend to be.
My mind replayed the lyrics to the Gordon Lightfoot song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. It was a favorite on the radio up here, seeing how the Fitzgerald sank in 1975, not ten miles from Whitefish Bay.
“I think that’s only in November,” I said. “It’s August…there was no fella with a beard, was there?”
And on that note (clever, don’t you think, the musical reference?), I’ll sign off.
About the author: A former journalist and magazine editor, Judy Penz Sheluk is the bestselling author of two mystery series: The Glass Dolphin Mysteries and Marketville Mysteries. Her short crime fiction appears in several collections, including the Superior Shores Anthologies, which she also edited.
Judy has also written two how-to guides to publishing. Finding Your Path to Publication: A Step-by-Step Guide was the Winner of the 2024 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award for Best Nonfiction. The follow-up to that book, Self-publishing: The Ins & Outs of Going Indie, provides an insider’s insight into the world of self-publishing.
Judy is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, the Short Mystery Fiction Society, and Crime Writers of Canada, where she served on the Board of Directors, most recently as Chair.
The Myth of the Five Senses
Should writers really cram all five senses into every page? In this sharp rebuttal to bad writing advice, bestselling author Lois Winston breaks down why less is often more when it comes to sensory detail. Learn how to use the senses effectively—and avoid killing your story’s pacing.
By Lois Winston
The other day, I read a statement that blew my mind—and not in a good way. Someone had written, “Some writing coaches advise that each page should include a reference to the five senses: see, hear, touch, smell, and taste.”
No! No! No! Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
The Internet is filled with bogus information and/or people who claim to be experts in fields where they have no expertise. I don’t know where this person got her information, but it’s certainly not from a credible source.
Writing Rule Number One
All dialogue and narrative in a novel must do one of two things: either advance the plot or tell the reader something she needs to know at that moment about the point of view character. If it does neither, it’s filler and doesn’t belong in your novel.
Writing Rule Number Two
Only describe that which is pertinent to the scene and/or character. If it’s not pertinent, it’s filler.
Writing Rule Number Three
Filler is bad! Always. No exceptions. It kills your pacing and bores the reader.
The five senses can either be a writer’s best friend or worst enemy. When used judicially, they can grab readers and pluck them down in the middle of the book’s action. When overdone, they make readers’ eyes glaze over. And any writer who makes a point of cramming the five senses onto each page, will not only have her readers’ eyes glazing over, but she’ll have them tossing the book across the room.
5 senses x 300-400 pages = 1500-2000 reasons to stop reading (and probably never pick up another book by that author.)
So, when should you insert the five senses? Refer to Writing Rule Number Two. Need some examples? Keep reading.
Your character is a New York City commuter, standing on the platform of the #7 subway during a hazy, hot, and humid typical August in the city. She doesn’t notice the trash spilling from the garbage cans or the graffiti-covered walls. She’s become inured to the heat and the stench. Not that they don’t bother her, but she’s too used to them to take note.
As a former commuter, I can tell you the best way to cope with the subway in summer is not set foot in it, but if you must, you learn to close your mind (and your nose) to your surroundings. Which is what our fictional character would do.
Instead of focusing on the heat and stench and how uncomfortable she is, our stalwart protagonist is most likely scrolling through her Instagram or TikTok feed as she awaits the train. She’d only take note of the sights, sounds, and smells if there’s a good reason for her to do so. I could offer examples, but I’ll spare you the gory details because some of you may be reading this while eating lunch.
Now imagine your character is a twelfth century Scottish nobleman. He wakes up one morning to find himself magically transported to that same subway platform, he’s bombarded with all those sensory images and more. Everything he sees and hears is foreign and frightening to him. The one exception? The stench. Since twelfth century Scots bathed as infrequently as once a year or at most, once a month, most of the offensive odors are normal smells to him. Anything unusual would likely be masked by the smells he’d ignore. In such a scenario, have fun describing every detail of the assault to this very confused poor guy’s senses.
In Stitch, Bake, Die!, the tenth book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, Anastasia enters the victim’s kitchen to find the following:
Someone had ransacked the kitchen. Cabinets lay bare, their contents scattered across the floor in a haphazard array of pots, pans, and broken glassware and dishes. Drawers had been yanked out and tossed aside, appliances swept from the counters. Not a single package of food remained on the pantry shelves or in the refrigerator. Whoever had trashed Marlene’s kitchen had taken the time to open boxes, bags, and canisters and dump all the food. Everything from raisin bran to frozen broccoli florets to dried pasta peppered the room. A dusting of flour and sugar lay over everything like newly fallen snow.
Note, I wrote a short paragraph describing only what Anastasia sees. I don’t mention any lingering food smells or the sound of rain beating on the windowpanes. I don’t have her biting down on the inside of her cheek and tasting the coppery tang of blood or feeling her heart pounding in her chest. I don’t have her going weak in the knees and grabbing the door jamb to steady herself. All that is important to this scene is what she sees when she arrives in the kitchen. Given the plot and what happens next, further description would be filler.
The takeaway here? Describe what needs describing, then get on with your story.
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.
The Art of Paragraphing
In this article, Melissa Koslin explores the importance of paragraphing in writing, demonstrating how it influences pace, tone, and the reader’s subconscious experience. With examples from her own writing, she offers practical tips on how to use paragraphing to enhance narrative flow and intensity.
I have read many, many books on writing craft, but I rarely see much about one of the most basic aspects of writing.
Paragraphing.
See what I did there? By making that one word its own paragraph, I called it out. Gave it more attention. Drew your eye to it.
As writers, our main job is to create a world in the reader’s mind, a world and people that seem real to us, so real that we will lose sleep to find out what happens to them. But there are other visual aspects to writing that are not in our imagination. Publishers put a lot of thought into the layout of the book—the font, how the beginning of a chapter is designed, the page headings, etc. And I think we all agree, these literal visual aspects are important. They make the book look and feel professional, and they stay out of the way—if they bring too much attention to themselves, they’ve been done wrong. Paragraphing is similar in that it’s not often noticed consciously by the reader. But it does have a subconscious affect.
Ever flip through a book, see huge blocks of text, and put it back on the shelf? Those books feel heavy, feel like they’ll be a slog to get through. Not exactly how writers want their fiction stories to be perceived.
Know why people are attracted to dialogue in books? Why it makes it feel like a faster pace? Part of that is due to paragraphing. Most conversation is a sentence or two, or even a single word, back and forth between two or more characters, and each time a different character talks, it’s a new paragraph. Of course, there are some books where it’s more of a soliloquy than a conversation—this is dialogue gone bad. No one wants to listen to a speech. Pretty much ever.
You can accomplish this feeling of a faster pace without dialogue, if done properly. This is especially true in action scenes. I’m a suspense writer, with a focus on fight scenes, so I write a lot of action. Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming book The Lost Library. Notice how short the paragraphs are and how it creates a sense of quickened pace and intensity.
“I don’t think so.” She backed away, keeping her gaze on him and peripherally watching everything else around her.
He lunged and grabbed her bag.
Cali glared. “Back off.”
He yanked at her bag, but she had it slung across her body—exactly for this type of circumstance. As he yanked, he pulled her off balance, but she took a step and strengthened her stance, all while continuing to glare at him.
He raised a hand to slap her, but she blocked. Then she used both hands to shove him away.
A curse slurred from his lips.
He shifted, and she thought he was going to leave, but he came at her.
She blocked a punch and threw a kick at his groin. But she didn’t quite connect the kick—his legs were too close together.
As she was pulling her leg back to the ground, he swung his fist again. This time, it connected with her cheek.
Rage filled her like boiling water. She attacked with an elbow across his chin. And then the other elbow, and a kick to the groin. This time, her foot connected.
He stumbled back and fell.
She ran.
She felt guilty for not calling the police and pressing charges, making sure he didn’t try mugging someone else. But she couldn’t take the risk. Invisibility was her best defense.
However, paragraphing needs to be appropriate for the scene. Let’s say the characters are having a deep conversation. In these circumstances, longer paragraphs are often called for. Though we can’t let them get too long, or it starts to feel like boring blathering. What I like to do is throw in an occasional one-word paragraph, or maybe a short phrase. This draws attention and intensifies that one word. Even more so than in fight scenes because that one word is juxtaposed by longer paragraphs. Of course, we can’t randomly do this, so we need to keep an eye out for opportunities that feel organic, that intensify the emotion.
As writers, we have many tools at our disposal to make the reader see what we want them to see and feel what we want them to feel, and the best tools are the ones of which the reader isn’t even aware.
Melissa Koslin is a fourth-degree black belt in and certified instructor of traditional Taekwondo. In her day job as a commercial property manager, she secretly notes personal quirks and funny situations, ready to tweak them into colorful additions for her books. She and Corey, her husband of twenty-five years, and their young daughter live in Yulee, Florida, where they do their best not to melt in the sun. Find more information on her books at MelissaKoslin.com.
The Writer’s Playbook: A Lesson in Spray Hitting
Former pro sports exec turned writer shares a lesson from baseball legend Al Avila about the value of specificity—on the field and in your writing career. Discover how the concept of spray hitting applies to asking targeted questions, networking at writer’s conferences, and building meaningful professional connections.
By Steven Harms
One of the benefits of my previous career in professional sports was the opportunity to form relationships with the people on the “sports side” of the teams where I was employed. I learned, many times by osmosis, the workings of the game from the professional’s point of view.
Case in point, Al Avila was the Assistant General Manager of the Detroit Tigers during my time working for the team. He became a good friend, and besides his genuine warmth and sociable nature, his deep knowledge of the game was something to heed. If you asked him a baseball question, he was great in explaining the answer.
I once asked Al to join me for breakfast as a special treat for a long-time corporate sponsor of the team, owned by two brothers who were rabid Tigers fans. We met them at a nice local establishment just to talk baseball. For me it was an awesome way to entertain a customer and for Al, well I’m sure it wasn’t something he loved to do, but he agreed to help me out. As the meal wore on, he was answering questions and providing his opinion on a variety of baseball topics. Finally, towards the end, he flipped the script and asked the brothers a question. He posed, “Do you know why right-handed batters are better spray hitters than left-handed ones?”
All three of us had no clue. Al proceeded to explain that it’s in the basics of the game. To score as many runs as possible, batters advance runners from first base to home plate, as everyone knows. Runners are moving from right to left in the second two legs of the process – first to second, second to third. It’s a one-way street, and you can’t go backwards. When players are on second and third base, they are scoring opportunities for the offense. When a ball is hit to the right side of the playing field, it helps advance the runner more so than if a ball is put in play on the left side of the field. For example, if a runner is on second base and the batter hits a fly ball to right field, the odds are high that the runner can advance to third base and potentially onto home plate. The right fielder must make their throw from a much longer distance than a leftfielder would have to in the same situation. Consequently, a fly ball hit to left field almost ensures that the runner on second base is not going to be able to advance, at least not all the way to home plate, because the throw is much shorter, giving the advantage to the defense.
With that as the backdrop, left-handed batters learn early on to pull their hits to the right side of the field to advance a runner, which is a more natural swing anyway. Conversely, right-handed batters must develop the skill to hit to the opposite field (right field) to increase the percentage of advancing runners. That’s called spray hitting, or the elevated ability to hit a baseball to the opposite field of your batting position. Due to the simple science on how to advance runners on base, lefties learn to pull while righties learn to spray. The ability to spray hit with some amount of success makes a player a valuable commodity because that individual has a talent to produce runs and win games.
Al’s insight concerning spray hitting crystallizes the value of seeking out information from people that have successful experience and a deep understanding of the topic at hand. Most everyone I’ve networked with or leaned into for advice and guidance on author-related subjects has displayed a willingness to share their learned knowledge. That mutual desire to assist fellow authors is at the core of the annual Killer Nashville Conference, and similar ones around the country. However, I think the secret sauce of my comparison to how Al Avila gave a “lesson” in spray hitting to seeking out advice from our gracious author community lies in the context of it being based on a singular detailed topic.
Follow me here. Al was pointedly specific on one aspect of hitting. The benefit of a spray hit is uniquely applicable to a situational moment in the game of baseball. If there are runners at second and/or third base, a spray hit from a right-handed batter (the ball is hit to right field instead of that batter pulling the hit to left field) greatly enhances the odds of success in scoring runs from those base runners. But if there aren’t players on second or third base, a right-handed batter putting a ball into play to right field may allow them to reach first base, but a base hit to any field – left, center, or right – will achieve the same result. And, as I’ve witnessed a few times when no one is on base and the ball is hit to right field, the batter can still be thrown out at first base from the right fielder, but that would be impossible if the ball was hit to center or left field.
Bringing all this home (no pun intended), as authors we are well served to seek out advice and counsel from those that have the answers on specific topics. Key word being ‘specific.’ A few examples would be:
NOT SO GOOD: Do you have any suggestions on querying agents?
GOOD: I’m also a writer of cozy mysteries and seeking an agent. How did you land yours and can you steer me to a few agencies or agents that specialize in cozy mystery authors?
NOT SO GOOD: How do you use social media to market your books?
GOOD: Can you share with me your successful strategies for marketing your books across social media, and specifically with TikTok and Instagram?
NOT SO GOOD: Your John Doe thriller series has been hugely successful. How did you do it?
GOOD: I’ve decided to turn my first book, Jane Doe thriller, into a series. With the achievements you’ve had with your John Doe series, would you mind sharing with me the roadmap you took to make your second book a success, and what efforts you undertook that didn’t work?
Many times, it’s the initial question that will either open the floodgates of fantastic usable information or go the other way and all you’ll receive is a general reply containing information you either already knew or can find through every search engine on the internet. I must add that my career in selling pro sports sponsorships taught me to ask explicit questions concerning specific topics that would lead to the information I was seeking to put myself in the best possible position for success in landing them as a client. The takeaway here is that specific targeted questions provide intelligence-filled answers.
A final related note is to never underestimate the value of face-to-face interaction. Those conversations always bear the greatest fruit. My two previous clients, who one day had a private breakfast with Al Avila, can attest to the power of in-person connections. With that, next time you’re at a writer’s conference be sure to network, engage, and ask the right kind of questions of those willing to give you advice.
And now you’ve got a question to throw their way as well. Hint…Who’s better at spray hitting and why?
Character as a Haunted House
What if your character was a haunted house? In this evocative metaphor, Aimee Hardy explores how to build emotional depth and complexity by layering secrets, fears, and façades into character development.
By Aimee Hardy
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.
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 Writer’s Playbook | A Ripe Kumquat
What do football fumbles and ripe kumquats have in common? Similes. This playful behind-the-scenes story from the Detroit Lions' radio booth morphs into a smart, engaging guide on writing vivid, effective similes in fiction—when to use them, how they work, and how not to kill your story with a clunky comparison.
By Steven Harms
“Fumble at the thirty-two-yard line! Rod Smith jumped on that ball like it was a ripe kumquat!”
That line was uttered during a radio broadcast of a Detroit Lions home football game. And I’d bet my life savings that “kumquat” hadn’t been used in an NFL broadcast prior and would never be again. The Lions radio color announcer, Jim Brandstatter, made that rather pointed reference to a Lions defensive player recovering the fumbled ball. The idea of a kumquat on a football field conjures up a comedic image. A fumbled football is sort of one itself: as the ball bounces around, players scramble to get it; sometimes they accidentally kick it or refumble it as they frantically try to hold on. In the context of a fumbled football, using a kumquat simile was perfect.
Why did he say it that way? Well, he and I had a weekly challenge when I was working for the Lions. Each week during the season I would give him a word that he had to weave into the broadcast. I wrote it out on a small piece of paper about an hour before kickoff, entered the broadcast booth, and subtly handed it to him. It was our “thing.” If he was able to insert the “word of the game” into the broadcast each week during the season, I owed him lunch. If he missed one game, he owed me the same. As the weeks wore on, I had to get more creative if I wanted to win, and I thought I had him trapped with “kumquat.” The fumble happened in the fourth quarter, no less, of that game. Jim told me afterward he was on the verge of losing but for that fumble.
The point is, using a kumquat as a descriptive simile worked. In fact, it worked very well. Reimagine the utterance if it was a ripe apple, green bean, onion, or ear of corn. Not quite the same for some reason, is it? Or worse, if he stated “like a ripe egg” or “like a noisy kumquat.”
Bad similes are story killers and can take an author’s credentials down a few notches on the reader’s scale. They undermine a reader’s engagement with the story and implant in them a negative distraction that may carry throughout the rest of the book.
However, a well-written simile can evoke just the right emotion. As a creative tool, it paints a picture that resonates in readers’ minds—good or bad—but it clicks. Similes can be quite powerful if written well and deployed at the perfect intersectional moment.
A few rules to follow in writing similes (and there may be others):
KEEP THEM LOGICAL
The simile must be logical in comparison with the moment described, and it must have an immediate connection for the reader. If the reader needs to pause to think through the comparison because it doesn’t compute, don’t use it.
USE THEM SPARINGLY
Overuse of anything is generally not an effective strategy. I’ll relate it back to sports. If a football team always runs to the left on first down, the maneuver becomes boring and predictable and unsuccessful.
STAY WITHIN COMMON KNOWLEDGE
A simile that uses unique or uncommon elements in the comparison can destroy the moment because the reader can’t grasp what it is you’re trying to say. If Jim Brandstatter had said “Rod Smith jumped on that ball like it was a timorous mangosteen!” (a real fruit from Southeast Asia), he may have been fired the next morning, or at least ridiculed for a full week.
STAY CLEAR OF SIMILARITY
When you’re deciding on a simile, ensure the two components of your comparison are different enough to drive home the point. As an example, a sentence that reads “She ran up the hill like an athlete in training” doesn’t give the reader much clarity on what that character was doing, since athletes do run up hills as part of their training regimen. There’s not a lot of separation. Conversely, “She ran up the hill like a wounded deer” creates an image of a frantic person, hobbled by fear as she’s trying to get somewhere fast and out of sight.
Whenever similes are deployed, read them to yourself to see if they’re effective. As an example, one of my characters in The Counsel of the Cunning voices his feeling that what he and his assistant detective are experiencing during their hunt for a missing person isn’t adding up. He amplifies this and says, “it’s like a duck in robin’s nest.” The point being that while a duck and a robin are both birds, their distinctions are profound, and a duck would never, nor could ever, be in a robin’s nest. He instinctively knows something is “just off,” and he uses this simile to make the point. He’s saying a bird in a nest is right, but the type of bird is wrong, or the nest should be in the water and not in a tree. In other words, their hunt is going in a direction that gives him pause, that makes him think something’s amiss, but he can’t quite put a finger on it.
Similes are a great tool to propel a story or a moment or a character description. But they are a unique tool and need to be done with precision if used. Don’t shy away from using them as writers, but be tactical in placing them and intuitive in writing them.
Subplots Can Tighten Your Story’s Saggy Middle
Struggling to keep your story’s middle from dragging? Discover how subplots can add depth, drama, and momentum to your narrative—and keep readers turning pages all the way to the end.
By Martha Reed
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.
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.
Punctuation Is Power - Part 4: Finding your style: Free your mind and readers will follow
Finding your writing style is less about following rules and more about practicing until your voice emerges. Learn how punctuation, revision, and rhythm can help shape a voice readers will follow.
Ernest Hemingway wrote a novel you may have heard of called The Old Man and the Sea. It is described as a brilliant short novel, but before editors got hold of it, it was neither brilliant nor short. In fact, it meandered here and there. What a mess. It took an editor to find the story and chop out the crap, after which Ernest could finish it to become the brilliant, short novel we all know and love.
Part 3 of my series ended with the recommendation of getting an editor who was not in love with a particular style manual and forcing your story into a predetermined mold that may not fit. Hemingway was well served by just such editors. This column is about finding a style and training readers to it.
Many new writers, not having a technique or approach of their own, attempt to copy the writing style of an author they love. For writers endeavoring to learn the foundational elements of storytelling, pacing, power, scene setting, and so forth, there is nothing wrong with that. Like a musician practicing scales of chords and note patterns of famous works and then learning to vary those themes with his own flavor, a writer must can emulate the masters until that deeper understanding of interplay comes.
Delve into your heart of hearts and answer this question: Why do you write?
For myself, that answer is: Because I can’t not. Words are my thing and have been since I began learning to talk. Semper fidelis—always in the service of words.
Still, the question can lead to a huge list of follow-ups we don’t have time to cover here. King Solomon said in Ecclesiastes 12:12: “To the making of many books there is no end, and much devotion to them is wearisome to the flesh.” And this is a business that demands attention and can weary a soul.
That being said, it is important to know your own reason. There are no right or wrong answers to the question. But if you find you are wanting to write in order to sell your work for a large, anonymous crowd of readers—that is, you want to sell it in the retail marketplace and be in the business of book sales you will want to bring the best version of your work to that arena and make it stand out from other books also vying for readers’ attentions.
A book may feel like a baby, but it is a product. So, how can you find your own voice and train a reader to like it, understand it, want more of it?
Finding your own voice is a mysterious process. It cannot be taught, but it can happen. Training a reader is easy. Once you’ve found your voice, now you refine it on the page. Once you’ve got the story pretty close to finished, the hard work of checking the flow begins.
Then and only then you will question the use of every punctuation mark you’ve put in. You may find a long, run-on sentence that is convoluted and meanders down paths no one can find, yet each part seems important. You must now decide if it needs to be broken up into fragments and whole sentences of varying lengths, or something else entirely.
What I like to do is copy that one sentence (or graph) and paste it twice into a blank document. The first I will leave as my reference to the original. The second I then play with. Break here, here, and here? Comma there? Colon or semicolon? Then I paste the original sentence in for a third time and play again using both the original and the new edits as reference. Comparing how the meaning and pacing has changed, I change the order of the words, use a thesaurus, maybe work in some alliteration, and look for clichés and repetitions.
After about the third time of doing this, an Aha! moment may arise and you’ll see that maybe the original was perfectly fine, but that the problem was the graphs leading up to it. You rework those portions and bingo, bango, bungo, you got some words worth keeping.
That’s just one method. However, at this time something seemingly magical will happen. You will begin to find your voice. Like the musician practicing his scales, chord progressions, and inversions, and thus seeing all the variety he can produce, you won’t be afraid of words any longer because the words will know you are treating them as equals and respecting the power they bring to your tale by punctuating with powerful effect and affect.
Now, once you start punctuating to tell you story your way, make sure you follow that same style throughout the book, and guess what? By about the end of the second chapter, the reader will learn to follow along, simply and naturally enjoying the story.
Punctuation should never get in the way of a tale. Those marks are the workhorses that make the story look good, but they never take center stage away from the star, your story.
The Magnificent 7: Universal Story Plots and the Twelve Archetypes
Explore the seven universal story plots and twelve timeless archetypes that form the foundation of compelling storytelling, and learn how to apply them to your own writing.
By Martha Reed
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:
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.
Rags to riches – The h/h is insignificant and overlooked by others. Because of a trigger event, they are revealed to be exceptional.
The quest – The h/h sets out on a long, hazardous quest, overcoming all obstacles until they reach their goal.
Voyage and return – The h/h travels outside of their comfortable world into the unknown before returning to the safety of their home.
Comedy – A series of trigger events involving mistaken identity or a fundamental misunderstanding that results in hilarious chaos.
Tragedy – A story without a happy ending that ends in loss or death.
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:
The Innocent – Seeks to do things the right way in harmony, free of corruption or influence.
Everyman – Seeks connections and belonging. Supportive, faithful, and down-to-earth.
Hero – On a mission to make the world a better place.
Outlaw – Questions authority and breaks the rules.
Explorer – Inspired by travel, adventure, and risk.
Creator – Imaginative and inventive, driven to create things with real meaning.
Ruler – Creates order from chaos. Typically controlling and stern, yet responsible and organized.
Magician – Makes dreams a reality.
Lover – Inspires intimate moments with love, passion, romance, and commitment.
Caregiver – Protects and nurtures others.
Jester – Uses humor, irreverence, mischief, and fun to bring joy to the world.
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?
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.
The Writer’s Playbook | Fan Favorites
Every story needs a hero, but sometimes it’s the underdog—your supporting character—who steals the spotlight. Learn how crafting a “fan favorite” can elevate your novel and deepen reader engagement.
By Steven Harms
If you’ve followed any sport—pro, college, or youth—and whether that be a team sport (i.e., basketball) or solo (i.e., golf), there’s usually a consensus player who earns the term “fan favorite.” It’s the individual who captures the hearts of the fans, someone who isn’t necessarily the star player. In fact, I’d argue the moniker is reserved for a role player who rises above his or her perceived limitations to perform at a high level while organically baring their human side on or off the field of play.
I used the term “earns” with purpose. In all my years in pro sports, I’ve witnessed many a player become that team’s fan favorite just by combining consistently good performance doing their specific job with a personality that endears them to the fan base. It’s not the all-star player, but rather the sub or the unglamorous player who shines.
In Detroit, where most of my career was spent, those fan favorites were the players with that working-class approach to their job. Detroit is known as a blue-collar, hard-working, gritty, get-the-job-done town. And they love underdogs. Each market has a vibe and a role player that can capture that quality by their level of play and personality to become a star.
The NBA enshrines such a player by honoring them with the “NBA Sixth Man of the Year Award,” an annual award to the player who is not a starter but is the best player who enters the game as a substitute and puts up the best performance over a season. Invariably, that player is a fan favorite in that player’s market. Why? He’s the role player that shines. Hollywood does the same thing with their “Best Supporting Actor” awards. The award itself is an affirmation that an amazing performance by a secondary character can win over the hearts and minds of the movie-going public.
This dynamic is true in the stories we write and read as well. In my debut novel, Give Place to Wrath, I introduced a three-headed detective team led by the main protagonist, Roger Viceroy. Viceroy dominates the book, but I gave enough spotlight to his two assistants that one of them became a surprising fan favorite—Trevor “Silk” Moreland.
Silk had the backstory in his favor. As a kid who grew up in a blighted section of Milwaukee, he was destined for basketball stardom with a full ride to Marquette University until his dreams were cut short by a bullet that destroyed his basketball career during his senior year in high school. But that unfortunate incident was also the fuse that ignited his passion for police work and honed his innate abilities to become an excellent detective.
After the book debuted and reviews started coming in, there were a good number of people who called out Silk and how much they enjoyed his character with a few even suggesting I spin him off to his own series. I thought about it, but I also realized he resonated so much because he was a support character who authentically excelled at what he did as part of a team.
Every story has minor characters, and at times, they’re written to bridge a gap in the story arc or serve a role to provide information or advance a particular chapter. Those characters are needed, to be sure. However, readers will instinctually gravitate to a secondary character if they are written with enough detail, given their own spotlight at times, and can showcase an authentic and relatable character trait or a backstory of overcoming their personal obstacles. They provide an ingredient that elevates the book because they tap into the charitable and empathetic side of our nature.
I’ve seen it happen in Major League ballparks, NBA arenas, and NFL stadiums. When the fan favorite enters the game, there is a noticeable lift as the fan’s attention turns to that player and the energy and character traits he brings to the game. Win or lose, when the fan-favorite plays, the fans’ enjoyment of the game elevates because they are emotionally invested in that player.
If an author can write a supporting character that earns an emotional connection to readers, a novel’s odds of success are simply enhanced. It’s the “fan favorite” effect. While readers are certainly intellectually involved with the protagonist, having that beloved bench player enter the game will always perk up the moment and pull a reader closer to where you want them to be–engaged and wanting to turn the page.
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