LISTENING

By Clay Stafford

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I always believed that human glory and life’s meaning were found in the senses: what I saw, touched, felt, heard, smelled, and tasted as I sped down the passing lane of accomplishment. These things provided the richness of living, complementary to the mountainous regions of sentience, the arcs and trajectories of being, and the hills and valleys of experience, the satisfaction of the present moment, and the excitement of things to come. Moving through those elevations and absorbing the delight of each moment seemed attainable only through effort and discipline, verified by visible signs of progress. Passivity, I believed, would not allow fate to deepen. Nor would acceptance or routine. I was not born intentionally appreciating what surrounded me. It was up to me to seek it out. Without intention or constant effort, something in me dragged me downward, turning me negative, and closed my eyes to the beauty held even as close as a flower in my hand.

For me, work and sacrifice were never separate. I approached my work the same way I approached my love of conduct: as a builder, a creator, someone constructing what I envisioned and leaving nothing to chance, mitigating the risk of even a moment lived without purpose. Committed to experience and beauty and the love of spirit, I lived with the belief and what felt like proof that if I worked hard enough, planned carefully enough, and remained devoted to improvement, the more profound human aspects, such as spirituality, intellectual pleasure, and emotional fulfillment, would arrive on their own. I only needed to lay the tracks. I assumed understanding, timing, and wisdom would naturally follow once the visible work and confirmation to my senses were undeniable. What I did not realize was that the skill that mattered most, the one that would ultimately transform my existence and my relationships, was not something I could see, touch, feel, hear, smell, or taste. It was not visible at all. It belonged to the category of things I assumed would take care of themselves if I were disciplined enough to live an examined, well-lived reality.

Whether innate or shaped through observation as I grew and matured, I came to believe that vitality was shaped entirely by purposeful intention. When something failed to work, maybe a relationship, a decision, or a season of my lifestyle, I tried to fix it the only way I knew how: by adding more effort, more thinking, more explanation, more force, more control. Wasn’t it my responsibility to build an existence I could eventually look back on without regret, one I could reach the end of and say, well done? For me, clarity came from that assertion, from believing meaning could be pressed into place if I pushed hard enough and demanded transformation. It was unsettling to discover that my diligence, the very trait I trusted most, was often working against me.

At one of my lowest points, I realized that one’s lot was more than experience, sensation, and action. Viability, I found, communicates just as clearly when it is encountered quietly, indirectly, and without urgency. Being a fixer revealed its limits in moments that required no solution, situations that asked for no action, and questions that had no immediate answers. I flailed there. I didn’t know how to stand still. I wanted so much more from destiny than what I believed I had been given that I failed to notice what was already present. When this recognition arrived, it did so subtly, yet with quiet unease. The problems that continued to trouble me were not rooted in lack of effort or achievement. They stemmed from failure to listen to things that did not need to be, but were, without asking for my attention.

Hearing and choosing when not to attend was what I had missed. Discernment. Not paying attention for approval or instruction, but being attentive for boundaries, for signals, for the difference between what wanted to be rushed and what needed time. I had to hear the quiet truth that some things were not asking me to act, repair, or improve; they were asking me to stop interfering. And yet, I wasn’t taking heed.

To my surprise, taking into account itself became an act. It was not passive. It required restraint and patience. Concentrating asked me to tolerate uncertainty without rushing to resolve it. It asked me to leave unfinished things unfinished, to resist tidying them up or wrapping them up prematurely. Keeping my ears open meant trusting that clarity sometimes arrived only after I stopped demanding it.

At first, this felt unproductive. From the outside, monitoring resembled hesitation, pausing instead of advancing, waiting instead of fixing. When I stopped pushing, I felt lost. In doing nothing, I wondered what I was doing at all. There were fewer markers of progress, no surge of momentum, no thrill of accomplishment. Slowing down felt uncomfortable in a world and in my own world that rewarded decisiveness and speed. And yet, something began to change.

When I took note instead of forcing outcomes, the quality of my decisions shifted. My perceptions changed. I stopped shaping results that didn’t truly fit. I recognized when something was complete rather than refining it beyond necessity. I learned, often uncomfortably, that others did not always want solutions; they wanted to be heard. Silence, I discovered, could carry weight without being filled, and tuning in altered my understanding of doubt. Uncertainty became information rather than a shortcoming. Things were not broken; they were unresolved, and that distinction mattered. It gave me patience I had never practiced before.

I came to understand that the apparent inactivity of focusing was itself a form of action. It was not instinctive. Like any skill, it was built slowly through humility, repetition, and restraint. It sharpened not through effort, but by stepping back and allowing actuality to reveal itself without interruption. Once perceived, it grew. It became the foundation beneath every visible skill, every tangible accomplishment. Everything I did depended on this quiet test for its truest execution.

The quietness began to permeate my continuation. I found myself longing for it. No amount of effort could replace it. No amount of planning could override it. Without lending an ear, progress dissolved into noise. A new reality had come. And in returning to the full circle, I discovered something unexpected: even stillness had direction. I had not underestimated listening because I considered it unimportant. I underestimated it because it was quiet.

Between Pen and Paper: Flaneuring Through a Writer’s Mind – The API of the Human Heart, or Why Your Characters Keep Misunderstanding Each Other

By Andi Kopek

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There has been no shortage of criticism lately regarding artificial intelligence (AI). Some of it is thoughtful, some quite theatrical. I may dedicate a future column entirely to the ethical, economic, and existential anxieties surrounding AI. Today, however, I want to focus on something far less dramatic and far more revealing: how advanced AI systems actually talk to one another, how this can shine new light on human communication and miscommunication, and how it could inspire a modern writer.

Beneath the glossy headlines and dystopian forecasts, most modern digital systems communicate through something called an API, an Application Programming Interface. An API is essentially a structured contract that defines how one program can send a request to another, what format the data must follow, what information is required, and what kind of response will come back. In other words, before artificial intelligence can destroy our civilization, it must first agree on grammar.

Imagine two computer programs trying to talk. They cannot rely on vibes. They cannot roll their eyes. They cannot say, “You know what I mean.” They must follow a strict contract, a rulebook for how one system talks to another. An API. If the message does not match the expected structure, it fails. Not emotionally. Structurally. The receiving system does not feel hurt. It returns an error code: 400 (Bad Request).

Let’s have a little fun and apply this communication model to human interactions. Every person you know is running an API. It is undocumented. It is unstable. It auto-updates without notice. Your internal API defines what tone you accept, what topics are permitted, what context you require, what emotional load you can process, what you interpret literally, what you interpret as subtext, what feels like attack, and what feels like affection. When someone speaks to you, they are making a request against your interface. When you respond, you are sending data formatted according to theirs. Conversation is not just expression. It is parsing.

In programming, parsing means interpreting incoming data according to a defined structure. If I send { emotion: sad } but you expect { mood: sadness, intensity: 0.7 }, the request fails. Not because we disagree about sadness. Because we disagree about formatting. Now consider the most dangerous sentence in the English language: “I’m fine.” One person means: I am overwhelmed but not ready to unpack it. The other hears: Everything is okay. Same words. Different schema. According to our little game, human miscommunication is not malice. It is incompatible parsing.

If humans were honest, we would speak in status codes.

200 OK: I understand you.

401 Unauthorized: You do not have access to that story.

403 Forbidden: That is a boundary.

404 Not Found: I do not recognize the version of me you’re describing. 429 Too Many Requests: Please stop asking.

503 Service Unavailable: I am exhausted and pretending otherwise.

Instead, we say things like, “Whatever,” which is the emotional equivalent of a corrupted packet.

In AI networks, data can be corrupted, and signals can degrade. In humans, fatigue, stress, trauma, and cognitive overload can increase the error rate. The same sentence can succeed at 9

a.m. and fail by the late afternoon. Moreover, different neurotypes run different parsing defaults. As a simplified analogy, consider autism as a condition where parsing is more literal. If someone says: “It’s cold in here,” one person hears a temperature observation. Another hears a request to close the window. Different inference engines. Not broken. Just different schema.

From this perspective, depression can look like low processing bandwidth, high error sensitivity, and reduced response generation. Instead of getting a return of 200 (OK) for a typical request, the system returns 503 (Service Unavailable). Anxiety resembles a hyperactive validation layer. Every incoming message is checked for threats, rejections, or hidden errors. Neutral packets get flagged as suspicious. False positives multiply. Psychosis might be described as a model in which incoming data is integrated into a framework that diverges from shared consensus reality. The API still functions internally, but its mapping to the broader network has shifted. The person is not failing to process. They are processing through a different model.

AI systems do not have feelings, though they are becoming increasingly sophisticated at parsing human emotion in text and speech. So what about empathy, a feature we tend to reserve for living organisms? Some would say only humans. In this model, empathy is not absorbing someone else’s emotions like a sponge. Empathy is adaptive formatting. It is the willingness to say: Let me rephrase that. What did you hear me say? What did you mean? How would you prefer I ask? Empathy does not eliminate conflict. It reduces unnecessary 400 errors. Rigid APIs cannot do that. Flexible ones can. Consequently, the opposite of empathy is not cruelty. It is interface rigidity.

Since I’m writing this in February, I cannot ignore Valentine’s Day. Love, perhaps, is long-term API alignment. Over time you learn each other’s required fields. You anticipate response formats. You adjust rate limits. You recognize known error codes. You stop assuming malice in malformed packets. I think we could use more long-term API alignment right now.

Now, writers, this approach can be useful to your craft. Characters do not fight because they disagree. They fight because they parse differently. One character speaks in subtext. Another requires explicit declarations. One needs reassurance before vulnerability. Another needs vulnerability before reassurance. Each is making valid requests against an interface the other does not fully understand. Conflict is born in the gap between intention and interpretation. A character says, “You never listen.” What they mean is: “I don’t feel seen.” What the other hears is: “You are incompetent.” Boom. 400 (Bad Request), followed by 500 (Internal Server Error).

In thrillers, the villain often exploits API weaknesses in other characters. The villain withholds required fields, manipulates format, overloads of the emotional bandwidth, and sends signals designed to be misparsed. Gaslighting, in this model, is deliberate schema corruption. It forces the victim to doubt their own parsing logic.

And when two characters finally understand each other, what has actually happened? As in love, they have aligned their APIs. They have learned that “I’m fine” sometimes means “Please try again.” LLMs (Large Language Models) require enormous amounts of training data to achieve alignment. We train on years of shared experience. And still …

We live in an age obsessed with communication tools. Faster messaging. Smarter devices. Infinite connectivity. And yet our communication remains fragile and far from perfection. The next time a conversation collapses, pause and ask: was this bad intention from a sender, or bad formatting in the receiver’s API?

I hope that this little mental exercise will help to deepen characters in your story, sharpen your dialogue, and make the conflicts feel inevitable rather than contrived. And in your own life, you may discover that many arguments are not wars. They are documentation failures. Which, hopefully, can be revised.

Andi

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Andi Kopek is a multidisciplinary artist based in Nashville, TN. With a background in medicine, molecular neuroscience, and behavioral change, he has recently devoted himself entirely to the creative arts. His debut poetry collection, Shmehara, has garnered accolades in both literary and independent film circles for its innovative storytelling.

When you’re in Nashville, you can join Andi at his monthly poetry workshop, participate in the Libri Prohibiti book club (both held monthly at the Spine bookstore, Smyrna, TN), or catch one of his live performances. When not engaging with the community, he's hard at work on his next creative project or preparing for his monthly art-focused podcast, The Samovar(t) Lounge: Steeping Conversations with Creative Minds, where in a relaxed space, invited artists share tea and the never-told intricacies of their creative journeys.

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THE CHAIR IS STILL THERE

By Clay Stafford

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Mostly working from home for the majority of my life, there was no boss to meet, no comptroller checking my clock-in for work, no meetings I had to be on time for, only me, waking up and stretching in bed, thinking of how I envisioned my day to play out.

Most days were and are filled with excitement. I knew what I was going to do. I loved what I did. I was blessed to be able to do it. Most mornings were filled with ambition and excitement, so I couldn’t wait to get to work and get started. But there were those dreaded mornings when I awoke, stared at the ceiling, and realized there was no fuel in the creative engine for the day. On those mornings, there was no urgency to get out of bed, no spark inspiring me to begin. There wasn’t even resistance. In the dim light of the morning sun coming through the cracks of the closed plantation shutters, there was simply a hollow quiet where momentum typically was and should have been. Those moments felt empty, nothing resembling the welcomed heaviness of life, just a distant void, as though everything that normally mattered had somehow, during the night while I was dreaming, slipped down the hallway to another bedroom and closed the door, sometimes even locking it behind it, climbing into the bed and pulling the covers over its head.

Those were days that felt like failures even before they began, and because I predetermined them while lying in bed, they usually turned out as I expected. I used to think I could only show up for my life when my inner world was in agreement, when want and purpose matched, when I knew why I was doing something, and when the effort made sense. I could only do things when I felt like it or when the meaning was clear. When that alignment was absent, I assumed the day was already lost and a wasted day of failure lay ahead. I felt it in my heart and even in my bones. I hadn’t yet learned that the real discipline of my life wasn’t built on feeling ready, but on returning.

It wasn’t until later in my life, when maybe maturity or practice, or even serendipitous events, proved me wrong, that I realized these mornings were simply a different kind of threshold, their own unique entry into a day that, at first glance, felt formless and uninspired. Somewhere along the way, I learned that discipline, what I needed to create the perfect day, was less about preplanning, force, or even intention, but more about presence.

I don’t know when my thinking started to shift. I certainly didn’t make it happen. I didn’t will it. It certainly wasn’t some trite self-help or productivity hack. It didn’t even arrive with some revelation. It came oddly and unplanned, as a habit. Whether I had the vision for the day or not, I got my coffee as usual, set up my desk, and sat down in my chair to work, even when I didn’t know what I wanted to work on or, if I did, even when I wasn’t inspired. Motivation didn’t earn me a spot at my desk. Routine did. On those days, I kept the bar low. I didn’t promise much to those hours except the assurance to my computer that I’ll be close by if needed. No plans were negotiated, no meaning defined, and rarely was any enthusiasm offered to the Muse as tribute. Sometimes on those days, I thought my purpose in life was to drink a cup of coffee, watch my birdfeeder, and ponder, in the world of evolution, what crazy lizard found itself jumping out of a tree and realizing it could fly, thus creating a new species of birds. In other words, with no plans or inspiration, I sat there because I didn’t know what else to do.

It surprised me at some point how little was required to sit there. It was freeing. Even on those hollow mornings, the chair was still there, waiting. I didn’t need conviction. I didn’t need direction. I didn’t need to believe that anything I was doing mattered. I only needed not to leave. I needed to sit with whatever drifted through my mind. The common thread behind it all was my chair, on productive days and on days of nothing. It was always sitting there, consistent, no matter where my head was. So, I returned to it, some days with more fervor than others, but always with a refusal to hand over control to the weather outside (I write outside on my porch) or even the weather, no matter how calm or turbulent, going on inside of me.

Those neutral days of nothingness were not heroic. They were days that neither lifted nor dragged, days that offered no motivational or dramatic reason or inspiration to move forward, but at the same time, no compelling reason not to be there. It seemed on those days that the world asked nothing of me other than attendance in that chair, across the lawn from the birdfeeder, pondering the processes of the past few million years.

When I think back on my own evolution now, what strikes me is not how much time I wasted sitting there, but rather how honest those hours were. Out of boredom, I did begin to tinker, but without the need or motivation to impress, accelerate, or aim beyond the moment, I moved straight to the essentials as they popped into my head. It was all rather casual. There was no adornment, no performance, no word count, no chasing of superiority. Just small, impulsive, inner-driven activities, whether rain or shine, just some sort of private continuity with days more productive, but with no invisible audience or ego applauding, but at the same time nothing left undone. When inspired, sitting in the chair, I did what I felt inspired to do, letting direction come from the nothingness.

Over time, something shifted. Those neutral (I wouldn’t call them wasted) days, those unremarkable returns to the chair each morning, began to alter the way I understood myself in the same way that I could envision lizards growing wings millions of years ago. I don’t think I ever patted myself on my back for my consistency of sitting in a chair (that hardly seems a heroic act), but I did begin to trust it as an inkling of something I couldn’t put my finger on began to take form in my consciousness, in my being. Showing up and sitting down, I began to sense that I did not need to feel aligned with my work or even with myself to remain connected. Just drink coffee and watch the birds, and occasionally look at my computer screen. I didn’t need the weather, inside or out, to give me permission. Before I stepped into the day, I needed to go to my chair and sit. And, surprise to me, somewhere along the way, my fingers would find their way to the keyboard, and I would start to type. Somewhere by the end of the day, I would pause and look back on all that I had accomplished, even though I had had no preplanned direction.

Trust accumulated in ways I couldn’t have articulated then, but it did soften the drama around the difficulty of being aimless. It quieted the argument between desire and duty. It reframed commitment as identity rather than effort. I began to see that most of what endures in life is built not on bursts of certainty but on the steady, unimpressive, evolutionary cadence of return.

The curious, but also understandable, thing is that the work of my life didn’t constantly improve in those days, but my relationship with my work, and even myself, did. Sitting down in my chair became less conditional, less dependent on mood or inspiration, or the unpredictable tides of self-belief or raw motivation. Sitting down in my chair became, instead, something like a morning welcome, a companionship, coming with the predictability and comfort of knowing that the sun will rise each day and I will sit: steady, imperfect, patient.

Looking back, I never found the dramatic clarity I once believed I needed to move forward. I saw something quieter. I discovered that life continues, like birds in flight, even when eagerness does not. I found that meaning doesn’t always come hand in hand with willingness. I discovered that neutrality is fertile in its own way. We don’t need a parade; we only need a chair.

I once thought that discipline was a loud, cinematic declaration, something founded in great ambition or proven with relentless, knock-the-walls-down drive, but the truth, for me, instead lived in a place outside on the back porch, an ordinary chair, waiting without fanfare, and asking for nothing other than my presence. “Come as you are,” it called. “If nothing else,” it said in its Southern way, “just sit a spell.”

Perhaps the unexpected lesson for me is this: the parts of life that endure are not always those born from passion, certainty, or predetermination while lying in the bed in the morning and staring at the ceiling with the morning light coming in through the shutters, but instead it is from the steady, unremarkable decision to get my coffee, in my routine, and sit in my chair long enough for meaning to find its way back. The chair is always waiting.

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, Killer Nashville Magazine, and the Killer Nashville University streaming service. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

MAKING IT BEFORE IT HAS A NAME

By Clay Stafford

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There were periods when I began something simply out of interest, long before I understood why, and, oddly, the not-knowing at times unsettled me more than the effort itself. I am, by nature, a planner and a builder, and to be the best at that, one needs to know from the start what they are constructing. It’s a little irresponsible to build a skyscraper without planning and realize, too late, that you didn’t put the right foundation under the building. The longer I lived, the more I noticed a pattern that didn’t quite make sense to me: some of the most authentic things in my life began before they could be explained, and naming them too early seemed to shrink what they were trying to become, as if definition became a filter or a cell. I didn’t have that concept at the time, but the truth of it lingered as something I wouldn’t understand for years, something that existed long before I found the words to recognize it. I began to realize that some of the most important things in my life only revealed their meaning after I was already living them.

I can think of decisions, relationships, detours, and changes I made in my life that began without language, without an expressed idea, what a writer might call a “thesis statement.” Without a plan, I found myself moving toward people, places, projects, and experiences that couldn’t really be justified. Beginnings were always small, sometimes even unnoticed, like quiet shifts that pointed me away from what was familiar to something new and unknown without offering any clarity or expectations of what might come next. As it expanded into my life, my days, my consciousness, the absence of explanation began to feel like a kind of unnameable negligence, as though I owed myself, if not the world, some sort of rationale before I took the next step. The interesting thing about life, though, and especially adventure, is that nothing meaningful arrives with instructions.

Some beginnings took the form of restlessness, sometimes bordering on boredom. Others came from a pull I couldn’t seem to ignore. I didn’t think or plan my way into those moments as much as I moved my way into them by some magnetic, yet unnamed, attraction. Whatever meaning they carried waited there and didn’t announce itself at the start, like a wrapped birthday present asking to be eagerly opened with childhood innocence, but only when the birthday came. Meaning surfaced only after the momentum of action, movement, or interest, unexplained, but happening, after I gave up wanting certainty that my time or emotions were not wasted. I wanted assurance before I pulled the paper away from the birthday box, wanted to see what was inside before I undid the ribbon.

For much of my life, I resisted this uncertain stage. Maybe it was the way I was raised as a child, but it always felt safer to have clarity before action, certainty before motion. It was inherent in me to want to know the ending, what it meant, whether it was safe, and how I could justify myself if anyone should ask. Without clarity and the words, always the words, which may be why I am a writer, I always felt exposed, awkward in a way that left me sometimes rehearsing the answer, the justification, before I had completely made the choice, even as I was already traveling down an unknown path through a forest dappled with light, leaves flickering with moving brightness, the smell of wet earth rising, without the faintest hint of what it boded.

Being someone who plays chess rather than checkers, beginning something, anything, without clarity required a different posture than I was used to. Those moments asked that I enter them without strategy, even without ambition, but only presence. Being foreign to me, I didn’t have a name for what was happening then other than those moments, things, people, or ideas embraced something that kept me returning to those half-formed beginnings, unidentifiable hopes, and curious opportunities, and that returning to them by some magnetic, unexplainable pull mattered even, at times, if none of it made any sense.

In the worlds I circled, I looked to efficiency and expediency, even in relationships, and from the outside, this way of moving probably looked highly inefficient. In those unnamed spaces, false starts, reversals, and in-between states that didn’t add up clouded the clarity. I collected experiences that didn’t seem connected, yet over time, they began to mark the edges of something that appeared to form out of the mist. They revealed what stayed and what fell away. They traced a shape I did not realize I had been drawing, yet had been seemingly unconsciously engineering from the start.

It was later in life, after I had been married and even after I had a son, that I stopped using the phrases “happy accidents” and “bumbling through life.” Something began to shift when I stopped asking these innocuous beginnings to declare themselves too early. I let them happen. I felt less urgency to start justifying each step. I think part of it was because I had put myself into a world that didn’t require an explanation, a happy place of unconditional love and acceptance, something that came with marrying the right person. Because of this foundation, I didn’t rush decisions simply to escape uncertainty. I let things “percolate,” as my son coined, when he was near an adult. I noticed the quiet gravity of what I kept returning to when those things called to me from the fog, and how nothing real in those voices demanded immediate clarity or even a call back from me in return. Understanding, when it came at all, arrived later, subtle, without fanfare, and I began to let it happen in its own natural way.

The real tension wasn’t in not knowing; it was in the impulse to decide too quickly what something was supposed to be. I saw clearly that each time I started something that seemed to fall into my lap with questions, to name it, to give it a beginning point before it lived, shrank it to match my description of it, rather than allowing it to slowly manifest itself, like the bloom of a flower, into its own possibilities, shape, form, and even my relationship with or appreciation of it. Slowly, through life practice and observation, I learned to wait a little longer. An egg is an egg, but if you wait, to one’s ultimate surprise, a chick may emerge. “Wait a little longer” became my mantra. I needed to allow experience to accumulate before drawing conclusions or judging. Even without my “input,” refinement happened, though it may not have been there in the start, as the Old Me would have desired. In contrast, when meaning did arrive, it arrived as something real, something that could be refined, the “happy accident” seeming predestined on its own. That is how the subconscious works. It is a land hidden, but a calculating world in its own right.

Many of the meaningful shifts in my life didn’t arrive as predetermined or mapped plans. I didn’t select them from a menu of options or make deliberate choices. They appeared first at the periphery while I was occupied with living and paying attention, and they continued even when I couldn’t articulate what they were, what I was feeling, or the purpose or endpoint. I guess what I got out of all this, so many years later, is that life isn’t always the execution of a strategy. Sometimes it is the slow uncovering of one. Venturing into the unknown before I understood the “meaning of it all” wasn’t carelessness or irresponsibility. It was a way, and continues to be a way, of staying open long enough for meaning to emerge on its own through movement and unveiling rather than planning and anticipation. Some of the truest parts of my life found their names only after I let them exist as long as needed without one, and I suspect that might be the only way I would have ever recognized them at all.

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, Killer Nashville Magazine, and the Killer Nashville University streaming service. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

THE WORLD GOT WIDER

By Clay Stafford

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For a long time, I believed that anything worth pursuing should come with a clear signal, some sign, momentum, or external confirmation that I was moving in the right direction. I think I was waiting for the circus to come to town. Looking for that exterior confirmation, though, quietly narrowed my world without me even noticing.

I didn’t really understand this belief, this idea that I was essentially performing for others. I didn’t think about it. It wasn’t something I put into words. It just showed up, thoughtlessly, like the morning sun. Unlike the mark of a new day, however, this subconscious belief or need for validation manifested as hesitation, maybe doubt. When no one clapped, no one replied to my desperate phone calls, letters, or emails, or no one offered a word of encouragement or support, I found I slowed down. I started to wait. “Give me a sign,” my needy heart exclaimed. I started second-guessing my map. I equated uncertainty with fear, that I was about to make a mistake.

I don’t know when this thinking began; it may have started in childhood, perhaps reflecting a need for parental approval in a conditionally loved world. The shame is that it shaped my life more than I realized. It made me cautious, even timid, in moments that required courage. Wherever it began and however it grew, this subconscious belief that I needed that validation trained me to seek approval from others rather than to seek direction from within. I couldn’t help but think that when progress was slow, and especially when it stalled, it was proof that I was off track. When I felt something mattered, but yet it demanded so much unapplauded effort, I wondered if I wasn’t forcing something that should not be rather than earning something that should not have to be affirmed.

Somewhere along the way, it hit me. Why? Maturity? God-given insight? Not sure. I know nothing external changed. There were no circus clowns. No breakthrough arrived. But inside me, the moment that my life began to change, the moment that I began to change, was a shift in the limiting belief itself.

Somewhere in my Los Angeles days, I began to notice that the work that mattered most, not only to me, but to others, oddly rarely announced itself. In its inception, in its call to adventure, it made no promises. I didn’t have to wait for the green light to proceed. I didn’t need any person in power to give me some grand confirmation that I had finally found the path. Instead, my life and work began to show up, not with fireworks, but in small, unglamorous ways.

I found I was passionately involved in my work and life when previously I would have told myself to quit. Problems or roadblocks? Instead of avoiding or dismissing them and walking away, I found I started returning to them day after day, living and loving life regardless of who, if anyone, ever noticed. The silence, the fact that no one was even noticing, stopped coming across to me as a warning. The silence became the mental space where my life and work began to live and grow. And from the silence, to my surprise, others began to notice.

“Reassurance” is the key word. I no longer needed it. And when I began to accept this, to believe and live it, subtly, my attention changed. Without needing approval, I began to notice the quiet pull toward specific ideas or desires that were intrinsically my own, not someone else’s to validate. Life started at that moment to be an adventure, even if it was nothing more than showing up, even when nothing was resolved. It didn’t matter. I was living me. I accepted that sometimes understanding comes only after effort, not before. Looking back, I realized that my strongest decisions, the ones that actually changed and transformed my life, were rarely made in moments of confidence. They were made in moments of scared commitment.

With regret, but also with thankfulness for the experience, I realized how much life-energy and opportunity I had wasted, misreading what were, in fact, neutral conditions and neutral exterior feedback. No response didn’t mean that anyone was rejecting me. Resistance didn’t mean I was going in the wrong direction. Slow progress didn’t mean I was a failure or ill-equipped.

Letting go of the belief that I didn’t need external validation for how I wanted to live my life didn’t erase doubt. Don’t get the wrong impression. But what it did was to strip doubt of its authority. Uncertainty stopped being a verdict and became something I could walk alongside. I could live in the present, not the past or the future, and though it might feel uncomfortable to take risks others dared not, doubt was no longer in charge. Living the life I wanted to live became the mantra.

Letting go of that belief, that need for affirmation, didn’t suddenly make my progress in the world easier, but it did make it wider. Possibilities that had always been there came into view, and I was able to accept them without any need for anyone else’s approval. These possibilities that I dared not dream of didn’t change. They were there all the time. I simply stopped requiring permission to see them. Or honor them. Or rather, I realized the only permission I needed to live the life of my dreams on my own terms was mine.

I realized the world doesn’t widen because circumstances change. It widened when I stopped asking permission to dream big dreams. I wasn’t walking with the consent or acceptance of others anymore. I was walking with uncertainty, and noticing I still belonged, not to the whims of others, but to myself. I began writing my life, telling the story I knew should be told, even when I walked alone.

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, Killer Nashville Magazine, and the Killer Nashville University streaming service. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Garrity Warning

By David Lane Williams

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This month, I’d like to dovetail off a previous article on the Miranda Warning (April 2025) and talk a bit about the Garrity Warning, a cousin to Miranda that writers of true crime and crime fiction should understand. The Garrity Warning is issued to government employees, usually police officers, who are suspected of committing a crime and of violating departmental policy. 

Let’s use an example of a police officer who took a bribe to look the other way as two men robbed a bank, effectively delaying a police response until the robbers could get away. In this scenario, the officer is an accomplice to a serious crime, and he also violated departmental policy regarding graft and corruption. Our plot advances when one of the thieves is caught and makes a deal to inform on the officer in exchange for leniency. The corrupt officer is about to have a very bad day. 

As a cop, you know you must abide by a direct order from a superior officer (unless that order is, itself, illegal or unconstitutional). If a captain says you’re going to answer questions about a bank robbery, you’re duty and policy-bound to answer any questions the investigator assigned by the captain may ask. 

However, answering those questions would likely incriminate the officer in our scenario. He’s stuck between having to answer questions to keep his job or rank and wanting to exercise his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination. Enter The Garrity Warning. 

In our scenario, there should be two different investigations. One is for the crime itself (accomplice to a bank robbery), and the other investigation is for departmental policy violations. Such a two-pronged investigation involving a public employee requires two different investigators. 

I investigated several such cases during my career. One involved a violent incident in which an officer had attacked his wife. My job was to determine the facts of the matter on the criminal side, which meant that any statement I took or evidence I collected would go to the prosecutor’s office and potentially result in the officer’s arrest. The other investigator was a police lieutenant who was investigating for the policy violation of “Conduct Unbecoming an Officer.” 

In such cases, I tried to be the first investigator to speak with witnesses. Witnesses may clam up after the first interview, so I tried to be the first in line. It didn’t always work out that way, but that’s how it goes sometimes. 

Anything I gained during my investigation was open book for the administrative investigation, but the opposite was not the case. In other words, that lieutenant was not allowed, due to the rights afforded by the Garrity Warning, to share what she’d discovered in the course of her investigation. This is always a bit frustrating for the criminal investigator, but it is the only fair and constitutional way to conduct an investigation. 

So, how does this apply to what you may be writing? Let’s say you’re crafting a novel about a good-guy cop who is being set up so that it looks like he took a bribe and helped bank robbers pull off a heist. The cop must endure an investigation and perhaps even a trial. The Garrity Warning, and all it implies, can allow you to raise those dramatic stakes. Now he’s not on trial just for the criminal conspiracy; his career, pension, credibility, and rank are all in peril. He’ll feel pressure from not one, but two investigations and two different detectives, all while still dealing with the real bad guys trying to set him up. Knowing how Garrity works can be part of your strategy for piling on the drama in order to reach a more satisfying and heroic ending. Have fun with it.

FIVE KEYS TO CREATING BELIEVABLE VILLAINS

By Venita Bonds

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My elderly aunt never speaks ill of anyone. When I joked that she could find something nice to say about the devil himself, she said, “Well, he does have a good work ethic.” 

Few people are 100% evil—and this includes bad guys. Mystery writer DP Lyle says, “Everyone is the hero of their own story.” While it’s tempting to make your villain bad to the bone, you have to make him “human” enough to be believable. Villains need at least one fault, frailty, or soft spot that makes them vulnerable. 

Key 1: Humanity and Vulnerability

Think of Boyd Crowder in Justified. He’s a bad guy we hate to love, but we love him, anyway. Why? Because he’s charismatic, intelligent, eloquent, and funny. He’s also untrustworthy and prideful. His human flaws make him vulnerable and often self-destructive.

The cannibalistic Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs is impossible to love, but his brilliant intellect and odd sense of decorum make him believable in a terrifying way. FBI Agents Crawford and Starling think his only weakness is his huge ego, which makes him vulnerable to their attempts to use him to track down a killer. We’ve all known people with the human qualities of pride, ego, and intelligence. Hopefully, they’re not hungry.

Keys 2 and 3: Justification and Backstory

Humans believe we have the right to act as we do. We try to justify our actions, no matter how heinous. Villains are no different. They often use their backstory to justify their deeds. Something in their past explains their rotten behavior—at least in their own mind. 

One caution: Think of backstory as salt sprinkled into the mix with a lean hand. While backstory is a necessary ingredient for you to understand your villains and what motivates them, feed it to your readers only a grain at a time, and never in your beginning pages. 

Your villains do not have to be killers to need backstory and justification. They can be anyone who exerts power: lawyers, preachers, politicians, medical personnel, or company CEOs. 

Alabama native Richard Scrushy drove a cement mixer for a living. In his rags-to-riches backstory, he went from hauling cement to becoming the CEO of a multibillion-dollar corporation. Possessing an ego the size of his bank account, he ruled his executives through threats and intimidation. When the Department of Justice indicted him on 85 counts of conspiracy, money laundering, and securities fraud, the company’s stocks crashed. Scrushy justified his actions as those of a philanthropic visionary whose only sin was trusting his accountants.  

Florida prostitute Aileen Wuornos murdered seven johns. Her backstory? Sexual abuse from childhood. During her trial, she highlighted her past to make jurors see her in a sympathetic light. Her justification for murder was that all men were a threat to life and limb. She claimed she acted in “self-defense like any human would do.” She made herself believable enough to garner a fan club. 

Key 4: Body Language

The human body speaks louder than words. We can control what we say and might even pass a lie detector test, but our body language can be a dead giveaway. Even the most duplicitous villain reveals the truth through “tells” that leak out of his movements and mannerisms. To create believable villains, let their bodies do the talking.

Example: 

Her left eyelid twitched. Poker players know that micro movements can reveal a person’s thoughts. I was a lousy poker player, but I’d known Elsa Bea all my life. I saw her tell.

Another example: 

She locked onto my eyes without blinking. Liars do that when they want you to believe they’re telling the truth. Unfortunately, she was bouncing her left leg as though keeping time to a drumbeat. Legs don’t lie. 

Key 5: Secondary Characters

Use your secondary characters to increase your villain’s believability. Like my elderly aunt, secondary characters can provide backstory and justification for a villain. In this scene, a housekeeper is defending a doctor suspected of poisoning elderly women. 

“His primary practice is anti-aging— hormones and hydrogen peroxide infusions,” Geraldine said. 

“Is that what he’s giving Mother?” 

She shrugged. “All I know is that it’s made from plants, so it’s all natural.”

“Poison ivy’s all natural. Rattlesnake venom’s all natural.”

“He’s not poisoning her!” 

“How do you know?”

She threw up her hands in exasperation. “He went to Cambridge. Would the Ochsner Clinic employ him if he weren’t an excellent physician?”

Turn the Key

The most important key to creating believable villains is you. The greater your understanding of human behavior and communication, the more realistic your bad guys will be. Just don’t turn your back on one.  

Suggested Reading and Viewing 

Books

Six-Minute X-Ray: Rapid Behavior Profiling by Chase Hughes 

How To Analyze People: How To Read Anyone Like A Book by Madison Taylor

Confidential: Uncover Your Competitors’ Top Business Secrets Legally and Quickly—and Protect Your Own by John Nolan

Websites and Videos

Thebehaviorpanel.com features educational videos on behavioral analysis, communication and elicitation, deception detection, and interrogation. Participants are: 

Mark Bowden: truthplane.com

Chase Hughes: chasehughes.com
www.youtube.com/@chasehughesofficial 

Greg Hartley:  greghartley.com

Scott Rouse:  scottrouse.com

Scott & Greg:  bodylanguagetactics.com

Television and Movies

“Invisible Monsters: Serial Killers in America” (2021 Miniseries) 

The Serial Killers of “Invisible Monsters” | A&E (aetv.com)

“Monster” (2003 movie about Aileen Wuornos starring Charlize Theron)

“American Greed” (TV documentary series for students of human nature and behavior)

“Catch Me If You Can” (2002 movie about a con man)

Weston Smith’s HealthSouth video on the largest health care fraud in US history:  
https://youtu.be/rjgLRRoc_JU?si=FrfYJsN8WRHDd__2

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Venita Bonds is a retired RN with a background in intensive care and psychiatric nursing. She taught adult writing courses and worked for a defense contractor training human intelligence assets for deployment. The author of four historical novels, she now writes Southern Gothic mysteries and short stories. She was a Killer Nashville 2025 Claymore Award winner. She can be found at www.venitabonds.com.

Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Legal Justification for a Traffic Stop

By David Lane Williams

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Patrol officers have many different roles day-to-day. They may bust out of the station for a domestic violence call or be dispatched to an armed robbery while eating lunch. The next hour may be taken up with a traffic accident, followed by a shoplifting complaint. An elderly woman may call about hearing sounds beneath her house, relieved when the smudged and dusty officer reappears from the crawl space to report the intruder was only a raccoon. In other words, the mission of protect and serve stays the same, though the tasks involved change by the minute. 

The most visible duty, though, has to do with traffic stops. We’ve all seen them, and many of us have been the subject of a stop. Perhaps we were speeding, didn’t use a turn signal, weaving in and out of lanes or tailgating another driver. There are any number of reasons a patrol officer might pull us over, but this aspect of police work is one of the least understood. 

Even if you write exclusively about detective work, it is important that you understand the reasons for and mechanics of traffic stops. I can’t tell you how many times as a detective that I asked patrol officers to pull over a car for me so I could locate a suspect, find contraband specific to the case I was working, or to make an arrest for a violent crime. Stopping vehicles using the trappings of a patrol vehicle such as the emergency lights, decals and insignia, and public address systems is the safest way. 

Your protagonist investigator may need to stop a fictional “bad guy” while he’s driving a car in which he has hidden an axe he used in the murder of his business partner. Perhaps your detective has gotten information the suspect will be moving the axe from his basement in order to throw it in a lake. Your investigator needs to stop the guy quickly to secure the evidence, and the safest way is to call in help from Patrol. 

There are a lot of factors that go into the decision to stop a car. It must be done in the safest way, which means controlling the tactical advantage at all times. It must also be done in a constitutionally sound manner, both because it is wrong to violate someone’s civil rights, and also because not doing so is the fastest way to get your case thrown out in court. 

There is no such thing as a “routine” traffic stop. Every stop carries the possibility of ending badly. People don’t much like being pulled over by police, even if they know they’ve been speeding, driving drunk, or throwing litter out of their pickup truck. Some people, however, hate it so much that they’re willing to murder the officer who stopped them. 

There are people in this world with felony warrants out for their arrest. Some are looking at life behind bars once they’re caught, so the safety of the officer and anyone else unlucky to be in the line of fire are of no concern. They will die in prison if they don’t get away from the cop who stopped them, and violence is a choice too many are willing to make. 

Thus, every officer coming out of a police academy in America is trained on how to safely and professionally conduct such a stop. Unfortunately, not everyone does it the way they were trained, but the preparatory foundation is a starting point for this discussion. Let’s explore the most professional, least confrontational way of conducting a temporary detention of a driver for an infraction. 

In a traffic stop several things should happen as a matter of constitutional law, training, experience, and a totality of the circumstances. First and foremost is the stop itself. It is only legal for police officers to stop you while driving a car if they have evidence—probable cause—that you have committed a crime or an infraction, or they have a reasonable suspicion that you are about to commit a crime or just committed one. 

Examples of reasonable suspicion that have come before the Supreme Court include stopping cars coming out of a parking lot where there is known drug trafficking (this is constitutionally limited and not used as often anymore), “furtive” movements such as a guy ducking into the shadows when a patrol car cruises by, or someone sprinting away when a police officer approaches. All suspicious, but such subjective decisions on the part of the officer based on his or her training and experience are ripe for misinterpretation, abuse, and second-guessing. 

Probable cause, however, is less subjective, which is why most officers wait to make a stop until they have actual evidence and not just a suspicion of misdeed. This is a critical concept for writers of mystery and thriller fiction to understand. Yes, officers could stop a car based on suspicious circumstances, but veteran cops soon learn that they will spend less time in court being grilled on the stand by a defense attorney if they spot evidence of an actual infraction before turning on their emergency lights. 

This is why some of you may have felt like a police car was following you for too long. You start muttering profanities and staring into your rearview mirror. I’m sure this is where the phrase, “Doesn’t he have better things to do with his time?” came from. Perhaps. It could be that the officer is simply driving in the same direction as you, but it could also be that he is waiting until he has verifiable probable cause. This is especially true if he is trying to record said evidence on his dash camera. 

For example, he may see a person speeding down the road, crossing over the median stripes, or their car has a burned-out taillight. Any of those would constitute probable cause for a stop. 

I can almost hear some of you groaning right now. Stopping someone for a defective taillight? Are you kidding me? Stopping a car for speeding or suspicion of drunk driving is one thing, but why would an officer “waste” time pulling over a car for a light bulb issue? 

There are two answers to this. First, every state has laws regulating safety features on a car, and working lights are part of that package. 

I grant you a broken taillight isn’t on the same level of offense as a driver speeding through a school zone or drunkenly weaving back and forth in traffic. That said, every officer I know has stopped someone for a lower-end priority infraction such as a defective light, expired license tags, or a busted muffler only to find out the driver is a wanted felon. 

In 1995 Oklahoma State Trooper Charlie Hanger pulled over a yellow Mercury for the minor infraction of missing a license plate. To his surprise, Trooper Hanger came to discover the driver of the Mercury was one Timothy McVeigh who had just perpetrated the largest domestic terrorism attack in the history of this nation. McVeigh had worked with other white supremacist/government separatists to blow up the Alfred P. Murrah building in downtown Oklahoma City. 

That one stop helped the FBI retrieve an avalanche of evidence later used against McVeigh at trial. Would McVeigh have gotten away with the murder of one-hundred-sixty-eight and the injury of another six-hundred-eighty people had Trooper Hanger not stopped him for a minor infraction? Potentially, yes, but I think it is also fair to wonder how many others Trooper Hanger saved by stopping McVeigh such a short time after his cowardly act. It was courageous, savvy police work, and it illustrates the potential value in such traffic stops. 

Next month I’ll walk you through how a safe, constitutionally sound, and effective traffic stop should go. Until then, be safe…just not too safe. Onward.

Creating Your Personal and Business Road Map to Success as an Author! – Wrapping Up the Lessons Learned

By Pamela Ebel

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The time has come to talk of many things we’ve covered in the first three articles in this series and wrap them up with string and sealing-wax. 

In Article One, we determined that writing and publishing is a business. Because successful businesses have a concrete list of goals to be achieved, we outlined the skills needed to reach them. The list included 1) learning to avoid the ‘one right answer’ when outlining our career goals, 2) learning to create a structure to keep us on track to achieve those goals, 3) developing ‘situational awareness’ to respond to the impact that time and events have on those goals, and 4) Answering  Five Questions that will help us move forward on the path to writing success. 

Closing out our journey, we’re reminded that lives and career paths are not linear and therefore goals will run into head winds, be impacted by situations that slow us down or stop us completely for a time. Such is life, and if we’re confronted by the need to answer why the sea is boiling hot or whether pigs have wings, the answers to the following questions will help get us get back on the path.

The Five Questions to Answer

1. Who is our target readership?
   Is it large enough to provide a livable income for our personal and business needs? While this seems to go without saying, the impact of events in this day and age make asking and answering this question crucial. Traditional Publishing houses are consuming each other at voracious rates. Small and Independent Publishers are feeling the stresses of a reading public that seems to shift reading habits and preferences rapidly. Self-published authors who found ways to swiftly reach their intended readers are also beginning to feel the head winds as technologies change and readers see more ‘look-alikes’ available in their preferred genres.
   
   This means many readers no longer feel tied to ‘recognized author loyalties.’ It’s like reading tea leaves, yet failure to search the bottom of our cups may lead to a Mad Hatter’s Tea Party and failure.

2. What value does our writing provide the readers?
   Once we decide on the genre(s) and publication platform(s) we plan to use to reach readers, it will be time to determine what our works offer the readers that is different from similar writings. Writers have created virtual worlds to communicate with the readers in ways that feel as though they are ‘personal friends.’ We need to assess the brand we create, study the market place to look for trends that are working, and search for inspiration to create new approaches to support our work. 

3. What is our business model?
   Are we writing in the traditional world with an agent that makes the contacts for us; an editor that is assessing our work and keeping us on ‘deadlines’ and a legal team assessing contracts, copyright issues and other artistic rights? Or are we working with a small press, independent press, university press, or a hybrid of some sort, that don’t always have access to those resources? Or are we creating a self-publishing career where we wear all of the above hats? These models will different revenue streams, pricing strategies, and time and work flow management supports. We need to decide what we can handle and what we need to seek help for.

4. How are we working to build a sustainable business?
   We need to go back to that list of goals we created when we decided to turn writing into a career and tweak them with solutions that answer these questions: What are our strategies for attracting new readers and keeping those who have invested in our writing so far?   Networking strategies? Communication mechanisms, online and in-person? Calendaring and committing to attendance at conferences? Author/reader gatherings? Appearances at Public Events in the communities we live in? We need to remember all of these impact our family and other work obligations.

5. How do we manage the skills sets needed to operate our business?
   There are numerous operational questions that will arise when we begin to write full time. Chief among the early questions are, which computer, printer, and writing programs will fit our needs?                   

It’s at this point we need to look into the various publishing platforms we hope to submit to and publish with. Many online and traditional publishers no longer accept PDF submissions. So, we need to decide if purchasing this program and the supporting program, Acrobat, are necessary. Everyone will have to decide if a Mac of PC is the best set up for them. Depending on whether we plan to work with an agent and traditional publisher, a small press, a hybrid or go the self-publishing route we’ll have to contend with contracts for editing services, formatting services, publication clauses. and the financial decisions that arise. We should consider the possible need for tax professionals and intellectual property attorneys who can assist in avoiding tax and legal pitfalls. Finally, we’ll need to decide whether we should acquire professionals to assist in publicity development.                                                                                                                                    

Looking at the issues above, we’re reminded WRITING IS A BUSINESS! And what we don’t know or choose not to consider can cost us. If we’re willing to take the time to consider the points raised in this series and frame answers that best suit our individual  needs, we can Create Personal and Business Road Maps to Success as Writers.

Good luck to us all!

Between Pen and Paper: Flaneuring Through a Writer’s Mind – An Urban Legend of Writer’s Block

By Andi Kopek

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In the Writers City, you could often hear the dreaded words whispered fearfully down every alley: “Writer’s Block.”

The Writer’s Block—a haunted quarter of shuttered buildings, which rise suddenly right in the middle of Triumph Boulevard, with no detour in sight.

Or so I’ve been told.

I must confess: I’ve never encountered The Writer’s Block myself.

I know—I might sound like a snobby, egotistic, pompous windbag, but it’s the truth. Some people experience writer’s block. Some don’t.

And that prompted me to reflect on what the Writer’s Block actually is, its many forms, and the ways one can unblock the Block.

Thus, today we will flaneur through the Writers City, visiting several places belonging to the Writer’s Block: 1/ The Clock Tower of Deadlines, 2/ The Empty Fountain of Inspiration, 3/ The Old Courthouse of Rigid Thinking, 4/ The Abandon Lot of Self-Doubt, and 5/ A Charred Alley of Burnout.

Let’s start our tour.

1/ The Clock Tower of Deadlines

The Clock Tower looms high over Writers City, its giant hands ticking out a deafening rhythm: I need it now, now, now! Deadlines can create wonderful energy—a needed push—but they can also have a windchill effect: freezing the creative flow before it even begins. Writer’s brains can get filled up with deafening ticking, squishing creativity to a forgotten corner of the mind. How to deal with this major source of anxiety experienced by so many writers? I think we can divide deadlines into two categories: external and internal. Each of these requires a different approach.

External deadlines are the loudest—editorial calendars, publishing schedules, submission windows, grant applications, your significant other’s birthday. They’re real and often immovable. The bad and the good thing about them is that we have no control over them. We have no choice but to deal with them. The trick to managing external deadlines is not to fight the clock—it’s to set up a rhythm with it. Probably, the most efficient approach is to set mini deadlines along the way, which would give your creativity breathing room. These intermediary, mini deadlines need to be set in a smart way (even SMARTY way—check one of the previous columns) to work. And don’t forget to reward yourself for reaching each mini deadline. The reward can be very symbolic, but it is important for the Reward System of your brain to get it to create positive reinforcement.

I also like to set for myself a fake final deadline, a week before the actual one, and I make myself believe that the fake one is real. This gives me some wiggle room between the “fake/real” deadline and the “real/real” one, and if everything goes well, I actually can wiggle to my favorite tune during that time.

Internal deadlines, though, are trickier. They whisper rather than shout: You should’ve finished this by now. Why aren't you done yet? And these are the most uncomfortable whispers one could hear. They don’t come from editors or agents, but from the depth of ourselves—fueled by ambition, guilt, or comparison.

Luckily, unlike external deadline clocks, we can rewind internal ones. You are in charge of setting these clocks. You are the Clockmaster. The challenge, then, is to be painfully honest with yourself and answer these questions: what wound your internal clock to begin with? Was it ambition? Guilt? Comparison? Once you know the answer to these questions, you can decide whether the clock deserves to keep ticking—or if it’s time to dismantle it altogether—and give yourself the time your creativity actually needs, not the time your anxiety demands.

And remember, the answer to the question “For Whom the Bell Tolls?” is: “For you.” Sometimes to remind you to work hard—and sometimes to rest wisely.

2/ The Empty Fountain of Inspiration

Once a sparkling heart of the city, the Fountain of Inspiration now stands dry and silent, collecting trash in the forgotten corners, and pigeon droppings on the sun-bleached edges. Every writer who visits here wonders if the water will ever flow again.

It will.

Inspiration isn’t a permanent spring. It ebbs and flows with its own mysterious cycle. But it is a cycle — which means that after a dry spell, a wet season inevitably follows. Inspiration often arrives when we step away. When we stop staring at the dry basin, the fountain stream will suddenly spurt from The Fountainhead, creating ephemeral liquid sculptures, shaped by the flow and imagination.

3/ The Old Courthouse of Rigid Thinking

Built of stone and stubbornness, the Old Courthouse is where rules are written in marble: “Good writers always do X,” “Real stories must be Y.” Inside, creativity that does not align strictly with the Codex, is put on trial.

The judges wear wigs powdered with the literary canon, and the jury selection is based on MFA diplomas and certificates of self-proclaimed connoisseurs of “real literature.” In the Old Courthouse, sentences can be brutally sentenced to death—without right of appeal. Every time the word “experimental” is uttered, it triggers a frenzy of gavel-thumping.

No matter how compelling the story, if it breaks the unspoken rules, it risks exile from the shelves of respectability to the frozen tundra of obscurity.

But the truth is: the rules exist so they can be broken. If you realize that the best pieces of literature bend dogmas, shatter glass silos of genre, and create their own standards, you are free to proceed with reckless imagination.

Don’t try to please the judge.

Rise from the bench and start dancing to your own tune—and make it rain with words, puns, and unruly metaphors—unless, of course, you’d like to become next Jarndyce v. Jarndyce.

Case closed.

4/ The Abandon Lot of Self-Doubt

The Abandoned Lot of Self-Doubt is hard to spot in the corner of the Writer’s Block, hidden behind overgrown bushes and the rusting scaffolding of half-built, unfinished ideas. In the middle of the lot, Impostor Syndrome sits on a creaky swing, pretending to play—with feet never quite leaving the ground. It looks around and constantly compares itself to the ghosts of ever-better peers.

But we can clear and reclaim this lot. Somewhere beneath the bent scaffolds of unfinished drafts lies the original deed—the reason you claimed this space in the first place. Maybe it says, “I write to make this world a better place,” or “I create because it gives me an enormous joy.”

So, clear the lot. Dig out the deed. Read it out loud. Feel, again, as its rightful owner. And then, when you look around, you will no longer see The Waste Land.

You will say instead: “I will show you power in a handful of dust.”

5/ A Charred Alley of Burnout

Finally, we come to the Charred Alley, where once-vibrant cafes and colorful murals are now blackened and hollow, with chipped, broken bricks scattered around. This is where writers pushed too hard, fueled by ambition, perfectionism, or necessity, until the fire of creativity consumed itself.

If you find yourself here, don’t rebuild right away. Let the ground cool. Walk around. Reflect. Ask yourself: “What caused the fire in the first place?”

The truth might be that the last straw you “pushed through” landed on a haystack of repeated rejections, stalled projects, and sentences approximating perfection—all slowly drying in the heat of unmet expectations, and reaching slowly the ignition point of 233° Celsius.

So, to recover, give yourself a break from writing. Read, for a change, but just for pure enjoyment, not for research. Or change media—paint, draw, dance—to nourish yourself. And then, when the wind of healing blows away the ashes of burnout, you know you are ready to start again.

I hope that our little city tour through the Writer’s Block district will help you navigate through its strange architecture and meandering paths—so that, no matter where you wander, you will always enjoy the view.

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Andi Kopek is a multidisciplinary artist based in Nashville, TN. With a background in medicine, molecular neuroscience, and behavioral change, he has recently devoted himself entirely to the creative arts. His debut poetry collection, Shmehara, has garnered accolades in both literary and independent film circles for its innovative storytelling.

When you’re in Nashville, you can join Andi at his monthly poetry workshop, participate in the Libri Prohibiti book club (both held monthly at the Spine bookstore, Smyrna, TN), or catch one of his live performances. When not engaging with the community, he's hard at work on his next creative project or preparing for his upcoming art-focused podcast, The Samovar(t) Lounge: Steeping Conversations with Creative Minds, where in a relaxed space, invited artists share tea and the never-told intricacies of their creative journeys.

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.

Drop the Pen! What Every Writer Should Know About Real Police Work: Six Terms Writers Tend to Get Wrong About Police Work

By D.L. Williams

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There are terms in films and novels that are used interchangeably, despite the fact they actually refer to different things. For example, in Stephen King’s novel, “The Green Mile,” death row inmates occasionally refer to The Cold Mountain Penitentiary as “jail,” and in the Sylvester Stallone film, “First Blood,” the tiny local lockup in the fictional town of Hope, Washington is referred to as a prison. This is not a big deal, especially when it comes to dialogue. Fictional characters flub, either because they don’t know better or, perhaps, because the writer is inserting irony. 

If you want your hardened criminal to refer to his maximum-security prison as “jail,” or you want a naïve person in your story to refer to his two-hour confinement in a local holding cell as “my time in prison” for comedic purposes, I say rock on. However, it is often evident the writer plugged in an incorrect term, not for style or characterization purposes, but purely from a lack of information or research. It’s far better to be a well-informed writer who can tweak dialogue and descriptions artistically than an author who throws out incorrect terms due to not having done their homework. Let’s take a look at the six most common terms I hear or read that are used incorrectly: 

Misdemeanor or Felony

Misdemeanors are lower-level offenses for which a person can only be sentenced to a maximum of one year of confinement. Felonies, on the other hand, are more serious and can carry an incarceration sentence of anywhere from a year to the rest of the convicted person’s life and/or the death penalty. 

Every state has its own definitions of what constitutes a misdemeanor versus a felony. Each state’s statutes clearly differentiate between the two based on the severity of the offense, how many times the person has been convicted of a crime, or the dollar value of a stolen or intentionally damaged piece of property. 

For example, shoplifting is a misdemeanor, but many states also have theft statutes that bump the misdeed up to a felony if the item or items stolen are valued above $1,000. Driving While Intoxicated (DWI) is a misdemeanor unless the driver hurts someone in a crash or if the arrestee has been previously convicted multiple times for DWI. 

There are other significant differences: People arrested on a misdemeanor are often allowed to leave jail after posting bail without first having seen a judge, whereas many states mandate a person arrested for a felony-level offense is seen by a judge who will set the bail amount before release. Convicted felons are not allowed to vote or own a firearm in many states, oftentimes for life, whereas most misdemeanors can be expunged (legally erased) after a period of time.  

Jail or Prison

Jails are holding facilities used to detain people accused of a crime or who have been convicted of a misdemeanor offense and sentenced to less than one year of confinement. Prisons, on the other hand, are only for people who have been convicted of a felony and who have been sentenced to at least one year. 

Things can get tricky here, so tighten your hat strap. People arrested for felonies will be held in jail until they are convicted. Remember (and I don’t say this lightly), people are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, so what they’re initially arrested for may be quite different than what they’re sentenced for at trial. Thus, potential felons will be held in jail until trial (or until they agree to a plea bargain). Many jails segregate those accused of violent felonies from misdemeanants, but this depends on state statues, local policies, the physical size of the jail, and manpower resources. Thus, someone arrested for stealing a loaf of bread could well be in the same jail cell as someone arrested for murder. 

Probation or Parole

Probation and Parole are terms used to describe the condition of release from confinement following sentencing. They are used so interchangeably that they have become colloquial synonyms. They are different, however. Someone on probation has been convicted of a crime, misdemeanor or felony, but was not sent to prison. They may serve jail time, pay fines, do community service, but they never set foot in a prison for the crime they committed. Parole, on the other hand, is exclusively for convicted felons who have spent some time in prison. 

The difference between probation and parole may be insignificant in a conversation between two characters in your WIP, but it is significant in terms of the conditions of release. People on probation may be court-ordered to do certain things such as keep their probation officer apprised of where they live or work, take an occasional drug test, or do community service in lieu of jail time. 

People on parole, however, are only allowed to leave prison based on good behavior and an agreement to give up certain rights upon release. Most significantly, parolees generally give up their Fourth Amendment protections against government intrusions into their privacy. Thus, a parole officer can search a parolee’s house, demand an immediate drug test, require a detailed list of friends and family members, and insist on being privy to just about every move a person recently released from prison makes. 

The street lingo for someone on parole is that they are “on paper.” Your fictional detective will want to know if a parolee she’s interrogating is on paper, and she may want to get access to that person’s “chronos,” the written reports filed by prison and parole officials documenting how that person behaves, if they were often in trouble or were a model prisoner while incarcerated, if they’re going to their court-mandated therapy sessions, or if they’re making progress with drug rehab, etc. 

Police officers do not have the authority to intrude into a parolee’s private spaces (home, car, bodies, etc.). A common scenario when a cop is investigating a person on parole is for the detective to contact the parole officer and detail why their parolee is a suspect in the latest crime. The cop can’t order or even ask the parole officer to perform a search, but the parole officer can offer of his own accord. Generally, the parole officer will then invite the detective to come along and help out on the search. This is an end run on the Fourth Amendment. This is, by definition, a warrantless search, and, in my opinion, should only be used as a last resort and only if the crime being investigated is especially egregious. 

Bail or Bond

Bail and bond are probably the most confused terms I see in prose and in screenplays. Bail is the amount of money set by the court as a condition of release prior to trial. No one wants to sit in jail for weeks or months awaiting a court date, and the Eighth Amendment requires that the bail amount not be excessive. People who complain that judges are “soft” for allowing an accused person to pay bail and leave jail before their court date simply haven’t read or don’t understand this section of the Constitution. 

People who do pay the bail amount will get a refund when they show up for trial, but they forfeit the money if they “Fail to Appear” (often referred to as FTA), at which point the judge will issue a warrant for their arrest. 

Bail bonds, on the other hand, are posted by a bonding company or an attorney. It’s like a loan, only with heavy interest. Most bail bond companies don’t actually have to pay the court anything unless their client doesn’t show up for court. If that happens, bail bond companies will go looking for the person who burned them, and they’ll set a bounty hunter on the accused person’s trail. 

All of these terms are interchangeable in most people’s minds, which means you have wiggle room when it comes to how your fictional characters use them. Write your dialogue based on what you imagine your good guys and bad guys would know and say, but always do so from a position of insider knowledge.

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.

What if?: A Most Important Question

By DP Lyle 

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Every author has been asked: Where do you get your ideas? The short answer is: Everywhere. Something you see or read germinates an idea, and a story unfolds. Sometimes the story comes together quickly, but most often weeks of building mental scenes and snippets of dialog, setting, and action must be waded through before pen meets paper. 

An overheard conversation might be the spark. Or a couple talking/arguing/laughing at a nearby restaurant table. Maybe an odd character strolling down the street. Perhaps an idea simply pops into your head from wherever those thoughts arise. 

Okay, so you have an idea. Now what? An idea isn’t a story. Ideas are a dime a dozen. They are literally everywhere. The key is to find an idea that can stand up through a 100,000-word manuscript. No small trick.

To do this, the original idea must be refined and fleshed out. An idea can become a scene, but to be a full-length novel it must evolve and expand. It must become a premise, or what many call “The Central Story Question.” It’s what the story is really about.

To become a premise, the original idea must ultimately lead to the question: What if? 

What if this happened? What if that person did this? What if that dude in the shabby clothes was actually a rogue undercover agent with a deadly agenda? What if the restaurant couple was planning a murder? What if that briefcase contained state secrets? Or an explosive device? Or a deadly virus?

From those two words--What if?--stories arise.

The power of your story’s What If? can’t be overestimated. If it is done correctly and not lost in the writing. A good What if? states the main character, the situation, the stakes, and, most importantly, the Central Story Question. 

It is the answering of this question that is the story.

Okay, so our restaurant couple is planning a murder. Who, what, when, where, and, most importantly, why? It’s always the why that makes a great story. Is it to get out of a messy marriage and save all that alimony money, or to cash in that million-dollar insurance policy, or to cover an embezzlement from a company they work for, or to seek revenge for some act? Even though the original idea was a couple planning a murder, each of these scenarios generates a different story. Each will lead your sleuth, who must solve the murder, into a different world.

What if a young couple witnesses a murder and in so doing put themselves in the cross hairs of a transnational criminal organization?

This is the What If? for my latest Cain/Harper thriller, TUNICA. 

The What If? should be stated in about 25 words or less. Because the What If? is brief, it’s often called the elevator pitch or the agent pitch. It communicates your story in the most efficient terms. We’ve all heard writers respond when asked what their story is about by saying things like, “Well, there’s this guy who lives on an island. And he hates the water. And a big shark is killing people and this is threatening to shut down the town’s beaches on a holiday weekend. And then there’s this other guy who is a shark expert and he has a really cool boat. Oh, I forgot, the first guy is the chief of police.” Yawn.

What if a hydrophobic, island-community police chief must go out on the water to kill a predatory shark to save the town’s summer economy and to prove his own self-worth?

What if an FBI trainee must exchange personal information with a sadistic serial killer in order to track another serial killer and save a Senator’s daughter?

What if the youngest son of a mafia family takes revenge on the men who shot his father and becomes the new godfather, losing his own soul in the process?

These are of course Jaws, Silence of the Lambs, and The Godfather, respectively. See how these What If?s reveal the protagonist and cleanly state the story premise? Read these books or watch the movies and you will see that each scene moves toward answering the story’s What If? Each of your scenes should, too. If not, consider cutting, or at least reworking, those that don’t.

Many authors consume weeks creating the What If? for their story. Constantly refining it, making it more on point. You should, too. It’s that important. It concisely states the Central Story Question.

Here’s a tip: When your What If? is completed to your satisfaction, print it out and tape it to your computer or the front of your writing pad so you will see it every time you sit down to write. Before writing each scene, read your What If? and ask yourself, “Does this scene help answer the Central Story Question?” If you do this, you will never lose sight of what your story is about. Particularly in the dreaded middle, where so many stories get lost in the jumble of character and backstory and cool dialog all the other stuff that goes into a manuscript. The What If? keeps you focused and on track.

Ten Medical and Forensic Mistakes Writers Should Never Make

By D. P. Lyle, MD

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Writers make mistakes. An anachronism here, a blunder in logic there, departures from common sense everywhere, and of course the all-too-common break from real world possibilities that plagues even the most well-written story. It’s part of the process. Sitting alone, bouncing clever ideas off your computer screen offers little feedback. But readers notice such breaches. They shake their heads, close the book, snuff out the light, and go to sleep. Not the ringing endorsement you wished for. Here are some of the most common medical and forensic mistakes writers make. Mistakes you want to avoid.

The Quick Death: Death rarely arrives instantly. Sure, it can occur with heart attacks, strokes, and extremely abnormal heart rhythms, but trauma, such as gunshot wounds and blows to the head, the staples of crime fiction, rarely cause sudden death. Yet, how often has a single shot felled a villain? Bang, and he drops dead. In order for that to occur, the bullet would need to severely damage the brain, the heart, or the cervical (neck) portion of the spinal cord. A shot to the chest or abdomen leads to screaming and moaning and bleeding and expletives, but death comes from bleeding and that takes time. How long? It depends on what’s damaged. If a major artery is opened, the bleeding is brisk and death can follow in five minutes, even less. If the bullet or knife blade only strikes tissues and organs, the bleeding is slower and death can take many minutes, or hours, or not at all.

The Pretty Death: I call this the “Hollywood Death.” Calm, peaceful, and not a hair out of place. Blood? Almost never. Except in slasher movies of course and here massive bleeding is the norm. More often, the deceased is nicely dressed, lying in bed, make-up perfect, and with a slight flutter of the eyelids if you look closely. Real dead people are not pretty. I don’t care what they looked like during life, in death they are pale, waxy, and gray. Their eyes do not flutter, and they do not look relaxed and peaceful. They look dead.

The Bleeding Corpse: Your detective arrives at the scene a half hour after the murder. Blood oozes from the corpse’s mouth, from the stab wound in his chest, or from the vampire fang marks on his neck. Houston, we have a problem. You see, dead folks don’t bleed. When you die, your heart stops, and the blood no longer circulates. Rather, it stagnates and clots and stagnant and clotted blood does not move. It does not drip or gush or ooze or gurgle or flow or trickle from the body. It lies there, separates into a dark red clot with a halo of straw-colored serum, and then dries to a brownish stain.

The Accurate Time of Death: Determining the time of death is neither easy nor very accurate. It’s always a best guess and is always stated as a range rather than an exact time. Yet, how many times have you seen the medical examiner (ME) confidently announce that the victim died at “8:30 last night”? I always wondered exactly how he made this determination. Was it rigor mortis, body temperature, or lividity? Was it the presence or absence of certain bugs? The truth is that none of these is accurate. The decline in body temperature, the appearance of rigor, the development of lividity, and the appearance of flies and bugs are affected by many variables so are mostly unpredictable. The touted guidelines for each of these are like stop signs in Italy--merely suggestions. In real-life, the ME would say that death likely occurred “between 8 p.m. and midnight.” But that might make him appear wishy-washy, and Hollywood and writers like their heroes to be smart. Smarter than they could possibly be. Stick with a range, and you’ll be more realistic.

The One-punch Knockout: You’ve seen this a million times. One character socks another character in the jaw. He goes down like a sack of potatoes and is apparently written out of the story since we never hear from him again. Really? Think about a boxing match. Two guys that are trained to inflict damage and they have trouble knocking each other out. And when they do, the one on his back is up in a couple of minutes, claiming the other guy caught him with a lucky punch. Listen to me. Only James Bond can knock someone out with a single blow, and maybe Mike Tyson, but your car-salesman-turned-amateur-sleuth cannot.

Another common scenario is when a character is hit in the head, placed in the trunk of car, driven 50 miles, tied to a post or a bed or whatever, and then a bucket of water is thrown in his face to revive him. He sputters and is suddenly wake and alert. Not going to happen. If someone is knocked unconscious and doesn’t come around in a few minutes, something very bad is going on. Like a brain bruise (cerebral contusion) or bleeding into or around the brain (subdural hematoma). These require a hospital and a neurosurgeon, not a bucket of water.

The Disappearing Black Eye: If your character suffers a black eye in Chapter 3, she will have it for two weeks, which depending on the time frame of your story just might take you to the end of the book. She will not be “normal” in two days. A black eye is a contusion (bruise) and is caused by blood leaking from tiny blood vessels that are injured by the blow. It takes the body about two weeks to clear all that blood from the tissues. It will darken over two days, fade over four or five, turn greenish, brownish, and a sickly yellow before it disappears. On a good note, by about day seven, she might be able to hide it with make-up.

The Quick Healing: Do you know why boxers wear gloves? To protect their hands and faces. Back in the bare-knuckle days, broken hands and cut and bloody faces were the norm. Gloves made the sport more civilized. So, if your character gets in a fist fight both he and his opponent will suffer cuts and bruises and broken teeth. He will not walk away unscathed. His cuts will need stitches, his bruises ice, and a trip to the dentist is likely. Each of these will take a couple of weeks to heal.

If your character falls down the stairs and injures his back, he will not be able to run from or chase the bad guy or make love to his new lover the next day. Give the guy a few days to heal and make him limp and complain in the interim. If he breaks an arm, he’ll need four weeks minimum.

If he’s stabbed or shot and, as so many protagonists do, sneaks out of the hospital the next day to continue his pursuit of the bad guys, all will not be forgiven. He will have pain that will limit his ability to run and jump and fight and do all those hero things. The chances that his wound could then become infected are real and would greatly complicate his situation and might even kill him.

If his car goes over an embankment and tumbles into a ravine, he will not simply crawl out and walk away. At best he’ll be banged and bruised and at worst will have broken bones and injured internal organs. 

The Instant Athlete: Your PI drinks too much, smokes two packs a day, and eats fast food on a regular basis. After all, stake outs are boring. His belly flaps over his belt and he gets short of breath climbing a single flight of stairs. He will not be able to chase the villain for ten blocks. Two on a good day. 

If you create a scene where your character must run down a bad guy, make him capable of such a pursuit. Remember “Babe” Levy (Dustin Hoffman) in Marathon Man? He was student, slight of build, not athletic appearing in the least, yet he had to run for his life as Dr. Christian Szell (Sir Laurence Olivier) and his Nazi thugs chased him endlessly. But he was capable. Earlier in the film we learned that he was distance runner and ran around the reservoir in Central Park everyday. He could run for his life.

The Untraceable Poison: Of all the questions I receive from writers this is number one. Seems that all crime writers want an untraceable poison. Sorry, no such thing. True it might not be found or maybe not even searched for, but if it is looked for and if the ME has good blood or tissue samples, he will find it. With fancy equipment like Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectroscopy (GS-MS) virtually any chemical can be identified. This combination gives a “chemical fingerprint” of the compound in question. 

The most common drugs involved in overdose deaths are alcohol, narcotics, amphetamines, cocaine, and various tranquilizers and sedatives. The main reason is that these are readily available either on the street or in the medicine cabinet. Each of these is revealed by a simple and cheap drug screen. So, if your killer employs one of these, the ME will know it in a couple of hours.

But what if the toxin is more exotic? Maybe cyanide or thallium or the toxin of a blue-ringed octopus? This is trickier. These don’t show up on routine drug screens and must be tested for with time-consuming and expensive protocols. Maybe the ME doesn’t have the time, interest, or budget to do a full toxicological examination. Maybe he simply attributes the death to some natural cause and saves the county a ton of money. Happens all the time and it can happen in your story. But, if he pulls out all the stops, he will find the drug.

The Instant Lab Result: The world is not like CSI. Not even close. Those CSI folks get results in a New York minute. Sometimes faster. They crack computers, perform autopsies, complete esoteric toxicological testing, and create DNA profiles before the first commercial break. In the real world such testing typically takes days, even weeks. Sure a tox screen can be done in a couple of hours but sophisticated confirmatory testing takes time. DNA profiling can be done in a few hours, but before the ME reports his results he will often obtain confirmation from another lab, particularly in high-profile cases, including those that crime writers dream up. Give your ME a realistic timeframe to do his work. Your readers will notice if you don’t.

The devil is always in the details. Get these details right and your story will be much stronger.

D. P. Lyle

Outliers Writing University: https://www.outlierswritinguniversity.com

The Importance of Honest Feedback

By Judy Penz Sheluk

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Writing is a solitary pursuit, one where we spend countless hours of our lives, often laboring over a single sentence or paragraph for more time than most of us care to admit. So, it’s only natural that we become protective of our words. After all, something that took hours to perfect must be, well, perfect, right?

If only that were so. Unfortunately, as writers, we are simply too close to our work to see the flaws. Oh, we may find the typo on page 75 on reread, the one where we’ve called a car a cat (though even that is iffy), but the overuse of a favorite trope, phrase, or gesture (my characters love to nod). Maybe not so much. And that’s why we need feedback.

Feedback comes in many forms and at various stages of the writing process. The most important thing to remember is that you are looking for an honest and unbiased evaluation of your work. You may not agree with every comment or suggestion, but you should at least consider each one without becoming defensive. Consider it “thick skin” training for the rejections you’re almost certain to face going forward. 

Let’s look at some options:

Writing Critique Groups

While there are no hard and fast rules, these work best if the group is small—three to five people—allowing each member time to read and respond without becoming overwhelmed. It’s essential to establish parameters from the get-go, such as weekly word count limits and the type of feedback expected. 

While critique groups can be invaluable for some writers, they should never be the final step in the review process. As you become immersed in your work for months on end, you lose objectivity. Those intimately familiar with your work will too.

Alpha Readers

Readers who provide detailed and constructive feedback, both positive and tactfully critical, about your book’s premise, plot, characters, and other elements. This is the place to include readers who have knowledge of the technical elements in your manuscript. 

Whether you choose to hire a professional, or ask a trusted friend or relative, they should be aware that they are commenting on an unpolished (first) draft. They should also be avid readers of your book’s genre or sub-genre. Consider this the first test drive of your overall story from a reader’s perspective. 

Beta Readers

Beta readers (or betas) critique finished manuscripts before they are published. It’s advisable to have betas who are familiar with your genre/sub-genre. Betas can be friends, family members, teachers, members of online writing groups, or other writers willing to do a manuscript swap. This will help identify the finer points of your book that may need an adjustment. Ideally, you’ll have no fewer than two and no more than five, allowing for a comparison of opinions without the risk of opinion overload. If one beta reader doesn’t understand why your protagonist hates red, that might be a point worth clarifying. If two or more betas don’t get it, it’s a must-fix. 

While betas are an excellent way to obtain (often free) feedback, they do not replace the role of a professional editor. There is one school of thought that because traditional publishers pay for editing, there is no need for authors to incur this expense if their intention is to traditionally publish. 

Let’s look at that statement. Is it true that traditional publishers hire and pay for editing services? Yes. However, it’s equally true that agents and publishers receive thousands of submissions from aspiring authors every year. While there are no guarantees, a professionally edited manuscript may increase the odds of acceptance. 

Developmental Editing

Also known as substantive or content editing, developmental editing is the first step, focusing on big picture story elements. The developmental editor will also assess and shape draft material to improve flow and organization by revising or reordering content and clarifying plot, arc of action, characters, and/or thematic elements.

Line Editing

Also known as stylistic editing, the line editor focuses on coherence and flow, eliminating jargon, clichés, and euphemisms, while adjusting the length and structure of sentences and paragraphs, and establishing or maintaining the overall mood, style, or voice.

Copyediting

Ideally combined with line editing, the copy editor checks spelling, grammar, punctuation, and usage, and ensures consistency in character names, places, descriptions, and other details. Copy editing also covers fact checking and/or obtaining or listing permissions needed (e.g., use of song lyrics or trademarked products). The copy editor may create or work from a style sheet.

And there you have it, feedback in a nutshell. Now all you need to do is write that book. Hey, if it were easy, everyone would do it.

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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.

This Crazy Writing Life: On Defining a Book By Its Cover—Part Two

By Steven Womack

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Hard to believe this is already the ninth installment of This Crazy Writing Life. Thanks for hanging with me on this, and I hope you’re getting something out of my <sometimes> seemingly random observations on the world of writing and publishing.

Last month, we talked about book covers—what a book cover is supposed to accomplish, how it works, and the challenges to getting the kind of cover that will serve the book the best. This month, I’m going to briefly discuss the different types of book covers. This won’t take long, so let’s dive in.

EBook covers are the simplest and quickest covers to create. They’re only one panel (no back cover or flaps), and you’ve got a little wiggle room. No need to sweat hitting the dimensions exactly (but don’t ignore them either). For Kindle eBook covers, you should shoot for a 1.6:1 aspect ratio, which is a complicated way of saying the height of your cover should be 1.6 times the width.

Kindle also specifies that the ideal dimensions for an eBook cover are 2560 pixels in height and a width of 1600 pixels. That gives you the best quality, especially if you’re reading on a high-resolution device. The cover image has to be less than 50 megabytes, and it should be either in a .tiff or .jpeg format. When you upload the image, don’t compress it.

Now if that sounds a little complicated, let’s compare this with a print book cover. Print book covers have a minimum of three different components: a front cover, a back cover, and a spine. This is it for a mass market or trade paperback edition. So how to you create this?

First, you have to know the trim size of your print book. And with modern, print-on-demand technology, you’ve got more choices than ever before. Just noodle around on the IngramSpark or KDP websites (start with the FAQ pages) and you’ll see some of your options. Or visit your local bookstore and marvel at the array of sizes books come in today.

After you get the trim size, then you have to decide on what kind of paper you want your book printed on. As I observed in an earlier installment of This Crazy Writing Life, my personal opinion for a simple novel is to stay away from white paper, which comes in 50- and 70- pound weights. But if you’re printing a book with illustrations, especially color, then you pretty much have to go with white.

Why is this critical? Different papers have different weights and take up different amounts of space. A 300-page book printed on 50-pound Crème is going to be thicker than the same number of pages printed on 38-pound Groundwood.

Oh, and did I mention you have to actually have the book typeset before you start work on the cover? Why is that?

Because the thickness of the book will determine the dimensions of the spine. And that depends on the number of pages in the book and the type of paper you choose.

There are a couple of other considerations that don’t directly affect the size of your cover. A paperback print-on-demand book from Ingram can have either a matte cover or a high gloss cover. Some specialty printers that have come into existence to serve the indie pub community (Book Vault, for instance, which I’ll talk about in a later column) can do even higher-end options like embossed covers, gold leaf lettering, and spray-on marbling. Pretty heady, exotic stuff…

If you’re going for a hardcover, the process gets even more complicated because you now have flap copy.

If this sounds a little overwhelming, just remember: once you have all this data (trim sizes, page count, etc.), then the book manufacturers can feed this into their program and spit out a template. A good cover designer is going to be able to walk you through this without too much agony.

So there’s enough to get you started. Both IngramSpark and KDP have lots and lots of information that’s easily accessible. And like every other task in modern life, you can always search YouTube...

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I wrote last month about how essential a good, inspired, effective cover was to marketing your book. Lots of really good books get passed over because their covers aren’t eye-catching enough, or don’t accomplish what a cover is supposed to do.

Sometimes, though, it works the other way around. As I mentioned in previous columns, my inbox gets inundated several times a day with email pushes marketing books, primarily indie-pubbed books. BookBub, FreeBooksy, BargainBooksy, EReader News, Robin Reads, Hello Books… I get daily visits from them all. And I actually read the emails and scrub down through the book offerings, not because I have time to read all this stuff (who would?) but because I like to just keep an eye on what’s out there. As I’ve also mentioned, even though your crazy Aunt Agnes’s Chihuahua has more graphic design talent in his back paw then I have in my whole brain, I can still tell when a cover works and when it doesn’t.

So imagine my delight when one of these push emails landed in my inbox last week and there’s a cover that quite literally left me speechless. It was gorgeous, beautifully rendered, the colors jumping off the page. It was an homage to those great classic hardboiled paperbacks of the Fifties and Sixties. Square-jawed handsome men in the background, a teary-eyed woman in the foreground, and the front end of a Sixties-era Cadillac off to the side, against a fire-engine red color scheme with brilliant yellow type.

The cover just worked…

Needless to say, though I’m saying it anyway, I downloaded the book immediately. It was an indie-pubbed book, the author’s debut novel. I Googled him and found his website, then wrote him a nice note and told him how much I loved the cover—the blurb on the cover was equally effective—and how much I was looking forward to reading his book.

And by the way, would you be willing to share the name of your cover designer?

The author wrote me back, was happy to share his designer’s name with me. He found him on Fivrr.com and his rates start at twenty bucks for an eBook cover!

As Bill Murray said in Ghostbusters, Holy Mother Pus Bucket…

Then I sat down to read the book. Now you may have already noticed I haven’t mentioned the title of the novel or the author’s name or even the broad brushstroke plot. There’s a reason for that. I’m too nice a guy to slam another writer’s work, except under the cloak of anonymity (for the unfortunate author, not me). 

But this novel was one of the worst things I’ve ever read in my life. Literally, by the second page I’m shaking my head and asking myself Did I just read that? If KDP offered a purple-ink option, this guy should’ve taken it. Purple prose so overwritten that it dripped off the page. Clearly, this writer never met an adjective or an adverb he didn’t fall in love with. Clichés that were literally on par with heaving bosoms and throbbing…

Whatevers.

I went into the kitchen and read an excerpt to my wife, who broke out laughing. This literally could have been a winning submission for the Bulwer-Lytton contest, except it was a whole damn book.

Which just goes to show, you can have the best cover in the world, the best marketing plans, the best intentions. But if your book sucks, it ain’t gonna work. Rule #1: Write—At The Very Least—A Passably Good Book.

What the hell, I found a good cover designer, though.

See you next month.

Never Make Your Critique Partner Cry!

By Lois Winston

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We writers are not the best judges of our own work. Neither are most of our family and friends. They’ll either love everything we write because they don’t know any better, or they don’t want to hurt our feelings. Conversely, some will sic the green-eyed monster on us, telling us not to quit our day job. 

That’s why critique groups and/or partners are an invaluable tool in every author’s toolkit. They’re the writer friends we rely on when we’ve developed writer’s block or written ourselves into a corner. They brainstorm with us when the ideas don’t come, and they offer us honest criticism chapter after chapter, helping us hone our work until it’s ready for submission. Then, they either commiserate with us when the rejection letters arrive or whoop it up when we get that offer of representation or a book contract.

And because this is a partnership, we do the same for them.

However, none of us wants to hear that the 400-page baby we birthed through our fingertips onto the printed page is butt ugly. And neither do our critique partners. Just as we hope to find critiquers who will offer us constructive criticism, we also need to be able to give constructive criticism to others in return. The key is always to encourage, never discourage. Luckily, there are ways to do this.

Always remember to point out positives as well as negatives. It’s just as important for a writer to know what she’s doing well and correctly as what she’s doing poorly and incorrectly. As you read a work-in-progress, point out those parts you especially like, but don’t be afraid to point out areas that need work. Most importantly, in both cases, don’t forget to explain why. 

Our critique partners often become good friends, and it’s hard to criticize friends for fear of hurting their feelings. But if we can’t be objective and honest with our critiques, we’re not helping each other. We all need to know where our manuscripts are not working as well as where they are working.

It’s important to find a group or partner who either writes in the same genre or has a good deal of knowledge about each other’s genre. However, interests change. Writers often decide to explore different genres. What happens if Helen Historical is suddenly bitten by the vampire bug? You curl your nose up. You shudder. Vampires give you the creeps. You want to be a good critique partner, but try as you might, you can’t read those chapters with an open mind. If that’s the case, it’s time to step aside—at least until Helen returns to her historicals or you fall in love with bloodsuckers. 

Some writers have a hang-up about red ink. They feel like someone has taken a knife to their manuscript and slashed it to death. Bold type in all caps will make some writers feel as though they’re being yelled at. Be sensitive to how your partners feel about how you deliver comments. Avoid red type and all caps when making notes on digital pages. When working from printed pages, avoid red ink and thick black sharpies. Never write comments in script. Print them. We can all read our own handwriting, but others may struggle to decipher our scrawls.

If you’re one of those writers with a great handle on punctuation or grammar, your partners might ask you to do line edits. Rather than correcting their work, point out problem areas. This way, the writer will learn from the experience and not make the same mistake in future works. 

Keep in mind that just because you would write a scene or a character differently, it doesn’t make the author’s way wrong. If your partner is having problems with a sentence or scene and asks for assistance, offer suggestions, but never rewrite her manuscript in your style.

Often, writers gravitate toward other writers of the same experience level. This usually makes for a group or partnership that can work together more comfortably. If the various members are at different levels in their writing journeys, the more novice writers may begin to depend too much on the more advanced writers, and the more advanced writers may begin to feel that they aren’t getting much out of the group. Since we all progress at a different pace, you may discover over time that you’ve outgrown your present group and need to move on to another.

Manuscripts should be free of typos and spelling errors, but we all occasionally suffer from a short circuit between our brains, fingers, and eyes. No matter how many times we read and reread something, we often miss a “there” for a “their” or a “that” for a “than.” If your partner is getting ready to send her work out to an editor or agent, offer to read through her work with an eye toward the technical, but keep in mind that punctuation and sentence structure is often a matter of style. Point out grammatical errors such as misplaced modifiers and subject-verb disagreements, but keep in mind that characters often dictate grammar. A street urchin in Victorian England won’t speak like the Earl of Sussex.

Pay attention to structure as you read a work-in-progress. Every scene should have a purpose. Make sure the pacing is appropriate for the scene/event taking place. In the middle of a chase scene, the heroine shouldn’t be noticing the intricately detailed pattern of the hero’s tie. 

Sentences should be clear and understandable. Point out if the writer has gone off on a tangent about something superfluous to the scene, such as extraneous background information or too much detail. By the same token, note if the author doesn’t supply enough details and description for the characters and settings to come alive. 

Highlight non-descript words such as “it” or “thing” or bland words such as “pretty” or “nice.” Suggest substituting more specific or descriptive words. If the author uses clichés, suggest she find another phrase. Clichés bore readers. Also note repetitive word usage and sentence structure. 

Understand basic rules of writing before you offer to critique someone else. For many writers, passive voice is a difficult concept to grasp. Not every sentence using the various forms of the verb “to be” is passive. Passive voice is when the subject is acted upon. Active voice is when the subject is acting. 

Point of view is another difficult concept. Make certain you understand it before you criticize others for misusing it. Check for bouncing points of view within a scene, but keep in mind, point of view can change from scene to scene. However, if you feel like you’re at a ping-pong match, make the author aware of that.

Finally, know your facts before criticizing someone else. If you suspect the writer’s information is inaccurate, ask if she’s done any research on the subject. If she tells you she saw a similar event on a television show or in a movie, suggest she check the library or ask an expert. The media is notorious for taking liberties with facts and events. 

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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 Mysteries, “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 Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series, won the 2024 Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Award for Best Comedy. Her most recent release, Sorry, Knot Sorry, is the thirteenth book in the 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.

Gotta Go Through It

By Chrissy Hicks

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Have you ever heard the children’s song, “Going on a Bear Hunt?” My toddler requests this often—either for me to sing the tune for her or play it during car rides.

The main plotline involves a group of people (or a couple, depending on the version) going on a bear hunt, claiming they’re “not scared.” However, after overcoming several roadblocks and approaching the bear in a cave, they realize the terrifying result of their actions and run away. As they face each obstacle, they sing the same chorus, “We can’t go over it, can’t go under it, gotta go through it,” before proceeding through the barrier. 

It had me thinking—partly because this song is frequently stuck in my head—that this idea of going through obstacles is a lot like the writing journey. The initial blocks you might face when starting out might be: finding ideas, getting the first draft fully written, carving out time to write, determining whether you’re a plotter or pantser (or somewhere in between), finding a supportive writing community. Once you get past this, your next hurdle is to polish your manuscript so shiny you’re not sure you want to look at it anymore; this often involves the recruitment of beta readers and editors. Once you’ve leaped over all that, you have yet another hill to climb: how will you share this book with the world? Self-publish? Hybrid? Approach small publishers directly? Find an agent? Each of these options presents an entire list of risks and rewards each, but let’s take finding an agent as an option, for the sake of example. You decide to query your novel—this book you’ve spent countless hours writing, revising, rewriting, revising again—and you spend an incredible chunk of time researching agents, perfecting your query, and emailing these agents, hoping you get a “yes.” When you do finally get your acceptance and you sign with an agent, it feels like Christmas. You’ve found your “bear.” The hunt is over.

Except it’s not. It’s only just begun.

Agents get rejected by editors and publishing houses too. They deal with their own set of setbacks. And what happens when a publisher accepts the manuscript? And it’s published? There’s yet another slew of expectations for the writer when it comes to marketing their book (or at least assisting with the process). Plus, the publisher will likely want more material (not just a single book), so you find yourself back to the beginning, with a fresh page and a whole new set of challenges. When you find yourself in this place, so close to your goals, terrifying as it all may seem, will this scare you away? Or will you stay the course?

The point of this brief exposition isn’t to deter you from writing. The point is simply this: there’s not much you can control outside of your writing and your dedication to the craft. You can’t control whether agents will sign with you, whether readers will like your work, whether you hit the New York Times Bestseller list or barely earn out your advance. So, what will you do when you face these obstacles? If you can’t go over it, can’t go under it, will you move through it?

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Chrissy’s work has appeared in three consecutive issues of Bridgewater State University’s “Embracing Writing” book for first-year freshmen. Her writing portfolio also includes publications in The Broadkill Review, SUSIE Mag, The Storyteller, and informative pieces for a local online newspaper. One of her unpublished novels, Foul Play, was a Suspense Finalist for the 2022 Claymore Award, and an excerpt from her unpublished novel Overshadow won Top Three Finalist of the 2024 Thomas Mabry Creative Writing Award. Though her background is in counseling, having earned a master’s degree in this field, when it comes to the art of writing, she’s an autodidact. She studies books she loves and enjoys completing various creative writing classes online, and attending writer’s conferences whenever she can; Killer Nashville is one of her favorites. Additionally, she’s volunteered since 2023 as a general editor for the Killer Nashville Magazine. She resides in Tennessee with her family, their talkative Husky, and a frenetic cat. You can find her online here: https://chrissyhicks.wordpress.com/ where she occasionally blogs about the writing life and reviews craft books.

When the Words Won’t Come

By Lois Winston

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This is not an article about writer’s block. That’s a topic for another day. Today, I’d like to discuss Brain Block, that deer-in-the-headlights moment when you suddenly find yourself at a loss for words, no matter how well-prepared you thought you were. Or how unprepared because you never thought you’d need to prepare.

There are those people who always seem to pull a snappy rejoinder from their gray matter whenever the situation presents itself. Not me. I’m the person who thinks of the perfect response hours or days later. Sentences may flow from my fingertips onto my computer screen, but rarely do they trip off my tongue in the same pithy manner.

Back in my school days, no matter how well-prepared I was, I morphed into a complete failure during oral book reports, once even forgetting the name of the main characters, even though one was the title of the book! Then there were the dreaded oral exams. I could easily fill several blue books with my knowledge on a topic, but stand me up in a one-on-one with the teacher who held my GPA in his hand, and Brain Block took hold of me.

As writers, we’re told to craft an elevator pitch, that concise short paragraph that will catch the attention of an agent or editor who might turn to you while waiting for the elevator at a conference and say, “Tell me about your book.” Memorization has never been my strong suit. If I couldn’t whip out my index card and read my pitch, Brain Block would take over. 

I’m also the person who never remembers the punchline to any joke. Heck, I never even remember any part of the joke! Which makes it quite ironic that for nearly two decades, I’ve spent my days writing humorous amateur sleuth novels.

I started my writing career penning emotional, angst-driven romance and romantic suspense, but my heroines always relied on a sense of humor to help them cope with their problems. Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you weep alone. It’s good advice when crafting characters. No one wants to read about a woe-is-me heroine for 400 pages. 

I suppose that’s why my agent called one day to suggest I write a chick lit novel. However, coming up with a little humorous dialogue now and then is quite different from writing a humorous novel. Since none of my romances or romantic suspense novels had yet sold, I agreed to try my hand at chick lit. That’s when I discovered somewhere in the deep recesses of my DNA lurked an untapped humor gene.

I may not be able to tell a joke in real life, but on the page I’m the Dutchess of Double-Entendres, the Baroness of Bon Mots, the Princess of Puns. My characters routinely engage in witty dialogue. And they always come up with that perfect rejoinder, no matter the situation. My foray into chick lit eventually resulted in Talk Gertie to Me, my first published novel.

Harnessing my latent humor gene changed the trajectory of my writing career. After one of my romance novels finally sold, my agent called one day to tell me I should write a humorous amateur sleuth mystery series with a crafting theme. She knew an editor looking for one, and she thought I’d be the perfect person to write it. 

It’s one thing to write chick lit or to employ a bit of humor to break up the tension in a romance or a romantic suspense, but humorous murder mysteries? Most people find nothing humorous about murder. Or if they do, you might want to steer clear of them. However, an amateur sleuth mystery by its very definition is a fish-out-of-water story, and the fish-out-of-water trope lends itself to situational humor. So I gave it a try. The result was Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun, the first book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series.

I have not been kind to Anastasia. I’ve saddled her with debt greater than the GNP of a Third World nation. I not only saddled her with a nasty diehard communist mother-in-law, but her mother claims descent from Russian nobility and is also a member of the DAR. I then forced the two women to share a bedroom in Anastasia’s home. I’ve also added two teenage sons, a Shakespeare-quoting parrot, and a possible government operative. 

And of course, there are the dead bodies, a pre-requisite of murder mysteries. Every time Anastasia makes some headway whittling down her debt, I throw another corpse in her path. Although she sometimes feels tempted to climb into bed and pull the quilt over her head, she copes with all the mayhem I’ve heaped on her by harnessing her quirky self-deprecating and observational Jersey Girl sense of humor.

However, humor is very subjective. I always hold my breath, fingers crossed, that my readers will get the humor in my books. Some do; some don’t. That’s the nature of humor. All I can do is hope more readers laugh than don’t. Besides, one of the first lessons you learn as a published author is that no author is ever going to please every reader, so don’t even try.

This brings me back to the title of this article and the recent Killer Nashville conference. This year A Crafty Collage of Crime, the 12th book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery Series, won the Silver Falchion Award for Best Comedy. Here was a golden opportunity to tell a captive audience of several hundred people about Anastasia and the thirteen books and three novellas I’ve so far written about her, especially since this book features her on a trip to Middle Tennessee.

I should have jotted down an acceptance speech to read, but I didn’t because I never expected to win. With a few rare exceptions from back in my romance writing days, I have a long track record of always being the bridesmaid, never the bride. But hey, it’s still an honor to be nominated.

So when my name was called, Brain Block accompanied me to the front of the room, and I wound up giving what can only be described as the shortest acceptance speech in the history of awards ceremonies. I doubt if it even qualified as a “speech.” As I walked away from the mic, Clay Stafford commented that I was “a woman of few words.”

Well, at least I didn’t bore anyone with a too-long, rambling monologue where I thanked everyone in my life, going all the way back to my kindergarten teacher and my pet goldfish!

Later that night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I came up with a perfect acceptance speech—pithy, witty, and including a few bon mots. Too bad no one was around to hear it.

Moral of the story: Even if you think you have no chance of winning, always, always prepare an acceptance speech. AND WRITE IT DOWN!

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USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston has taken part on many writing panels, taught dozens of writing workshops, and given quite a few solo talks over the years, but she always relies on her notes, never her memory. She 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 humorous 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.