Literary Alchemy: Ingredients of the Story – Foreshadowing

A series designed to elevate your skills and empower you to write like a pro.
By Chrissy Hicks

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Foreshadowing is a literary device used to hint at what’s coming later in the story. It creates anticipation and builds suspense, engaging readers by making them eager to see how events will unfold. As Chekhov so famously put it, “If in the first act you introduce a gun, by the third act you have to use it.”

Why use Foreshadowing?

• Build suspense and tension by hinting at future conflicts or outcomes. In Gone Girl, (Gillian Flynn) Amy’s use of the “treasure hunt” game, leaving clues for her husband Nick (and the police) to find, foreshadows the underlying (and much more sinister) game she’s playing with him, which we don’t learn until about halfway through the book.

• By providing subtle clues, foreshadowing encourages readers to engage with the text. They become detectives, piecing together hints to predict what might happen next. In the classic, The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald), Myrtle’s death foreshadows the tragic consequences of the other characters. Her reckless behavior and desire to escape her life leads to her fatal accident. This event sets off a chain reaction that leads to Gatsby’s demise.

• Create cohesion with foreshadowing by tying together various plot elements. When a writer plants clues early on, it allows for a satisfying payoff later in the narrative. For example, in Frankenstein (Mary Shelley), Victor Frankenstein’s early fascination with the works of occult philosophy foreshadows his tragic downfall, linking his childhood curiosity to the catastrophic consequences of his scientific pursuits.

• Prepare readers for impactful emotional beats, making them feel earned rather than abrupt. In The Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins), Katniss’s early demonstrations of her archery skills foreshadow her survival tactics in the arena, allowing readers to invest in her journey and the stakes involved. The reader isn’t caught off guard by her abilities.

• Foreshadowing can also highlight central themes within a story. In my flash fiction story The Last Tour, the canyon, with its vastness and depth, symbolizes both characters’ emotional chasms and the literal danger they face. The tour being the “last one” of the day hints at the finality of their journeys, ultimately foreshadowing the tragic events that will unfold.

How and When to Use Foreshadowing:

To effectively use foreshadowing, incorporate subtle clues that may seem insignificant at first but gain importance as the story progresses. This can be done through:

• Dialogue: Characters can drop hints in their conversations or make ominous statements or jokes that hint at darker outcomes. “When I think of my wife, I always think of her head. ...And what's inside it. I think of that too: her mind. Her brain, all those coils, and her thoughts shuttling through those coils like fast, frantic centipedes” (Gone Girl). 

• Setting: Use elements in the environment that reflect future events. “. . .the sun climbed over the skyline of oaks, revealing its full summer angry- god self. Its reflection flared across the river toward our house, a long, blaring finger aimed at me through our frail bedroom curtains. Accusing: You have been seen. You will be seen” (Gone Girl).

• Symbolism: Introduce objects or motifs that will later play a crucial role. Introducing a motif that recurs throughout the story can create a sense of continuity. “But above the gray land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face, but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a non-existent nose.” Later, “. . .we walked back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg’s persistent stare.” (The Great Gatsby).

• Character Actions: A character’s seemingly minor actions can foreshadow future events. “Eve decides to celebrate her 50th birthday with a Grand Canyon excursion. She doesn’t research companies or pricing. She knows exactly which trip she’ll book. The last tour on Saturday, leaving from Boulder City, Nevada.” (The Last Tour).

• Flashbacks: Consider how a past trauma influences a character’s decisions later in the story. “My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run.” (The Hunger Games).

• Dreams or Visions: These may foreshadow future events. (Be careful: often these can be too on the nose). “I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death. . .” (Frankenstein). 

• Weather and Atmosphere: Atmospheric changes can foreshadow emotional shifts or upcoming conflicts. “September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard at a distance as the islands split and cracked in every direction.” (Frankenstein).

• Physical Objects: Objects that hold significance for a character can foreshadow future events. “I think I’m finished when Cinna pulls the gold mockingjay pin from his pocket. . . I remember now taking it off my mother’s dress, pinning it to the shirt.” (The Hunger Games).

• Narrative Tone: A dark or foreboding tone can signal that something tragic is on the horizon, while a light-hearted tone may suggest a twist or surprise. “Lonnie’s family labels him a failure; his therapist, a lost cause; the justice system, another burden. So much for the American dream. Or any dream.” (The Last Tour).

Lookout! 👀

Be on the lookout for signs of foreshadowing in movies you watch and books you read. Consider how the author (or director) accomplished the use of this device. Was it effective? What hooked you and made you want to turn the page or keep watching? How can your understanding of what they did help you accomplish the same?

Prompt 📝

Write a scene where a character notices a seemingly trivial detail—like a broken clock, a dead tree, or a faded photograph—that later becomes pivotal to the plot or precedes a major event. Consider how this detail can create a sense of foreboding or anticipation.

Further Reading: 📚

• Grammarly: Foreshadowing in Writing

• Oregon State University: What is Foreshadowing?

• LitCharts: Foreshadowing Definition and Examples

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Chrissy’s debut novel, Inheritance of Lies (Marble Press Books), was a 2022 Claymore Suspense Award finalist. Her writing is featured in anthologies and magazines, including Story Sanctum, Killer Nashville Magazine, Black Works, and The Broadkill Review, among others. Her unpublished manuscripts secured First Place in the 2024/2025 Thomas Mabry Creative Writing Award, 2024 Seven Hills Literary Contest, and “Top Pick” in the Suspense category for the 2024 Claymore Award. A Northern transplant who traded snow for Tennessee heat, Chrissy actively volunteers for Killer Nashville Magazine and is a proud member of Mystery Writers of America and International Thriller Writers. Aside from thinking up ways for characters to die, she hikes, runs, reads, and drinks dark wine. Visit her online at chrissyhicks.com or hire her for your next editing project at emberskyeeditorial.com. Join her free newsletter for author updates, a glimpse into a busy writer’s life, and book recommendations.

Crafting Ethical and Moral Dilemmas in Crime Fiction

By Chris Berg and Paul James Smith

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In crime fiction, the most powerful moments often aren’t about car chases or shootouts—they’re about impossible choices. Think of Martin Scorsese’s The Departed. At the climax, undercover cop Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio) faces off against corrupt officer Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon). Costigan has proof Sullivan is a mob mole; unfortunately for him, his cover’s blown too. Both men have a decision to make—cling to their oaths or focus on staying alive. Neither option comes easy, and whichever path they take, both moral and ethical consequences follow.

These are the crossroads we construct as thriller writers. They're neither black nor white; they thrive in the gray spaces that test characters' mettle, deliciously unsettle readers, and propel plots into uncharted territory. Incorporating these dilemmas into your narrative can evolve a simple crime yarn into something truly memorable.

Building the Perfect Dilemma

A moral or ethical dilemma isn’t just a tricky choice. It’s a collision of imperatives: follow one, and you sacrifice another. There’s no safe option, no loophole. A detective may bend the law in pursuit of justice. An officer might cover for a corrupt partner at the expense of his or her own integrity. The power lies in the personal and professional damage they cause.

The reason they matter is simple: dilemmas pull readers deeper into your story. They imagine themselves in the character’s shoes—Would I do that? Could I live with it?—and the suspense turns personal. This is where thrillers move beyond plot mechanics to something that lingers with the reader.

Thrillers hook readers with action, but it's these dilemmas that leave a longer-lasting impression. When characters fight with right and wrong, they feel human; when choices carry heavy consequences, suspense clings through the last page; and when these decisions shift the story, the narrative gains depth.

Compelling thrillers reveal the world as it is—messy, complicated, morally uncertain. They reflect life’s tangled ethics and blurred lines between right and wrong.

Ethical Battles at the Heart of Thrillers 

At their core, many crime thrillers circle the same inescapable questions—for example:

• Justice vs. Law: Do the ends ever justify breaking the rules?

• Loyalty vs. Duty: Protect a partner—or expose their corruption?

• Greater Good vs. Personal Cost: Is it just to sacrifice one to save many?

• Truth vs. Harm: Is the truth ever worth the cost of an innocent life?

Used thoughtfully, these tensions box characters in and pull readers with them.

Building Choices With Real Consequences

Effective dilemmas live in the character’s DNA, not just in plot mechanics. Begin by connecting the choice to your character's past. For example, a detective who delays reporting misconduct may be afraid not just of professional fallout but also of reliving past wounds.

Then, raise the stakes. If the outcome doesn’t alter lives, careers, or relationships, readers won’t care. Make sure every choice matters. And consider timing and consequences—dramatic shifts, unexpected turns, pivotal moments—when decisions matter the most.

Avoiding Missteps

Even the strongest ideas can falter. A scene overloaded with conflicting pressures quickly loses focus, while a dilemma wrapped up too neatly robs the story of tension. Preaching to the reader rarely works—let them wrestle with the consequences themselves. And characters must remain true to who they are; a cautious cop doesn’t suddenly take reckless risks without careful buildup. These dilemmas aren’t tidy. Show the cost of choices, reveal the fallout, and leave readers to navigate the gray areas on their own.

Consequences in Motion

In real life, decisions don’t disappear with the turn of a page—and in crime fiction, they shouldn’t either. A detective who plants evidence doesn’t just secure a conviction; he carries the fear of exposure, the hit to his integrity, and the strain on his friendships. A protagonist who shields a corrupt partner may find that the betrayal festers, eventually detonating at the worst possible moment. The aftermath matters as much as the choice itself. By showing this, your thriller reflects a fundamental truth: these decisions change people.

Make the Choice Matter

If you’re working on a manuscript, choose a single storyline and place your protagonist in a true moral or ethical squeeze. Force him or her to choose between two bad options. Heighten the cost. Resist the urge to offer a safe escape hatch. Then, see how the story shifts around your choice.

Readers stay hooked not by the action itself, but by the choices that lead to it. When a character is trapped by a dilemma, forced to confront who they are and what they’re willing to risk, the reader leans in, breath held. That is the moment when a thriller truly comes alive.

In crafting these tensions, prioritize authenticity over resolution—let the gray areas stand. This approach not only sustains suspense but mirrors the complexities of real ethical terrain. Apply it deliberately, and your story will gain the weight it deserves.

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Chris Berg and Paul James Smith: Claymore Award Winners | PageTurner Award Finalists | Authors of The Night Police Novels

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This article is adapted from a presentation delivered at the 2025 Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference. It explores how moral and ethical dilemmas elevate crime fiction, giving readers moments of tension that linger long after the story ends.

Unanswered Prayers: Truman Capote and The Case Against Perfectionism

By Mary Lynn Cloghesy and Jason Schembri

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Truman Capote is arguably one of the great American writers of the modern age. Sixty years ago, he penned his masterpiece, In Cold Blood, one of the first and best examples of a true crime novel. In fact, he established a new genre based on the book, which solidified his position among the New York literati, building on his earlier success in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. At the time, Norman Mailer called him, “the most perfect writer of my generation.” 

Imagine the pressure to follow-up… and the sense of triumph he must have felt when he surpassed all expectations. Once he’d achieved both fame and fortune through his meticulously researched account of the murder of the Clutter family, Capote set his sights even higher. He claimed his new manuscript, Answered Prayers, would “utilize all his skills,” and be the culmination of his stylistic innovations, boasting, “Oh, how easy it’ll be by comparison!” because “It’s all in my head.” 

He never finished it. Or any other major work. In fact, he suffered both personally and professionally. So, what happened? Let’s engage in our own amateur investigation, and consider the factors that led to this unfortunate outcome. By unearthing clues, we can not only bring to light the circumstances and psychological impairment that caused Capote’s anti-climax, but also prepare ourselves to tackle the same issue, which tends to affect artists in alarming numbers: perfectionism. 

As with any other case study, we need to set some parameters. Let’s begin by considering what “perfection” means. Mirriam-Webster defines it as “being entirely without fault or defect: flawless.” If we accept this as tenable, we can refine it by adding in the suffix “ism,” which is “a manner of action or behavior characteristic of a (specific) person or thing.” (fun fact: Mirriam-Webster also suggests it can be an abnormal behaviour) Now, let’s break this concept down even further. In Christopher Bergland’s article, “Is the Perfectionism Plague Taking a Psychological Toll?,” he refers to a long-term study that differentiates three aspects of perfectionism: 

1. Self-oriented perfectionism: imposing an irrational desire to be perfect on oneself.

2. Other-oriented perfectionism: placing unrealistic standards of perfection on others.

3. Socially-prescribed perfectionism: perceiving excessive expectations of perfection from others.

While the study focused on college students, we can apply the same approach to Capote. Did he suffer from one or more of these afflictions? If so, how did they become author interrupters? Let’s begin.

Self-oriented perfectionism: In his titular biography, Capote, author Gerald Clarke states that there’s a difference between “those who write, and [those who] write but can’t finish the job to their satisfaction.” Specially, Clark said “Capote set himself the highest standards, and he knew when he wasn’t achieving them.” What we can glean from this is that Capote intended to finish his book—and engaged in the act of writing—but was derailed by his own inflated expectations. He considered himself a genius, and said as much. 

In her book Bird by Bird, author Anne Lamott clarifies this painful and debilitating condition, stating, “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor; the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft (SFD).” In an article in The New Yorker (“Golden Boy”), Capote himself remarked “when thinking about how good ‘the book’ might be, I can hardly breathe,” providing further evidence as to his disposition. 

Clearly, this type of self-aggrandizement is to be avoided at all costs. But that’s not all. There’s a flip-side. He also suffered from a heartbreaking lack of confidence. While this may seem contradictory, it’s the extreme of his perfectionism, an internal split that exposed his bravado for what it was: a mask that he wore to hide his feelings of inadequacy. In an interview in 1985, Capote said, “It's a very excruciating life, facing that blank piece of paper every day, and having to reach up somewhere into the clouds and bring something down out of them.” 

Is it any surprise then that his words, as eloquent as they may have been, never fully took shape within the narrative? Let’s broaden the scope now, and consider his thoughts about others. 

Other-oriented perfectionism: Author and psychologist, William Todd Schultz, addresses Capote’s approach to others in his biography, Tiny Terror: Why Truman Capote (Almost) Wrote Answered Prayers. He created a psychological portrait of the author that suggested his dark childhood led to what Schultz called dual life-scripts, explaining that on one hand, Capote was anxious, hypersensitive, and fatalistic, yet on the other, would present himself as bulletproof, mean-spirited, and bent on revenge. 

Throughout his career, he initiated feuds with other famous authors, notably when they received praise that he felt was undeserved. His perfectionist tendencies caused him to lash out. Consider this quote directed toward Jack Kerouac in 1959, “None of these people have anything interesting to say, and none of them can write, not even Mr. Kerouac. What they do isn’t writing at all — it’s typing.” He was referring to his defining work, On the Road.   

To Capote, others were inherently flawed, and neither foe nor friend could be trusted. Yet, he became obsessed with cultivating connections among the jet set, because he wanted to be considered “worthy” of them. In 1966, he hosted a legendary Black and White Ball in New York, calling it an “all-time spectacular present” to himself. The language itself exposes his bias: “all-time” and “spectacular,” are both superlatives. He dangled invitations for months among his peers, deciding who was “in” and “out,” a malicious manifestation of his perfectionism. 

Based on his interviews, Capote seemed perpetually disappointed in himself and others. As such, Answered Prayers not only became increasingly corrosive to his relationships, reflecting his disillusionment with high-society, but also self-destructive as he spiraled into alcohol and substance abuse. By 1977, he ceased work on his magnum opus due to a “creative crisis and a personal one.” 

Could this have been avoided if he’d eased his expectations? Could he have garnered support rather than sowed derision? Perhaps. Let’s look for clues as to how others, in turn, perceived him.

Socially-prescribed perfectionism: Capote was keenly aware of public perception of himself and his work, which became a major stumbling block later in life. He described his career as being split into parts, saying in an interview with Roy Newquist in 1964, “I think I’ve had two careers. One was the career of precocity, the young person who published a series of books… My second career began with Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It involved a different point of view…” 

As a young man, Capote described himself as precocious, which presumes boldness tempered by innocence. His talent was discovered early on, and he didn’t hesitate to use his gifts. Yet, after the critical and commercial success of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, he shifted to a more experimental form of writing, a “non-fiction novel,” which begs the question why? Had he accomplished all he’d hoped to? Or was he deviating from what he knew because he was afraid of measuring-up?

Capote’s biographer Clark informs us, “He never allowed anything to be published that he thought was not up to snuff, and despite the booze and the setbacks he wrote well, very well… He just wasn’t able to finish the big one, Answered Prayers.” In the planning stages, Capote believed this work would become the American equivalent of Marcel Proust’s, In Search of Lost Time, a lofty comparison. It was scheduled for publication in 1968, but he eventually returned the advance.

Capote’s paralysis reveals a deep-seated fear of failure, exacerbated by his early success. Psychologist and professor, Joseph Ferrari of DuPaul University, has suggested that he may have believed that if he never finished, he could never be judged. In a profile in Interview Magazine, Capote admitted, “The more you know about something, the harder it becomes. You become more and more of a perfectionist. I think it’s a curse… it’s a form of illness.” 

So, what can we learn from him? How can we do it differently? As much as our pens and keyboards are essential tools of the trade, so are our self-care practices. We must cultivate a positive outlook towards ourselves and others to sustain a long and healthy career as a writer, particularly given the pressure associated with publishing (and marketing). 

When the balance is off, we begin to see ourselves “as” our work, stifling creativity and alienating others. Capote mused, “I think I would have written five times as much as I’ve written, if I didn’t have this terrible sense of perfection.” 

With that in mind, our top tip this month is to differentiate between perfectionism and the pursuit of excellence. Writers at all stages of their careers will strive to do their best work. There is nothing wrong with that—in fact, it’s an honorable aspiration—as long as the desire to learn and grow underpins what appears on the page. Perfectionism is the precise opposite. It’s a fixed belief that our skills and abilities are preset, where any struggle confirms our misunderstanding, creating a painful feedback loop.

If you recognize yourself in this article, meaning you suffer from procrastination or writer’s flood (filling vast pages only to delete the majority of the text afterwards), feel anger or negativity toward yourself or others when you (or they) write, seek validation and praise while feeling like an imposter, it’s time to get help. Perfectionism is a complex and dysfunctional mindset that requires an intervention and an assortment of strategies.

Regardless, here's a quick exercise you can try: ask yourself “what if?” questions. By contemplating the opposite (a tried-and-true technique that comes from Patanjali’s, Yoga Sutras), you can open new pathways. For example: What if you gave yourself permission to write an SFD? What if others would applaud your efforts? What if your worth wasn’t based on your work? Brainstorm some questions, then free-write your answers. Good or bad, skewed or not, they will help inform your next steps. 

Reach out. Talk to someone you trust. Do some reading and research. Above all else, remember Capote’s example. Don’t allow his fate to become yours. His true crime legacy includes the one perpetrated by himself on himself. He said, “More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.” Prophetic words.