What’s the best process for starting a first draft of a short story when writing fiction?

 

Question: 

What’s the best process for starting a first draft of a short story when writing fiction?

Answer:

The "best" process for starting a short story draft will vary depending on your writing style and preferences. However, here's a general approach that many writers find helpful:

1. Brainstorming & Idea Development

Find Your Spark:

• Concept: What's the core idea? A unique situation, an intriguing character, a thought-provoking question?
• Logline: Can you summarize the story in one sentence? This helps clarify the central conflict.
• Brainstorming Techniques: Freewriting, mind-mapping, character sketches, listing potential plot points.

Character Development:

•  Who are your main characters? Give them names, backstories, motivations, flaws, and desires.
• What are their relationships? How do they interact and influence each other?

Setting: 

• Where and when does the story take place?
• How does the setting contribute to the atmosphere and plot?

2. Outline (Optional, but Recommended)

Create a basic structure:

• Beginning: Introduce the main character(s) and the setting. Establish the initial situation and hint at the conflict.
• Rising Action: Build tension and suspense. Introduce obstacles and complications.
• Climax: The turning point of the story. The conflict reaches its peak.
• Falling Action: The aftermath of the climax. Loose ends are tied up.
• Resolution: How does the story end? Is there a sense of closure or ambiguity?

Note: An outline can be as detailed or as loose as you like. It's a guide, not a rigid structure.

3. Start Writing!

Find Your Starting Point:

Begin with a strong opening line or paragraph. Grab the reader's attention immediately.

• Focus on the character: Start with a scene that reveals the character's personality or inner conflict.
• Jump right into the action: Begin with a thrilling event or a surprising twist.
• Don't worry about perfection: Focus on getting the story down on paper. You can always revise and edit later.
• Write regularly: Even if it's just for a short time each day, consistent writing builds momentum.

4. Embrace the "First Draft Mess"

• Expect it to be rough: First drafts are rarely perfect. They're meant to be exploratory.
• Don't get bogged down: If you get stuck, move on to another part of the story. You can always come back later.
• Trust the process: Let your creativity flow and see where the story takes you.

Tips for a Successful First Draft:

• Find a quiet and distraction-free writing space.
• Set realistic goals.
• Reward yourself for writing.
• Don't be afraid to experiment.
• Most importantly, have fun!

Remember that these are just suggestions. The most important thing is to find a process that works for you and that you enjoy.

Painting with Words: The Art of Vivid Imagery in Fiction Writing

By Olivia Salter

In the world of fiction, words are your paint, and the page is your canvas. Each stroke—each word—has the power to evoke emotions, conjure scenes, and breathe life into the characters and worlds you create. Strong imagery isn't just a tool; it’s the soul of compelling storytelling. To captivate your readers and immerse them fully, every single word must count. Here’s how to hone your craft and make your stories unforgettable.

1. See It Before You Write It

Close your eyes and imagine the scene. What colors dominate the space? Is there a lingering smell—freshly cut grass, burnt toast, or the sharp tang of ozone before a storm? Before putting pen to paper, vividly construct the setting in your mind. If you can see it, you can help your readers see it too.

Example: Instead of “The forest was dark,” try “The forest swallowed the light, its twisted branches clawing at the starless sky.”

2. Show, Don’t Tell

It’s advice as old as fiction itself, but it holds true: show the world through sensory details rather than summaries. Don’t just tell your readers that a character is scared—show their trembling hands, the cold sweat dripping down their back, and the shallow, rapid breaths.

Example: “He was scared” becomes “His pulse thudded in his ears, drowning out the faint creak of the door behind him.”

3. Use Specific, Evocative Details

Generic descriptions dilute the reader’s experience. Instead of “a flower,” is it a wilting dandelion, a blood-red rose, or a lavender stalk swaying in the breeze? Specificity pulls readers deeper into your story.

Example: “She wore a dress” becomes “She wore a satin dress the color of spilled wine, its hem fraying like the edges of an old wound.”

4. Eliminate Filler Words

Every word in your sentence should serve a purpose. Trim the fat—cut adverbs, redundant phrases, and unnecessary descriptions. A lean, precise sentence can pack a greater punch than a bloated one.

Example: “She quickly and nervously glanced over her shoulder” can be distilled to “She darted a glance over her shoulder.”

5. Engage All the Senses

Sight dominates most descriptions, but your writing becomes richer when you weave in other senses. The distant wail of a train, the metallic taste of fear, the sticky heat of summer—all these details deepen immersion.

Example: “The bakery smelled good” becomes “The bakery exhaled the warm, buttery scent of fresh croissants, undercut by a hint of scorched sugar.”

6. Use Metaphors and Similes Wisely

A well-chosen metaphor can crystallize an image in your reader’s mind. Compare the unfamiliar to the familiar, but avoid clichés—your imagery should feel fresh and purposeful.

Example: “The waves crashed against the rocks” becomes “The waves hurled themselves against the rocks like soldiers charging a fortress.”

7. Trust Your Reader’s Imagination

Sometimes, less is more. Leave enough room for your readers to fill in the blanks. A single, striking detail can be more evocative than an entire paragraph of description.

Example: Instead of describing every detail of a haunted house, focus on one eerie image: “A single rocking chair swayed in the empty nursery, its creak a metronome to the silence.”

8. Rewrite, Refine, Repeat

The first draft of a description is rarely perfect. Revisit it with a critical eye. Ask yourself: Does every word pull its weight? Can you replace a weak verb with a stronger one? Does this sentence advance the mood or the story?

Vivid imagery transforms writing from mere words on a page to a living, breathing world. It’s an alchemy that demands precision, creativity, and discipline. But when done well, it’s pure magic—a spell that keeps readers turning the page, utterly entranced. So, take your time. Choose your words like an artist selects their hues. Paint your masterpiece.

9. Use Imagery to Reflect Emotion

Imagery is more than just decoration; it’s a mirror for your characters’ internal worlds. The environment, objects, and sensory details you describe should reflect and heighten the mood of the scene. Is your protagonist heartbroken? Describe a gray, overcast sky or the cold emptiness of an unlit room. Is a reunion joyous? Let sunlight filter through the leaves, dappling the ground in warm, golden light.

Example: Instead of “He was angry,” try “His hands balled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms, as the blood roared in his ears.”

When the external world mirrors the internal, readers feel the scene on a visceral level.

10. Anchor Your Scenes in Relatable Context

Even if you’re writing about fantastical worlds or distant times, anchor your imagery in elements your readers can relate to. This grounding creates a bridge between their world and yours, making the unfamiliar feel tangible and real.

Example: “The alien planet had plants” becomes “The alien shrubs were the height of cornstalks, with leaves that shimmered like oil slicks under the red sun.”

11. Use Contrasting Imagery for Impact

Contrast can heighten the emotional stakes of a scene. Pair serene imagery with moments of tension or violence with beauty to create a jarring, memorable impact.

Example: “The battlefield was chaotic” becomes “Beneath the dying orange sun, blood pooled like spilled ink over the wildflowers.”

This juxtaposition forces readers to grapple with the complexity of the scene and feel its weight.

12. Build a Rhythm in Your Writing

Imagery isn’t just about the pictures you create but also the way your sentences sound. Rhythm and flow can enhance the mood. Long, flowing sentences create a sense of peace or grandeur, while short, clipped sentences add urgency or tension. Let the sound of your words support the images they convey.

Example: “The forest was alive with sound” becomes “Crickets chirped. Leaves rustled. A distant owl hooted, its call low and mournful.”

13. Let the Imagery Evolve

As your story progresses, let your imagery change to reflect growth, decay, or transformation. A setting that starts as vibrant and alive might become bleak and lifeless, mirroring the protagonist’s arc. Similarly, an initially ominous setting might grow warm as a character finds hope.

Example: Early in the story: “The river was sluggish, its surface cloaked in a gray film.” Later: “The river sparkled, rushing clear and cold over smooth stones.”

This evolution makes your story feel dynamic and reinforces your themes.

14. Trust the Power of Silence

Sometimes, the most powerful image is the one left unspoken. When tension peaks, let the absence of imagery speak volumes. The stark emptiness of a scene can be as evocative as lush description, forcing readers to lean into the void and imagine the unspoken horrors or wonders.

Example: After a dramatic moment, end with: “The room was silent, save for the slow, steady drip of water from the ceiling.”

15. Challenge Yourself

Finally, push your creative boundaries. Experiment with unexpected metaphors. Write a scene from an unusual perspective—a fly on the wall, the creak of a door, or the shadow in a corner. The more you challenge yourself, the more original your imagery becomes.

Final Thoughts

Strong imagery is the heartbeat of fiction, the invisible thread that pulls readers into your story and refuses to let them go. Every word matters, and when you make them count, your writing transcends the page, etching vivid, unforgettable pictures in your readers’ minds.

So, the next time you sit down to write, don’t just tell a story—paint it. Layer by layer, detail by detail, create a world so alive that your readers will never want to leave. After all, great stories aren’t just read—they’re experienced.

Laying the Foundation: The Role of Exposition in Fiction Writing

 

Laying the Foundation: The Role of Exposition in Fiction Writing

By Olivia Salter

"Exposition is the background material a reader needs to know for the story to move forward. In "Little Red Riding Hood," we need to know that our main character is a girl on her way to visit her ill grandmother, who lives in the woods. We also need to know that this girl is young and innocent, and so might be given to speaking to strangers, such as cunning wolves, who are hanging out in the woods. In the story of Adam and Eve, we need to know that our main characters are a man and a woman who live in a garden, that they are the first man and woman who ever lived, and that they have been told not to touch the fruit of a certain tree. In the Dickens story "A Christmas Carol," we need to know that our main character Scrooge is a callous, penny-pinching boss, a man old enough to be set in his ways, and that it is Christmas time. Once this background information is established for each of these three stories, they can proceed."

— Rachel Simon

Exposition is the scaffolding upon which the architecture of a story is built. It provides readers with the essential context—who the characters are, where they exist, and why their actions matter. As Rachel Simon aptly illustrates in her discussion of Little Red Riding Hood, the story of Adam and Eve, and Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, exposition is not merely a dumping ground for information but a strategic tool for grounding the narrative and preparing readers for the journey ahead.

In Little Red Riding Hood, the exposition introduces us to the titular character—a young, innocent girl traveling through the woods to visit her ill grandmother. These details are not just ornamental; they are critical to the story's progression. Little Red’s youth and innocence make her vulnerable to the wolf’s cunning, and the setting of the woods—isolated and fraught with danger—creates the perfect environment for tension. Without this context, the encounter between Little Red and the wolf would lack emotional resonance, as the reader would not understand the stakes or the power dynamics at play.

Similarly, the biblical story of Adam and Eve relies on its exposition to set the stage for its central conflict. By situating the characters in an idyllic garden and emphasizing their role as the first humans, the story establishes the weight of their choices. The prohibition against the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge is not just a rule but a test of obedience and trust. Without this background, the act of eating the forbidden fruit would lose its symbolic significance, and the story’s exploration of temptation and consequence would fall flat.

In A Christmas Carol, Dickens uses exposition to paint a vivid picture of Ebenezer Scrooge. His miserly nature, his disdain for Christmas, and his entrenched habits are all laid bare in the opening pages. This context is essential for the transformative arc of the story. Scrooge’s eventual redemption would lack impact if readers did not first understand the depth of his callousness. The Christmas setting further amplifies the emotional stakes, framing his journey within a time of year associated with generosity, community, and reflection.

In each of these examples, exposition serves as the foundation for the narrative, providing readers with the tools they need to engage with the story on a deeper level. However, effective exposition is not about overwhelming readers with information. Instead, it is about weaving essential details seamlessly into the narrative. This can be achieved through dialogue, action, or even the protagonist's internal thoughts, ensuring that the exposition feels organic rather than intrusive.

Moreover, the purpose of exposition extends beyond merely informing the reader. It shapes the tone, establishes expectations, and foreshadows the conflicts to come. In Little Red Riding Hood, the seemingly innocuous detail of the girl’s innocence hints at the danger lurking in the woods. In Adam and Eve’s story, the command to avoid the forbidden fruit sets up the inevitability of their transgression. In A Christmas Carol, Scrooge’s disdain for Christmas underscores the magnitude of the emotional journey he must undertake.

For fiction writers, mastering the art of exposition is a delicate balance. Too much information too soon can overwhelm the reader, while too little can leave them disoriented. The key lies in understanding what the reader needs to know and delivering that information in a way that feels natural and engaging. When done well, exposition becomes an invisible hand, guiding the reader into the world of the story and immersing them in its narrative.

Ultimately, exposition is not just a technical component of storytelling but an act of generosity. It is the writer's way of inviting readers into their world, equipping them with the knowledge they need to navigate the story and experience its emotional and intellectual rewards. Like the opening notes of a symphony, it sets the tone, introduces the themes, and prepares the audience for the journey ahead. Without it, the story cannot truly begin.

Unlocking Dynamic Storytelling: Mastering the Goal, Motivation, Conflict (GMC) Method

Unlocking Dynamic Storytelling: Mastering the Goal, Motivation, Conflict (GMC) Method

By Olivia Salter

Crafting compelling fiction often requires a delicate balance of structure and creativity. Among the many methods available to writers, the Goal, Motivation, Conflict (GMC) framework is one of the most effective for developing engaging plots and multidimensional characters. By focusing on what drives your characters and what stands in their way, GMC ensures that every scene is meaningful, propelling the story forward with emotional depth and tension.

What is GMC?

The GMC method is built around three key elements:

1. Goal – What does your character want?
2. Motivation – Why do they want it?
3. Conflict – What’s preventing them from achieving it?

These elements are applied both externally (the plot) and internally (the character’s emotional journey), creating a dynamic interplay that keeps readers invested. Let’s break these down further:

1. The Goal: What Drives the Character?

The goal is the character’s driving force—a clear, measurable objective that they strive to achieve. Goals provide direction and urgency, giving readers a reason to root for the protagonist (or against the antagonist).

External Goals: Tangible objectives, such as solving a mystery, defeating a villain, or reclaiming a lost artifact.

Internal Goals: Emotional or psychological needs, such as finding self-worth, healing from trauma, or earning redemption.

Example: In a modern horror story, the protagonist’s external goal might be to escape a haunted house, while their internal goal could be to overcome their guilt over a past mistake that led them there.

2. The Motivation: Why Does It Matter?

Motivation answers the crucial question: Why does the character want this goal? A goal without a strong motivation feels hollow. When readers understand why a character is driven to succeed, they form a deeper emotional connection.

Motivation often ties back to the character’s backstory, values, or fears. It explains the stakes—what the character stands to gain or lose—and makes the pursuit of the goal believable.

Example: The haunted house survivor might be motivated by a need to save a family member trapped inside, driven by guilt from a previous failure to protect someone they loved.

3. The Conflict: What Stands in the Way?

Conflict is the engine of storytelling. It’s the obstacle that creates tension, challenges the character, and keeps the story from becoming predictable. Conflict can be external, internal, or both:

External Conflict: The villain, societal constraints, or natural disasters.

Internal Conflict: Fear, self-doubt, or moral dilemmas.

Example: While facing the house’s supernatural entities (external), the protagonist might also wrestle with self-blame and the temptation to abandon their family member (internal).

Applying GMC to Fiction Writing

To effectively use GMC, it’s important to weave these elements together for every major character. Here’s how:

1. Start with a Character: What are their desires and fears? Build a profile that includes their goal, motivation, and potential sources of conflict.
2. Create Layered Stakes: Link the external and internal GMC so that they influence each other. This deepens the story’s emotional resonance.
3. Pace the Revelations: Introduce new obstacles or layers of conflict at key moments, forcing the character to grow and adapt.
4. Resolve GMC with Impact: The resolution of the conflict—whether triumphant or tragic—should feel inevitable yet surprising, a natural result of the character’s journey.

Why GMC Works

The GMC framework shines because it centers the story on the characters. It ensures every action and reaction is purposeful, enhancing both plot and character development. Additionally, it creates natural tension, as characters are constantly forced to confront obstacles, reassess their priorities, and evolve.

For example, in a romance-turned-horror short story, the protagonist’s goal might be to rekindle a relationship. Their motivation could be rooted in a fear of loneliness, while the conflict arises when they discover their partner has sinister secrets. This interplay makes the narrative rich, unpredictable, and engaging.

Conclusion

The Goal, Motivation, Conflict method is a cornerstone of effective storytelling. By focusing on what your characters want, why they want it, and what stands in their way, you can craft stories that captivate readers and linger in their minds long after the final page. Whether you’re writing a suspenseful thriller or a heart-wrenching drama, GMC is a tool that can elevate your fiction from good to unforgettable.

Unveiling the Fossil: Understanding Voice as the Skeleton of Fiction Writing

Unveiling the Fossil: Understanding Voice as the Skeleton of Fiction Writing

By Olivia Salter

Voice is one of the most enigmatic and essential elements of fiction writing. As Chuck Wendig eloquently puts it, “Voice is not just the result of a single sentence or paragraph or page. It’s not even the sum total of a whole story. It’s all your work laid out across the table like the bones & fossils of an unidentified carcass.” This metaphor encapsulates the essence of voice: a cumulative, living imprint left behind by the writer, recognizable across their body of work. It’s not a single vertebra but the entire skeleton—the structure that defines and supports the shape of a writer’s creations.

The Anatomy of Voice

In writing, voice is both intimate and expansive. It’s found in the rhythm of your sentences, the choice of your metaphors, the cadence of your dialogue, and the energy of your narrative. However, no single line or scene can fully encapsulate a writer’s voice. Instead, it emerges from patterns and subtleties, like piecing together a fossil from scattered fragments.

Imagine a paleontologist dusting off a bone fragment and speculating on the creature’s size, shape, and movement. Similarly, readers pick up on the small nuances in a writer’s work—the sharpness of their humor, the lushness of their descriptions, the bitterness or warmth in their tone—and from these fragments, the voice takes form.

Voice as an Unintentional Artifact

Voice often feels elusive because it’s not something a writer sets out to construct deliberately. Like the fossils Wendig describes, voice is an artifact of who you are as a writer—your influences, worldview, and personal quirks. It emerges naturally over time as you write, revise, and refine your craft. It’s the residue of your imagination, shaped by your obsessions and idiosyncrasies.

But how do you ensure that your voice isn’t just an incomplete skeleton, but a fully realized organism?

Unearthing Your Voice

1. Write Prolifically

Voice doesn’t emerge fully formed; it’s refined through consistent practice. Each story, paragraph, and sentence adds another piece to the fossil record of your work.

2. Embrace Your Obsessions

Writers are often drawn to recurring themes, settings, and ideas. Instead of resisting them, explore them deeply. These preoccupations are part of what makes your voice unique.

3. Be Honest

Voice thrives on authenticity. Let your passions, fears, and truths seep into your writing. Readers connect with work that feels genuine, even if it’s dark or strange.

4. Experiment

Like fossils, voice takes on different shapes over time. Experiment with genres, perspectives, and styles to uncover new dimensions of your voice.

The Living Skeleton

While Wendig describes voice as the bones and fossils of a writer’s work, it’s important to remember that these remains hint at a once-living creature. Similarly, your voice should feel alive—dynamic, evolving, and organic. It should not merely support your stories but breathe life into them, making your work instantly recognizable to readers.

Voice is not an end point; it’s an ongoing excavation. As you dig deeper into your craft, you’ll discover new fossils to add to your collection, each one revealing more about the unique creature that is your writing. So, lay your work across the table, piece by piece, and let your voice emerge—a living artifact, full of mystery and power.

Cultivating a Voice That Resonates

Developing a strong voice is about more than just standing out—it’s about creating resonance. Readers don’t merely consume stories; they experience them, and voice is the bridge between your imagination and theirs. A compelling voice ensures your work lingers long after the last page, echoing in the reader’s mind like the faint outlines of a fossil yet fully unearthed.

To cultivate a voice that resonates:

1. Pay Attention to the Details

The smallest choices in syntax, diction, and imagery shape your voice. A sentence as simple as “The sky was dark” becomes something uniquely yours when you render it as “The sky, bruised and heavy, sagged under the weight of the storm.” These choices create texture and reveal your perspective.

2. Trust Your Instincts

Writing workshops and critiques often focus on fixing what doesn’t work, but your instincts are what guide your voice. Trust the sentences that feel most natural to you—the ones that flow as if they’ve been waiting to be written.

3. Read Widely, Write Often

Exposure to diverse voices sharpens your ear for nuance, while frequent writing helps solidify your own. Let the authors you admire inspire you, but don’t mimic their style. Instead, use their work as a mirror to understand what resonates with you.

4. Accept Imperfection

Fossils are rarely pristine; they’re fragmented, chipped, and weathered by time. Similarly, your voice may feel uneven or raw at first. Embrace this imperfection—it’s part of the process. Over time, your voice will become more cohesive, like a skeleton slowly reconstructed.

The Legacy of Voice

The beauty of voice lies in its lasting impact. A reader may forget the specifics of your plot or characters, but they will remember how your words made them feel. Voice is what transforms a good story into an unforgettable one, what allows readers to identify your work even when encountering it out of context.

Like the fossilized remains of an ancient creature, your voice leaves a trace of your creative essence in the world. It tells future readers who you were, what you valued, and how you saw the world.

Voice as a Journey

Ultimately, the discovery of your voice is a lifelong journey. As you grow, change, and evolve as a person, so too will your voice. What remains constant is the commitment to laying your work across the table, piece by piece, with honesty and courage.

So, don’t rush to define your voice prematurely or force it into a mold. Let it unfold naturally, through the rhythm of your words and the stories you choose to tell. In the end, your voice is not just the bones of your work; it’s the soul that binds them, the invisible force that animates the skeleton and gives it life.

Your voice is your legacy. Embrace it, nurture it, and let it speak.

Voice as Connection

At its core, voice is about connection. It’s the writer’s hand reaching across the page to the reader, saying, “This is how I see the world. This is what I feel.” Voice bridges the gap between individuality and universality—it is deeply personal, yet it resonates because it touches on truths that others recognize in themselves.

When a reader is captivated by a writer’s voice, they don’t just follow a story; they step into the writer’s mind. They see through the writer’s eyes, hear the rhythm of their thoughts, and feel the pulse of their emotions. Voice turns storytelling into communion, creating an intimate bond between writer and reader.

Protecting Your Voice

In the pursuit of a career or audience, it can be tempting to dilute your voice to fit trends, expectations, or algorithms. But sacrificing authenticity risks losing the very element that makes your work distinctive.

To safeguard your voice:

1. Resist Overediting

In the effort to polish, it’s easy to sand away the unique quirks and textures of your voice. Leave space for imperfections—they are often what make your work memorable.

2. Write for Yourself First

Before considering the market or potential readership, write what excites and challenges you. A voice that stems from genuine passion will resonate far more than one crafted for approval.

3. Be Patient

Voice isn’t something you “find” overnight. It’s an organic process that unfolds with time, practice, and self-discovery. Trust that every word you write brings you closer to its full expression.

4. Honor Your Evolution

Your voice will change as you grow, and that’s not only natural but necessary. Embrace these shifts—they are signs that you’re engaging deeply with your craft and the world around you.

The Fossil That Breathes

Chuck Wendig’s metaphor of voice as a collection of bones and fossils reminds us that while writing often feels like a process of excavation, it’s also a process of creation. Fossils tell stories of the past, but in fiction, they come alive. Your voice is not static; it’s as dynamic as the living creature it represents.

When you sit down to write, think of your work as assembling the skeleton of something extraordinary. Each word, sentence, and story adds to the framework. Over time, the fragments come together to form something recognizable, something uniquely yours—a living, breathing testament to your creativity and vision.

Final Thoughts

Voice is the signature you leave on your stories, the fingerprint that marks your work as unmistakably yours. It’s not just the sum of your sentences or the shape of your stories—it’s the life force that animates them.

So, embrace the process of discovery, lay out the pieces of your work with care, and trust that your voice will emerge—raw, authentic, and undeniable. One day, someone will look at the bones of your writing laid bare and see not just a skeleton, but the unmistakable shape of a legacy.

The Alchemy of Words: Transforming the World Through Language

The Alchemy of Words: Transforming the World Through Language

By Olivia Salter

William H. Gass once said, "The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words." This profound statement reveals the transformative power of language and the role of writers as modern-day alchemists. While traditional alchemy sought to transmute base metals into precious ones, literary alchemy transcends the physical, reshaping perception, emotion, and reality through the written word.

Words as the Philosopher's Stone

At its core, writing is an act of creation. A writer takes the raw material of human experience—grief, joy, anger, love—and distills it into narratives that illuminate universal truths. A single sentence can evoke centuries of history, a poem can capture the vastness of the human soul, and a novel can reframe entire paradigms of thought. Words, like the fabled philosopher's stone, have the power to transform the mundane into the extraordinary.

Consider how great works of literature—Shakespeare’s plays, Morrison’s prose, Baldwin’s essays—have not only mirrored society but also challenged and changed it. These authors wielded words as tools to question authority, spark revolutions, and inspire generations. Their alchemy lies in their ability to extract meaning from the chaos of life and offer it back to the world as a kind of gold: timeless, valuable, and enduring.

The Alchemy of Connection

Words are also the bridges that connect us to one another. A letter from a loved one, a moving speech, or a gripping short story can dissolve the barriers of time, distance, and cultural difference. Through language, we share our inner worlds, making the abstract tangible. Writers transform the complexities of individual thought into something relatable, fostering empathy and understanding.

In this sense, writing is not just a craft but a responsibility. To write is to engage in an ongoing dialogue with the world, to participate in its shaping, and to leave a mark that transcends one’s own mortality. Each writer, from the novice to the celebrated author, holds the potential to create this connection—to turn personal lead into universal gold.

The Alchemy of the Self

For the writer, the process of transmuting the world into words is deeply personal. It involves mining one’s own depths, confronting truths, and distilling insights. In doing so, the writer often transforms themselves. The act of writing clarifies thoughts, sharpens emotions, and crystallizes identity. In this way, the writer becomes both the alchemist and the subject of alchemy.

Why Words Matter

In an age where the world often feels chaotic and fractured, the alchemy of words remains a vital force. Words have the power to heal, to inspire action, and to imagine new possibilities. They can turn despair into hope, ignorance into understanding, and fear into courage. This is why storytellers, poets, journalists, and philosophers continue to shape the course of history—they remind us of our shared humanity and the infinite potential of our collective imagination.

Conclusion

The alchemists of the past may have sought to change lead into gold, but the writers of today achieve a far greater transformation. They change the world into words, creating legacies that outlast empires and treasures that no wealth can rival. Through their craft, they remind us of the profound power of language to illuminate, connect, and transform. In their hands, words are not merely tools—they are magic.

Shoot for the Moon: Writing Big, Brave Stories That Matter

 

A Quick Note on Fiction Writing for the Novice Writer

Shoot for the Moon: Writing Big, Brave Stories That Matter

By Ryker J. Phoenix

Somewhere in the quiet hours of the night, with a blinking cursor and a coffee mug gone cold, a writer wonders: What if I aim too high? What if this story is too big for me? But here’s the thing about aiming high—you might not hit the moon, but even missing can send you soaring through dazzling constellations of discovery.

Let’s talk about how to write big, brave stories that leave a mark, even when they don’t turn out exactly as planned.

1. Start with a Wild Idea

Every great story starts with a spark, the kind that makes you sit back and think, That’s crazy. Can I pull this off? The answer: Maybe not, but you should try anyway.

Imagine J.R.R. Tolkien sketching Middle-earth on the back of a student paper or Octavia Butler scribbling a vision of telepathic communities into her notebook. They didn’t know their worlds would become legendary—they just let their imaginations run wild. What’s your moon? A love story set in a crumbling post-apocalyptic carnival? A reimagined folktale about a trickster learning humility? Let yourself dream without limits.

2. Let Your Characters Reach for Their Own Moons

Big stories don’t just come from big plots; they’re powered by characters with impossible dreams. Think of Walter White in Breaking Bad, a mild-mannered teacher who becomes a drug lord, or Celie in The Color Purple, who writes letters to God as she struggles to reclaim her voice.

Your characters don’t need to succeed; they need to try. Let them long for something that feels out of reach. Maybe your shy protagonist dreams of performing on Broadway but stumbles over their lines during auditions. Maybe a hardened detective wants redemption but can’t forgive themselves. Write their hunger, their heartbreak, their hope.

3. Break the Rules (and Make New Ones)

Genres come with expectations, but the best stories break them wide open. Take Jordan Peele’s Get Out, where horror bends into biting social commentary, or N.K. Jemisin’s The Broken Earth series, which weaves fantasy, science fiction, and race together seamlessly.

Think of your story as a blank canvas. What happens if you splash colors outside the lines? If you’re writing romance, let it hurt. If you’re writing horror, give it heart. Aiming high means rejecting the idea that stories need to fit neatly into boxes.

4. Explore Themes That Scare You

The best stories are the ones you’re afraid to tell. Toni Morrison once said, “If there’s a book you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” That’s the moon.

What themes make you uneasy? Write about them. Maybe it’s the grief of losing a parent, the isolation of being the only Black student in a predominantly white school, or the guilt of betraying a loved one. Don’t worry about getting it perfect—let it be messy and real.

5. Fall Short, and Keep Writing

Here’s the truth: not every story will land. Sometimes you’ll write a scene that feels flat or a plot twist that falls apart. But in every failure, there’s something beautiful—a line of dialogue that crackles, a side character who steals the show, a kernel of truth you didn’t see before.

Remember, the stars are full of second chances. When Harper Lee wrote Go Set a Watchman, it wasn’t the book she hoped for, but it led her to To Kill a Mockingbird. Missing the moon is never the end of the journey; it’s just the beginning of something new.

6. Share the Weight of Your Words

Writing isn’t just about your imagination—it’s about connecting with others. Picture a reader sitting on the edge of their bed, turning the last page of your story with a lump in their throat. That’s what you’re writing for.

Don’t write to impress. Write to matter. Write to make someone feel less alone. If your story reaches even one heart, you’ve already landed among the stars.

7. The Journey is the Destination

Writing isn’t about perfection. It’s about trying, failing, learning, and trying again. It’s about reaching for something bigger than yourself. When you look up at the night sky, it’s not just the moon or stars that captivate you—it’s the vastness, the possibility, the infinite unknown.

Your writing is the same. So aim high. Write that wild, impossible story. Miss the moon, if you must, but don’t stop reaching.

Closing Challenge

Tonight, take 15 minutes. Write the opening scene of a story you’ve always been too scared to start. Let it be big. Let it be messy. Let it be yours.

Because the stars are waiting, and they’re closer than you think.