Julie Israel

If you’ve ever told someone you’re writing a book, congratulations: You are almost as likely to have received unsolicited advice about it as a pat on the hand and assurance that you, dear reader, could be the next [insert household celebrity author]! (There should be a punch card for this leading to free coffee.)

Well-intentioned or not, one of these things is certainly more perilous. Which is why, in this inaugural writing post, I’m starting with a hot take:

1. No writing advice is absolute. That is, there’s no one-size-fits-all approach to crafting a story or writing rule that should be followed without question, to the letter, 100% of the time.

I like to think of writing more like baking, where recipes follow some kind of order and basic laws of ingredient chemistry, and yet there are infinite variations that all make perfectly good chocolate chip cookies – and each is as valid as the next. You will meet people who tell you what you should or should not put in your cookies; who insist that their way is best, or worse: the only right one; sometimes you’ll even get great suggestions alongside ones that aren’t right for what you’re making. In the end, it’s really up to us to decide what works and what doesn’t, when, and to not hold any one opinion as truth.

2. Find your magic ingredients. High concept. Three-act structure. Beat sheet, outline, synopsis. There’s no wrong way to shape a story, but there are magic ingredients. And yours might look different than mine – but I know when I’m fleshing out a novel, I don’t start with a rigid structure. Instead, I like to start with a logline: a sentence or two that introduces the story. Usually it includes whose story it is, the inciting event or premise, and perhaps (at times, implicitly) the internal/external arcs or stakes. E.g.,

Juniper Lemon’s Happiness Index. A grieving teen finds the letter her sister wrote to “You” the day she died, and vows to deliver it — as soon as she figures out “You” is.

If I don’t quite know where a story starts or even what the story is yet, I might turn to one specific element and start asking questions: Who is the protagonist? What do they want, and what’s in their way? (Obstacles to goal = plot.) I’ll feel out what’s at stake, and how a character changes through the events of the telling. Failing character, worldbuilding: What special rules are at play here? What points do I know, and how can I connect them? Do events/reveals follow a logical, escalating sequence — or give me structure upon which to graft further beats?

Process is messy and frankly, mine’s looked a little different for every book. If you find a story you’re planning inaccessible, and Big Method isn’t your way in, look for the questions, the angles, the connections that repeatedly help you open things up. It’s all about finding what gives you traction.

3. Read widely (and learn from storytelling everywhere). One of the first things you’ll hear if you want to write, is that you need to read. This is one rule that’s pretty true universally: Know your trade.

But to that, I’d add not to limit yourself. Maybe you want to write literary fiction, but sci-fi, or a moody YA, or even graphic novels can teach you better worldbuilding, or something of tone, or how to write tighter dialogue. Diverse reading means more diverse takeaways and inspiration—which can lead to better-rounded, more innovative storytelling.

And books aren’t where sourcing stops. Haven’t you ever been haunted by a great lyric, or seen a print ad and marveled at the story a single image can tell? From shows and movies and nonfiction to podcasts, TikToks, and Superbowl commercials, there’s no limit to where you can learn from masterful storytelling.

4. Pay attention to the things that make you sit up straighter. Is there a trope (small town with dark secrets, masked antagonist, “there was only one bed”) that grabs you? A phrase or setting that makes you stop what you’re doing and stick your butt in the chair, instantly invested? Could be a song that gives you chills. Current events, historical ones, a dynamic, lore, architectural feature, that What if? that halts you mid-sentence or makes you pause your show? Write it down. These are all potential sparks for your next story. Hoard them like a gull in a fry shortage, and when it’s time to begin work on a new book, you’ll have your own personal matchbox.

Pro tip: Chronicle these thoughts wherever you are when you have them — and then collect them in one place. I recently started migrating notes off my phone and scrap paper bookmarks to deposit them into an extra-large Inspiration Jar.

Pro-pro tip: Leave yourself good context. “Royal portrait” is coherent, but “King Charles III portrait from hell with butterfly on shoulder — malicious compliance, subversion, symbolism, rebellion” recalls the source and initial thoughts for potential directions.

5. Reframe the way you see criticism. To improve our writing, we’re taught to seek out feedback from beta readers outside our inner circle. Intimidating? Absolutely.    

But if you stick with it, developing a thick skin might be easier than you might think. Because as soon you really start to see the “constructive” side of constructive criticism, it hits home that the feedback isn’t about you; it’s about making your work stronger. Isn’t that what we want, too? And if we’re willing to sort what’s helpful from what’s not, there’s no reason to fear critique or internalize it – and every reason to look forward to the perspective that can take our books to the next level.

What about you? What practices have you found most helpful? What points would you extol from your own experience, or what advice from other authors has stuck with you?