I meant to get this blog post done on Sunday, but I had one computer issue after another, and then my website editor threw a wobbly! So I am a few days late getting this writing craft ramble out.  Last week was all about adding tension to our stories and ways to create it.

Tension is one of the most important parts of storytelling, but it’s often misunderstood. Many writers assume tension means explosions, arguments, or life-or-death situations. But really, tension can exist in the quietest scenes.

At its heart, tension comes from uncertainty. The reader wants to know what will happen, whether a character will succeed, what choice they'll make, or what consequences might follow.

One effective way to create tension is to give characters clear goals and place obstacles in their path. The greater the challenge, or the greater the cost of failure, the stronger the tension becomes. 

Questions are equally powerful. A reader doesn't need immediate answers. In fact, carefully placed uncertainties often encourage them to keep reading. The key is to create curiosity rather than confusion. 

Tension can also come from relationships, secrets, misunderstandings, deadlines, difficult decisions, or information that is withheld at the right moment. Sometimes a glance across a room can carry more tension than a dramatic confrontation.

When you are revising a story or a scene, look at each part and ask yourself: What is the reader worried about here? What are they hoping for? What question is encouraging them to turn the page? Tension isn't about making things louder and bigger. It's about making them matter.

What kind of tension do you most enjoy reading or writing. Do you prefer emotional tension, suspense, relationship conflict, mystery, or something else? Let me know in the comments.

Until next time, happy writing!

Some of the most satisfying moments in fiction happen when readers suddenly realise the clues were there all along. I always talk about this in workshops so some of you may have heard it before from me, but a perfect example of this is in the movie The Sixth Sense with Bruce Willis (the film is 27 years old now, so you would have seen it already if you wanted to, and this contains SPOILERS!). 

In the film it turns out the character you had been with all through the film was a ghost, and I thought, no, that can’t be true, because he spoke to people, he had dinner with his wife and talked to her! I immediately rewound the film and saw that NONE of those things had happened. He never interacted with anyone apart from the one boy who could see him. The anniversary dinner with his wife, where we thought he had arrived late and she was pissed off with him, and said “Happy anniversary” before leaving, was just her, by herself, thinking of him and saying “Happy Anniversary” to his memory, while his helpless ghost sat by. Other scenes also reveal the real truth, but they fit into the narrative so perfectly and so smoothly that the ending could not be faulted. We could not claim “cheat” or shout “how ridiculous”. It is a perfect example of breadcrumb laying.

Breadcrumbs are the small details, hints, echoes, and moments of foreshadowing that quietly prepare the reader for what’s to come. Done well, they don’t draw attention to themselves at the time. They simply settle into the fabric of the story.

A breadcrumb can be almost anything: a repeated phrase, an unusual object, a passing comment, a moment of hesitation, or a seemingly insignificant decision. Later, when its meaning becomes clear, the story gains a sense of cohesion and inevitability.

The key is subtlety. If a clue feels too heavily signposted, readers may predict the twist too early. But if there are no breadcrumbs at all, major revelations can feel unearned or disconnected.

Breadcrumbs also create emotional resonance. Returning to an earlier image or detail near the ending can give the reader a powerful sense of completion, even in a quiet story.

One useful exercise is to reread your ending and ask yourself: What could I quietly plant earlier to make this land more deeply? Try it and see what happens.

Do you enjoy spotting clues and foreshadowing while reading, or do you prefer surprises to catch you completely off guard? Let me know in the comments at the end of the page.

And before you get to the bottom - just a reminder that I have two events happening soon:

One is Writers Reading Zoom on Thursday 18th June at 7pm UK. The featured reader is Juanita Ozamiz. There are still some reading slots available so please book your free ticket first and then let me know if you would like a slot.

The second is the Zoom launch of Ancestral Virgins, the novel in three volumes by Fiona J Mackintosh. This is on Saturday 30th June at 8pm UK.

More details of both of these can be found by clicking on "Courses and Events" on the menu at the top of this page, where you will be able to get your free tickets.

Until next time, happy writing!

Last week I took a little break for a few days so didn’t post a blog. I had a lovely trip to Berlin where I got to unwind for a bit. But now I am back and talking about writing again..  this week it has been all about the five senses, and how to use them to make your writing richer.
 
One of the quickest ways to make a story feel vivid is to engage the senses. Writers often focus heavily on what a character can see, but atmosphere becomes much richer when we bring in sound, smell, touch, taste, and texture too. The creak of floorboards in an empty house. The smell of rain on a warm pavement - or that smell you get after the rain. The sting of cold air against skin. These details pull the reader deeper into the scene.
 
The key is specificity. A few carefully chosen sensory details usually work better than long passages of description. One striking image or unexpected smell can create an immediate emotional response.
 
Sensory writing can also reveal character. Two people may walk into the same room and notice entirely different things. One notices perfume and candle smoke; another notices damp walls and stale coffee. What we focus on tells the reader something about who we are, and this is the same for your characters.
 
And atmosphere matters. Sensory details shape mood almost invisibly. Soft fabric, distant music, and warm light create one feeling; flickering bulbs, sharp disinfectant, and echoing footsteps create another entirely.
 
If you weave sensory details naturally into your writing, the reader will stop observing the story from a distance and begin to experience it.
 
Which sense do you find easiest to write, and which do you tend to forget? Let me know in the comments below. And, write a short scene where a character is visiting the house of a new friend and has been asked to wait for them in a room. Post what you come up with.
 
Until next time, happy writing

Endings can feel like a lot of pressure. You’ve carried the story this far, and now everything rests on how you leave it. A strong ending doesn’t need to be dramatic or clever, but it needs to feel right.
 
The most satisfying endings grow naturally from what came before. They don’t arrive out of nowhere or try to tie everything up too neatly. Instead, they reflect the journey the story has taken, and the changes that have happened along the way. If you drop breadcrumbs along the way, the ending will be more believable and relatable, rather than coming from nowhere. This just leaves a reader feeling cheated.
 
So, think in terms of movement. What has shifted? It might be something external, but often it’s quieter than that; a realisation, a decision, a small but meaningful change in the character.
 
There’s also something to be said for restraint (I am a big fan of this in an ending). You don’t have to explain everything. In fact, endings are often stronger when they leave a little space for the reader to sit with what’s happened. I like an ending that quietly backs away from what came before.
 
Do you prefer endings that feel neatly resolved, or ones that leave a little unanswered? Let me know in the comments here, and maybe share something – either an ending of your own, or tell me about one of your favourites you have read.
 
If you would like to work with me you can find a link to my events and courses in the menu bar above. And there are also testimonials about my editing work. Have a look around. 
 
I can be with you at both ends of your publishing journey, with a novel course due to start in June, and editing services available to you for short stories and novels. I would love to hear from you.

I have been talking about plot and structure in stories this week. A compelling story isn’t just a collection of moments, it’s a sequence of choices and consequences, and connections that build into something meaningful.
 
Plot is what happens. Structure is how those events are shaped and revealed to the reader. When the two work together, the story feels inevitable and like it could only unfold this way. It changes the narrative from simply "this happened, then this happened, then that happened", and turns it into something engaging. It then becomes "this happened because that happened earlier, and now as a result of this, the following happens" – it all links together in a pleasing and satisfying way.
 
One of the simplest ways to strengthen your plot is to look at cause and effect. Each moment should lead naturally to the next. If a scene could be lifted out without changing anything, it may not be doing enough work.
 
Structure helps you control pacing and impact. Where you begin, where you place your turning points, and how you build toward the ending all shape the reader’s experience. Even subtle shifts you make in an edit, like moving a reveal or tightening a sequence, can make a big difference.
 
It’s also worth paying attention to your key moments. Are the turning points clear? Do they challenge your character in meaningful ways? Do they push the story forward? Readers don’t want your character to have an easy time of it. You don’t need to have them chased by lions, or massive boulders like Indiana Jones, but they need to get a little hot under the collar at times.
 
A strong plot doesn’t feel forced, and a strong structure doesn’t feel visible, but both are quietly doing the work underneath.
 
Do you tend to plan your plot and structure in advance, or discover it as you go? Let me know in the comments.
 
If you would like to work with me you can find a link to my events and courses in the menu bar above. And there are also testimonials about my editing work. Have a look around. 
 
I can be with you at both ends of your publishing journey, with a novel course due to start in June, and editing services available to you for short stories and novels. I would love to hear from you.

Of all the parts of a story, the middle is where things most often begin to loosen. The energy of the opening has settled, and the ending is still out of reach so it can be tempting to drift. But the middle isn’t empty space to cross. You should ideally be treating it as if it’s where the story deepens and earns what comes next.
 
One of the simplest ways to strengthen it is to look at tension. Not necessarily big, dramatic events, but a steady sense of pressure. What does your character want now? What’s getting in their way? If nothing is pushing against them, the story can begin to sag.
 
Momentum comes from cause and effect. Each moment should lead to the next, even in small ways. A choice, a reaction, a shift… these keep the story moving forward and give the reader a reason to stay.
 
This is also where character has room to grow. Let them struggle a little longer. Let them make mistakes. Let them misunderstand things, or choose badly, or hesitate when it matters. Conflict doesn’t always have to be loud to be powerful. It just needs to matter and have meaning.
 
And it’s worth looking closely at your scenes. Are they doing something: moving the story on, revealing something new, increasing the stakes? If not, they may need to be sharpened, combined, or let go. We have all heard the phrase “kill your darlings”. Editing out words that cause lag – no matter how much you love them (put them in a “reuse” file) – is the most important and valuable thing you can do for your writing.
 
A strong middle doesn’t draw attention to itself, but you feel it working. It holds the story together and carries the reader, almost without them noticing, towards the ending.
 
Which part of writing do you find hardest? The beginning, the middle, or the end? Let me know in the comments. I hope you have been enjoying my ramblings about writing craft, which I hope to continue doing daily with more in depth weekly posts like these too.
 
If you have a story (flash or short) or a novel manuscript that needs editing, please consider me for the job. I have lots of experience, both for WestWord and more recently for Fiction Factory, who I complete competition entry assessments for (both short story and novel first chapters). I have worked personally with several authors to get their manuscripts ready for publication. You can find some endorsements for my work at the button below, and you can also explore the rest of my website to see the stories I’ve had published, and to book for any of my courses or events.

I can’t believe it’s the end of another week. I committed to writing at least one writing craft blog post per week, and it seems to come around so quickly. I hope you have all had a productive writing week. Mine has been here and there… I have been trying to find some stories suitable for sending to the National Flash Fiction Day Flash Flood, and then, hey presto – some rejections came in this week, so I will probably send those! Ha ha. You can take part in the Flash Flood, which posts a story every few minutes on June 13th, by visiting the site at the button below and following their guidelines.

So… onto the craft part of this post. I am posting one short writing related social media post every day (that’s the plan anyway, barring anything getting in the way, or me forgetting, LOL), and from those posts I sum up at the end of the week. So.. this week has been all about beginnings, so let’s get on with it. By the way, if you are interested in any workshops I do, or in hiring me as a mentor, then you can click on the menu buttons at the top of the page here, have a little look around, read my stories, and then visit my bookings page. I would love to work with you.
 
How to Write a Beginning that Hooks Your Reader
A strong beginning doesn’t just start a story; it makes a promise to the reader that their time will be well spent. The key is to draw them in to the world your characters inhabit without overwhelming them, offering just enough to spark curiosity while leaving space for questions to grow.
 
One of the most important decisions is where to begin. Often, the best opening isn’t the earliest moment in the timeline, but the moment where something shifts, where tension, change, or uncertainty is already in motion. Starting too early can dilute the energy whereas starting at the point of movement gives the story immediate life. All the details you want the reader to know about the backstory can be woven into the current moment timeline.
 
Intrigue comes from what’s withheld as much as what’s revealed. A reader doesn’t need to understand everything straight away. In fact, they shouldn’t. A carefully chosen detail, a hint of conflict, or a question left hanging can be far more compelling than a flood of explanation. Avoid info dump as much as possible. It’s tempting to begin with background, and to over-explain, but this can slow the story before it’s even begun. Info-dumping and throat-clearing often push the real story further down the page. Instead, aim to begin with something active or evocative, allowing context to emerge naturally as the story unfolds.
 
The opening lines are where the reader learns the tone and voice of your story. Whether the voice is lyrical, spare, intimate, or distant, those first sentences set the emotional and stylistic expectations. A clear, confident voice invites trust and encourages the reader to settle in.
 
Tell me, what’s your favourite opening line from your own work or someone else’s? I would love you to let me know in the comments. Also, if there is any aspect of writing you would like me to cover in future posts or blogs, then do let me know. And finally, if you are not already a subscriber to my monthly newsletter (which will occasionally be more than once if I have anything to let you know about) then click on the button below and hit subscribe.

This week in my daily social media posts I have been focusing on dialogue. Dialogue is often where a story comes alive, but it’s also where it can lose its power. One of the most common arguments is whether good dialogue should sound like real conversation. It would be nice to think we could be so authentic and get away with it. It can work, up to a point. But, in reality, everyday speech is full of filler, repetition, and drift. On the page, that can quickly become tedious and annoying. Personally speaking, just as I hate to hear those people who say “So I was like, and he was like, and I, like did this…” so I don’t want to read it on a page. Getting the balance right is essential, so authenticity is at the heart of your dialogue without making your readers want to rip their ears out!
 
Effective dialogue is shaped. It gives the illusion of realism while being far more focused and intentional.
 
A useful place to start is by cutting the lead-in. Skip the greetings, the polite exchanges, the small talk. Begin where something is at stake. When characters speak because they need to, the scene immediately gains energy.
 
It’s also worth paying attention to what isn’t said. Subtext - the meaning beneath the words - can transform even a simple exchange. A character might deflect, avoid, or answer a different question altogether. These gaps invite the reader to lean in and interpret.
 
At the same time, dialogue can carry more of the story than we often allow it to. There’s a tendency to over-explain, adding extra description or internal thought to make sure everything is clear. But this can dilute the impact. When dialogue is working well, it can reveal character, build tension, and move the story forward, all on its own.
 
Conflict, even in subtle form, is key. Characters rarely want exactly the same thing, and that slight misalignment creates movement. One pushes, another resists. One speaks plainly, another circles the truth. This friction gives dialogue its life.
 
For fun – write a scene of dialogue where one person is talking about one thing, and another something completely different during a conversation. Let it be a while before they (or even the reader) realise. I would love to read what you come up with, so please feel free to post it in the comments.

Point of view is one of the most influential and important decisions we make when we come to write our stories and novels. It determines not just who tells the story, but how that story is experienced. It tells the reader what is seen, what is hidden, and what is felt.
 
It’s tempting to choose a familiar perspective, but it’s worth asking who is the best person to tell this story? Often, the answer isn’t the most obvious character, even to you, but the one with the most at stake, or the one who misunderstands events in a revealing way.
 
Point of view also shapes distance. A close perspective can pull us tightly into a character’s thoughts and emotions, creating intimacy. A more distant one allows for space, reflection, and a broader view of events. Neither is better; each offers different possibilities.
 
What matters is consistency and clarity. When a point of view slips unintentionally, it can break the reader’s immersion in the story – and there is nothing worse than being “pulled out of” a story. I hear and see people say that all the time in book reviews. But when a point of view shift is controlled, it becomes a powerful filter. Everything - the setting, the dialogue, even the smallest detail - is shaped by the perspective through which it’s seen.
 
But it is also true that limitation can be a strength. What a narrator doesn’t know, or chooses not to reveal, can create tension and depth. Sometimes, what’s left unsaid carries as much weight as what’s on the page.
 
Have you ever changed the point of view in a piece of writing? What difference did it make?
​
Try this exercise: Rewrite a scene you are working on from a different point of view. Notice how not just the details change, but the tone, the emphasis, even the meaning of the scene itself.
 
Let me know in the comments on this post what you think, and what happened when you did the exercise.
 
Until next time
 
Happy scribbling!

I have had quite a good week this week and I will be going into that some more in a Substack newsletter coming on 1st April so lookout for that. You can sign up for my newsletter by clicking on the button below, and this will ensure you get all my news and information about upcoming workshops and courses. I will make sure you don’t miss a thing.

In my daily social posts this week, I have been talking about setting. Setting is often treated as background; something to sketch in before the story gets going. But in stronger writing, setting isn’t something the story sits on. It’s something the story grows out of.

Place shapes behaviour. A conversation in a quiet library unfolds differently from one in a crowded café. I know I am a different person in each of those places – in truth, I am probably more unpredictable in the quiet setting. Lots of people are like that, noisy when they are supposed to be quiet, and quiet when they are allowed to be noisy! A character returning to their childhood home will notice things a stranger wouldn’t. Setting is never neutral; it’s always influencing what happens.

This means we don’t need to describe everything when we are writing a scene in a story. Instead, we should focus on what matters in the moment. What does your character notice first? What do they avoid? Which detail carries emotional weight?
Setting can also do the work of emotion. Rather than explaining how a character feels, let the environment reveal it. A cluttered room is maybe the sign of a mind too over-crowded and pre-occupied. A too-bright kitchen might indicate a character is over-compensating for something dark in their life. A long empty road might be a metaphor for a difficult journey or truth a character has to face. Filter everything through perspective, because no two characters experience the same place in the same way.

And don’t forget that setting can shift. Light fades, weather turns, a space empties. These changes can mirror or even drive what’s happening within the scene. The key is restraint. A few precise details will always carry more power than a full inventory.

Take one of your scenes. What single detail could you change or add to make the setting more meaningful? This will work if you are stuck and finding it hard to just put words down. Take a breath, do this exercise (let’s call it for fun!) and see what comes out. Let me know in the comments what you discovered and whether it helped you.

​Until next time, Happy Scribbling!