However, how do you know you’re spending way too much time in your character’s head? And when does it become rambling instead of insight?

In this article, let’s talk about what interiority is, how to keep it from turning into rambling, and how to use it when things start moving fast.

Table of contents

• What is interiority in writing?

• How do you tell interiority from rambling?

• How much interiority do you need when the pace picks up?

What is interiority in writing?

Interiority is when you, as the reader, have access to what’s going on in the POV character’s head. However, interiority isn’t just about thoughts. As you may deduce from the term, interiority is everything that can be described as internal (shocking, I know).

Mary Kole, a former literary agent and now founder of Mary Kole Editorial, defines interiority as the POV character’s:

• Thoughts

• Feelings

• Expectations

• Internal reactions

• And inner struggle

This means interiority doesn’t include physical reactions, dialogue or, well, anything external. Anything that you or another person in the room could “see” or “hear” in the book is external.

Here’s an example to make it clearer.

Here, the first version is just narration. But the second version tells us more about our POV character. It hints at his relationship with Victoria and shows us his mood. That’s something a camera can’t show.

How do you tell interiority from rambling?

Interiority gives your readers something new, while rambling gives them something they already have. When you’re inside a character’s head, you would, ideally, learn something new to keep piecing things together.

Rambling can show up in three ways:

1. It repeats the action. For example, he slams the cabinet shut, then thinks about how angry he is. The thing is, slamming the cabinet already tells us he’s angry.

2. It says the same thing… several times. For example, he was angry, his blood was boiling, and he couldn’t believe how mad he was.

3. It wanders. For example, the character is in an important confrontation and proceeds to drift to a memory that has nothing to do with what’s happening, pulling the reader out of the scene.

A real insight, or well, interiority, tells you what you can’t get from our imaginary camera. Why he’s acting this way, what he’s planning, or that what he’s thinking doesn’t match what he’s saying.

So, when you reread an interiority section, ask yourself:

If I cut this, would my reader lose anything from the story?

If not, it’s rambling.

If they’d lose a secret, a reason, or a decision, it’s interiority.

How much interiority do you need when the pace picks up?

You don’t necessarily need less interiority when the pace picks up, like maybe in fight scenes or the final arc. But you do need shorter interiority.

At the start of your book, readers don’t know your character yet. They need interiority to understand how they think, which is why early chapters (or the first book in a series) have more interiority, and later on you may need less.

In fast scenes or when the pace picks up, interiority is shorter because readers already know the character, so even a fragment is enough for them to understand their train of thought (with enough context, of course).

For example, back to Victoria and the cabinet, it could be something like:

The invisibility bottle was nowhere to be found. Victoria.

However, you can save longer thoughts for after the fast scenes, in what we could call a breather scene, when all the action is over. There, the character has the opportunity for longer reflections without interrupting your reader’s flow in crucial moments.

Interiority should give your reader what they can’t figure out on their own. At the beginning of your book, that’s a lot. By the end, they know your character well enough to read between the lines.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

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In this article, I bring you the types of scene transitions you can use in your book and what a scene transition can do.

Table of contents:

• What’s a scene transition?

• 4 Types of scene transitions

What’s a scene transition?

A scene transition is the “hand-off” from one scene to the next. This, as you may infer, happens when there’s a change of space, a stretch of time, or a different character POV.

Now, you’ve surely experienced walking into the kitchen or, well, any other room and forgetting what you came for in the first place. And while some of you may blame age or just consider yourselves absent-minded individuals (like me!), the truth is that this is called the doorway effect.

Even so, a study by Dr. Jessica Mcfadyen (UCL Queen Square Institute of Neurology) and Dr. Oliver Baumann (Bond University) found a twist to the doorway effect. They tested it by asking participants to wear a VR headset and memorize objects as they moved from one room to another.

Initially, crossing the virtual doorway alone didn’t have an effect on their memory. BUT when participants had to do a difficult counting task at the same time, overloading their memory, the doorway effect showed up.

Also, in this study, the rooms were identical, so researchers concluded that it’s not specifically the doorway that causes the doorway effect but the change in environment. Usually, your kitchen would look very different from your living room, and this change of context affects your memory.

And that’s even worse when our minds are busy thinking of something else…

So, what does this mean for us writers?

(Don’t worry, I didn’t explain all of that just to not tie it back).

Well, scene transitions are our reader’s doorway, and they work very similarly, which means three important things:

1. The size of the change between scenes matters. A scene break that stays in the same space with the same people doesn’t immediately flush out the information in your reader’s brain. A break that jumps to a new place or time may.

2. Busy readers forget more. If your story is juggling a lot of storylines, character POVs, or worldbuilding (ahem, fantasy), readers may get memory overload, just like in the study, and forget more details between scenes. So, after a big jump, reminding them of the one detail that matters for the current scene helps a lot.

3. Having multiple scenes in chapters is okay. When a reader flushes out information from the previous scene, they actually have more space to settle in the current scene fully.

Now, how do you build those doorways?

Writers use one of four. These can be a chapter break, a blank space, a separator (like ***), or a short summary that carries the reader with no break.

Let’s look into each one.

4 Types of scene transitions

In this section, let’s go over the different scene transitions briefly. I’ll tell you what each means and when to use it.

Still, these aren’t rules, just guidelines that may help you along your writing journey.

1. Summary

It’s the smallest transition step. Your reader often stays in the same “room” or follows the same immediate thread, so nothing gets flushed out.

Use it when: the jump is small and the next moment depends on what just happened.

Example: “She didn’t go back that afternoon, or the next. And by Saturday morning, there was a thin layer of snow in the garden.”

This one shows a transition of time, but it ties subtly into the next scene without letting go of the reader’s attention.

2. Blank space

In this one, something more prominent changed (time, place, or POV). We’re in the same thread, but now the doorway is more obvious. The reader knows we’ve moved.

Use it when: you’re jumping within the same chapter thread.

Example: [Well, it’s just a blank space on the page!]

One thing to have in mind on this one is that, on e-readers, a blank space at the bottom of a page may disappear. Which means a reader may not notice it. And this is where proper separators come in.

3. Separator

Same as the blank space but now you have either the “***” or a cool design to signal the break of scenes.

Use it when: you want to make sure readers notice the break.

4. Chapter break

This one is the biggest doorway. It may be because of a big jump in time, a new place, or a natural pause.

Use it when: the story needs a fresh start, or… you’ve reached a natural stopping point.

After a chapter break, it may make sense for you to remind readers of the one detail that matters from the previous chapter.

In the end, scene transitions are just doorways for your reader. Pick the one that works for you and remind them of anything they may have left in the other room. Just ensure your reader can follow along. They may even follow you to the second book.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

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Where you start and end a scene shapes your pacing. And pacing defines whether your reader keeps turning pages or “takes a break,” which can lead them to not open the book for weeks.

In this article, I bring to you another analysis piece on popular writing advice that needs more context, so you can start applying it to your story.

Table of contents

• What’s a scene?

• What does “start late, leave early” mean?

• How to start a scene in a book

• How to end a scene in a book

What’s a scene?

A scene is an event or segment of your story that plays out moment by moment. The “moment by moment” part is what makes it different from a summary.

In a summary, you might write “they argued over how to run the shop for weeks.” In a scene, you show the actual argument, line by line.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with adding a summary within a scene. Knowing when to show and when to tell is the heart of the “show, don’t tell” advice, which we already demystified a while back.

So, let’s continue with some other basics.

A chapter can hold one scene, several scenes, or sometimes just a summary. If you had to picture it, it would be something similar to the image below:

(This image was AI-generated)

Now because chapters can contain one or multiple scenes, the “start late, leave early” advice applies to them as well.

Which invites the question: how do you know when you’re changing scenes within chapters?

Well, I’d say most of us know instinctively. Readers (and writers) generally feel the shift when the location, time, or point-of-view character changes. Every scene comes with two decisions: where you start and when you end it.

And “start late, leave early” is the piece of writing advice that answers both.

What does “start late, leave early” mean?

“Start late” means the scene should start as close to the main event as possible. “Leave early” means you should finish the scene as soon as it’s achieved its goal.

In our day-to-day, every event comes with padding. For example, arriving at a location, saying “hi,” exchanging pleasantries, the dreaded small talk (ugh), and saying “goodbye.”

In fiction writing, this advice is about cutting all of that.

If your scene is A-B-C-D-E, then:

• A is the padding before (arriving, pleasantries, small talk)

• B to D is the main event (conflict or development)

• E is the padding after (leaving, goodbyes, wind-down; keep this last one in mind)

You should cut A and E. They’re not necessary for your scene. BUT, you still have to give enough context to ground your reader. Otherwise, they land in the middle of an argument between your characters with no idea where they are (describing the setting is important here!) or why everyone is yelling and getting stabbed.

And because this advice comes from film, it doesn’t account for describing the setting. In a movie, we already see the setting (who’s there, the time of day, and where). In writing, we have to ground the reader.

How to start a scene in a book

To start a scene in your book, you need to understand what the main event is and know what context is important.

This comes down to answering two questions:

1. Where is B (your main event)?

2. How much information does the reader need to not get lost?

A practical tip for this is to just write the whole scene, from A to E. When you’re done, identify your A.

Common A’s can include:

• Your character waking up (we all know this trope)

• Getting ready and driving to the location

• Greetings and small talk

Once you have your A, cut it paragraph by paragraph. If the scene stops making sense, you’ve gone a little too far. So put the last cut back, and that’s your B.

Make sure you include a short setting or grounding section before or during the main event. That’s what keeps the scene making sense, even when you skip ahead. And getting those details down as early as you can gives you room to jump into the juice of the story without worrying about your reader’s sanity or them going “huh?”

So, that’s getting in.

Now onto the other half of the advice, which is knowing when to get out.

How to end a scene in a book

Every scene has a job, whether that be a revelation, a twist, raising stakes, or getting your character in (or out) of trouble. Once that job is done, the scene is over.

With a caveat…

You should end your scenes with a question, not an answer.

Your E is usually the aftermath or wind-down of the scene. Not only the goodbyes. During E, your characters process what just happened. They come to understand something or even form a conclusion.

Which is why you should cut it 🔪.

Because it’s all the better when the reader is the one forming the conclusion or understanding something.

Ending a scene with unsaid feelings or a truth that hasn’t been processed makes the reader want to keep turning pages. They want to learn more. They want to know if their assumptions are correct. And turning the page is the only way to do that.

If you give them a complete end of the scene, well, they can comfortably close the book.

Lastly, let’s briefly talk about cliffhangers.

You could say that “leaving early” is very similar to the advice of ending all your chapters on a cliffhanger. And well, the lines between the two are blurry.

Some advice out there considers what we just discussed on “leaving early” as cliffhangers too. Because things are unresolved and you can only find out by moving forward. Others save the “cliffhanger” term for the big, dramatic moments.

Either way, the difference that matters is that “leaving early” can be quiet. A cliffhanger usually isn’t.

My take on this is that every chapter should have the “leaving early.” But not every chapter should end with a cliffhanger. If every chapter ended on a cliffhanger, readers would get exhausted, and at some point it would stop working.

So, you know what to do: “start late and leave early.” But give your reader enough information to follow along and keep turning pages.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

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But when it comes to writing it down, the magical shop you pictured with long shelves full of numerous jars varying in color and size, each with different layers of dust, becomes “the shop that had a lot of dusty jars.” Or the opposite, like a page filled with details worthy of a real estate listing.

In this article, let’s talk about how to describe a setting, the elements of it, and why it’s not as complex as you may think.

Table of contents

• Why you don’t need to describe every detail of your setting

• What is a setting in writing (and what goes into it)?

• How to write a setting: 3 questions to find the right balance

Why you don’t need to describe every detail of your setting

You don’t need to describe every detail of your setting because it can slow down the pacing and compromise your reader’s attention.

Oftentimes we, as writers, have a very specific picture of what a setting looks like in our story. Every detail feels important because we want the reader to picture it exactly as we do. But this is often unnecessary.

I’m sure you’ve heard the “book was better than the movie” discussion way too many times. And the truth is: yes, the book is almost always better. But one major reason is that when you’re reading a book, you’re actively engaging with it.

In comparison, the movie just feeds you all the details, which, let’s be honest, makes it kind of disappointing.

But if you saw the movie first and read the book second, you just picture what’s happening in the book with details already provided. The movie doesn’t feel as lacking then.

A 2019 review of research on moving image vs. language came to the conclusion that:

Which basically means reading generates more diverse responses than watching movies. Precisely because you’re using your own context and imagination to fill in the blanks.

Moreover (and because I found another interesting article), readers aren’t created equal. While some probably enjoy J.R.R. Tolkien’s vivid descriptions, others can find them tedious.

In fact, there’s a condition called aphantasia, in which it’s difficult for people to picture scenes or objects in their head. They understand the concept of a fountain pen with intricate golden patterns. They just can’t picture it easily.

And what does this mean when they read fiction?

According to a study by cognitive scientist Laura Speed, people with aphantasia are less absorbed by the world and care less about descriptions of scenery. HOWEVER, according to this study, people with aphantasia still enjoyed the story as much as people without the condition.

Descriptions are important to ground your reader. Some people really enjoy them while others don’t. But a good story doesn’t depend on very detailed descriptions because the reader is more than capable of filling in the blanks.

You do, however, need to give them something to build from.

What is a setting in writing (and what goes into it)?

Setting is the time and place in which your story happens. Most of us instinctively start with the obvious, like the immediate physical location and time of day.

These elements are important because they ground the reader in your scene. Even if readers don’t get all the details from the description, just mentioning a dubious bar or the Victorian era gives them a lot of information to start filling in the blanks.

Without a setting in every scene, you could find yourself with a serious case of white room syndrome. If you’ve never heard the term, here’s what it means:

And who knows? That may be exactly where your characters are, with the fantasy-like clothing and everything. But you have to tell your reader, or their imagination will build the wrong room.

Now, what goes into setting?

Time and place are the most cited elements across sources (like LitCharts and SuperSummary). However, some add a third or fourth element on top.

Here’s a list of the three elements I consider most important for your scene:

1. Place (the where)

2. Time (the when)

3. Environment or milieu (the world around the characters, such as weather, culture and society)

Some writers may group these differently or add atmosphere (mood) as a fourth. Others may argue that the setting brings the mood. All of that is fine as long as your reader knows where they are, when, and what kind of world they’re in.

How to write a setting: 3 questions to find the right balance

To write a setting, keep in mind the place, time, and environment. However, you don’t need to over-describe. It may feel like the reader needs all of these details, but my recommendation would be to cut them if you can’t answer any of the following questions with a “yes.”

• Does it matter to the POV character or plot? For example, a detail that reveals something about the character, or a Chekhov’s gun that will pay off later.

• Is it worldbuilding your reader needs? Context that your reader needs to understand this scene.

• Does it ground the reader? This is about making sure the reader knows when and where your characters are.

If any of these is a “yes,” keep it. If all are “no,” well, my advice is to cut it, but it’s your story. In that sense, there’s no wrong way to do descriptions. Just remember that too little of it doesn’t help your reader fill in the blanks, and too much of it can be tedious or unnecessary for some readers.

BONUS: the unhinged tip

I firmly believe that writing your book is all about constant trial and error. So, if you like writing long paragraphs with vivid descriptions, just do it. Write it all.

Sometimes writing more than necessary about our world is how we get to understand it better. You can always save your work as a first draft and then cut out information in the second. A good editor (or a few honest beta readers) can help you spot what to cut and improve your manuscript.

Describing a setting isn’t about how much to put on the page, but about giving your reader enough information.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

So, you open your manuscript excited about your story and all the ideas that have been brewing all day in your head. But two hours later, you close the doc feeling a little defeated by a word count not met or a vision not realized.

And you’re expected to do this again tomorrow? It’s no surprise you start dreading the act itself.

If you’ve ever felt guilty about being a writer who hates writing (even a little), this one is for you.

Table of contents

• Why do writers have a love-hate relationship with writing?

• Why loving and hating writing isn’t a bad thing and what to do about it.

Why do writers have a love-hate relationship with writing?

Writers love and hate writing because of the gap between what’s in your head and what actually lands on the page.

You have this idea of a vivid world, unforgettable characters, and a story that makes your heart ache. And you see it clearly, because of all that time spent fantasizing about it. But when you actually sit down to write it, you get less-than-ideal results.

This is one of the many reasons why writers like the “idea of writing”.

(Source: Pinterest)

The ideation part is easy. Writers are highly imaginative individuals. Reason why we have more than a couple of projects waiting for us after finishing our current draft.

Now, I’m not saying writing isn’t enjoyable.

Writers love writing because of the act of creating something genuinely theirs.

When writing is “working,” you look up and three hours are gone in an instant. Chasing that flow state is addictive. But even in the days it doesn’t flow, there’s the satisfaction of having done it, which is the feeling behind the popular phrase, often attributed to Dorothy Parker.

Maybe starting is the hard part. But once you’re in it, the resistance quiets and the story carries you.

Writing is thinking. When you write something down, you understand it better. On the blank page fuzzy ideas become beliefs or stories.

But also, writing is genuinely hard. It’s a cognitive effort with a hundred specific rules that, if broken by a single rogue typo, can end your whole career (emotionally, of course, and for 20 minutes).

Writing is demanding and solitary, yet it promises little in return. Other than the satisfaction of having written. And the opportunity of a reader liking what you produced (which is another kind of high).

Why loving and hating writing isn’t a bad thing and what to do about it

Loving and hating writing isn’t a bad thing because it shows you care (maybe too much) about your craft. You want that idea you have in your head to look as good on the page. But maybe your skill hasn’t caught up yet.

And that’s fine.

Refining your craft will be a continuous work-in-progress. You’ll do a good job in book one and book ten as the gap between what’s on the page and your vision keeps getting smaller.

A lot of the resistance, if we’re honest, is ego-driven. Writers are perfectionists by nature, and perfectionism doesn’t like to be caught mid-process. That first ugly (but very important) draft wounds the part of you that wants to be good already. So you avoid it.

(Source: Pinterest)

Which brings us to advice as old as the craft itself.

Allow yourself to suck first.

Give your draft permission to just exist. That doesn’t mean it’s bad. A draft zero is doing its job by just existing, and it will always beat a perfect draft that only lives in your head because at least draft zero can be edited. And editing is where the magic happens.

Write something “bad”.

It’s the only way you’ll ever write something good.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

But how much dialogue is too much?

How do you know when it goes from banter to two talking heads?

And is there a ratio between description and dialogue you can follow?

Well, I did the research for you.

In this article, you’ll get the “benchmarks” and the actual answer that most experts start explaining with an “it depends.”

What this article is about:

• Why did “dialogue ratio” become a thing?

• The “benchmarks”: what your genre expects roughly

• How to actually balance dialogue in a book (the answer)

Author’s note ✍

As most of you know, I’m writing my first fantasy book. Which means I have a very selfish interest in questions like the one posted in the comments of last month’s article on how to write banter.

These are the questions I don’t think about… until someone else asks, of course.

Also, the kind of questions that make you really look at your manuscript in a critical way. There’s this idea floating around that the chapters of your book need a “good balance” between dialogue and other elements, without anyone explaining what that balance actually looks like.

So, I went looking for an answer.

Hope you like this one, Margo!

Why did “dialogue ratio” become a thing?

Dialogue ratio became a thing because of the simple fact that it’s measurable. We can feel when a scene is odd. We get annoyed at a book that describes even the most unimportant objects for two pages straight. Or one in which the characters continuously talk about things we don’t care about.

But when teaching the craft, it’s difficult to tell a writer “re-read it, and you’ll feel when it’s too much.”

Naturally, we’re biased about our own work.

No editor is going to say that “the vibes were off” and leave it at that. Instead, they quote ranges. Informally. Just to provide a guideline for emerging writers.

At the end of the day, a writer who has great control over the craft can break all the “rules” and still produce a wonderful piece.

But where are all these “ranges” coming from? And who’s measuring them?

The “benchmarks”: what your genre expects roughly

I went down another rabbit hole for this article.

There were a few articles that were giving me ratios. But they were from the years 2012-2015. I wanted something fresher, at least from 2020. The more I searched, the more I found some “it depends” and best practices.

So, I changed my focus to writing software. Those definitely want to be cited for this kind of stuff. Most writing software doesn’t offer the dialogue ratio checker, but the ones that do provided me with good information.

ProWritingAid dialogue ratios

According to ProWritingAid, novels rarely contain under 10% or over 80% of dialogue. This is the benchmark I liked the most because it gives you a lot of room to develop your novel the way you want it.

I’ve read (and enjoyed) books in which most of the story is carried through dialogue and others in which it has been carried through description.

EditRoast dialogue ratios

EditRoast has a tighter dialogue ratio of 35-55% for commercial fiction. However, they also share some ratios for specific genres:

• 45-70% for thrillers and romance

• 25-40% for literary fiction

Their argument is that with under 25% of dialogue, it’s difficult for the reader to connect with a character that barely talks. And that the use of continued narration can affect pace while also making the prose dense.

Over 75% of dialogue is more similar to a screenplay. When characters talk too much, there’s no room for atmosphere, interiority, or physical grounding.

Bookshaper dialogue ratios

For Bookshaper, the balance sits more comfortably in the 50/50 spectrum. A novel with 50% being dialogue can carry the reader through the story IF said dialogue has thematic weight.

This was also the most detailed one, as it provided a table of dialogue ranges per genre, which you can see below:

Right now, I’m writing a YA fantasy, so I guess my range of dialogue should be between 25-55%. I’m not sure that’s currently the case. But I sure am tempted to plug my manuscript into one of these tools to see what my ratio is.

How to actually balance dialogue in a book (the answer)

It depends.

(You surely saw that answer coming).

Balance isn’t about how much dialogue is on a page. It’s about whether all the elements (description, action, and interiority) are supporting it and showing up alongside it.

A ratio can be misleading. A chapter at 60% dialogue can feel balanced if the other 40% is doing real work. That can either be grounding the reader, showing the character’s reactions, or letting the atmosphere participate to give the scene texture.

A chapter with 30% dialogue can still feel roomy if the narration is abstract and disembodied from the scene.

To “balance” dialogue in a book:

• Make sure dialogue is moving the plot forward (by providing new information or raising the stakes), or developing your character (by revealing their personality or their backstory naturally).

• Anchor your reader to the scene (where are the characters? What are they doing? What are their internal reactions?)

Ultimately, there’s not a definite number. Applying these strategies by yourself can still give you a better idea of where you’re at, but it may still be biased.

This is one of the reasons why good beta readers or a professional editor are invaluable.

A good start could also be following at least ProWritingAid’s benchmark since it’s more flexible, but still gives you a good grip on your dialogue habits.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

With three months behind us, we now have enough data to talk about our first quarter. One interesting thing that happened in August is that one of my articles totally skewed the data and any point of reference I had… which I’m not mad about.

If anything, it makes things more interesting.

Let’s see what I have for you today.

(This post may be truncated on email. For a better reading experience, read it in the app!)

Table of contents

• A recap and where we’re at (June, July, and August, 2026)

• The numbers for month three only (August, 2026)

• The journey or “strategy” that I followed, if you want to call it that

• The results, insights, and things I learned

• What’s next?

A recap and where we’re at

Before we get into the August data, let’s look back at the whole quarter with data from June, July, and August.

Narrative Baggage’s first quarter numbers look like this:

• Subscribers: 144

• Views: 6k

• Open rate: 33.09%

As you can see, I had a steady growth, little by little, instead of big spikes.

When it comes to the quarter views, I had many spikes that mostly correspond to when I posted an article. One of the spikes at the end of August is the tallest and most menacing one.

Yes, that’s the one from the article I mentioned earlier.

Overall, I’m very satisfied with this quarter. When I started Narrative Baggage, I had two initial goals.

The first one, less important, and one that is more quantitative, was to get 100 subscribers by the end of the year. We’re now in September and more than halfway done to get to 200. So, check.

The second one, the most important, and also more qualitative one, was to connect with people, to have a community, and to have great conversations. This one is always going to be a work-in-progress. But I can say that we’re making great progress!

Now, let’s go into specifics for August.

The numbers for month three only (August, 2026)

Now, here’s what the numbers look like at the end of August for Narrative Baggage and in comparison with July:

• Subscribers: 142 (up 51%)

• Views: 3.38k (up 135%)

• Open rate: 33.2% (up from last month)

This month, subscribers increased, and views doubled from 1.44k to 3.38k, which means either my notes or my articles are reaching more people in the vast world of Substack.

Open rates also increased to 33.2%, better than the 29.75% in July, which may mean new subscribers are engaging more with the content. Still, some of you have mentioned that open rates are often unreliable because you don’t open my emails, but read my articles from the app.

I appreciate you mentioning that. Maybe the open rate is better than I think.

The journey or “strategy” that I followed, if you want to call it that

You already know my strategy.

I post at least two notes daily and one article weekly. In August, though, I posted 89 notes… somehow. Don’t ask me how. I just know that 62 of those notes I scheduled. The others are probably from things I really wanted to share on the spot.

When it comes to articles, I posted five:

• Self-insert characters: how to do them right and why nobody is above it

• My second month on substack wrapped

• How to write banter: why is not just a romance thing and what it does for your story

• A random Substack comment and who gets to call themselves a writer (THIS is the one that skewed the data)

• Short story: the greatest swordsman

Each of these was out on Sundays at around 6 am PT.

For notes, it seems like this month I was looking a lot into tropes.

I also posted funny notes.

Washing dishes continues to be, indeed, the bane of my existence.

I was also tempted to choose violence because one past weekend felt like nothing.

One of my notes was inspired by a guest’s appearance (my sister).

And some of you came up with very funny responses.

I’m having way too much fun adding these notes, so let’s wrap it up with this last one.

In August, I also posted my first short story, The Greatest Swordsman (go check it out!):

This is a story that I promised myself I would work on when my book (the one I’m currently writing and the one that takes priority) was finished. But it seems like some stories have a way of coming back and asking for their own space.

The results, insights, and things I learned

The most glaring thing first, and it’s that the biggest peak of this month (and also the whole quarter) was because of the article about who gets to call themselves a writer.

Here’s also a screenshot of its overview. As you can see, the article generated around 605 views and 76 likes, having only been released on August 23.

On average, my articles get around 200 views, so this piece did the job of three pieces.

Here’s the breakdown in engagement of all August pieces:

I thought the “self-insert character” and “how to write banter” articles were going to lead this month. But I was sorely mistaken.

It also surpassed the July articles:

And the June articles:

The “narrative voice” article was reigning as the one with the most engagement in my little Substack corner. I honestly thought things were going to stay like that for months to come.

And now, I’m not sure if any of my future articles are going to dethrone “who gets to call themselves a writer”.

It was an article that resonated with many of us. Because we’re all writers, and being a “writer”, using the label, is something that most us do without knowing how we go it, and some of us don’t use, even though we are.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try and write a piece at the same level.

Where did visitors come from?

The unique visitors graph tells us that many people landed on my publication on August 23 because of a certain article. You know which one.

As usual, most of you came from Substack. But some came from actual organic search, like Google, DuckDuckGo, Bing, and Ecosia.

Shout-out to the person who came from Ecosia 🤘

I used that search engine so much when I was in school and before I sold my soul to Google.

Now, naturally, because some searches were from organic search, I went ahead and checked my Google Search Console to see if maybe we’re ranking in any keywords or queries.

And well, we are.

No clicks from any of these queries, but when it comes to positions, we’re ranking #8 for “are self insert characters bad” and others.

Mind you, all of those positions are averages directly from Google.

Google search results are often personalized, so if you type any of those keywords, my publication may not appear in the position that this table says. But close.

Either way, I needed to do the search to see it, and on the second page of Google, at position 16 (I counted), was Narrative Baggage.

What did my subscriber growth look like?

The most subscribers I got during August in a day were four.

And again, most people came from Substack (80.39%), some others were already reading my articles or notes and decided to give me a chance, so they subscribed (17.65%), and last but never least, there’s a person who came from an unassigned bucket (1.96%).

I know I said before that I was going to try to plug a Substack extension here to give you better data and more info. But the ones I found, I didn’t like or didn’t show the data I wanted to pull.

This is probably the last data-driven wrap-up I do. My initial thought was to make these articles until we made it to 100 subscribers. With that done, I’m thinking of doing wrap-ups, but more on updates about my book or what I’m learning. We’ll see.

What’s next?

Next up, I’ll keep doing research to bring you articles on craft and some essays. Some of you have provided topics or questions that you’d like me to do research on, and rest assured, I’m working on it.

That said, if you have other topics you’d like to see in this publication, my comment section or DMs are always open. Thank you for sticking around.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

I had a lot of fun writing my short story. And while I didn’t win, this was a great opportunity to use my story as a learning tool (I also promised to post it here for you!)

Today in Narrative Baggage…

I want to share with you the first short story of this publication.

It will serve as a checkpoint to see how much I’ve improved as a writer when I look back. And I’ll be doing an analysis of the things that could be improved now that I’m not drunk with excitement and itching to meet a deadline.

What this article is about:

• Short story: the greatest swordsman (as submitted in the contest)

• Analysis: what could be improved

A note on content warnings, as has made me understand the importance of them.

Content warnings⚠️ (just so you know what you’re getting into): character death and some battle violence.

Short story: the greatest swordsman

The greatest swordsman alive was on his way to defeat the demon king. What he didn’t know was that he was going to die at the end.

The sky above the floating castle had a dusk consistency that didn’t resemble the hour of the day. And while getting inside had been easy, it didn’t make the thundering of the party’s hearts any calmer.

An archer, a healer, a knight, and the greatest swordsman alive had found the magical entrance under the floating castle. Had found the secret entrance to its walls. And, of course, had avoided the tiles that opened the floor of the main dining hall, launching them down to the space below.

Or well, the greatest swordsman had done it.

He had found the stones that activated the magical portal to the castle. He had guided them to an entrance covered in vines. And he had instructed them to avoid the light gray tiles that looked identical to all the other gray tiles in the dining hall.

He was the greatest swordsman alive after all.

The staircase to the throne room spiraled upward, and the boots of the party echoed with every step. A feeling of dread settled on everyone. Because when the echo stopped, silence would announce another battle. One they were all expecting, yet not ready for.

Thud… Thud… Thud… Thud…

The greatest swordsman held his short sword with a steady hand in front of him.

Thud… Thud…

He was always at the front of the party.

Thud… Thud… Thud…

The demon king wouldn’t get to the healer if the greatest swordsman could prevent it.

Thud.

But his resolve was short-lived as a shadow fell from above, grabbing the healer by the neck and launching him through a high window that opened to the sky outside.

The greatest swordsman turned on his heels in a flash, followed by the archer, who jumped back. He needed the distance to at least be able to attack. The knight wasn’t as lucky. A bronze hand with long black nails was coming out of his chest… and through the armor.

The knight fell, giving the archer, who was already drawing an arrow, and the greatest swordsman a better view of the man before them.

He was too tall.

His hands mirrored claws.

And the smile, with lower canines protruding from it, promised a long battle.

A myriad of arrows flew from the archer’s bow in quick succession. Magical arrows that bounced through the room until they found their target. But said target knew better than to only dodge. So, the demon king ducked as the greatest swordsman sliced through the air he had occupied, and kicked him away.

Before the archer released his second batch of arrows, the demon king threw a wooden table that was missing a leg. The archer dodged with ease, but he didn’t see the fourth broken leg directed at the spot where he landed.

The magical arrows stopped bouncing in the throne room, and the greatest swordsman clenched his teeth. The massacre had been swift.

He swung his sword with the expertise of someone much older and more experienced than him.

But the demon king refused to engage.

For hours or what felt like days, the greatest swordsman swung his sword without meeting his target. And when human limitations started to wear on his body, the demon king disarmed him with a single swipe of his hand. And pivoted behind the greatest swordsman.

A scream resounded through the castle walls.

The demon king’s arm hooked around his neck, and a hand was pushing forcibly at the side of his head. The greatest swordsman clawed at it. But he was unarmed. In need of a sword.

A mirror across the hall caught them both. And the greatest swordsman caught something in the face of the demon king that made him stop. Something he didn’t get to think about for long.

Snap.

* * *

A young man opened his eyes and grieved a dream he couldn’t remember well. A tall man pointing at his sword and laughing because he had done something foolish with it.

It felt lifetimes away.

A tear had formed in the corner of his eye. The young man brushed it off, put on his armor, and grabbed his favorite sword. One with a ruby encrusted in the handle.

Today, he was going to be proclaimed the greatest swordsman alive.

He knelt before the queen with his party. Just like numerous parties had done before. A bard, a hunter, and a thief were to accompany him to defeat the demon king.

And while the trip promised dread and misery, a musical companion raised the party’s spirits.

Oh, the greatest swordsman alive

The world itself birthed him to thrive

Three years of swordsmanship had been enough

To make this young man impossibly tough

What the greatest swordsman alive didn’t know was that he was going to die at the end.

May he save this weary, dark land

May the demon king fall by his hand

The sky above the floating castle and the land below hadn’t known the sun for years. But getting inside the castle, even while shrouded in darkness, had been easy.

Magical stones, a wood door covered in vines, and tiles that launched the heroes to their death.

All obstacles were cleared efficiently… by the greatest swordsman alive, of course.

The party felt every footstep on the spiral stairs to the throne room, but no one dared to even breathe out. Before they reached the top of the stairs, the greatest swordsman looked up. He had a feeling he needed to check above before continuing.

Nothing.

The expanse of the throne room was dark with tattered curtains that did nothing against the eerie cold. Skeletons lined the walls and adorned the floors. The remnants of parties that had come before.

The greatest swordsman fixed his eyes on a broken high window to his right. It made his stomach turn in a way that had nothing and everything to do with what awaited him.

A flash of red cut through the air as the handle of the ruby sword moved. The blade met with the demon king’s black claws, producing a screech of metal against something that was different from flesh. The man. No. The creature in front of him resembled humanity…but just barely.

The bard sang a divine song.

The hunter prepared his twin blades.

And the thief started throwing daggers.

And while the fight was going well, things took a turn when the demon king decided to silence the divine interference that had slowed him down.

The bard was the first.

The hunter followed.

And the thief didn’t get a chance to scream.

But the greatest swordsman prevailed.

He met the demon king with every lunge. Dodged every counterattack. And continued on a disciplined strike that the demon king couldn’t quite keep up with. Not after hearing that divine song. And the greatest swordsman knew it.

Swordsmanship had always felt easy. Like putting on an old pair of shoes that would never stop fitting. Like a dance he knew well enough to perform, but not to teach.

A grunt escaped the demon king as he held his ruined middle section.

Victory was just a single thrust away. A victory that would save the world itself. Humanity. Tomorrow. It was significant, paramount even, that the greatest swordsman kept his current pace.

But the greatest swordsman put his dominant foot forward. No, that was wrong. Then, he slightly bent his knees and positioned his body sideways. There was still time to change positions. To change course. To correct the mistake.

And the greatest swordsman lunged forward with the ruby sword extended in one arm. Going for a powerful last lunge.

A mistake.

The demon king smirked and moved with a swiftness he hadn’t been showing in the last few moments of the battle. Away from the strike and into a counter that knocked the sword from the greatest swordsman’s hand.

Clank.

The greatest swordsman had done something foolish with his sword, which fell and skidded under a fallen pillar.

It was over again.

And the greatest swordsman’s death was painless and swift, as always.

* * *

A young man woke up in a world tucked in darkness. He’d had a dream. No. A nightmare about a man with fiery determination in his chestnut eyes. A man who had decided to leave and not be stopped by anything or anyone.

The young man stirred against the tree where he was sleeping.

Someone he didn’t know leaving wasn’t a nightmare. But it felt like the start of one. It took him a moment to remember where he was and who he was. He was at the foot of the floating castle where the demon king lived, and he was the greatest swordsman alive.

What he didn’t know was that this was the last time.

Above him, the dark sky was constantly split by blue lightning. The only light he had ever known. He’d heard that centuries ago there was this bright ball of fire in the sky. It was warm like fire and promised to keep creatures of the night away.

A mage, an assassin, an alchemist, and the greatest swordsman were determined to see that ball of fire in the sky at least once.

Magic stones, vines, and gray tiles.

All cleared out by the greatest swordsman. Or whoever the world itself hoped would bring salvation.

The spiral stairs, or what was left of them, that led to the throne room, were eerily quiet. As if all sound had been swallowed by the dark.

The greatest swordsman couldn’t name it. But for the first time in his life, he felt like running. Like it wasn’t too late to back away as far as he could from this wicked place. But that wouldn’t do. Because he was the greatest swordsman alive, and he was where the world wanted him to be.

The throne room… was barely a room anymore. Walls had collapsed on the inside. With no roof to speak of. And in the middle of it, on a throne, sat a monstrous figure.

A strike of lightning was enough for the party to gasp at what they saw.

The demon king rose on its two hind legs. Its skin was dark and scaled with long, sharp claws. Its elongated snout was packed with a long row of teeth, sharp enough to kill. And the party hesitated half a second before the hostility began.

The demon king got on its four legs and charged at the group. Jaws open and all.

The party dodged, and the assassin threw her daggers with expert aim. But the skin of the creature was so sturdy, they didn’t pass through. The alchemist tried his best concoctions to no avail. The greatest swordsman clashed with the creature multiple times with no success. And the mage… she kept away, her lips conjuring something.

What should’ve been a world-ending confrontation ensued as a testament to human stubbornness to die.

But eventually, the assassin fell. Then the alchemist.

It was the end.

The greatest swordsman’s fingers didn’t close around the handle of his sword anymore. His breath came out heavier. Steps between strikes took longer. And raising his sword was becoming more a decision than a reflex.

Then, after chanting what was left from her spell, the mage fell.

The greatest swordsman understood immediately what had been done as the monster in front of him started bleeding from old strikes. And the price that had been paid was clear as the mage stopped moving. However, the confrontation wasn’t over.

The monster charged at the greatest swordsman before he could react. The full force of the impact knocked the sword out of his hand and drove his back into a fallen pillar. Blood coated his mouth.

A thunder echoed in the throne room, and rain started pouring. As if the world itself was grieving the end of this tale.

It was over.

The greatest swordsman alive was disarmed.

The monster stood in front of him and raised a dark limb with claws ready to deliver the finishing blow.

But divine providence, a higher power, the world tried. It pushed everything in a last effort. Every detail. Every memory.

The greatest swordsman’s eyes widened in recognition. And tears followed as he beheld a monster with human chestnut eyes.

The demon king saw it. Hesitated at the recognition in the young man’s face.

But the greatest swordsman didn’t.

With a swift movement of what was the last of his stamina. He grabbed the sword under the pillar, a sword with a ruby encrusted in the handle, and delivered the killing blow straight into the demon king’s chest.

For the first time in centuries, what was wrong had been made right.

Something settled in the throne room and beyond the crumbled walls of a floating castle that was starting to descend. Something close to elation at a world that was about to change… for the better.

The greatest swordsman knelt beside the wretched thing he had defeated. The monster that had veiled the sun. The boundless evil that had buried the world in darkness. That had killed, and killed, and killed.

“Can we…” the demon king choked out, blood pooling in his mouth. “Can we… be brothers again? In the next one?”

The greatest swordsman’s jaw tightened, and he closed his fist. The battle had been won. But something much more complex was in conflict inside him. And while there was no perfect response. No concluding words that would do. Silence… was still an answer.

So, when the ancient evil thing he had defeated finally died, the greatest swordsman wept like an infant.

* * *

What followed after the death of the demon king was peace and abundance. The sun shone at its brightest every day, making up for all those years of darkness. Kingdoms sent help to lands where hunger had ravaged citizens.

A feeling of camaraderie and human compassion made parties across the land go on quests to help villages under unfair ruling.

Humanity had survived thanks to the greatest swordsman and a party of heroes who gave their lives in this tale.

But as centuries passed, the greatest swordsman’s tale became a nursery rhyme. And at the top of a cliff in a small cottage at the outskirts of the city, two brothers laughed, chasing each other and chanting the story of the greatest swordsman alive.

Analysis: what could be improved

Before I go into what I think should be improved, I need to give myself some credit. I think I did a good job of showing and telling in this piece. I wanted to exercise a lot of restraint here when it came to the emotional moments, so you could piece together what was happening instead of the narrator telling you.

I also liked the use of narrative voice for this one. The narrator told the story and followed the parties along the way. But they were opinionated. Even as an observer, it was clear that the narrator wanted the greatest swordsman to win.

For the point of view, I chose third person omniscient. The narrator knew what was going to happen in the first and second loop. The greatest swordsman was going to die. But then it’s implied the narrator didn’t know what was going to happen in the third loop. They only knew that it was the last time.

Flow and pacing are doing good work of leading me from one sentence to the other even on a re-read. I also made sure to check readability levels to make it more accessible.

Now, onto what I like to call opportunities for improvement:

1. The most glaring thing is that the story was too ambitious for just 2,500 words, which was the limit of the contest. It had reincarnation mechanics, dreams, and emotional scenes that needed to hit. Most successful short stories have a tight scope.

2. There wasn’t much dialogue, just one beat by the demon king. This was a stylistic choice, but at the same time, dialogue is an important piece of storytelling.

3. Action starts too early, which may be a flaw by design. Because of the loops, I had to create choreography for three different fights with little word budget.

4. My characters weren’t likable in the sense that they didn’t have/need charm. My story is more plot-driven, but I feel that giving my characters more interiority would’ve made some scenes land harder.

5. The last emotional scene of the brothers didn’t hit as hard as I intended it to. I wanted it to hit harder!!!

6. In the second act, the greatest swordsman almost wins but makes a mistake. It was a good storytelling choice, but that scene needed to feel like an “almost” more sharply.

7. There were a few clunky sentences that interrupted the flow on a few occasions. Like this one: “He needed the distance to at least be able to attack.” Now that I read it back, I don’t like it.

I’ll probably notice more things in a year as I get better. But this is a story that I genuinely enjoyed writing. Sometimes I still think about it, so I’m glad I gave it its place.

Hope this analysis was helpful and that reading it made you want to be kinder to your own drafts.

And scene

If you made it this far, you probably read the entire story. Thank you so much :)

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

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A random comment on my Notes made me want to research this topic. And if you’ve known me long enough, you know I needed to have my own take and, of course, write about it.

So, who gets to call themselves a writer?

What this article is about:

• “You’re not a writer,” a random person on Substack probably.

• What the internet thinks a writer is.

• What actually makes someone a writer (my take!)

“You’re not a writer,” a random person on Substack probably

I’m not a social media person. In fact, I think that my profile pictures (the ones that have my actual face on them) haven’t been updated for years.

I also don’t post much.

But here on Substack, I’ve come to open myself up more and share things I usually don’t. My silly mistakes, what I’m working on, or just random pictures of what I’m up to on any given day. I even started documenting my first and second month on Substack here.

And more importantly, I’ve met other writers. Most of them kind and willing to provide tips as well as share their own experiences.

Some others not as nice.

eye roll…

Now, this wasn’t the first time this person had commented something less than kind in my Notes. So, I sent them straight to rude commenter jail.

But this gave me a good idea for an article.

Being a writer has always been tied to my identity. I was good at it when I was in school. And because of my work, I’ve written content for software companies, marketing agencies, and even consumer brands here and there.

This “writer” label was a given to me.

So, I decided to go on a rabbit hole to see what’s out there.

What the internet thinks a writer is

You know me . I like to do research for my articles. Even if it’s just a quick search. And no better place to start than typing “what is a writer” on Google.

As a former SEO writer, I don’t trust the AI Overviews much, so I went into the articles below.

I encountered many essay pieces with strong positions that I won’t be linking here, and others with looser definitions.

I checked the Merriam-Webster dictionary.

And I wasn’t very sure about that part where the stocks come in. Then, Wikipedia gave an answer that I liked slightly better.

Of course, I had to see what Reddit had to say about it too.

And finally, I checked a book that has been with me for a few years. On Writing Well by William Zinsser, which is mostly for non-fiction. But here’s a picture of one of the passages I really like.

Nonetheless, writing is an “act of literature”.

But how does that separate a writer from an office worker who writes emails every day? Or from a student writing a five-paragraph essay due the next day? Or from someone who strings a few sentences together and calls it a day?

Every definition is slightly different. Some are too narrow, some are broad, and some are confusing (like those… stocks).

So, here’s my take.

What actually makes someone a writer (my take!)

A writer is someone who writes with intention.

Someone who not only can string a few sentences together and form paragraphs, but someone who is:

• Communicating something

• Making deliberate choices

• And improving

When I was in college, a friend who was an art major explained to me that there was a lot of discussion about what art actually was. That people were asking themselves how a dot on a canvas is different from someone sticking chewing gum on a canvas.

In modern art, when does it become art and when is it just trash?

I remember that she said something along the lines of art being tied to human expression. But that expression has to be done with intention. There has to be meaning behind it.

Writing is also a form of art and I believe my definition is similar to hers. With communicating, making choices, and improving, I want to include the writer who has a draft of a novel in Google Docs and is still hesitant to share. The writer who’s been working on the same story for years and still isn’t done. The poet whose poems live in a notebook. The hobbyist who writes short stories on the weekends and never shows anyone. And the writer who manages 200 words on a good week.

Because those are all writers. And a single random comment doesn’t change it.

Did I miss anyone?

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

Banter can make your characters feel real, compress backstory that can be perceived as info-dump, and even give your readers a reason to stay between big scenes. However, it can be underused outside of romance and is often misunderstood.

What this article is about:

• What banter is

• What banter actually does for your story (examples)

• What banter is NOT

• Why banter isn’t only for the rom-com and romantasy aisle

What banter is

Your banter is dialogue that reveals the relationship between two, or more, characters. It’s more about revealing their dynamic than the contents of the dialogue.

When your reader reads banter, they may not learn much about the plot. But they can instantly recognize how characters interact.

Let’s do a quick example, using again, the overconfident but incompetent master necromancer and his talented apprentice from my previous examples:

The master necromancer flipped one of the pages from the daily newspaper. His feet were up on the counter that his apprentice had scrubbed that morning as usual, and while the day seemed carefree, there was a difficult quest ahead.

“Rope, a vitality vial, a floating brew, food…” the apprentice went through the contents of her backpack, both backpacks, and turned around to face the master. “What else am I missing?”

The master closed the newspaper. “Well, what about—”

“More water,” she said.

“Aha aha.” The master smiled and opened the newspaper again.

“And fire balls. We need those to be able to see inside the cavern.”

“You got it.”

Then, the apprentice dropped the two bags on the counter. “The cavern is two days away and two days back. We need to get the correct bone. One from a 500-year-old fallen hero. Not a year less, not a year more. If we come back with nothing, the client will kill us.”

The master huffed a laugh. “The client will not kill us.”

“The client said, and I’m quoting, I will kill you both.”

“Madame Charmaine loves me. She would never.”

The exchange is quick, but it tells us a lot about the characters. The master is half-present and half-listening. He agrees with the apprentice but does nothing, and he knows the client, but he’s used to charm his way out of things.

The apprentice is trying to get everything ready for the trip. She’s used to taking responsibility… for both of them. And even though she doesn’t say it, she trusts her master enough to bring him along.

Their relationship is clear.

What banter actually does for your story (more examples)

Banter does a lot of important things in a story. It gives you character work, relationship work, and pacing work.

What could’ve been a boring morning getting ready to go to the cavern, where the master necromancer and the apprentice need a bone from a 500-year-old fallen hero, became a layered scene.

But banter can do more than that.

1. It compresses backstory

Just think about it. Instead of giving your reader two pages of backstory to establish their relationship and how much they trust each other, you can just… show it.

Here’s another example:

The first reanimated skeleton lunged at the apprentice. She threw one of her best concoctions to paralyze it. But she had to force herself to use the femur she had just stolen from said skeleton to take down the second and third that lunged at her.

“You touched something.” The master positioned his back against hers.

“I didn’t.” She swung the femur at another skeleton.

“Explain this then.” The master gestured with his hand and then puffed grave dirt at four skeletons that were coming at him. The skeletons collapsed.

“Fine.” She swung the femur at two other skeletons. “I grabbed one of the rings.”

“Why do you think a precious object from 500-year-old dead person is so expensive in the market?”

“You don’t pay me enough.” She took down three more skeletons.

Here, we can see that they have fought together before. The master positions his back against the apprentice. They fight together, and he trusts that she’s capable of defending herself.

This scene also tells us that the apprentice is the kind of person who is resourceful. She’s fighting with the femur she just stole from one skeleton.

2. It controls pacing

After, for example, an action scene, your reader may transition into a scene with lower stakes. Not much may happen, but you can make your reader want to stay if not for the action, for the characters’ musings.

Next example:

The apprentice gulped down half the vial of vitality she had packed and offered the rest to her master.

“No, thank you.” He waved a hand toward the vial. “I didn’t use much of my vitality for magic back there.” He smiled, satisfied with himself, and crossed his arms.

The apprentice raised both eyebrows, shrugged, and drank the rest.

“We should keep moving.” She rose from where she was seated. “We can get to the inn by nightfall if we—”

Thud.

Something or, well, someone had fallen face-first onto the ground. Her master, as she suspected, had stopped being… vertical. So, she walked towards him at a slow pace and crouched by his side.

“Master?”

“Mm?”

She uncorked a fresh vial. “Do you need a vial?”

Silence.

“Master?”

“...maybe.”

Not a lot happens here, but this scene may endear the characters to your reader. The master necromancer may be annoying because of his overconfidence, but he’s human and makes mistakes. The apprentice doesn’t worry much, and she’s being slightly petty, but still helpful.

3. It builds subtext and makes characters feel more real

Real people joke around. We don’t want our characters to just share information cleanly. We want them to make the exchange interesting.

In romance specifically, banter helps characters flirt while they pretend they’re not (oh, but we know they are!). What they’re not saying is doing all the work.

Now, to our last example:

Madame Charmaine unwrapped the bone as if it were a present. She was, as always, two heads taller than any other man she’d met. Probably stronger too.

“Oh, you brought it back so quickly. And a strong bone. A femur nonetheless.”

“It is a very strong bone. I can attest to that,” said the apprentice.

“I’m impressed.” Madame Charmaine looked back at the master.

“You shouldn’t be.” He leaned against her counter and smirked. “You know my work.”

“I know your reputation.” She batted her lashes.

The apprentice, who was standing behind her master, exhaled. She just wanted to go back to the shop.

“You and your apprentice look tired.” Madame Charmaine smiled, and two very long canines glinted with the light of the lamp. “Perhaps you should stay here tonight.”

“Perhaps I should.”

“I have a room you’ll like.”

“I’m sure I will.”

The apprentice cleared her throat. She didn’t miss the glint on those fangs. “We should go. We have other clients.”

In this scene, the master flirts with the client, Madame Charmaine. And while the banter is nice, the apprentice seems protective of her master, or at least aware that things could go very wrong.

To recap, banter is about two people playing with each other, not just a skill one character has. The same character can have great banter with another character and be completely stiff with another.

What banter is NOT

Banter isn’t a style tag (like being “witty” or “clever”) or a personality tag for your characters (“he’s the witty one”). It’s a function in the story as we explained above.

Banter is NOT:

• Not sarcasm. Sarcasm is a tone while banter is structure. You can banter without sarcasm.

• Not jokes. Banter and jokes are different. A good joke can land, even if there’s no relationship dynamic between characters.

• Not a personality trait. It’s a property of the relationship, not about the individual.

Now, the thing is, while these things may not be banter. They can definitely work in banter. Banter is the playing. Everything else is what the characters are playing with.

You only fail to banter when:

• There’s bickering, in the sense that the playing stopped and resentment is taking over.

• There’s bullying, one person was never playing, and the other is the target.

• There’s just information delivery or info-dumping for the reader’s sake.

Which brings us to the last thing worth clearing up.

Why banter isn’t only for the rom-com and romantasy aisle

While I was doing research, I saw that banter is heavily associated with the romance genre. There were a lot of keywords as I did research around the lines of:

• “how to write flirty banter”

• “how to write romantic banter”

• “how to write couple’s banter”

• “how to write fliry banter”

• And one that surprised me was “how to write political banter”.

All of that is fine. Banter is almost foundational to romance. The enemies-to-lovers need to be flirty without flirting and rom-com dialogue often demands it.

However, banter isn’t just a romance tool. It’s also a dialogue tool.

It works anywhere two characters have a real relationship. Which is basically every story that has more than one character in it.

You can still build banter between siblings, enemies, parents and their kids, long-term friends, and well, a master and his apprentice.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

How’s your banter game? Are there any books that you genuinely enjoy because of banter?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

If you know me long enough, or well, exactly a month ago, you know I’ve been documenting my book journey. The things I learn as I write my book, my progress on Substack, and any other thing I’d like to toss into the void.

So, this is my second month on Substack wrapped. I’m bringing you my graphs, numbers, and probably more data than most people asked for. But if you’re here, you either like this kind of thing or you’re just humoring me. Either way, welcome!

Here are my numbers for July, 2026.

Table of contents

• A recap from the first month (June, 2026)

• The numbers for month two (July, 2026)

• The journey or “strategy” that I followed

• The results, insights, and things I learned

• What’s next?

A recap from the first month (June, 2026)

Before we get into July data, let’s talk about June. I like to do these before and after because I can see the changes more clearly.

At the end of June, I was lucky enough that 41 amazing people were interested in what I had to write and in getting that straight to their emails.

The numbers were:

• Subscribers: 41

• Views: 889

• Open rate: 42.86%

During that time I posted two articles:

• Point of view in writing: the questions writers actually ask (and nobody seems to answer clearly)

• How a strong narrative voice lets you get away with almost everything

And a number of 49 notes.

My goal was to post a note daily, so 30 of those notes were scheduled. The rest were things that I found interesting or wanted to share.

The numbers for month two (July, 2026)

At first sight you may think that I completed my goal of getting 100 subscribers by the end of July. But if you look at the highlight, I actually made it to 94 by July 31, 2026.

And while at this time of writing I achieved that less important goal, I wanted to be exact.

Here are my numbers by the end of July 2026.

• Subscribers: 94 (up 129.3%)

• Views: 1.44k (up 61.3%)

• Open rate: 29.75% (down from last month)

I’m very happy with these numbers. Both my subscribers and views increased. And while my open rate went down from 42.86% to 29.75%, I’m not surprised.

As the number of subscribers in a newsletter increases the open rate will decrease. This is why my goal will always remain to have a community. Even if I make it to an unbelievable amount of 60k subscribers, I’ll be happy if even just the 1% enjoys reading my articles. Because that’s 600 people rooting for me.

The journey or “strategy” that I followed

During this month, I posted four articles and around 67 notes, which looking back at it feels like a lot. But it wasn’t as grueling as I thought it was going to be.

I just sat down every weekend and planned 14 notes of things that had been on my mind.

From those 67 notes, I planned 62. Two for each day of July and others were probably random thoughts or me restacking friends posts with a note.

I’m going to be honest though. What was grueling was creating one article weekly, writing my book, writing the short story for the Cozy Quill Fantasy Writing Contest (hosted by , check it out for future editions!), and dealing with life in general. So, unfortunately my book progress stalled in July.

But here’s what I did DO.

I posted my four articles for July weekly about things that I discovered as I wrote my book:

• Plotter vs pantser: why I think they’re not exactly different (my hot take)

• My first month on substack wrapped

• What “show, don’t tell” actually means and what writers get wrong about it

• What makes a character likable and where does your story land on my likability matrix

Each one of these bad boys was out mostly on Saturdays at 6 am PT. And there was one that I had to post on Sunday because of time constraints.

For my notes, I started to post more about things that were… just true for me.

Post with nice pictures that I took while I was out.

Confessions.

Unpopular opinions.

And as nerve-wrecking as it was to post these unpopular opinions, people were very kind. Oh, there were disagreements. But no arguing, just people sharing their own opinions.

This all made me realize that people respond well to you just being yourself. To authenticity.

I know, I know. Not a groundbreaking discovery, but something I thought was important to highlight in this article.

So, what did all those notes and articles result in?

The results: more graphs on engagement, visitors, subscribers, and channels

The shape of my views graph this month is different from last month. This time I have peaks on different days of the month instead of just two.

And most of those peaks correspond to the days in which I posted an article.

My biggest peak was on July 25, which corresponds to the day I posted my article on What makes a character likable and where does your story land on my likability matrix.

I think I re-wrote that article twice, so I’m glad you all liked it!

Here are the engagement metrics on each article this month.

My “show, don’t tell” and my “what makes a character likable” articles led July at 20 likes each, even though they were the last ones I posted. They even surpassed the plotter vs pantser article in views (which was posted at the beginning of the month) in just a couple of days.

When I compare with June data, it seems like the “narrative voice” article still reigns supreme in my little corner of Substack at 29 likes and 37 comments.

The “point of view” article may have more views, but I attribute that to the fact that it’s the very first article I posted, so it has its seniority.

Some of my people found my articles from July and even went to the ones posted in June to give them some love. The pantser and plotter discussion was the least interesting article when it comes to likes, but there was some back and forth in commentary as it sits at 40 comments.

Where did visitors come from?

My visitor’s graph shows a slightly different story from views. While views are higher, past 80 or more on some peak days, my unique visitors are at around 15, 20, or the highest which is above 30 on a single day.

All of this means that my visitors checked out not one but multiple articles when they visited Narrative Baggage.

Do I feel flattered? Very

Most of my views were generated by people that kept visiting me, which is a big compliment. It may mean I gave my readers something valuable or at least interesting enough to pass the time.

The source of my visitors is very consistent with the fact that my only presence as an author is on Substack:

• 41.65% of my visitors still come organically through the Substack network. Either from the feed, someone restacking my work or mentioning me, or maybe you finding my articles in the wild.

• 32.94% come from people who already knew me and clicked on one of my links through email or went directly to my profile.

• 26.35% also knew me but they did the same as above through the app.

I had a few searches from Bing and Google.

And since we’re getting very nerdy, I double checked my Google Search Console to see how my articles are doing outside of Substack.

It seems like I’m ranking for a few queries in positions between 40 and 50. That’s not exactly great as we’d like to be in the top ten. But my publication is still too young, so this is good in my book.

What did my subscriber growth look like?

Last month, the highest number of subscribers I got in a day was four. In July, I’m happy to announce the best day eight people followed along in this journey.

Again this month, my community kept growing little by little instead of with dramatic spikes.

Most of my people came from Substack (90%), some others were already reading my articles or notes and decided to give me a chance, so they subscribed (11.6%), and the last one is just an unassigned bucket, I’m not sure about (3.33%).

All of this to say… It was a great month and I’m grateful for you being here. I learned a lot from this month alone and I’m excited for what’s next.

My initial thought was to make this a series until I reached the 100 subscribers mark. By the end of July I was at 94, so we still have one last article to go in August.

What’s next?

After a whole debate in which I invited the community to talk about the best days to post on Substack and some of your comments, I decided that I’m going to keep posting articles on Sunday moving forward.

This gives me a whole day to edit and refine before articles go out into your inboxes. Also, I’ll try and keep posting articles weekly (lets see where this leads me).

On Notes, some creators say it’s better to post three times a day. That still seems like a lot to me, so I’ll stick to twice a day, posting notes that are genuinely things I want to talk about and want your opinion on.

I’m also thinking about getting a Substack extension that gives me more information and data. Maybe I’ll have better graphs for you next month and more insights about notes specifically. It’s nice that I can go into each note and see their stats, as shown below.

But I’d like to have a dashboard with a summary of the notes that people most liked, instead of going into each one to see their performance.

Other than that, I’ll keep course. I’m picking back up writing my book, waiting impatiently for the results of the Cozy Quill Fantasy Contest, and looking forward to something I’ve been working on in the background that I’m hoping I can share soon.

I’ll update you with another one of these articles by then, here at Narrative Baggage.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

Was this post helpful? What have you learned in your writing journey and as you grow on Substack?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

At some point, you’re going to look at your main character (or any of your other characters) and notice that maybe they share your sense of humor. Maybe they solve problems the same way you do. Maybe you gave them your job, insecurities, or they say the thing you always wished you could say out loud.

And there’s nothing wrong with any of that. In fact, you may be doing something right.

What this article is about:

• What is a self-insert character? (and why nobody is above it)

• Self-insert: the bad, the ugly, and the cringe

• Self-insert: the good, the intentional, and the done right

What is a self-insert character? (and why nobody is above it)

A self-insert character is when an author puts themselves in the story. Be that as a version of themselves or quite literally themselves.

The mildest version of that, and this is just good character development, is that a character carries some of the author’s own emotions, experiences, or traits. This is widely used as a technique to make stories feel more real. More emotionally resonant. Or, well, make stories feel more human.

Still, self-insert characters often get a bad reputation across the internet because authors inserting themselves into the story can easily tip into wish-fulfillment territory. When this self-insert character has no flaws and is liked by everyone in the story, it becomes very hard not to roll your eyes.

Now, does that mean you should just avoid using your own experiences to create a character?

That self-insert characters are all bad?

That it will always be cringe?

No, a likable character is a character your reader cares about. They want the character to get what they deserve (be that bad or good). And they can only care if the character feels real.

You may have felt that first, maybe on a lower scale. But the feeling is there.

And quite frankly… even some of the best writers AND creatives go for the more fierce version of this self-insertion thing.

Yes, they’ve done it right.

But first let’s talk about the wrong way to do it.

Self-insert: the bad, the ugly, and the cringe

A bad self-insert comes from the idea of wish-fulfillment. Whatever happens to your character, they can always solve it without much trouble. Everything they do is fair, there’s no moral compass that applies to them. No flaws.

They’re just that good. That perfect.

For an example, let’s again use my master necromancer and apprentice from other articles:

The apprentice had been working for her master necromancer for three months now. And she was still very much fed up with the overconfidence and incompetence of her master.

However, everything changed during a routine rising for a client.

Rising the dead was something that necromancers often did… for a limited time, of course. But when the apprentice performed her first rising, the person came back to life. Fully. Color returned to his cheeks, and he breathed for the first time in years.

It was then that the master understood. His apprentice was one of the rarest necromancers. One that could actually revive people, permanently. That kind of magic had been lost for centuries.

And not only that. She spent every Sunday teaching orphans how to read. She donated most of her earnings to the poor. She was also, somehow, fluent in four languages. She was so kind. So beautiful. I’m so talented, ahem, she was. She was so talented.

In here, I’m mostly telling instead of showing and telling to get my point across. But you get it.

I may have exaggerated a bit at the end, but that’s wish fulfillment. The author may think they’re writing a character, but they’re actually writing a fantasy of themselves.

Self-insert: the good, the intentional, and the done right

A good self-insert is when you make your character carry experiences that you have experienced yourself, feelings or even traits… but you still treat them as a character.

As I was doing some research for this article, I found a list of terms that people search on the web related to “self-insert character”. Because I have an SEO background, I like to check what funny keywords are around a topic.

This is what I found in one of my searches:

There are many names that you may recognize here from either books or manga. George R. R. Martin (A Song of Ice and Fire), Stephen King (The Dark Tower), and Akira Toriyama (Dragon Ball).

I wanted to include Jane Austen and Agatha Christie in this list, but they never admitted to self-insert. However, it is implied that they did for characters like Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice) and Ariadne Oliver, for each author respectively.

But let’s go back to the ones who have confirmed it.

Akira Toriyama as Tori-bot, a playful character

Toriyama literally drew himself as a character in Dragon Ball and some of his other works. But his self-insert works because it was mostly used as a comedic character.

Image source: A Wiki Fandom page

According to some fandom pages, he’s also called “Ultimate Ruler of the Dragon World,” which is a nice wink to the fact that he IS the ultimate ruler because, well, he’s the author.

This one works because it isn’t ego-driven. Just self-aware and playful.

George R. R. Martin as Samwell Tarly, his emotional truth

In an interview conducted by Matthew T. Hall from The San Diego Union-Tribute, Martin has admitted that Samwell Tarly is one of the characters closer to who he really is.

Martin states:

“I would probably be Samwell Tarly. I love Sam, too. He’s a great character…Tyrion might be who I want to be, but Sam is probably closer to who I actually am. The fat kid who likes to read books and doesn’t like to go up a lot of stairs.”

This self-insert works because Samwell Tarly is a character with flaws who also suffers. His father didn’t deign him worthy of being an heir to the point of threatening him with death if he didn’t join the Night’s Watch.

He’s also described as cowardly and timid. Challenges keep coming his way and he doesn’t have it easy, but he grows as a character.

Stephen King as… himself, but fully self-aware

King literally wrote himself as himself in The Dark Tower series. His character’s name in the sixth book, Song of Susannah, is Stephen King, who is also an author and the channel that allows for the writing of The Dark Tower series.

It’s a whole thing with meta and in-universe explanations that may be clearer if you’ve read the books (I haven’t).

But the self-insert works because it makes sense within his multiverse.

All of these examples are different approaches to doing self-insert characters done right. Your self-insert can either be an emotional truth (Samwell Tarly), something funny (Tori-bot), or something else that somehow works.

What’s important is to not create an ego-driven character that makes the story weaker to make room for themselves.

But to create a character that enriches the story because the struggles they experience or the feelings they carry resonate with your reader.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% read their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

What’s your take on self-insert characters?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

A likable character is the reason readers want to know if the couple in that romance book will end up together, if the teenage protagonist will fulfill their destiny, and if the villain who pulls at our heartstrings (because we understand their wounds enough to care) will get the happy ending.

What this article is about:

• What actually makes a character likable?

• Likable as a person vs. likable as a character

• Likability and caring: what’s the deal?

• My likability matrix for characters

What actually makes a character likable?

A character is likable when they feel real. Like their own person.

The advice may sound simple. But this is the reason why many authors tell you to base your characters off someone you know in real life.

Because they’re real. This makes it easier to predict how they’ll act in different scenarios.

You won’t be wondering if a proud character should beg for their life when the stakes are high. You know them well enough. Their internal logic won’t allow it. And even if they do, it has to feel earned. Something must’ve changed throughout the story to make them beg.

Don’t fall into the trap of making them do or say something just as a plot device, which… leads me to the next thing.

Likable as a person vs. likable as a character

A likable character is very different from a likable person.

When it comes to people, we have standards. We want to be around someone who is nice, warm, and generally doesn’t commit crimes or murder people. (It’s difficult to like those kinds of people, at least for me).

A character can do all of that and still be likable. Because in fiction, a character doesn’t need to be entirely good for readers to root for them, or entirely evil for readers to hate them.

I’ve come to realize that for a character to feel real, they need to have these three things:

1. Coherence because you don’t want them to “act out of character”

2. Clear motivation because you have to make them want something

3. Agency because they need to end up where their actions lead them

Now, let’s bring Cersei Lannister into the discussion.

She’s not a person you’d like to know in real life. But she’s a really likable character. She’s cunning. She’s cruel. She surprises you. And she makes you feel things, whether that is anger, pity, respect, or even understanding.

We understand what she wants, the decisions she makes to get it, and the ways she pivots while we can confidently say “that’s Cersei Lannister.”

She, or well, the author, makes you care about her… in a very complex way. Even when you know that what she’s doing is wrong. But nonetheless, you enjoy her company because you know that when she’s on, something interesting will happen.

Likability and caring: what’s the deal?

When you create a character that feels real, your reader will start caring about them and the things they want to achieve.

Many writers make the mistake of creating characters that are… good. Just that. They can do no wrong. And if they do, it’s often because they were forced into it, but deeply regret it.

This could still work in a few cases, when it serves the story (not as a plot device), but most of the time agency is lacking. The reader may pivot their attention since there’s nothing interesting going on with the character.

Your reader not caring about your character can affect your book’s success. When the super evil character that you keep insisting is super evil dies, and nobody feels relief, maybe they were a plot device with a high body count.

My likability matrix for characters

Now, not all characters need to be deeply layered. Sometimes that doesn’t serve the story you want to tell.

I know I’ve spent most of the article saying that they do, in fact, need to be. But there are different kinds of stories. We have character-driven and plot-driven stories (to make this simple).

That’s why I came up with this matrix you see below:

(Yep, this image was AI-generated)

Generally, you’d like to have a balance between having likable characters and an interesting plot. But a story can still work with at least one of those.

The important thing here is: give something to the reader. Give them a reason to turn the next page of your story until the end. Be that by plot alone or by creating compelling characters that make the reader want to spend time with them.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% read their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

What makes your characters likable? Or are you writing a plot-driven story?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Because sometimes, you do have to tell. And sometimes, it doesn’t just end there.

When you master “show, don’t tell” in writing, the emotional scenes of your story land harder, you provide an experience rather than a report of events, and your reader becomes an active participant in your world… which is the whole point.

What this article contains:

• What “show, don’t tell” actually means?

• Is telling bad?

• When to show and when to tell: a best practice

• Am I showing or am I telling? (examples)

What “show, don’t tell” actually means?

The main purpose of “show, don’t tell” is to create an immersive experience for the reader. It means that you have to use sensory details, body reactions, or even dialogue to show what’s happening, instead of just saying it.

Stories are usually told, yes. But as with people, a reader remembers a story because of how it made them feel. And those feelings come from what they perceive and what they can piece together.

Oftentimes, you know you’re reading a great story because the feeling lands before it’s even mentioned.

Now, not all stories are going to have a ground-breaking plot. And my favorite part about it is that it’s completely fine.

Showing vs telling is one of the elements that will make your story different from others in the same genre. Even with a similar plot. You choose what matters and when to show it or tell it.

Sometimes a plot can be as simple as:

A talented necromancer apprentice has to deal with her incompetent master’s misdeeds.

This isn’t new.

It’s the typical talented apprentice and the messy master, whose knowledge we question all the time. I’ve seen it. You’ve seen it. Everyone has.

But the same information delivered differently can create a completely different story. (More on the apprentice and master necromancer later). The premise doesn’t make the story; the experience does. And choosing between showing and telling helps you build that experience.

Is telling bad?

Telling isn’t bad. It’s necessary for clarity. Some paragraphs or scenes aren’t meant to make the reader feel something. They’re just meant to exist so the story can move forward, and they can carry important information.

The issue is when you tell too much. It signals that you may not trust your reader to piece things together.

Sometimes, you may want to tell because you’re the person who understands the story better than anybody else. And you want to share that with the reader.

But restraint is often better.

And restraint generates chatter.

Some things may be obvious to half of the readers. The other half may think more deeply and start coming up with theories. And readers coming up with theories about your story may be the highest praise as a writer. You wrote something that people are still thinking about.

Not explaining every single thing can be good.

When to show and when to tell: a best practice

A best practice that has helped me in writing my first book is this:

Show what creates emotion. Tell the information you need to move the story forward.

To recap, telling isn’t bad. And “show, don’t tell” isn’t a hard rule. The use of it depends on what the story needs in that specific sentence, paragraph, scene, or chapter.

If a scene is meant to make your reader feel something (like grief, dread, or particular ache), show it. Build around it so the reader can arrive at the feeling on their own. You can still tell; just don’t tell the feeling.

If you need information to get your reader from point A to B, tell it and move on. Not everything deserves the same weight.

At the end of the day, “show, don’t tell” is about making the story belong to the reader too. When they’re active participants, the story becomes theirs. Because you’re not giving them a picture of a flower field, you’re inviting them to step on it.

Am I showing or am I telling? (examples)

Now, onto examples.

Let me not only tell you but show you how to apply “show, don’t tell”. I wrote some examples in which I’ll use our talented apprentice and the master necromancer.

Example 1: Just telling

The apprentice was frustrated with her master. Him being both incompetent and overconfident had proved to be a problem for her from her first day on the job.

When her first customer came into the shop, the master misread bone divinations, even insisting on wrong interpretations when she corrected him. He also used the wrong materials during summoning rituals, which caused serious mistakes like summoning a ghost that wasn’t even related to the customer. And the potions he usually sold to clients, promising an outcome, were often completely off.

She had tried to help. Tried to suggest alternatives. Tried to explain. But he would dismiss her and tell her that everything would be fine.

This one is an example of pure telling. I’m just giving you information here and already telling you that the apprentice is frustrated and the master is both incompetent and overconfident.

Does that mean it’s wrong?

No, maybe this is what your story needs. Maybe this is just information to move on to the story. But now, let’s try the same example with showing.

Example 2: Just showing

“Someone is talking behind your back.” The apprentice traced the curve of the tooth in the cloth. “See how it points away from…”

“That’s a long journey.” The master leaned over the table and pointed at the tooth. He then gave one of his signature smiles to the customer.

The customer smiled back, nodded, and left.

The apprentice looked at the table for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the tooth that was pointing away from the customer. But she said nothing and collected the bones.

Three days later, a woman came wanting to talk to her deceased grandmother. The apprentice had already set the bone dust at the table, but the master shook his head.

“Use grave dirt.”

“But bone dust is better for…”

“Grave dirt, trust me.” The master winked.

And moments later, what came through wasn’t a grandmother.

Then, on another day, the master asked her to create a potion for slow aging. But when the customer came to retrieve it, he was paying for a potion to cheat death temporarily instead. Needless to say, she never saw that customer again.

This one is mostly showing (telling is very necessary). While this example uses dialogue and the characters’ actions to tell the story, it still sounds somewhat flat. Like it needs grounding or it’s missing context. We don’t know enough about the world, the apprentice, or the master to feel the weight of these moments.

Now, here’s how it looks when you combine both telling and showing effectively.

Example 3: Showing and telling

The apprentice had been working under her master for three months now. And while he was the most sought-after necromancer in the city, she was quickly learning that he was also one of the worst.

Her very first customer was a man looking for a divination service using bones.

“Someone is talking behind your back.” The apprentice traced the curve of the tooth in the cloth. “See how it points away from…”

“That’s a long journey.” The master necromancer leaned over the table and pointed at the tooth. Then he flashed a smile with very white teeth, which made the customer more confident about the prediction. So, he smiled back, nodded, and left.

The apprentice looked at the table for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the tooth that was pointing away from the customer. That usually meant that someone was positively talking behind his back. But she said nothing and collected the bones. Maybe she had gotten it wrong. It was her first actual job after the academy, after all.

Three days later, a woman came wanting to talk to her deceased grandmother. The apprentice had already set the bone dust at the table, but the master shook his head.

“Use grave dirt.” He crossed his arms and smirked, clearly satisfied.

“But bone dust is better for…”

“Grave dirt, trust me.” The master winked.

The apprentice raised her eyebrow. That couldn’t be right. Using grave dirt could summon anything but the deceased family member. Bone dust was more certain. But he was the master. So, she bit her tongue and put the bone dust aside.

Moments later, what came through wasn’t even a grandmother. It was something worse, which resulted in the woman swearing she would never resort to powers from the beyond again.

Then, on another day, the master asked her to create a potion for slow aging, which had very similar effects to a potion to cheat death temporarily, but was certainly not the same.

When the customer came for the delivery, he paid for a potion to cheat death. And the master handed the slow aging potion she had prepared the other day. Needless to say, she never saw that customer again.

That evening, the apprentice grabbed her coat and went out for a long walk.

In this example, the telling and showing work well together. We get more explanation of how the necromancer services actually work and why the master is wrong. But we also experience the uncertainty and the frustration from the apprentice.

Neither showing nor telling works well without the other. The two are necessary to provide a great experience for the reader. You just have to choose which one the moment needs.

So, read your own work as a reader would. The more you write (and read), the more you’ll come to find out what the story needs. Things will feel off, sometimes flat, and others will land. The secret, most of the time, is just to keep writing and find out.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% read their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

Were you able to grasp showing and telling from the get-go or did it take you some time? Do you have any other tips for showing vs telling?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

I guess Narrative Baggage, my publication, is just my way of making that everyone else’s problem too.

I created it to share what I learn along the way as I write my first book. The craft, the process, the publishing industry, and even some thoughts that I don’t mind dumping into the void.

So here’s my first month on Substack wrapped with graphs, data, and numbers pulled directly from my dashboard (what can I say, I love graphs).

Table of contents

• The numbers

• The journey/strategy

• The results

• What’s next?

The numbers: my first month on Substack wrapped (June 2026)

Here are the numbers by the end of June 2026.

Subscribers: 41

Views: 889

Open rate: 42.86%

During June, I posted two articles:

• Point of view in writing: the questions writers actually ask (and nobody seems to answer clearly)

• How a strong narrative voice lets you get away with almost everything

And a number of 49 notes resulted in the graph you see below.

It’s important to mention that this reach was also possible thanks to friends or nice strangers restacking my notes.

However, I still had numbers in mind to track my progress (again, I like graphs).

So, my initial goal was simple: get 100 subscribers by the end of the year.

As of June of 2026, I’m 41% there thanks to 41 people who either liked my articles, engaged with my notes, or thought the name of my publication was funny enough to give it a chance.

Now, here’s how I did it.

The “strategy”: what I did during the first month

To create community and subsequently get subscribers from that community, I came to realize that it was important to create anchors to connect with people. Those anchors being conversations. Conversations that started with a note, a comment, or an article I wrote.

I also read somewhere that a sweet spot for growth on Substack is to post three notes every day and two articles per week.

But that was… too much for me.

I wanted to make sure I could commit to an easy writing schedule first. So, my strategy, if you want to call it that, was:

• Two articles a month on Saturdays

• One note daily (and maybe a second, if I had ideas)

All of it, scheduled to go live at 6 am PT.

My first post was an introduction post:

Just to say “hi” and tell people why I was here. It did well, but honestly, I think it did well because my friend Alley restacked it and welcomed me into Substack.

From then on, I scheduled funny posts…

Bits of knowledge of what I learned as I write my book.

And sometimes daily progress on the actual writing of my book.

I didn’t think I’d find enough “material” to write a post every day. But as I planned them every week, I realized that you don’t need masterpieces. Just talk about things you learn, things that surprise you, or things that are funny to you.

You’ll find your people.

The results: more graphs on engagement, visitors, subscribers, and channels

Views represent every time someone looks at a piece of content. Whether that’s on Substack, the web, or through email.

It seems I got the most views on June 6. The day I posted my first article, POV in writing (3k words), at around 150 views.

The second peak was on June 20, when I posted my second article on narrative voice (1.5k words) at 72 views.

What this tells me:

Engagement peaks or is higher on days I post articles on Substack. While Notes still bring impression (and by default views) every day, people stop scrolling to actually read or skim articles.

So, long-form content is still very much valuable (I knew y’all’s attention span wasn’t wrecked!)

However, it’s important to also notice the specific engagement metrics of each piece:

The POV in writing piece got the most views at the end of the month. But the second, and shortest piece, for narrative voice, got the most likes and comments, and almost reached the same amount of views as the first piece in just ten days.

This means that, while people appreciate a long 3k word well-researched piece, they have a life outside of Substack.

So, a shorter article that’s easy to consume in, say, 5-10 minutes represents less friction. And people are more willing to dedicate time to read it.

Where did visitors come from?

My graph on unique visitors tells a similar story.

Most visitors came from my two long-form pieces. But there are also two peaks at the end that are higher than in the previous graph.

I’m assuming those come from these two Notes I posted by the end of the month. These got the most engagement out of any of my other notes.

People like connecting with others.

But they also appreciate bits of knowledge.

As for the sources of the visitors:

About 38% came from direct, which, according to Substack, means:

“These users arrived at your content by typing the URL or using a bookmark. It also includes traffic from sources that fail to pass referral data.”

And 31% came from Substack. I also had a few Google and Bing searches.

What did my subscriber growth look like?

I had 41 subscribers at the very end of June.

And as you can see, it’s not like I had a dramatic peak when it comes to people who willingly gave me access to their emails.

It was more of a steady growth.

Looking at the number of people who subscribed on a day-to-day basis, I would get one, two, or three subscribers daily.

Sometimes zero. On the highest days (which were three), I got four subscribers at most.

I love these numbers. Because growth is supposed to be boring. Steady and consistent, but boring.

Now, about 90% of subscribers came from Substack, which makes sense with everything we’ve been seeing and the fact that I only have a social presence as an author on this platform.

I have a feeling that most of my subscribers are people whom I have connected with through notes or by having conversations until they eventually gave me the opportunity to surprise them.

The 49 Notes that I posted this month?

Honestly, I just scheduled maybe 30 (one each day). The others came from restacks and things that I wanted to post about at the moment. But most were probably from my book progress.

The goal for June was to make it to the 30k word mark, and I reached that goal by July 3. A little late but still there.

And while my book goal is to write at least 10k words in a month, it may need some adjusting in July due to the Cozy Quill Fantasy Writing Contest.

What’s next?

Now that my first month is up, I’ll be applying what I learned.

I’ll try to post at least two Notes every day and one long-form post every week to see what happens. Consider it a little experiment.

This is my second post of July 2026. Let’s see if we can do two more.

Also, I promise that I’ll start adding cover images to my posts soon. I know that may affect my engagement too, and it’s just not a good look.

I’m very excited to see what this month brings, and I’ll update you with another one of these articles by then, here at Narrative Baggage.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

Was this post helpful? What have you learned in your writing journey and as you grow on Substack?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

I have a hot take that may gain me some sympathizers, haters, maybe one person will comment “well, actually…”, or someone may finally feel seen.

(If you consider yourself a pantser or a plotter, stay in for my hot take. Would love to hear your thoughts!)

What this article is about:

• Pantser vs plotter: my hot take

• Do you need to outline a novel before writing?

• Can you write a story without an outline?

Author’s note ✍️

I keep seeing the terms plotter and pantser all over the writing community. In the beginning, when I was starting out my book, I considered myself a pantser. I was invaded by a burst of inspiration to get into my novel. But it turns out that some habits are difficult to fight.

As a former SEO writer, outlining was the bread and butter of my work (this article was outlined too!). So, after writing a few rough chapters of my novel, I did the boring part. Outlining.

The result was a very ugly outline. Not perfect at all. With a bunch of grammatical errors. But it covered the main points of my story and helped me visualize the pacing.

Then, I didn’t look at it again for months…

Until I got to the messy middle, that is.

I was disoriented, having a slow week, and the chapter I was currently writing kept dragging. So, I decided to check my outline. Maybe there was something worth saving from all those scribbles.

And there it was, my messy middle. The “inspiration”.

That ugly outline contained ideas I didn’t even remember. Without looking at the outline the first few months, I was making good progress. I knew my beginning well. I was doing worldbuilding, introducing characters, and writing that inciting incident.

I knew what I wanted to achieve.

Until I got lost.

But going back to my outline gave the pacing back.

Now, am I saying that being a plotter is better than being a pantser?

No, I think it’s much more complicated than that :)

Pantser vs plotter: why I think they’re not exactly different

Here’s my hot take.

I think pantsers and plotters are not exactly different people. They’re different terms, yeah. But I would argue that they’re two steps of the same process of writing your book.

The pantser is the first half. The dreaming part. Where you get all that creativity to converge into this one project. Where you’re bursting with ideas. And well, you have to let them out, so yes, you better write them.

Then there’s the second half.

The plotter is the planning part. You have this fragmented story with all of these wonderful ideas. It’s time to organize them, so when those ideas go out into the draft, they come in a steady flow instead of bursts.

So, when someone asks: are you a pantser or a plotter?

I would think the real answer is “both”. Just at different points.

And yes, you can still be a pantser within the chapters of an outlined novel. As long as it gets you from A to B. Or if you want to completely change directions.

Writing a book, I believe, is a beautiful project of trial and error.

Edit: A Substack friend, (subscribe to him for great flash fiction), used AI to generate an image illustrating the concept that most writers are both, pantser and plotter.

But there are always a few outliers that either plot every beat or are discovery writers.

Here it is represented on a curve bell:

Now onto a few questions.

Do you need to outline a novel before writing?

No, go ahead. Be a pantser. Let the demons, the muses, or your characters take control of the keyboard.

Great ideas often come from a single breeze of inspiration. You just have to keep pulling at the thread to see what happens next.

Organizing them so it makes sense?

That comes later when you’re in your plotter phase.

Can you write a story without an outline?

Actually, yes. It requires a lot of skill, years of practice, or maybe you knowing your story too well. But apparently there have been cases in which some writers produce great work without an outline. From beginning to end.

There’s this writer Shirley Jackson, who wrote The Lottery (1948). A famous short story in literature, that she claimed she wrote in one of those bursts of inspiration. From beginning to end. With minor edits.

But I would argue it was pure skill, rather than luck.

Shirley Jackson had been a writer for years before The Lottery (1948). She worked at a literary magazine and allegedly wrote a thousand words every day during a focused year.

So, yeah. It’s possible.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers that 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

Do you consider yourself a pantser or a plotter? Was I able to convince you of my take?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

And if you have a strong voice, you can get away with almost everything. A slow start, a chapter that drags, and even a story that doesn’t seem that interesting initially.

What I did research on:

• What is a narrative voice?

• Narrative voice and point of view: what’s the difference?

• What makes a strong narrative voice?

• How to find your narrative voice?

• And most importantly… how to keep your narrative voice consistent?

What is a narrative voice?

Narrative voice is the personality of your narrator bleeding through the story. It’s the sum of their word choices, sentence rhythm, sense of humor, and what they choose to notice.

I like to think of it as how the description outside the dialogue lands.

Is your narrator just reporting what’s happening? Or are they opinionated about it?

This is how a flat narrative voice sounds:

The master sat down, grinning and sighing.

He put his boots on the table. Full of mud.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master. Then he peeled off his gloves, equally full of blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“Stew, with some apple pie.” The apprentice took the gloves.

This is how a strong narrative voice sounds:

The master sat down with that insufferable white grin and the relaxed sigh of a man far too content with himself.

He put his boots on the table. Full of mud, which was great, because now the apprentice would be the one scrubbing it off.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master. Then he peeled off his gloves, equally full of blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

Poison, perhaps. Or a slap across the face would do.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” The apprentice took the gloves.

As you can see, this is the same scene with the same physical actions, same dialogue, but a totally different feel. We learn that the apprentice is bitter and the master is just insufferable. All of that thanks to the narrative voice.

Narrative voice is what makes writing feel like it came from a person. Your prose, grammar, plot, and structure can be pristine. But without a narrative voice, your story can feel empty.

Narrative voice and point of view: what’s the difference?

The difference between narrative voice and point of view in writing is that point of view (POV) is the “who” is telling the story (first, second, or third) while the voice is the “how” the story is being told.

(Plot, by the way, is the “what” that is being told.)

But the voice is the emotional core of a story. Whether a scene reads as funny, tense, dramatic, or dreadful depends more on the voice than on the events.

Let’s go back to the example with the master necromancer and the apprentice. But I’ll be using a different voice:

The master sat down, grinning and letting out a satisfied sigh. The sigh of a man pleased with causing misery.

He put his boots up on the table. Full of mud, which made the apprentice’s heart sink. He’d be the one scrubbing that off later.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master, the grin never leaving his face. Then he peeled off his gloves, with blood, so much blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

The apprentice knew better than to upset him. He only wanted the evening to pass quietly. So he gave the answer he knew was safe.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” The apprentice took the gloves.

In both examples, we use the third person limited POV. But in the first one, the apprentice is sarcastic and bitter, while in this one, he’s scared and resigned.

Now, let’s change POV and keep the voice:

The master sat down, grinning and letting out a satisfied sigh. The sigh of a man pleased with causing misery.

He put his boots up on the table. Full of mud, which made my heart sink. I’d be the one scrubbing that off later.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” said the master, the grin never leaving his face. Then he peeled off his gloves, with blood, so much blood, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I knew better than to upset him. I only wanted the evening to pass quietly. So I gave the answer I knew was safe.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” I took the gloves.

Okay, final example (I promise.)

Let’s change the POV and voice:

The master sat down with a grin and a satisfied sigh. The sigh of a man who had earned it.

He put his boots up on the table, mud and all. I didn’t mind it. Cleaning up after him was the least I could do.

“Another day of successfully awakening the dead,” he said, and I could only wonder at the words. Then he peeled off his gloves, soaked in blood, proof of everything he could do, and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I wanted to get it right for him. He deserved a proper meal after a long day.

“Stew, with some apple pie.” I took the gloves.

See what I mean about the voice being the personality? The examples keep the reader engaged for different reasons. But engaged nonetheless.

What makes a strong narrative voice?

A narrative voice is strong when it keeps the reader engaged. Especially during transition chapters or small moments, just because the reader enjoys the company of the narrator (even if not much is happening)

Your voice is a huge part of how the reader should feel about a scene, a character, or the story in general. It’s not only about fancy words, but about what the narrator notices and points to.

How to find your narrative voice?

Be judgmental… as a narrator, I mean. React to the scenes in your own book. Your narrative voice is in how you communicate, think, or generally express yourself.

Think: What do my unfiltered thoughts sound like?

If you see someone stop at the bottom of an escalator because they’re distracted talking to someone, how would you react?

• “Great, just great. Now I have to walk around him with very little space.”

• “He better move or I’ll move him!!!”

• “She stopped? Rude. Huh, I really like her shoes.”

An important thing to keep in mind is that very often your character is the narrator of the story.

The narrator can also be an entire character on its own. That doesn’t mean the process is any different.

If you know your character, you can get into their head. And if you can get in their head, you can notice the things they notice. Navigate the world as they would, while revealing something about their personality.

There’s something that I must clarify. Some books can do fine without a strong voice. The premise, pacing, and prose do a good job of carrying the story forward. But a strong voice raises your odds of creating an unforgettable book.

Now, and most importantly…

How do you keep your voice consistent?

To keep a consistent voice, make sure the same mind is behind the words and observations in the story. However, that doesn’t mean every passage should be identical. The rhythm and energy may be different. It depends on the scene you’re writing.

Quite simply:

As a writer and reader, you may find you need to recalibrate your voice after reading another book with a strong voice.

So, make sure you save a sample of your voice or read the chapters with the voice you’ve already established before going into another writing session.

If your book has multiple POVs from multiple characters, give each one a voice. And save a sample! Having characters with distinct personalities instead of using the same voice across will enrich your story.

Ultimately, there’s no correct voice, only yours. So, lean into what you can’t help but notice in your scenes. Point to things. Keep the weirdness. The thing that makes your writing sound like no one else’s (your voice) should be kept.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers that 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

How would you describe the voice you’re using in your book?

Take care and keep writing. ✍️

Subscribe now

Besides sparing you a full rewrite, point of view (POV) shapes your reader’s experience with your story.

Be that a story in which your reader knows your character intimately (first person). Or one where they get to hover over their shoulder (third person).

What I did research on:

• What is point of view in writing?

• Can you use different POVs in a book?

• Can you switch POV between books in a series?

• Can you change tense when you change character POV?

• What happens if the POV character dies?

• 4 different types of POV in writing (and bonuses)

• What POV should you write in?

What is point of view in writing?

Point of view in writing is the perspective from which you want to tell your story and also the perspective your reader will experience.

Choosing a POV helps you determine:

• Who is telling the story?

• How much does the narrator know?

• How close, or distant, the reader feels to your character?

• And, of course, your pronouns

When it comes to distance, the same story told from different POVs can be completely different.

For example, think of a good thriller or mystery. They’re often told in first person to create intrigue as we follow along our main character and only know what they know or suspect.

But now, imagine if the story was told from the third person omniscient. Maybe we know who the culprit is from the beginning, but that creates another kind of tension as the story is told.

Different POVs can create different effects. However, it’s not like you have to lock in into a specific POV to get one single effect.

While the first person is known for giving you that intimacy between narrator and reader (because you’re hearing the character’s thoughts), you can create something similar with third person omniscient by describing what the character is feeling, even if they don’t do it themselves. It all depends on what your story needs.

Now, here are a few questions you may be trying to answer.

Can you use different POVs in a book?

No, you shouldn’t change your POV (first, second, or third) on the same book. However, you’re allowed to shift perspectives and follow different characters under the same person choice. This is what’s called multiple POVs.

Changing your POV mid-book can affect your reader’s experience negatively. They may be used to the pronouns, distance, and perspective you set from the beginning and suddenly they have to recalibrate.

Can you switch POV between books in a series?

Yes, a good rule of thumb to follow is one POV per book. A new book means your reader has time to relax and calibrate between volumes. So, changing POVs between books is acceptable.

However, there’s an important caveat.

Readers who loved your first book may find a change of POV for the second odd. Especially if it’s the same story and characters.

A best practice is to keep the same POV as you follow the same story. For example, Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games trilogy is told entirely from first person through Katniss.

In the prequel of the same series The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, the POV changes to third person limited. And we follow president Snow as a young man.

The change of POV here works because these are different stories. Even if they’re part of the same series.

Can you change tense when you change character POV?

Yes, but it’s preferable (and simpler) if you don’t.

Using different tenses in a multiple character POVs book can be an interesting storytelling device. If done with intention.

For example:

• One character can have chapters in past tense. They’re remembering past events.

• Another character can have chapters in present tense. Things are happening to them right now

Now, imagine they’re in the same story. When their events overlap, it can be very satisfying for the reader when all the pieces fall in place.

On the other hand, tense inconsistency is one of the most common mistakes for writers.

What happens if the POV character dies? Can you keep writing from their perspective?

Technically yes, but you need a narrative reason for that.

Think: Why are they still talking?

There are two ways you can handle it:

1. Give the character a reason to narrate. Your character may have become a soul, ghost, angel, or any kind of supernatural being that is present after death.

2. The character narrates in retrospect. Your reader knows the character dies from the beginning. But they’re telling the story as if looking back.

If your character dies and there’s no supernatural framing or retrospective setup and they keep talking or telling the story, it becomes confusing. You break the logic of the narrative.

Can you as an author write in different POVs across different books or will readers find it jarring?

Yes, you can write in different POVs across different books. You don’t have to lock yourself into one style. Your readers will follow you anywhere for your specific narrative voice and the stories you write.

As long as your writing and stories are consistently good, readers won’t remember what POV was your last book in.

4 different types of POV in writing and bonuses

Now that some of the most common questions were answered, clearly, this is the part in which we go deeper into each POV.

I’ll go over each POV with book examples, main characteristics, and the genres that most use each POV.

First person POV in writing

In the first person POV, the narrator is one of your characters. Usually, the protagonist. They narrate the story with the “I” pronoun as events happen to them.

With this POV, you get to experience the story through the narrator’s eyes, thoughts, and feelings. While this gives your reader immediate intimacy with the character, by being the closest POV, it also limits how much they know to that of what the character knows.

So, if you need your reader to know something, the narrator either has to be in the scene or get the information from another character (or by other means).

First person POV in practice:

I didn’t want to make it a scene. But breaking into my apartment just to steal the last piece of cake deserved a scene.

Some examples of books in first person include:

• The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

• Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

• The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides

Even though the first person means that you have everything filtered through one character, which can feel like a limitation sometimes, it’s also the home of the “unreliable narrator”.

The unreliable narrator is when your narrator’s perception is deliberately deceptive. They can be wrong or biased. But they’re the ones telling the story, which leaves the reader with the challenge of finding out the truth from events or forming their own opinions.

Genres that typically use first person POV:

• Mysteries and thrillers: The information limited through your narrator’s assumptions and thoughts creates suspense which makes the reader more involved as they try to figure out stuff.

• Young adult: The intimacy of perceiving your character’s thoughts and feelings makes the reader bond faster with them, creating a character they can root for.

• Romance: The intimacy here helps readers get more involved and emotionally close to the narrator and their feelings.

• Horror: A combination of limited information and intimacy makes the reader experience fear as they don’t know what will happen but are experiencing it along with your character.

• Memoirs: The most reasonable choice when the story is about you.

Second person POV in writing

In the second person POV, the narrator addresses the reader directly using “you”. The reader becomes a character in the story that experiences events as they happen or think of themselves as information is shared.

With second person POV, your reader gets a more immersive experience. Instead of following the main character around, they’re the main character.

In this POV, you also get limited knowledge as you only know what you experience.

Second person POV in practice:

One thing about making a scene is that you need a good reason for it. And finding out that someone broke into your apartment to eat the last piece of your cake is reason enough.

Some examples of books in second person include:

• If on a winter’s night a traveler by Italo Calvino

• Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney

• Most non-fiction books

• Videogames are a good example too

Another thing to highlight about second person POV is that, because the narrator is constantly addressing “you”, readers often become more engaged. That’s why, most articles on the internet like “how to guides” or informational blogs address you. Because you’re having “this issue”, so here’s “how you solve it”.

Genres that typically use second person POV:

• Non-fiction (like self-help, instruction, or educational books): Addressing your reader as “you” feels personal and direct when teaching them something or communicating information (better than a never-ending textbook talk).

• Fiction and literary fiction: Immersing your reader in the story, as a character, can be interesting to them as it creates complicity.

• Horror: Immersion works well here too because your reader is being told they’re experiencing something frightening.

Third person limited (close third) POV in writing

In third person limited, the narrator tells the story using “he,” “she,” “they” pronouns, but is “limited” by the perspective of the character they’re following along. The narrator only knows what the main character knows (e.g., feelings, thoughts, assumptions) and by extension so does the reader.

With third person limited you get a combination of first person intimacy (since you get the character’s perception) while still creating distance.

The distance that third person provides means that the narrator can occasionally make objective comments about the POV character. For example, it’s easier to describe what the character looks like instead of making them look at a mirror.

Third person limited POV in practice:

He opened the fridge and there it was. Or well, it wasn’t. The last piece of cake he had left was nowhere to be found. Frustration couldn’t start to describe what he felt.

Some examples of books in third person limited include:

• The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

• Dune by Frank Herbert

• Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica

Third person limited is one of the most popular POVs in fiction because it gives you as a writer flexibility when it comes to descriptions or perceptions. However, it still has the same limitation as first person. The reader only knows what your character knows.

Genres that typically use third person limited POV:

• Fantasy and science fiction: The objective comments while still being anchored to your character gives you the opportunity of doing worldbuilding (which could feel weird in first person).

• Romance: The limited perspective means you can follow both romantic leads and understand their thoughts and feelings.

• Young adult: The intimacy from first person and distance from third person keeps your readers bonded to the character while allowing flexibility.

• Mysteries and thrillers: The limited knowledge creates suspense while the third person distance gives the narrative room to breathe.

Third person omniscient POV in writing

In third person omniscient, the narrator (similar to third person limited) tells the story using “he,” “she,” “they” pronouns. However, the narrator knows everything. Every thought, feeling, or motivation from any character. They even know what will happen in the future and can hint at it.

With the third person omniscient, you get the most flexibility as you can tap into any character’s mind. Even if they’re in the same scene. Sometimes, if you have a strong voice, it may even feel as if the narrator has become a character too.

Head hopping vs. third person omniscient

Now, tapping into a different character’s mind in the same scene, can risk you doing head hopping. To avoid this use the flexibility of third person omniscient to zoom in and out of a scene to your advantage.

If you’re going to tap into many character’s minds, zoom out so there’s more distance between narrator and characters, leaving everyone to be their own person, so it doesn’t feel like the narrator is hovering over one character’s shoulder only.

Third person omniscient in practice:

He opened the fridge and there it was. Or well, it wasn’t. The last piece of cake he had left was nowhere to be found. Frustration couldn’t start to describe what he felt. He swore he would find who did it. And he would… in about ten minutes.

Some examples of books in third person omniscient include:

• Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

• The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

• Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

Another thing to keep in mind is that third person omniscient can come as the furthest POV from the reader. If you use this POV you may lose intimacy with the main character.

Genres that typically use third person omniscient POV:

• Fantasy: The flexibility of tapping into different character’s minds is a great advantage when you have an extensive cast.

• Multi generational sagas: Again the flexibility to be able to move across a large cast of characters and multiple plotlines while zooming in into intimate moments.

First person plural (bonus)

In first person plural, the narrator is a collective voice using the pronoun “we” to tell the story. Instead of one character telling the story, a community, a group, or a collective consciousness narrates together.

With first person plural, you get a sense of shared identity or fate. However, you lose intimacy as it’s easier for readers to bond with “she” or “he” rather than with “we”.

Some examples of books in first person plural include:

• The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides

• Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris

Sustaining a “we” voice over a whole novel can be difficult, so first person plural is often better used in shorter narratives. However, it can be a strong choice if you’re writing a novel about a group identity.

Genres that typically use first person plural POV:

• Horror and psychological fiction: The collective “we” can be unsettling in a horror or psychological setting as it can imply erased individuality.

• Stories about communities or groups: The logical choice when the community or group identity is the most important part of the story rather than an individual.

Fourth person POV in writing (bonus)

In fourth person, the narrator uses “one” as a universal pronoun to refer to everyone and no one in particular. It’s a voice that speaks about human experience in an impersonal way.

Unlike other writing POVs, the fourth person isn’t really a narrative fiction tool. There’s no character to follow along or to bond with. You could even say that it’s the furthest POV from the reader.

Some examples of places where fourth person POV appears the most:

• Essays

• Academic and philosophical writing

The fourth person POV is mostly a grammatical curiosity that appears in sentences. For example “One would say…”, “one must consider…” or a popular movie line “one does not simply walk into Mordor.”

So… what POV should you write in?

You should write in the POV that you feel most comfortable with and best serves your story.

When you write in a POV that feels natural to you, it’s easier to get those words out!

Your voice will resound more and you’ll grow into your style.

Now…

The second part about using the POV that best serves your story has to do with two things:

1. How much does the reader need to know?

2. How close do you want your reader to be to the narrator?

For example, if the suspense comes from having limited information you could use first person. If you want intimacy and character bonding while getting more information (but not everything), third person limited may work better.

You can also check the POVs that are most used in your genre and choose from there.

While different POVs have their own strengths, limitations, and genre associations, it still is your choice. You may follow the rules and create something staggering. Or you may want to break the rules and create something equally extraordinary.

And scene

If you made it this far, you’re probably one of those readers who 100% their book. So, thank you for bearing with me until the end :)

If you found this article helpful (either as a writer or a lurker), consider following along as I figure out how to actually write that book.

And if there’s a writing topic you’d like me to write about, drop it in the comments.

What POV did you choose for your book?

Take care and keep writing.✍️

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