The blank page used to paralyze me until I reframed novel-writing as guided daydreaming. Now, I start by collecting fragments—a news headline that could be a subplot, a stranger’s mannerisms stolen for a side character. Before outlining, I write three key scenes in vivid detail (often the climax, midpoint turn, and opening) to anchor the story’s tone. Worldbuilding happens through 'what if' chains: 'What if this café was a front for time travelers?' leads to rules about how the time jumps work. For dialogue, I record myself acting out both sides of conversations while cooking, then transcribe the natural rhythms. When motivation flags, I reward milestones with themed treats—baking medieval honey cakes when finishing a fantasy chapter. The biggest lesson? Novels aren’t written—they’re rewritten. My current manuscript’s fourth draft barely resembles the first, and that’s glorious.
Steal from life relentlessly. My protagonist’s obsession with vintage radios came from a flea-market vendor who repaired them using toothpicks. I stitch together such stolen threads until a pattern emerges. Structure follows emotion—I use Save the Cat beats but adjust them to my character’s psychological journey. Drafting is excavation: the first pass digs the hole, revisions carve the statue within it. I combat writer’s block by changing locations (libraries for research-heavy scenes, parks for action sequences) and writing longhand with a favorite fountain pen. The ink’s flow somehow loosens my creativity. Celebrating small wins is crucial; every chapter finished earns a star on my wall calendar, visible proof of progress.
Writing a novel feels like assembling a puzzle where you design the pieces yourself. My approach starts with daydreaming—letting characters and scenes bubble up naturally during mundane moments, like waiting for coffee. I jot these fragments in a chaotic 'idea dump' document, no structure imposed. Later, I sift through for gems and build a loose outline, but I leave room for detours—some of my best twists emerged spontaneously mid-draft. The key? Write the first version fast, embracing messiness; polishing comes later. I treat revisions like archaeology, digging layers deeper with each pass—theme in the second draft, sensory details in the third.
What keeps me going is remembering that even 'Lord of the Rings' had scrapped chapters and 'Harry Potter' underwent massive edits. Perfectionism kills momentum; I set weekly word-count targets instead of deadlines. Surrounding myself with inspiration helps too—a playlist that captures the novel’s mood, or a corkboard of visual references. And when stuck? I switch mediums: handwriting a scene or dictating dialogue while walking often shakes loose breakthroughs. The magic happens when you stop treating the first draft as sacred and start seeing it as clay to sculpt.
Breaking it down practically: first, identify your non-negotiables. For me, it’s always character—I sketch biographies for even minor roles, noting quirks like a fear of pigeons or a habit of humming 80s jingles. Next, I map the emotional arc before plotting events; what’s the protagonist’s internal transformation? Tools matter less than consistency—I alternate between Scrivener for structure and cheap notebooks for free-flowing brainstorms. A trick I stole from a workshop: write the blurb early, as if the book’s already published. This clarifies the core conflict. Then, draft in sprints—500 words daily, no editing allowed. After the messy first draft, I analyze pacing with colored highlighters (action blue, introspection yellow) to spot imbalances. Beta readers get raw chapters with specific questions: 'Did the twist feel earned?' not just 'Did you like it?'
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The Apocalypse Survival Manual
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An apocalypse driven by natural disasters.
Survival of the fittest.
Typhoons, floods, deadly cold, scorching heat, earthquakes, tsunamis, insect plagues, acid rain…
After struggling through three years of the apocalypse, Nicole Floyd met a brutal death. Miraculously, she woke up and found herself three days before it all began.
Nicole seized the advantage to reclaim her storage space, flipping the switch on full-on stockpiling mode. She shopped until she ran out of money, and her storage was packed tight.
She also looked for the dog that had saved her life once before.
She sharpened her knives, stacked her supplies, and took care of unfinished business. She paid back every debt, whether owed in blood or in kindness.
And then, disaster struck.
Her right hand gripping a knife and her left stroking the dog, Nicole pressed on through the ruins of a world without order or morals.
This is a brochure containing a collection of PROMPT IDEAS from our one and only GOOD NOVEL WORKSHOP. Every PROMPT is a thrilling idea that might inspire you and can be the foundation of your next book! If interested, Please send your summary to: workshop@goodnovel.com, and note which prompt is based on. Our editors will get back to you as soon as possible.
Her name was Cathedra. Leave her last name blank, if you will.
Where normal people would read, "And they lived happily ever after," at the end of every fairy tale story, she could see something else. Three different things.
Three words: Lies, lies, lies.
A picture that moves.
And a plea: Please tell them the truth.
All her life she dedicated herself to becoming a writer and telling the world what was being shown in that moving picture. To expose the lies in the fairy tales everyone in the world has come to know.
No one believed her. No one ever did.
She was branded as a liar, a freak with too much imagination, and an orphan who only told tall tales to get attention. She was shunned away by society. Loveless. Friendless.
As she wrote "The End" to her novels that contained all she knew about the truth inside the fairy tale novels she wrote, she also decided to end her pathetic life and be free from all the burdens she had to bear alone.
Instead of dying, she found herself blessed with a second life inside the fairy tale novels she wrote, and living the life she wished she had with the characters she considered as the only friends she had in the world she left behind.
Cathedra was happy until she realized that an ominous presence lurks within her stories. One that wanted to kill her to silence the only one who knew the truth.
Breaking news across every major media outlet was suddenly dominated by the tragic death of Ayleen Hazel, the rising bestselling novelist, who was declared dead after a devastating accident. Ironically, one of her most popular novels was just about to be adapted into a film.
But what if Ayleen suddenly woke up years before she ever became famous? Would she seize this second chance to rewrite her destiny?
Writing a novel can feel like staring at a mountain you're supposed to climb barefoot—exciting but terrifying. The trick is to break it down into manageable steps. First, don’t obsess over perfection right out of the gate. Just start writing. Your first draft is allowed to be messy; it’s like sketching before painting. Grab an idea, even a vague one, and let it spill onto the page. Maybe it’s a character who won’t shut up in your head or a scene that plays on loop in your imagination. Build from there. I’ve abandoned so many 'perfect' outlines because the story always veers off-road, and that’s where the magic happens.
Structure helps, though. You don’t need a PhD in plot theory, but knowing basic story arcs (like the three-act structure) can be a safety net. Think of 'Harry Potter' or 'The Hunger Games'—setup, confrontation, resolution. But rules are more like guardrails. If your story thrives on chaotic vibes (looking at you, 'Catch-22'), go for it. Tools like Scrivener or even Google Docs can keep your chaos organized. And read—voraciously. Analyze how your favorite books pace dialogue or build tension. Steal tricks shamelessly (just don’t plagiarize). Writing’s a solo sport, but you’re never really alone; every book you’ve loved is coaching from the sidelines.
Lastly, finish something. Even if it’s 50,000 words of nonsense, completing a draft teaches you more than a dozen half-burned manuscripts. Share it with trusted friends or online writing groups. Feedback stings, but it’s fertilizer. And when doubt creeps in (it will), remember: every author you admire once faced a blank page, too. My first 'novel' was a cringe-fest about vampire detectives, but it got me hooked on storytelling. Now, where’s that coffee? Oh wait, no setting descriptions—just keep writing.
Writing a fantasy novel is like crafting a whole new universe from scratch, and I love every bit of the process. Start by brainstorming your world—think about its magic system, creatures, and cultures. Make it unique, not just a copy of 'Lord of the Rings' or 'Harry Potter'. Once you have a solid setting, focus on your protagonist. Give them flaws and goals that readers can root for. Plotting comes next; outline the major events but leave room for surprises. I always keep a notebook for random ideas that pop up while writing. The key is to balance action with character growth—no one cares about epic battles if they don’t care about the people fighting. Lastly, revise ruthlessly. Your first draft will be messy, but that’s where the real magic happens. Cut what doesn’t serve the story and polish until it shines.
Writing a book feels like sculpting a universe from clay—messy at first, but deeply rewarding when you shape it into something tangible. My approach usually starts with daydreaming; I let ideas simmer until one sticks hard enough to demand attention. Then comes the chaotic 'brain dump' phase—scrawling notes on napkins, voice memos, or a dedicated doc where everything from character quirks to plot twists gets thrown in.
Once I have a loose skeleton, I switch to outlining. Not everyone loves this step, but for me, it’s like building guardrails so I don’t veer off a cliff mid-story. I keep it flexible, though—some of the best moments come from detours. Drafting is next, and here’s where I embrace the 'ugly first draft' mentality. Perfectionism is the enemy; just getting words down matters. Later revisions are where the magic happens, chiseling away until the story shines. The key? Consistency. Even 500 words a day adds up faster than you’d think.