(Even When You’re Using Deep POV Correctly)

By Susan Watts

Recently, I found myself staring at a scene in my current work-in-progress, wondering why it wasn't working.

On paper, it should have been one of the strongest emotional scenes in the chapter. The stakes were high, and I'd woven visceral reactions and interiority (click here to read my blog on interiority) throughout the scene. If you're unfamiliar with those terms, visceral reactions are the body's immediate, involuntary response to emotion, while interiority reveals the character's private thoughts and interpretation of what's happening. Together, they create the emotional closeness that makes deep POV so immersive.

Those techniques helped transform my writing, which is why the problem I was having with this  chapter surprised me.

Every time I reread it, I found myself strangely disconnected. The emotion was obvious, yet the scene never quite came alive. My first instinct was to do add more internal thoughts, more physical reactions, and more explanation about why the moment mattered.

The chapter grew longer, but it didn't become more engaging.

Only later did I realize I wasn't dealing with a lack of emotion. I had become so focused on making sure readers understood what my character felt that I'd stopped paying attention to whether those emotions actually changed as the scene unfolded.

That realization completely altered the way I approach scene revision.

The Problem Wasn't a Lack of Emotion

When critique partners say a scene needs more emotion, we often assume the character lacks feeling. Occasionally that's true. Stronger visceral reactions, deeper interiority, or more specific emotional language can absolutely strengthen a scene.

But I've started noticing another problem. Sometimes the emotion is already on the page, yet it never changes.

Looking back, my character spent nearly the entire scene with the same emotion. She began the chapter afraid and ended it in much the same emotional place. Only then did I realize I'd never stopped to ask whether that fear was evolving. Every meaningful scene needs its own emotional arc because those small shifts eventually build the larger character arc readers remember.

That discovery reminded me of something I've watched hundreds of times while teaching martial arts.

Students spend a great deal of time perfecting their stance, as they should. However, standing in a technically perfect stance isn't enough to win a fight. As your opponent changes distance, rhythm, or strategy, your body should adapt. If you remain frozen in the same position simply because it's technically correct, you eventually lose the exchange.

The stance exists so you can move.

Emotion works much the same way.

I've come to think of this as emotional movement—the gradual change in a character's understanding that reshapes how they experience events. A scene's emotional arc isn't about changing emotions for the sake of variety but allowing that understanding to evolve. A character may begin and end a scene feeling fear, yet if they understand that fear differently by the final page, the emotional arc has moved.

Interestingly, I rarely think about emotional movement while drafting my manuscript. At that stage, I'm still discovering the story. It's during revision that I begin asking whether the emotion changes from the beginning of a scene to the end, because that's when I can finally see whether the emotional arc is actually working.

Real Emotions Rarely Stay Still

Think about the last time you waited for news that mattered. Maybe it was a response from an agent, medical test results, or a difficult conversation you couldn't avoid.

Did you experience one emotion the entire time?

Probably not.

Hope gave way to doubt. Confidence slipped into worry. Every new possibility subtly changed how you interpreted the situation, even before anything actually happened.

Real emotions rarely remain fixed because our understanding keeps changing.

Readers respond to characters in much the same way. They aren't seeking stronger emotions. They're looking for emotions that evolve.

The Question That Changed My Revision Process

As I worked through that problem scene, I realized I'd been asking the wrong revision question.

For years, I'd asked myself:

How does my character feel?

It had always been a useful question because it pushed me toward deeper interiority.But this time, it wasn't enough. So I replaced it with a different question:

What is my character discovering?

That simple shift transformed everything.

Once I dug beneath the surface, I realized the scene wasn't really about immediate danger. It was about a previous failure my character had never forgiven herself for. The external conflict hadn't changed, but its meaning had. Suddenly the fear had somewhere to go because her understanding had shifted.

Meaning Creates Emotion

That revision taught me something I hadn't fully appreciated before.

Readers connect more with the character’s interpretation of events rather than the events themselves. Meaning acts like a filter between the event and the emotion. Two characters can experience exactly the same situation and leave with completely different emotional responses because each brings unique fears, beliefs, expectations, and history into the moment.

I've started thinking about emotional scenes as a simple progression:

Event → Meaning → Emotion → Action

As the character’s perception changes, so does the meaning. And the emotion naturally follows. That's where emotional movement begins.

Imagine two writers receiving the same rejection letter. One shrugs, files it away, and immediately sends another query. The other stares at the email long after the screen goes dark.

The rejection itself isn't different.

The meaning is.

Perhaps the second writer has spent years wondering whether they're talented enough. Or they promised themselves this manuscript would finally prove they belonged. The emotional weight comes from everything the rejection represents rather than the rejection itself.

Characters experience events the same way. A missed phone call, a failed test, or a broken promise only becomes emotionally significant because of what they represent to that particular character.

Sometimes the Emotion Is Hiding in the Character's World

One of my favorite revision techniques is to stop looking at the character for a moment and start looking at what they're noticing. Emotion changes perception.

A recently divorced woman notices the empty chair at the kitchen table.

A grieving father notices the school photograph attached to the refrigerator.

A detective notices the unlocked window.

The room hasn't changed. The character has.

I've found that what a character notices often reveals more emotion than a detailed explanation of their feelings. It also allows readers to participate in the experience by drawing conclusions for themselves instead of being told exactly what to think.

What Finally Fixed My Scene

The solution wasn't adding more visceral reactions, another paragraph of interiority, or stronger emotional language. It was allowing the character's emotional understanding to change.

That didn't mean rewriting every sentence. It meant looking for the places where her new awareness should naturally appear. Once I knew what had shifted internally, I found myself revising her thoughts, her observations, her decisions, and even the way she interpreted other people's words. Those changes weren't separate revisions. They all grew out of the emotional movement happening beneath the surface.

Although I added very little emotion to the page, the emotional impact rose dramatically. What changed was the direction the emotion moved.

If Readers Want More Emotion...

My scene revision process now begins with one question: Has the character's understanding changed from the beginning of the scene to the end? Once I know that answer, revising the prose becomes much easier.

When a scene feels emotionally flat, these are the questions I return to:

• What is my character discovering in this scene?
• How has their understanding changed by the end?
• What does this event now mean to them personally?

I've found those questions far more useful than simply trying to add more emotion. Once I understand the character's emotional movement, the rest of the revision usually follows naturally.

Have you ever revised a scene that contained plenty of visceral reactions and interiority, yet still felt emotionally flat?
If so, what finally unlocked it?

About Susan

Under the pen name Michelle Allums, Susan Watts has authored a young adult urban fantasy titled, The Jade Amulet and is currently writing the sequel. Her short stories are also included in the anthologies Christmas Roses and Forever and Always.

Susan has dedicated over four decades to training in multiple martial arts styles and holds the impressive title of a five-time US Karate Alliance world black belt fighting grand champion. Through her karate school, she is able to impart martial arts and life skills. Susan also incorporates her martial arts knowledge into her writing.

An avid triathlete, she keeps in shape by running, biking, and swimming. She lives in the country with her husband, where they raise animals and enjoy being outdoors. Susan also has three grown children and numerous grandchildren. In addition, she is a CPA and VP of finance for a company in her hometown. 

You can connect with Susan on social media or her website.

Featured picture from Canva Magic Media. Extra picture: Susan Watts

by Tari Lynn Jewett

I’m a rule follower. That person who stops at a stop sign, even though there’s no one around… that’s me. I won’t use the ten items or less check-out line with eleven items, even if I have eleven chocolate bars, and I never return my library books late. Well, there was that one time, but I paid my fines and stayed away from the library for more than a year out of shame.

And yet, I have been known to break a few rules. (Don’t tell my parents. Wait, don’t tell my kids!) Sometimes I knew the rules and made a choice, and I’ll admit, sometimes I just didn’t know the rules.

As a writer, (even if you’re not a ‘writer’) there are an overabundance of rules, and I’m likely to break a few in the approximately thousand words of this post. There are punctuation and spelling rules, formatting rules, rules for non-fiction and rules for fiction. There are rules specific to the genre you write, rules of business and etiquette, marketing rules. And to make it more challenging, every now and then the rules change! One of the most basic rules. Write What You Know.

I’ve told this story before, but here it is.

I never considered myself a writer. I mean I wrote. Writing has been my passion since…well, always, but a writer, or maybe I should say A WRITER was someone special, someone with magical power that could transport you to other worlds, someone who offered you the opportunity to live other lives. I just wrote.

So, at twenty-one years old with a nine-month-old baby, I decided that I had all of the answer to parenthood, and that I’d write a parenting column for our local newspaper, The Butterfield Express. (Why yes, I do write in run-on sentences…it’s also how I talk!)

I wrote several sample columns, walked into the offices of The Butterfield Express, and asked to speak to the editor. That was probably the first rule I broke. I didn’t send a query letter, I didn’t make an appointment, I just walked in and asked to speak to an editor. But I didn’t know any better, and they gave me the column.

The second rule that I broke was – Write What You Know.

I’ll give myself credit for thinking I was writing something I knew, but I’ll admit it was pretty naïve. More than forty years later, after raising three boys you couldn’t pay me enough to write a parenting column. I KNOW that I don’t know.

But I wrote that column, and I’m glad it was before the internet, because I’ll be happy if those columns are never seen again! More importantly, I learned a few things about writing and working with a publisher.

What I didn’t learn was that you didn’t walk into an editor’s office unannounced and ask for a column on a topic in which you really had no expertise, so…

…a few years later, I decided I wanted to write a consumer law column for The Moreno Valley News. Despite having no law degree, no legal background of any kind…unless dating a lawyer counts, and being told no one would give me a law column, I prepared several sample columns and marched into the offices of The Moreno Valley News and asked to see an editor.

Maybe I didn’t learn anything from my first experience, because I made the exact same mistakes. I didn’t make an appointment, and I didn’t Write What I Knew.

But they gave me the column, and I probably learned more from this experience.

The third column I wrote was a cooking column for The Antelope Valley Press Enterprise; no, this time I didn’t walk into the office with an envelope of samples and ask to see an editor. This time, the editor called me by accident. Yes, it was a wrong number phone call, and I took the opportunity to pitch a food column…but I still wasn’t writing what I knew. At this point I had a handful of recipes in my repertoire, and they all contained some flavor of cream of -insert a flavor here- soup. Yes, I got the column, and once again, I wrote what I didn’t know.

Making an appointment to see an editor instead of walking into their office unannounced, is probably a rule that should be followed. I might have gotten lucky…twice.

But, writing what you know is a rule that can be broken.

Writing what you know is intrinsic. It’s going to happen while you write, and knowing your subject well, whether you’re writing fiction or nonfiction gives it depth, and helps the reader to connect with your words.

Writing what you don’t know offers an opportunity to explore things you’re curious about, and build new areas of knowledge, and can help your readers to do the same.

I no longer write for magazines and newspaper, my focus is fiction, and while I definitely write about what I know, and my experiences and those others have share appear in all of my stories, I also write about what I don’t know. It’s the curiosity about the things that I don’t know that make me dig deeper, that send me looking for more.

And if we all wrote what we knew, there would be no vampire stories, no Little Mermaid, Captain Kirk wouldn’t have had what is basically a flip phone today…because they didn’t exist and the writer couldn’t have KNOWN them. It’s our imaginations that build a story.

So, write what you know…and write what you don’t.

What rules have you broken and still won?

About Tari Lynn Jewett

Tari Lynn Jewett lives off Route 66 with her husband of 37 years. They have three amazing sons, a board game designer, a sound engineer and a musician. For over fifteen years she wrote freelance for magazines and newspapers, wrote television commercials, radio spots, numerous press releases, and many, MANY PTA newsletters. As much as she loved writing those things, she always wanted to write fiction . . . and now she is.

She also believes in happily ever after . . . because she’s living hers.

tarilynnjewett.com
taristhread.wordpress.com

Why writers need it and how to choose the right one.

You’ve felt it. That moment of crushing despair. That moment when you know the story you’ve been writing for months isn’t working. That moment when you wonder if you should toss the story aside or try yet another rewrite. Then the self-doubt pours in, and you don’t know if you should even bother. Stop right there. It’s not talent you lack. It’s not that your idea isn’t story-worthy. Most likely there’s a fundamental piece of storytelling that you’ve misunderstood. That piece? Story Structure. It’s not as arbitrary or simple as it sounds.

What is Story Structure?

Story structure is the way you choose to arrange story elements in an order that best serve your story and your audience. What exactly does that mean?

Most of you want to share your stories with others. And you’re reading this because you want to improve your skills. You’ve likely read a lot about plot and structure and may have come out of that feeling confused or frustrated because you can’t make it work for you. What you need is to take a broader look at story structure.

There are a lot of story elements we can use to tell a story that readers enjoy: genre tropes, plot, character arcs, theme, scenes, and a lot more. The way we present those elements, the order of those elements, affects a reader’s perception of the story in both the basic terms of understanding and emotional resonance.

Some of you will resist the idea of structure. It feels restrictive or forced. That may be true of some people’s definitions of structure, but that’s not how structure works in fiction or in life. 

There is structure in life. We are born; we live; we die. Even in the smallest of ways, we live by structure. We sleep. We eat. We act.

I used to brag that I lived an unstructured life. But even an erratic schedule like mine has structure: my day begins, then there’s a middle, and an end to my day.

Structure Is Not Plot

It is crucial that a writer understands the difference. Structure is how we shape and reveal the story. Plot is what happens.

What happens in Cinderella:

Her stepmother and sisters mistreat Cinderella, but she remains kind.

Her act of kindness to the traveling prince leads to a happily ever after.

The Shape of Cinderella

The structure of Cinderella is a linear story told in the third person with rising action in three acts. It is told in order. One thing happens, then the next thing happens. With each action, tension rises until the climax.

Consider what kind of story it would become if it were told in media res—and started with her appearance at the ball?

It could have a dual timeline structure—the traditional story interspersed with what happens after Cinderella married the prince and brought her stepmother to live in the castle.

The shape of Cinderella would also change if we changed the genre to adventure. Or if we changed how we told the story to a first-person singular point of view.

The Five Most Common Plotting Methods

Most people call the five methods listed here plot structures. But they are only part of a story’s structure. Therefore, to avoid confusion, I will call them plotting methods. Here is a brief description of each of the five most common ones.

Three-Act Story

Loosely speaking, this is a beginning, middle, and end kind of structure. Act One is the setup: where we meet the protagonist in their normal environment/life right before an event forces them to step out of the normal. Act Two is the middle. This is where the protagonist tries and cannot return to normal, faces a crisis, and comes up with a new plan. In the end or third act, the protagonist faces off with the antagonist, wins or loses, and settles into a new normal. James Scott Bell has written an excellent book on the three-act method called Plot and Structure. Story Engineering by Larry Brooks or K.M. Weiland’s book, Structuring your Novel, are also very helpful.

Story Examples:

Cinderella,

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon (the original novel and the first season of the TV series), 

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins,

The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown.

The Hero’s Journey

The Hero’s Journey, also called the monomyth or the hero’s quest, is a twelve-part method for plotting stories. A hero goes on a great journey and does great deeds, usually on behalf of his group, tribe, or civilization. The twelve parts include: The Ordinary World, The Call to Adventure, Refusal of the Call, Meeting with the Mentor, Crossing the Threshold, Tests, Allies and Enemies, Approach, The Ordeal, The Reward, The Road Back, The Resurrection, and The Return with the Elixir. You can read an in-depth discussion of this plot-type in Christopher Vogler’s book, The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers.

Story Examples:

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien,

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling,

Star Wars, the film

Save the Cat (beat sheet)

Created by Hollywood screenwriter Blake Snyder, the “Save the Cat” technique is a method of plotting that breaks stories down into three major acts and 15 “beats.” Intended as a screenwriting method, many people find it very helpful in writing fiction. Snyder’s book, Save the Cat!: The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need, is highly readable. The examples throughout are film and television examples.

For brevity’s sake, I won’t list all 15 beats here. You can learn more about this on the website savethecat.com or Snyder’s book, or the adaptation for novels, Save the Cat! Writes a Novel: The Last Book on Novel Writing You’ll Ever Need by Jessica Brody.

Story Examples:

(These hit all the beats of this method.)

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

The Martian by Andy Weir

Emma by Jane Austen

The Story Circle by Dan Harmon

Dan Harmon is an American television writer, producer, animator, and actor. He developed the Story Circle when he got stuck writing a screenplay. Harmon adapted the Hero’s Journey to create a simple system for developing stories in any genre. He called it the story circle because he sees good stories as a complete circle. He describes the story circle as holding the “plot embryo.” It is a more flexible blueprint and one that prioritizes character arc and emotional growth more than the more action-oriented Hero’s Journey method.

Instead of twelve steps, it has eight:

1. A character you can identify with
2. Who has some kind of need, wish, incompletion that causes them to
3. Go across a threshold where the story changes direction
4. The character goes through a set of trials searching for something
5. They find it whether or not they like it
6. And pays a heavy price for it
7. They return to the world they started in
8. They have changed because of their journey.

While there is no definitive book on the Story Circle, you can watch Dan Harmon explain his plotting method. If that doesn’t make it clear, the Reedsy blog offers this explanation.

Story Examples:

Rick and Morty, a television comedy series written by Dan Harmon.

Toy Story, the movie

Harry Potter by R.K. Rowling

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

Yes, I’ve included Harry Potter and The Hobbit in two places. Both stories fit both the Hero’s Journey and the Story Circle. You may think that’s because the Story Circle came from the Hero’s Journey. That is right, but that’s not the reason many stories seem to use more than one plotting method. Keep reading for more about hybrid plotting methods.

In Medias Res / Nonlinear

This plotting method drops the reader into the middle of a high-stakes scene without introduction. Flashbacks and dialogue fill in the backstory later. It has a beginning, middle, and end still, but they are not in chronological order. The author weaves events together for an effect. This often evokes an emotional response, like the feeling that it all makes sense in retrospect. In Catch-22, the nonlinear structure represents the chaos PTSD inflicts on sufferers.

Story Examples:

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, 

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

These methods are suitable for some stories, but not all. Remember, you can change or simplify any of these methods, just as the Story Circle simplifies the Hero’s Journey.

Beyond the Top Five Plotting Methods

Many of our writers here on Writers in the Storm have written about ways to think about plotting. Janice Hardy 5 Paths to Plotting Your Novel. John Peragine wrote about 7 Plot Structures for Pantsers and 7 More Plot Structures for Pantsers. There are mores post here, search for plot. Plus there are hundreds, probably thousands, more if you use a search engine. It's not that one plot type is the only way you'll write a best seller. But without a structure that readers are familiar with, it's unlikely you'll write a best seller. So find the one you understand, or make a hybrid.

How to Diagnose Which Method Fits Your Story

You can figure out which plotting method is best for your story before you write it or after you write it. Most writers instinctively write in the plotting method they read the most. In order to determine which method is best for your story, answer these three questions:

1. What is your core of your story about?

The core of your story isn’t the step by step, or even the theme, though theme is often strongly connected. This question is about the narrative drive of your story. Not all plotting methods fit all narrative drives.

Think about what change or resistance to change is at the heart of your story. If your story is about a transformation, then the Three-Act or Save the Cat methods will work best.

If your story is about a real or metaphysical journey through an unfamiliar world, the Hero’s Journey is the best fit.

If your story focuses on a character who remains the same but reveals their true nature, the in media res or nonlinear method may best serve your story.

If your story is about a community, a culture, or a system rather than a single protagonist, you may find no single method fits well. Try Dan Harmon’s Story Circle to give you more flexibility. Or, try a hybrid approach.

2. What do you want the reader to feel, and when?

Every structure, every plotting method, makes implicit promises to the reader about the emotional experience reading that story will provide. The emotional experience is not the plot. It’s the readers’ feelings. Feelings like the thrill of an emotional roller coaster. Maybe it’s that the reader understands more than the protagonist—or less. Maybe you want your reader to finish the book and feel the ending was inevitable in retrospect—or a genuine surprise.

A tightly plotted three-act mystery or thriller promises rising tension followed by release. A Hero’s Journey promises a genuine ordeal where the protagonist earns a triumph. The nonlinear method promises a puzzle that will resolve into clarity when the fragments suddenly click into place.

If your story does not fulfill those promises, your readers will find your story unsatisfying even if they can’t clearly identify why they are so dissatisfied.

3. Where does your story’s tension lie?

There are three broad areas of narrative tension (and many sub-areas). Most stories contain at least two areas of tension, but one dominates. Which type of narrative tension dominates your story?

Situational Tension

This is suspense in its purest form. The protagonist is in a precarious position—the reader turns pages quickly to learn if the protagonist will survive, escape, succeed, win, etc. As expected, the Three-Act and Save the Cat plotting methods are well-suited for this.

Dramatic Irony Tension

Dramatic irony is when the reader knows something the protagonist doesn’t. The reader’s tension lives in the gap between what the protagonist sees and understands and what the reader sees and understands. Nonlinear plot methods can work well for dramatic irony.

Relational or Internal Tension

Relational tension refers to the interpersonal conflict in your story. Not just between the protagonist and antagonist, but the push-and-pull between family members or team members, or even bystanders in your story. This conflict arises when your protagonist’s concrete goal stands between her and the other person. When you’ve learned to use these relational tensions skillfully, each one amplifies some aspect of your plot or theme or the protagonist’s character arc.

Internal tension is what happens inside a single character’s mind. It results from the character’s competing desires, misconceptions, or emotional needs. For example, in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, Sam Gamgee’s love for a simple, peaceful life in the Shire is always in conflict with his fierce sense of loyalty to Frodo and Sam’s desire to see the Ring destroyed.

If you still aren't certain which method will work for your story, remember, most authors use a hybrid of more than one plotting method.

The Hybrid Approach

No single method of plotting works for every writer in every story they write. In fact, most stories are a blend of plotting methods. This is one reason stories like The Hobbit and Harry Potter fit more than one plotting method. Typically, even using the hybrid approach, one plotting method will dominate the others. Understanding which plotting methods promise what, and how they work, helps you understand which parts to choose for the best effect in your story.

And plotting methods aren’t the only story elements that create story structure. The point of view (first person, second person, etc.) influences story structure. Supportive elements like theme, setting, tone, and scenes also influence story structure and story promises. These inform the structure of your story to either the delight or disappointment of your reader.

A Word for Pantsers

You absolutely do not need to know what plotting method you’ll use when writing your first draft. You can free-write your first draft without a worry if that works best for you. After you’ve finished your draft, your story will be stronger and a more satisfying read if you evaluate your story, decide what plotting method is best, and retrofit your story with structure.

Retroactive structure can be difficult, especially for a first novel (don’t ask me how I know). But it is doable. The more you understand story structure, the easier you will find retrofitting your stories with structure. Depending on your knowledge and skill, you may need help from a more experienced author friend or a developmental editor.

Put It Into Practice

If you’re having difficulty deciding what plotting method to use, try these two exercises:

Break one of your stories down to see which plotting method comes closest to your natural way of writing.  

Break down a favorite read and see which method fits. Most likely, whatever fits your favorite reading material will be the most comfortable method for you to use when writing.

Personally, I break down how a story’s structure by breaking the story into sections by page number. For example, if I were trying to decide if the Story Circle is the plotting method of a specific story, I divide the total number of pages for the story (first word to “the end”) by the number eight (the number of events in the story circle). Then I look to see if what those sections tell me meets the Story Circle method.

Structure Shapes Your Story for the Reader

Plotting methods are one of the key elements that give your story structure, but they are only the beginning. Scenes, point of view, tone—each of these carries structural weight too. Find the plotting method that gives your story the maximum impact on your readers, and you’ll have the foundation everything else builds on.

Next month we’ll talk more about structure and how it works in scenes.

Now I’d like to hear from you…

Do you know what story structure you will use before you write? Do you revise to retrofit story structure into your work? What works for you?

About Lynette

Lynette M. Burrows is an author, blogger, writing coach, and Yorkie wrangler. She survived moving seventeen times between kindergarten and her high school graduation. Her stories weave her experiences into speculative fiction stories that balance character growth with thrilling action and social themes.

Her Fellowship Dystopia series is the story of a young woman of privilege who doesn’t want to lose her identity to the rules of 1961 Fellowship America. She escapes and learns that her government and her family can judge her, one of the elite, an unbeliever. She will be a rebel even if the merciless Azrael hunt unbelievers. The trilogy is complete. Book One, My Soul to Keep, Book Two, If I Should Die, and Book Three, And When I Wake are on sale anywhere books are sold online. 

When Lynette’s not writing she avoids housework and plays with her Yorkie. They live in Dorothy’s home state of Kansas. You can follow Lynette on her website or her Facebook page or Sign up for her newsletter.

Image Credits

Featured collage created by Lynette M. Burrows with images purchased from DepositPhotos.

Story Circle image created by Lynette M. Burrows based on Dan Harmon's demonstrations.