We’ve been telling stories way before we started writing them down.
The structures they follow are embodied within us.
There’s much we can learn about story—and about ourselves—from analysing the patterns that stories follow.
But how?
Tracing the Path of Story
My approach is to trace the patterns that each character in a story follows. Characters experience events. The events are related and follow in chronological order. The events, when whittled down to their bare minimum, form sequences which are recognisable as story structures.
To analyse the story structure(s) in a given character’s story line, I mark the opening of their story line with a mark of recursion (r) and identify the character in their initial situation using Spencer-Brown’s mark of indication (m) drawn from his Laws of Form (1969).
I then reduce the events to a series of ‘bare bones’ events—the minimum number needed for the story to be meaningfully related and arrange them in chronological order.
Following that, I map the events qualitatively according to whether they either impel or delay the character in their attempt to reach their goal using a forward barb (⇀) or a backward barb (↽) respectively.
At the end of their story line, the mark of indication is again used to denote the character in their final situation (m) and the story’s close is symbolised using another mark of recursion (r).
Outline Example from Metamorphoses
Here’s the most compressed story structure I’ve found—which is also the most impressive. It’s the structure which the gods’ story lines typically follow in stories from Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
At step 5, while Cornix undergoes a metamorphosis, Minerva remains unchanged.
The approach allows for almost indefinite expansion and contraction, following simple rules.
Common Sequences in Story
Sequences of different step types can expand and contract as follows:
Using Sequences to Produce a Transformational Twist in Story
Where an encounter between two characters involves (i) an active intention to dupe (ii) a comic outcome, or (iii) a surprising outcome (Huh?!), I use a double barb (⇌).
When one character intends to dupe another, they invariably have the tables turned on them—the dupe ends up tricking the trickster and the status quo is reset. When there’s a comic outcome, there’s often a transformational twist. And for every ‘Huh?!’ there’s usually a balancing ‘Ah!’
While double barbs tend to come in pairs, they only seem to expand and contract in a 1:3 or 3:1 proportion.
The Quest Structure
A common structure is the Quest structure, which the three little pigs follow in the well-known story. The version below was collected by Hamish Henderson from Bella Higgins who heard it from her mother.
The two story structures depicted above can be compared and analysed. In the table below, step 3 in the Transformation structure symbolises a problematic (negative) 'transgression against the natural order'. It expands, giving rise to the first (positive) meeting (step 5 in the Quest structure) which will be with a friend or helper. The seed of the positive is contained within the negative. You can follow the implications of the expansion of step 4 in the Transformation structure yourself.
Two Dynamic Story Structures
The two structures analysed above are linear structures. But how and why are the events in them linked? This is where I see dynamic structures coming in. Dynamic structures map the qualitative change in the relationship between knower and known in a character’s story line. They symbiotically underpin Linear story structures.
I’ve identified two dynamic story structures to date:
The Revelation Structure
The Revelation structure follows a ‘veni, vidi, vici’ pattern (I came, I saw, I conquered). It’s typically found in sequences which build suspense leading to a dénouement. Marie Louise von Franz sees this as a ‘1,2,3,Bang!’ sequence.
It’s mapped as follows:
The Chinese Circular Structure
The Chinese Circular Structure, as I call it, is based on the interplay between yin and yang energies through the yearly cycle and the five-element system visualised in the Wu Xing arrangement.
In Chapter 18 of Story and Structure, I describe how the Chinese Circular Structure can be seen underpinning every one of the linear story structures identified to date. The approaches are informed by close reading of early Chinese texts which clearly map to the structure.
Three Classifications of Story Structures
First event in the story line
The 18 structures I've identified to date (16 linear and 2 dynamic) can be classified in three ways relating to what happens at the beginning, in the middle, and at the end of a story structure. The nature of the first event in a character’s story line gives rise to the following classification:
Middle Events in the Story Line
The ‘middle’ classification is based on whether or not a character crosses a threshold between transcendent (metaphysical or supernatural) and immanent (physical) dimensions of being. The Creation Myth structure straddles both conditions:
Ending Events in the Story Line
And the ‘ending’ classification gives the following:
We can learn a lot by looking at story structures. We can’t avoid the metaphysical, the transcendent. Story gives rise to embodied story structures. Story has a sacred dimension (as language does—especially when used in sacred chant). It shows how these simple patterns tell a universal story: a quest to find balance and harmony individually and universally. It highlights the important of us finding balance and harmony in the larger cosmos of which we are a part. Isn’t this ultimately why we tell stories?
How do you use story structure to write a novel? Tell us your a-ha moments and how you have analysed your writing to improve it.
About Leon
Leon Conrad was born in London, UK, to a Polish father and Coptic Egyptian mother. He moved to Alexandria at age 6, and grew up in a multilingual environment there, among the souks and bazaars of Egypt. He is currently based out of London.
As a writer, Leon sees the written word as sound on the page. Why else do we call nouns and verbs 'parts of speech'? He has written plays, and have published articles, poetry, and books.
As an editor, he offers in-depth proofreading, editing and review of manuscripts, focusing on a work’s structure, the reader’s journey, the narrative presentation, the style of a work, the sound, rhythm, musicality and the flow of a piece of writing.
Find out about his various projects, awards, and services at his website: LeonConrad.com.
Want more information on his writing method? Download a free sample of his book below today.
Story and Structure: What’s in it for YOU?
Be inspired
Learn new things about story that we’ve not realised despite the fact that we’ve literally been telling stories for millennia
Use what you learn to perform more effectively in your life and work
Improve your writing, storytelling, communication
In Story and Structure, I’ve outlined a new approach to story structure analysis inspired by six simple symbols drawn from George Spencer-Brown’s Laws of Form (1969).
I was Spencer-Brown’s last student and he guided me through the work himself. This is the first time his work (which has been successfully applied in both mathematics, computing, and logic) has been comprehensively applied to the analysis of story structure.
GOOD MORNING, WRITERS! Today’s topic is Intimidating Business Details, and I’m your host, Laura VanArendonk Baugh!
Not like it’s not hard enough to develop a craft and manage time and set priorities and finally get a complete story on paper in a coherent form which someone other than your mother will also like, now we have to sell the darned thing. Let’s talk about some terms or concepts in contracts.
First, there’s that little subject of PAYMENT.
This is primarily about short fiction, as novel payments aren’t generally calculated by the word. When you’re shopping short fiction or checking out calls for submissions, you’ll see these terms, and here’s what they mean.
Non-Paying:
Exactly what it says on the tin. Will probably include a contributor’s copy. I’m not going to tell you never to do this, but do know exactly why you’re giving your work away for free.
You’re working for exposure, and unless you have a pretty good idea of what exposure you’re getting and its value, it may not be a professional choice. Generally speaking, these are better than nothing but are not going to impress publishers as credentials when submitting something else.
There are exceptions to everything, but if you look closely, they’re not really so exceptional. I have done professional-quality work without getting a paycheck—because the publisher paid me in advertising instead. (Take $200 for an article once, or expert-boost a book already doing well to a receptive audience?) I have donated work for a good cause (an anthology to raise money for literacy programs). Those were not “exposure” sales, those were calculated business or charity decisions.
Likewise, I’m currently in a project with several other authors to which I will contribute money or other resources toward production. But we’re co-authors co-producing a project for mutual promotion. Yes, it’s exposure, but it’s our own choice, our own business model, and our own informed decisions. No one else profits from my work while I do not.
Token Payment:
Also what it says on the tin. This is a flat fee regardless of word count and below professional rates. This is a great entry point, and you should probably be submitting here! Token rates may be $10 or $100+; they vary widely, depending on the project. Writers are generally paid upon publication. (I do these a lot; they’re often useful for discovery and reaching new readers. They can also be fun projects.)
Semi-Pro Rates:
This will be at least a penny a word. It starts to get a little fuzzy at the top end of the range, because some major organizations define “professional rates” differently.
Pro Rates:
Correspondingly, the bottom end of this one is a little fuzzy. SFWA adjusted their professional rates definition a couple of years ago, so some people think of it as the old terms and some as the new. Rely on at least $.05/word or $.08 for SFWA pro rates.
Royalties:
These can come in several ways. You may get royalties in addition to one of the above payments (which makes them “token payment plus royalties”). You may get no payment upon publication but share royalties among contributors, per author or by word count (I have an anthology contract that specifies my 15,100 words get me 6.58% of the total royalties).
Regardless, any reputable call for short form submissions will include payment in the call. See attached images. Accept no excuses on why payment is not mentioned. “We’re waiting to see how many submissions we get” or “how it sells” is just neon evidence of someone not actually doing any of the business side of publishing.
(Likewise, a project which requires money from the writer to get in with a dangled potential of royalties after is a big red flag. Projects which choose content by which checks clear rather than by quality or theme are not projects designed to sell well, and a publisher who already made their money off hopeful writers is less motivated for marketing to readers.)
Next scary topic: CONTRACTS.
You don’t need an agent or a lawyer for short form contracts, but you do need to pay attention.
(Obligatory disclaimer: I am not a lawyer, I have not played a lawyer on TV, and I didn’t even stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night. My expertise comes purely from dozens of contracts and keeping my ears open in the writing community. Use what you find useful.)
I’ve seen simple and detailed contracts, but every contract should define the work being sold (and usually has a clause confirming the author did not plagiarize it and bears sole responsibility if it turns out otherwise) and specifies the rights being sold.
THIS IS A REALLY, REALLY IMPORTANT PART:
What rights? Are those rights exclusive or non-exclusive? If exclusive, for how long?
Non-exclusive rights (Book A):
The Author hereby conveys to the Publisher the continuing, ongoing non-exclusive right to reproduce and/or publish (in book or other form, including electronic form, including audio form, including print on demand form), and to distribute and sell or license other parties to distribute and sell, this Work and all the contents thereof as part of an anthology entitled: “BOOK A” (the Anthology).
This right to publish, license, distribute, and sell shall be applicable to the original English language version of the Work, and shall extend to all nations and territories of the World without exception.
All other rights not herein granted to the Publisher are retained by the Author.
Exclusive rights (Book B):
The Author hereby conveys to the Publisher exclusive right for one year from publication date (after which author may reprint or republish provided attribution is given to the original publisher) to reproduce and/or publish (in book or other form, including electronic form, including audio form, including print on demand form), and to distribute and sell or license other parties to distribute and sell, this Work and all the contents thereof as part of an anthology entitled: “BOOK B” (the Anthology).
This right to publish, license, distribute, and sell shall be applicable to the original English language version of the Work, and shall extend to all nations and territories of the World without exception.
All other rights not herein granted to the Publisher are retained by the Author.
Non-exclusive eBook rights (Book C):
The Author hereby conveys to the Publisher non-exclusive right to reproduce and/or publish in eBook or in printed trade paperback, and to distribute and sell or license other parties to distribute and sell, this Work and all the contents thereof as part of an anthology entitled: “BOOK C” (the Anthology).
This right to publish, license, distribute, and sell shall be applicable to the original English language version of the Work, and shall extend to all nations and territories of the World without exception.
All other rights not herein granted to the Publisher are retained by the Author.
In the first example, BOOK A, the publisher gets to publish my story forever and ever, in eBook, print, or audio—but I also get to publish my story elsewhere, so I can release my own collection or give it to my patrons outside of the anthology or whatever.
BOOK B gets my story exclusively, but for only one year. (This time varies by contract.) After that, I can resell or republish it, but I have to give them credit for first publication (this is the “originally published in” line that you often see).
BOOK C gets unlimited publishing rights, but only in eBook or paperback, not in hardback or audio. Also those rights are non-exclusive, so I can still resell (at lower reprint rates) for eBook elsewhere.
There are many possible iterations! Additionally, all of these examples are specifically for English only, not for translations. And critically, all of them specify that anything not specifically granted to the publisher belongs to me—so that’s film rights, theater rights, holodeck rights, etc.
Rights Reversion:
If this Work is not published in book or other form, and offered for sale to the public, or licensed for publication by another party, within one (1) year(s) following the date of signing by the Publisher, all rights herein conveyed shall revert to the Author.
This bit means that if a publisher runs out of money, changes editors, or just drops the ball, I get my story back if they don’t do anything with it. That’s nice to have. (That’s happened to me.)
Contracts will also specify payment and may also specify contributor copies and which state/province/other will have jurisdiction if there’s a dispute.
Remember this—it is always acceptable to ask and negotiate. Contracts are open to negotiation.
I got a contract with a related-company rider that would have given away 50% of all my revenue on a character if the story was picked up for film—not just film revenue, but ALL REVENUE, including published stuff that company hadn’t handled. And it was a series character, though they had only one title in the series, so that would have been 50% of everything connected to the series. Um, no, I didn’t sign that. (And I got no push-back at all for opting out of it.)
I received another contract which asked for exclusive rights without an end date. I went back and said I would be happy to grant exclusive rights for a fixed period, how did they feel about a year? And publisher instead asked for non-exclusive. Sweet, done.
Point is, know what you’re signing, and most of the time a real publisher is not trying to take advantage of you and is happy to work with you. Just be nice while negotiating.
I hope that helps you to feel more prepared for selling your work. Good luck!
Discussion: Have you ever asked for a change in contract? What points are most important to you in a contract?
About Laura
Laura VanArendonk Baugh writes fantasy of many flavors as well as non-fiction. She has summited extinct, dormant, and active volcanoes, but none has yet accepted her sacrifice. She lives in Indiana where she enjoys Dobermans, travel, fair-trade chocolate, and making her imaginary friends fight one another for her own amusement. Find her award-winning work at http://LauraVAB.com.
Nearly every aspect of life has pacing. Flowers bloom, seed, and wither. The seasons pass one after the other. The pacing of poetry and music sings to us. And pacing is a fundamental element of storytelling.
It doesn’t matter if you write long or short forms or in which genre you write. Nor does it matter if you make pacing decisions while outlining, writing, or editing. Pacing allows you to manipulate tension, build suspense, and craft emotional impact in ways that engage your readers. Varying the intensity and speed of your story is a powerful skill. But it is a delicate balance between too fast and too slow. Pacing that is too slow or too fast for the story can make a reader stop reading. The right rhythm and tempo makes your story irresistible. Here are 13 ways you can control the pacing of your story.
Pace the Parts of a Story
The Beginning
Act I of your story introduces your reader to the setting, the characters, and the initial conflict. It also hints at the existence of a world and life that existed in time and space before the story started. The pacing is necessarily slower. Using a slower pace at the beginning allows you to build intrigue, tension, and anticipation in your readers.
The Middle
In Act II and the first half of Act III, sometimes called the rising action of your story, the pace increases. This is where the stakes deepen, the conflict sharpens, and the obstacles grow more and more difficult. Depending upon your genre, your story’s pace may build to a hold-your-breath intensity (think romance) or to heart-pounding, non-stop action (think thriller).
The Climax
The Climax, also called the story’s Turning Point, is where the tension and stakes and emotions are at their highest point. Here, the story should be at its most intense, rapid, and dynamic. Your story’s pacing needs to reflect the emotional journey you want your characters and readers to experience.
The Falling Action
During the Falling Action, the major plot problem is resolved. The pace gradually slows, which allows you to reveal how the major problem has worked out. This slow down allows your characters and readers to process what has happened.
The Ending
The end of the story is where you address unresolved subplots and the future of your characters. The pace here varies depending upon your genre, whether there’s a sequel, and the emotional impact you want to impart. It can be brisk and conclusive and leave the audience with a feeling of resolution. Or it can be slow and deliberate, allowing your characters and readers time for contemplation and interpretation. Finally, it can be at any level in-between.
What Determines Pacing?
The problem with pacing is that every phase, part, and component of a story contributes to the pace. Your choice of genre, the story premise, and the characters determine what pace your readers will expect in your story. But pacing goes deeper than that. It’s more involved than cliffhangers and reveals. Descriptions and action contribute to the pace of a story, but so do dialogue and paragraph length. Pace also is created in sentence structure, word choice, and white space.
No Right or Wrong
What you are aiming for is reader engagement and satisfaction.
It’s not a matter of sameness of pace either. An engaging story has an up and down rhythm to its pace. When the changes in pace make sense within your story, your reader will keep turning pages.
How do you learn what pace your readers will expect? Some of it you learn by reading and studying stories in your preferred genre or branch of literature. Some of it you learn by reading and studying how-to articles like this one. The most important way to learn it, is by practice…practice…practice.
When Should a Story’s Pace Change?
To figure out where your story’s pace should change, ask yourself what changes in each scene. Is it the motivation that has changed? An interim or long-term goal? The character’s attitude or understanding? Perhaps her allies, opponents, or obstacles changed? Other changes include new information, or her relationships. Changes from action to inaction or from one location to another also affect pace. Not all changes are equal though.
Pacing is more important when the scene’s changes dynamically affect the character or her goals. The level and intensity of the change also will help you determine when to speed things up or slow them down.
Here are a few examples of different levels and intensity of change.
The character must readjust or change his state of mind.
Imagine yourself in the same situation. How would this affect you?
Your reaction when a guest points out that the room-temperature wine you served should have been chilled can be major embarrassment. But when that guest has a life-threatening allergic reaction to the wine, your reaction is intense.
Hearing the doctor say that you need a hernia repair is less intense than if the doctor says you need heart surgery.
The degree of change.
Having your significant other ask for time apart won’t be as intense as being asked for a divorce.
Learning you have to move out of your office is usually not as intense as having to leave your hometown for parts unknown.
The immediacy of the change.
The choice of which college to go to next fall won’t be as intense as having five minutes to decide between saving your own life or the lives of a dozen strangers.
Being told your loved one has a chronic condition is intense. Finding out your loved one is trapped in a burning building is more intense.
The difficulty of the decision.
Deciding whether to go to prom with the dashing football captain or the dreamy bad boy is intense. But deciding whether to leave the prom because your date made a bad choice is more intense.
A decision between two, equal but good or equal but undesirable choices, can be extremely intense. Choosing between staying a captive or escaping the bad guys with your dying loved one is an intense but straightforward choice. It’s much more difficult if you believe you must choose between working with the bad guys to develop a cure or going with your loved one who will leave without you if you stay.
The difficulty of action.
Choose physical actions or actions with emotional costs particular to your characters. Target their weaknesses or fears. Make them pay a physical, mental, or emotional toll for mistakes. Make them attempt to rise to the challenge. Your reader’s anticipation of the cost of that attempt increases the tension and makes your story irresistible.
Climbing a mountain is difficult, but not challenging for a trained mountain climber. When the character is untrained in mountain climbing and terrified of heights but must climb the mountain, your reader can’t turn pages fast enough.
Ways to Increase the Pace
There are many ways to increase your story’s pacing through how and what you choose to write.
Characters
The more characters your reader must keep track of, the slower the scene, chapter, or story feels. Need a scene’s pace to pick up? Remove any inactive or non-essential characters from this scene.
Consider merging characters who fill the same role in the story.
Chapter and Scene.
Shorter chapters and scenes read faster.
Use minimal description and brisk action.
Eliminate or minimize reflection and internal dialogue.
The number of scenes and or sequels.
Usually, writers are told there must be a sequel for every scene. But the more scenes and sequels you have, the slower the pace.
Chop out scenes that are less important.
Combine scenes of discoveries and information learned.
Cut out sequels that drag. Skip ahead to the next scene.
Be certain that the story action and arc remain clear to the reader.
Sentence Length.
Short, choppy sentences convey speed and urgency. Cut to the chase. Use simple nouns and verbs.
There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
Use. Single. Word. Sentences. Used at the proper time, single word sentences demand attention, convey urgency and apply a powerful quickening to the story’s pace.
I felt that I must scream or die! and now—again!—hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!
Clarity is crucial. Make your sentences too choppy and you risk confusing your reader.
Physical Movement.
The physical movement of your characters influences the pace of your story. Keep your character on the move will give your reader a sense of a faster pace. Each time you increase your character’s speed of movement, your story’s pace will pick up.
Cut scenes of the journey to a destination when the destination is more important than the journey. A single transition sentence can do that work and speed up the pace.
Raise the Stakes.
Empower the Emotion.
Fear, horror, and aversion can be great enough to be emotional barriers. These barriers increase the stakes and tension of a story. Read more about emotional barriers in this three-part series from Tiffany Lawson Inman here on Writers in the Storm.
The potential loss of something takes an emotional toll. Use degrees of loss. The loss of a possession usually isn’t as great as the loss of a pet or a loved one’s affection.
Add a Ticking Clock.
A challenging deadline with dreadful consequences instills a sense of urgency and increases the story’s pace. This plot device or trope can be an actual clock or time limit.
Cinderella must leave the ball before midnight or risk being seen in her usual rags.
Create a deadline with dreadful consequences that isn’t based on a time limit.
In Speed, starring Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves, the ticking clock is that the bus they are in will explode if they slow down.
The story, Beauty and the Beast, isn’t particularly fast-paced. But learning that the Beast must earn Belle’s love before his rose loses all its petals keeps the reader’s attention.
Add Physical Barriers
Physical barriers can be any physical state, place, or object that creates an obstacle for the characters in your story. Attempting to cross or change these barriers creates tension. Tiffany Lawson Inman discusses physical barriers on Writers in the Storm in this three-part series.
Ways To Slow the Pace
As with increasing the pace of your story, you must use techniques to slow the pace of your story with caution. Too slow and your reader will put the story down never to pick it up. Use these techniques judiciously to vary the pace of your story.
Sentence and Paragraph
Long, complex sentences or paragraphs describing details of thought, movement or objects slow the reader and the pace of your story. This gives the reader time to process or reflect on the words.
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom; it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
“No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed to almost vanish when seen edge on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing and a ghost light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew that it was sharper than any razor.”
Abbreviate or skip the scene and jump right into the sequel. The sequel is a time for reaction, reflection, and planning. Slower paced, these can provide a breather from faster paced sections of your book or convey a sense of tranquility to the reader.
Internal dialogue and introspection are a large part of the sequel. The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood and Les Misérables by Victor Hugo are slow but much-read stories that provide a lot of introspection.
Descriptions
Like long complex sentences, long descriptive passages, slow the pace of your story.
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.
That Sunday, clouds spilled down from the sky and swamped the streets with a hot mist that made the thermometers on the walls perspire. Halfway through the afternoon, the temperature was already grazing the nineties as I set off towards Calle Canuda for my appointment with Barceló, carrying the book under my arm and with beads of sweat on my forehead... A grand stone staircase led up from a palatial courtyard to a ghostly network of passageways and reading rooms... I glided up to the first floor, blessing the blades of a fan that swirled above the sleepy readers melting like ice cubes over their books.
Subplots related to or with a logical connection to the main plot of your story can slow stories that race too fast.
The subplot of the feud between the Montages and the Capulets, complicates the romance and increases the intensity of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.
Too many subplots or unrelated subplots may confuse your reader.
The number of Characters
Stories told by multiple characters are longer. This can slow the pace of a story that needs more time.
Examples of stories with a large cast of characters include War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy and Shogun by James Clavell.
Be certain these additional characters contribute value to the main story arc. Otherwise, they may slow the story so much readers put your story down.
Flashbacks and Backstory
Including more flashbacks and backstory in long chunks usually detracts from your story. Sprinkling in bits and pieces of backstory and flashbacks can slow the pace. The right bits provide information, emotion, and breathing space for your readers.
Flashbacks can provide much needed motivation for your characters. In Disney’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas, a flashback shows what Grinch experienced at Christmas. It explains why Grinch hates the holiday and makes him a more sympathetic antagonist.
Pacing: the Tortoise and the Hare
Knowing pacing means you know when to be the Tortoise and when to be the Hare. It is a skill and an art. You need to know when and how to use it in your story. Study how authors you admire use these pacing techniques. Practice using these techniques in all phases of your story. Figure out what works for your story. When you control the rhythm and tempo of your story, you’ll provide your readers with the captivating reading experience they crave.
What pacing technique (s) have you used in your writing lately? Don’t forget to share what influenced your choices (genre, part of the story, etc.)
About Lynette
Lynette M. Burrows is an author, blogger, creativity advocate, and Yorkie wrangler. She survived moving seventeen times between kindergarten and her high school graduation. This alone makes her uniquely qualified to write an adventure or two.
Her Fellowship Dystopia series takes place in 1961 Fellowship America where autogiros fly and the rules aren’t optional. It’s a story of a young woman who dares to break rules. But she learns that even the elite can be judged unbelievers and be hunted by the Angels of Death. Books one and two, My Soul to Keep, and If I Should Die, are available everywhere books are sold online. She is madly scribbling away on book three, And When I Wake, scheduled to be published in 2024.
Lynette lives in the land of OZ and is a certifiable chocoholic and coffee lover. When she’s not blogging or writing or researching her next book, she avoids housework and plays with her two Yorkshire terriers. You can find Lynette online on Facebook, or Twitter @LynetteMBurrows or on her website.
Image Credits:
First image designed by Lynette M. Burrows with elements from a purchased image.
