Writers in the Storm

by Laurie Schnebly Campbell

Most of us know somebody who’s done deliveries, right? It could be:

• your neighbor who moonlights for Uber, delivering travelers to the airport.
• Or your college-age nephew who’s lined up a pizza delivery gig.
• Or you, who’ve found the best ways to get various friends & family members to/from various events.

Just about ALL those door-to-door people like improving their efficiency.

• Faster pickups mean better driver ratings.
• More pizzas mean more tips.
• A smoother schedule gives you extra time to enjoy reading and/or writing.

And nobody’s gonna quibble about efficiency being a Bad Thing when the Uber driver knows a shortcut past the traffic jam, or the pizza guy arrives with the deep-dish pepperoni still piping hot. But when it comes to creating a book, efficiency sounds a bit...well, suspicious.

After all, truly creative people are more concerned with the quality of their work than with how many pages they can crank out in 48 hours.

And rightfully so.

So thinking of Efficiency as a way to get things done FASTER might sound like a Bad Thing. But what about a different perspective? Suppose Efficiency is

A way to get things done BETTER.

Okay, that’s worth looking at.

Think of all the steps involved in writing a story. Forget the proofreading and paginating and querying; right now we’re only looking at the creative part. Which usually starts with...

Yep. Creating an idea.

Some people have absolutely no trouble coming up with ideas. They’re veritable fountains of potential plots and compelling characters and scintillating settings, and their only problem is choosing which of their two billion ideas to write first.

Writers who find thinking up ideas harder will often envy their prolific friends, while those prolific writers will often envy the friends who aren’t distracted by Bright Shiny Things and can get through an entire story--beginning to end--without being diverted into tons of other exciting possibilities.

That’s why just about every writer can use some efficiency improvement, when it comes to EITHER creating ideas OR sticking with an idea long enough to finish the book.

What gets in our way?

Finding the right concept is problematic for writers who don’t have oodles of ideas bursting from their brain, same as for those who do. Luckily, though, anyone can spend ten minutes jotting down random answers to questions like “What’d be a cool opening? Who’d make a great character? What would I like to explore?”

It only gets hard when thinking, “Whoa, after jotting down the idea I’ve gotta write the book!”

So don’t think of it that way. Think of this as a practice exercise, which it actually IS when we look at creating a book. Coming up with some random ideas is even easier when there’s a limit: if your answer is limited to 15 words max, you don’t need to worry about broader ramifications. Like:

• “Wait, is such a thing even possible?”
• “It’d need to be a whole series, not a single story.”
• “Would Chris be offended that I used our shared experience?”
• “Somebody’s probably already written this.”

When you’re working with only up to 15 words, you don’t need to worry about such concerns. This is Just. For. Practice. And that takes a lot of the pressure off.

All right, you’ve got an idea or two or five. Now what?

Now it’s time for the next step in improving your efficiency, which <ahem> is NOT sitting down to write.

• “But I have to write for the story to take shape in my brain!”
• “It's the only way I can develop a feeling for these characters.”
• “How can I get to know them before I start writing about ‘em?”

Same as you’d get to know someone you’re thinking about asking to join your decorating committee. Or your cookie-swap brigade. Or your critique group.

You don’t need to issue the invitation right off the bat. You can take some time to observe this person in action. See how they react to things. Find out what matters to them.

And the same is true for your characters.

What matters most.

For a character to be worth writing about, you need to have a handle on their motivation. Motivation is what drives them through the plot (not to mention their entire life), influencing what they do and say and think and feel. Which makes it the next aspect of improving your efficiency--knowing their motivation BEFORE writing Chapter One.

There are steps for that, too, but none of those steps matters without the first idea of “hmm, I think I’d like to see a story about ___.”

And filling in such a blank is all kinds of fun!

You can make it extra entertaining or challenging or non-threatening by answering for a book you already know you’d never do. Say, a romantasy in ancient Egypt when you’re contracted for three more Western thrillers. Or a kids’ story when your favorite kind of book is women’s fiction. Feel free to pick ANY idea, for ANY kind of story, and use that for your answer to this:

Prize-drawing question:

What's some 15-words-or-less idea for a book you’d enjoy reading or writing?

Someone who answers will win free registration to Plotting Via Motivation, my March 2-27 email class on that very thing. On Wednesday evening I’ll have random-org draw a name and post it at the end of the comments, so check back shortly because class will start on Monday!

About Laurie:

After winning Romantic Times’ “Best Special Edition of the Year” over Nora Roberts, Laurie Schnebly Campbell discovered she loved teaching every bit as much as writing...if not more. Since then she’s taught in-person and online workshops including the upcoming Plotting Via Motivation, and keeps a special section of her bookshelves for people who’ve developed that particular novel in her classes. With 60+ titles there so far, she’s always hoping for more.

Feature picture by Unsplash

By Sarah (Sally) Hamer

How often do you get lost during a scene change in a book? You’re reading along, minding your own business, enjoying the story. Check. You come to the conclusion of a great chapter and/or scene. Check. Good ending, with a cliffhanger that leaves you panting to turn the page and start the next section. Check.

Then the books goes off to Oz. Or to Mars. Or to somewhere with someone with something going on that has NOTHING to do with what we just read.

Great. Lost. Close book. Turn off light. Go to sleep.

Not what we writers want to happen!

So, how do we fix the problem? By orienting our reader with what’s going on.

Setting the Scene

You turn the page to a fresh chapter and confusion immediately ensues. Who is speaking? Where are we? What’s going on and why are we in a completely different place and/or time? Readers rely on clear orientation when entering new chapters and scenes to avoid feeling like they’ve stumbled into chaos. But orienting a reader doesn’t mean dumping a dry block of exposition—it’s an art, a balancing act, and a perfect opportunity to sprinkle in some narrative magic. How can you pull it off? With flair, humor, and just the right dose of intrigue.

Anchor Your Reader in Time and Place

First things first—don’t leave your reader floating. Instead, weave your setting into the action or dialogue. Establish the where and when of your scene as soon as possible (read: in the first paragraph and even in the first sentence). Did the setting change from the last chapter? If so, where is the new one? If it’s in a different place, we need to know it immediately. You do NOT have to give a huge amount of information. In fact, it’s okay to simply use a tag with “Paris, 1935” to show us both where and when. You can also use dialog or a quick description. I recommend this come from your point of view character, SHOWING us what happened instead of TELLING us. A line like, “The neon sign above the bar flickered as Rosie poured herself another whiskey,” immediately sets up us to know where we are.

WHEN can be done the same way. “Two weeks later” or “She ached from head to toe. The horse the soldiers had chosen for her trip from Braemer to Dunsbury must have one leg shorter than the other three.” The latter one gives you an opportunity to add a tiny bit of characterization, a bonus!

Reintroduce Characters: The WHO of it

If you’re writing a sprawling cast of characters, chances are your reader isn’t going to remember every detail about a character and their situation, especially in a long book. Help them out. This doesn’t mean regurgitating their entire biography at the start of each chapter. Instead, offer light reminders through context or action. For example: “Damia tugged at the cloak, attempting to make it large enough to tuck under her legs. But the shaking of her body wasn’t just about the cold. Instead, her nemesis, her master, waited for her on the other side of the door. This reminds us who she is and why she is there —and hints at the coming conflict/tension, too.

Set the Tone

Tone is your secret weapon for orienting readers and creating emotional impact. Is the scene tragic, suspenseful, or laugh-out-loud funny? Readers should feel the mood shift as soon as they step into the narrative. So, since you’ve left them on a cliff-hanger for one section of the story, now is the time to change over to another puzzle piece. Some of us remember the Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. It’s the second movie in the original trilogy. Luke goes off on his own to work with Yoda and Han, Leia, Chewbacca, and C3PO take off in a different direction. The Luke/Yoda side of the story is internalization, character growth, and, bluntly, boring. So, Lucas brilliantly leaves us with poor Luke trying to figure himself out and jumps us to the worm in the asteroid planning on eating the other heroes. One side’s tone is slow and riddled with deep introspection, while the other is the rousing adventure we expect from a Star Wars movie. The tones are so vastly different, it’s almost as if they are in different movies but, because Lucas plans them out so well – AND ORIENTS THE READER on both sides – it keeps us engrossed.

Trust Your Reader’s Imagination

Here’s the caveat. Some writers can get away without setting a scene. But, except in movies, which has a completely different set of rules, most of us cannot. Movies are able to use the camera to set a scene so, simply by watching, the audience can orient themselves. But, since our tools don’t include video, writers MUST make sure the reader, no matter how great their imagination, don’t get lost.

This doesn’t happen as much in shorter books set in a familiar place (American writers reading contemporary books in an American setting) but in a high fantasy, with dozens of characters and many complex locations, orientation may mean the difference between a book being read or put down without it being finished.

Orienting your readers at the start of each chapter or scene isn’t just a necessity—it’s an opportunity to enchant, surprise, and pull them deeper into your narrative world. Paint the scene with precision, guide them gently, and then let their imaginations run wild.

How will you paint your scene?

About Sarah (Sally) Hamer

Sarah (Sally) Hamer, B.S., MLA, is a lover of books, a teacher of writers, and a believer in a good story. Most of all, she is eternally fascinated by people and how they 'tick'. She’s passionate about helping people tell their own stories and has won awards at both local and national levels, including two Golden Heart finals.

A teacher of memoir, beginning and advanced creative fiction writing, and screenwriting at Louisiana State University in Shreveport for over twenty years, she also teaches online for Margie Lawson at www.margielawson.com and for the No Stress Writing Academy at https://www.worldanvil.com/w/classes-deleyna/a/no-stress-writing-academy.  Sally is a free-lance editor and book coach, with many of her students and clients becoming successful, award-winning authors.

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Feature Image by Pixabay

By Lisa Hall-Wilson

I’m revising my Deep POV book, and readers keep asking for advanced techniques beyond the basics.

Let’s dispel a myth: Removing filter and emotion words doesn’t create depth. It clears barriers, but true immersion demands vulnerability—exposing your character’s raw emotions. Clean prose follows rules; engaging characters bleed on the page.

Deep POV isn’t a checklist—it’s a pressure cooker. Most scenes stay lukewarm because writers pose polite questions to their characters. If your scene is technically perfect yet emotionally flat, more technique won’t help. Better questions will.

Here are sharper questions to ask yourself or your characters to push deeper and focus on advanced emotional layers.

What Does This Moment Cost The Character Emotionally If They’re Wrong?

Deep POV thrives on meaning under stress, tension, and internal conflict—messy, risky, opinionated. If your scene reports events rather than lives them, you’re hovering outside the character.

In every scene, ask: What’s the emotional cost if they’re wrong—about a decision, assumption, or new info?

Before: She failed the interview. Her throat tightened.

Revised: She’s failed. Again. No matter how polished she sounded, they always heard the same thing—not good enough. She wasn’t enough.

The stakes shift from physical reaction to identity threat.

The Missing Ingredient—Where Is The Interpretation?

Interpretation forces choice, and choice drives story.

Characters notice, react, emote—but readers miss the why. What does this moment feel like to them right now? Why does it hit this hard now? Deep POV lives in pressured conclusions, which can be biased or wrong.

Before: His gut churned at the lie.

Deeper: If she found out, she’d see that he was worthless and pathetic.

Deep POV collapses when characters don’t judge (interpret) what’s happening—there’s no emotional reaction especially when the moment is costly. Look for places where the character’s emotions or conclusions paint them in a corner and they have to face their own emotional truth.

What Fear Is Being Threatened?

When a scene feels flat and you don’t know why, you’re tempted to fall back on what you believe does work – author narration and telling. Now you’re sure the reader “gets it” and effectively undercut any tenson you’ve built with deep POV.

Like removing a cast without rehabbing the muscle, rules alone leave emotions under developed—strengthen them by drilling into fears. Don’t sell out the emotions in your story when it gets hard. Set aside the fear of melodrama or overwriting the emotions. No one is going to read what you’re writing until you let them, and most of us have crit partners and beta readers to help hone these high-emotion moments.

Drill down into your character’s deepest fears. These are what drives them. You can craft the most realistic perfectionist ever, but if you never drill into the fear driving that perfectionism, your readers are unlikely to connect with them. Be real. Be brutally honest.

Where Is The Internal Risk?

If the issue isn’t plot, check if the character feels without risking anything. A single, clean emotional note can be effective. Grief. Anger. Fear. Desire. But advanced deep POV demands emotional complexity.

Look for the conflict inside the emotion itself. Ask what emotion must be hidden to survive this moment? What emotion would feel safer, but dishonest? What are they denying that’s plainly obvious? What lie are they telling themselves in order to avoid the emotional complication of the internal stakes?

This is where cognitive dissonance enters. The character feels one thing, believes another, and must choose which to honor—knowing the choice will say something dangerous about who they are.

Emotion as liability—not mere reaction—creates internal risk. Make it specific and unavoidable.

What Does The Character Risk Having Confirmed About Themselves?

Doubts often stem from past wounds (see my posts on emotional context). Endless introspection without stakes becomes navel-gazing.

https://writershelpingwriters.net/2020/04/what-is-emotional-context-and-why-does-your-story-need-it/

https://writersinthestormblog.com/2021/12/how-to-go-deeper-into-a-characters-emotions/

Ask: What niggling doubts creep in? What quiet voice whispers counter-truths? What belief are they protecting? What moment threatens exposure? What choice risks confirmation?

If nothing’s at risk, the scene stalls. Show the emotional tug-of-war. Characters must take emotional risks, that’s what readers connect with.

Before: The email sat unopened on her screen. Her stomach twisted. She’d done well, but maybe not. She exhaled, stamping down conflicting thoughts.

Deep POV Revised: The email sat unopened on her screen. Her throat clenched, the ache in her gut tightening. Her index finger hovered over the mouse button. She could just leave it unopened. Forget about it.

They always gave the same excuses-- budget constraints, poor timing, going in another direction. No matter how polished or experienced she became, it was never enough. She was not enough. A small voice whispered: or open it to good news and silence that other voice for good. She clicked.

How Does The Past Sabotage The Present?

Backstory undermines tension and pacing when it halts action. Backstory isn’t wrong and has a valuable place, but explanation removes urgency. Backstory in deep pov is not about what happened, it’s about what still has power over the present.

Force the past to confront without permission: reflexive thoughts, physical or emotional responses disproportionate to the situation, absolute judgments.

Instead of focusing on whether the reader understands the backstory, instead ask, does the character feel trapped by the past—right now? If the backstory does not compete with the present for control, it doesn’t belong in the scene.

Deep POV Before: He raised his voice. He wasn’t her father, but she still flinched. Dad always raised his voice right before he hit. Her body clenched as tightly as it had when she was ten years old.

Deep POV After: He raised his voice. Her shoulders locked. Too loud. Too fast. Her body braced for the first blow. She wasn’t that kid anymore and he wasn’t Dad, but she couldn’t will her spine to straighten.

The specific memory has less power than the consequence of that memory. Let the past sabotage the present, especially if it costs the character emotionally. There must be physical consequences of this unwanted intrusion, but the specifics aren’t as helpful to the reader. This sabotage heightens the diagnostic questions ahead.

The Diagnostic You’re Missing—and Your Next Step

If scenes are clean but lifeless, skip more tips. Sharpen your diagnostic scalpel. Not every fix needs intensity; use resistance, avoidance, or deflection to reveal risk.

To level up, move beyond technique to ruthless diagnosis.

Now, grab a scene that feels flat despite solid craft. Run it through these questions: Where’s the emotional cost? Interpretation? Threatened fear? Internal risk? Self-confirmation at stake? Past sabotage?

Apply one or two today—rewrite a paragraph and feel the shift.

What question hit hardest for you? Which one revealed something new in your WIP? Share in the comments—I read every one and love hearing how these land for other writers. Let’s go deeper together!

Offer from Lisa:

Join my 4-Week Deep POV Masterclass starting March 9, 2026—a focused, intensive dive that condenses over a decade of teaching and research into practical, beginner-through advanced techniques for creating emotionally layered, immersive characters.

This class opens just once or twice a year. Enroll now and let's go deeper together: https://deepdiveauthorclub.vipmembervault.com/

(Or drop a comment below if you have questions—I'm here to help!)

About Lisa

Lisa Hall-Wilson is an award-winning writer and author. She’s the author of Method Acting For Writers: Learn Deep Point Of View Using Emotional Layers. Her blog, (Https://lisahallwilson.com)  explores all facets of the popular writing style deep point of view and offers practical tips for beginning thru advanced fiction writers. 

Featured image by Pixabay