By Janice Hardy

Fear doesn’t just terrify—it transforms.

We tend to think of fear as the monster under the bed or the Big Scary waiting in the shadows to grab us. But fear can also look a lot quieter—and sneakier—than that. It’s the voice that says “don’t try, don’t trust, don’t hope,” because those things might get you hurt. Characters use fear to protect themselves, and that false safety can ruin their lives long before any villain gets the chance.

Somewhere in your protagonist’s past, fear went to work on their personality and probably did some serious damage. It whispered lies about what it takes for them to stay safe, and they believed every word. Maybe it convinced them to stop taking risks, to avoid love, or to control everything around them. Fear became their coping mechanism, and they’ve clung to it even as it holds them back.

Fear is what keeps a protagonist stuck at the start of the story, and what pushes them to grow by the end.

Let’s look at how fear shapes believable character arcs and how you can use it to drive your story’s emotional journey.

Fear Lies to Your Character

Every character has a belief that feels true because something happened that made it feel true. Maybe they asked for help and were rejected, so they learned to rely only on themselves. Maybe they loved someone and lost them, so they decided never to love again. Or maybe a parent or trusted adult told them, over and over, that they were worthless or unwanted—until they believed it.

That fear-based belief is the lie that keeps them safe from ever facing that pain again. But it also keeps them from being happy and leading a fulfilling life.

As the story unfolds, your protagonist’s old coping strategies will stop working, and they’ll see the lie’s hold start to slip. They can’t avoid the truth anymore, and every plot event becomes another crack in their fear’s illusion of control, and provides opportunities for character growth.

How Fear Drives the Character Arc

Most emotional arcs follow a similar progression, no matter the genre:

1. Fear controls the character.

At the start, fear runs the show. The protagonist believes the lie and avoids whatever might trigger that old pain. Readers see the gap between who they are and who they could be, and what needs to change for them to be happy.

2. Fear gets tested.

The plot pushes them into uncomfortable territory, and each new challenge forces them to face situations that test their belief and make avoiding or denying it harder. Think of the story problems as chances for the character to learn the lesson they need to learn to overcome their fear and realize the lie is a lie.

3. Fear backfires.

What once protected them now causes harm. Broken trust, lost opportunities, emotional fallout. The “safe” way starts to hurt more than the risk they’ve been avoiding. Maybe it costs them a relationship, an opportunity, or a piece of self-respect, but there are cracks in the fear’s so-called protective bubble around them.

4. Fear is confronted.

At their lowest point, the protagonist faces the truth. Their beliefs, allies, and even their sense of self have all been stripped away. To move forward, they must finally do the very thing they’ve resisted.

5. Fear is transformed.

They don’t become fearless—they become braver. The same situation that once froze them now gives them a chance to act differently. The victory isn’t that they no longer feel afraid, but that they choose to act anyway. Often, you’ll see them embrace the lessons of the story and use those lessons to defeat the antagonist, save the day, or finally cast off the fear and the lie they once believed.

Basically, this is all the emotional version of cause and effect. Every scene becomes a small test of courage until one day, the protagonist can finally pass the biggest one at the climax.

Using Fear to Help You Plot

Once you know what your protagonist fears most, you can use it as a guide to shape the plot.

If your character fears failure, early scenes might show them over-preparing, overworking, or micromanaging to stay “safe.” But over the course of the story, that perfectionism creates problems—alienating others, missing opportunities, or self-sabotaging. By the end, they can’t succeed unless they risk failing.

If they fear abandonment, they might push others away to avoid being left again. At first, maybe they refuse to connect to anyone at all, then the plot puts them into situations where they can’t succeed on their own, and they have to trust someone, even if there’s a chance that person will abandon them, too, forcing them to risk connection and trust.

The trick is to design choices that pit the character’s goal against their fear.

Ask yourself:

• What situations would force my character to face their fear head-on?
• What choices would scare them most, but also teach them something new about themselves?

Pay attention to your story’s major turning points. Those are the moments where fear and growth typically collide and escalate the stakes in some way. And speaking of stakes…

Using Fear to Create Emotional Stakes

Fear raises more than pulse rates—it also raises emotional investment. Readers connect most deeply when they recognize the fear beneath a character’s choices.

Common core fears often appear across genres:

• Loss of control (thrillers, mysteries)
• Rejection or unworthiness (romance, contemporary)
• Failure or insignificance (coming-of-age, drama)
• Identity and belonging (fantasy, science fiction)

The genre may change how fear looks, but the emotion remains universal. Readers aren’t just wondering if the protagonist will win—they’re wondering if they’ll stop running from what terrifies them.

Fear and the Moment of Truth

The climax is where fear and choice collide and neither side is taking any prisoners. Your protagonist can’t win—inside or out—without facing the thing they’ve avoided all along.

• If they fear being seen, they must reveal something true.
• If they fear failure, they must risk everything on a plan that might not work.
• If they fear love, they must open up even though they could get hurt.

You’ll often see this mirrored in the opening and closing scenes. The character starts out dealing with this fear and failing because of it. Then in the end, they face a similar situation, but with a new mindset that allows them to succeed. Maybe the book starts with them walking away from someone who needs help and ends with them choosing to stay. Readers get that sense of, “They couldn’t do this before, but they can now,” and are happy for them.

The movie Finding Nemo is good example for all this.

Marlin’s fear is loss, rooted in trauma. After a barracuda attack kills his wife and their cache of eggs, he clings to his surviving son, Nemo. His lie: “If I can control Nemo, I can keep him safe.”

But control doesn’t protect Nemo—it isolates him. Every problem and conflict in the film forces Marlin to loosen his grip, trust others, and face the unpredictability of life, both for him and his son. By the end, he hasn’t defeated fear—he’s learned to live with it. He’s still cautious, but now he can breathe and let Nemo go.

Fear gives your story emotional resonance. It connects the external events to the internal journey and makes every choice the protagonist makes matter.

Remember…Characters don’t change because they want to. They change because staying the same finally scares them more than taking the risk.

EXERCISE FOR YOU: Identify your protagonist’s core fear and the lie it created. Now, brainstorm three story moments that directly challenge that fear—one early, one mid-point, one near the climax. What happens when the coping strategy that once kept them safe starts to fail? Those are the moments where growth begins.

What fear is holding your characters back? Is it part of their character arc? If so, how?

About Janice

Janice Hardy is the award-winning author of the teen fantasy trilogy The Healing Wars, including The Shifter, Blue Fire, and Darkfall from Balzer+Bray/Harper Collins. and the chapter books Who's Haunting Who? and The Haunting of Cabin 13 for Lerner Publishing. For adults, she writes the Grace Harper urban fantasy series under the name, J.T. Hardy. When she's not writing fiction, she runs the popular writing site Fiction University, and has written multiple books on writing, including Understanding Show, Don't Tell (And Really Getting It), Plotting Your Novel: Ideas and Structure, and the Revising Your Novel: First Draft to Finished Draft series. Sign up for her newsletter and receive 25 ways to Strengthen Your Writing Right Now free.

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OR Tips on How to Edit or Review Someone Else’s Work

by Sarah Sally Hamer

So, you publish a book and wait anxiously to see what other people think about it. But, instead of the kudos and praise and coveted stars you are sure the book deserves, you get told that your baby is ugly and you dress it funny. Somebody doesn’t like the name of one of your characters, or they don’t appreciate the research details. Or maybe they are just being mean.

Sigh. Of course, it sends you into a tizzy. Of course, it feels like you’ve just been kicked in the teeth. And, of course, you feel terrible. How dare they rip your book – and therefore you, yourself – apart?

Where does critique meet kindness? Whether it’s a review or edit, whether you are giving or receiving, there is a place where we can practice just being nice to a fellow writer. Even when you really, truly hate whatever that writer has written.

A manuscript is a person’s interior landscape—work made visible, risk taken, voice offered. To edit or review is to foster that offering, not to bulldoze it. After all, a critique or review is nothing more than an opinion. Like noses, we all have one and, like noses, some smell better than others.

Unfortunately, critiquing and reviews are sometimes used to boost egos or purposely harm others. I actually sat near enough to an award-winning, multi-published author to hear her tell her friend that the easiest way to keep someone from asking her to read for them was to destroy them in critique. That was after she’d tried to destroy me and my writing. Thank goodness for good, kind, and caring critique partners! Otherwise, I may never have written anything again. Her confession from years ago does, however, give me pause when I am critiquing someone else. It reminds me of the opportunity to find kind words. 

Other reasons for someone to purposefully give bad reviews could be frustration with our own writing or feeling forced into doing something we really don’t want to do. It could also be that what we’re reviewing really is awful. It could also mean that the person reviewing the book just really doesn’t know what they’re doing. 

But are those good enough reasons to be cruel or unkind?

So how can we review or critique someone else’s stories, and give clear, practical ways by being both honest and kind? How can we help the writing grow instead of shutting the writer down? Here are some things to think about, regardless of your perspective:

• Start with the right mindset – are you in an available space to review or critique? Or to be reviewed or critiqued?
• Begin by believing the person doing the work tried their best, aims to improve, and will benefit from what you say. That stance changes the tone of every comment you make.
• Separate the work from the author. Critique the text; never critique the writer’s worth or intent. Language like “this passage needs…” keeps the focus on craft.
• Adopt curiosity, not certainty. Replace “You must” with “Have you considered” or “What if.” Curiosity invites collaboration; certainty closes it. On the receiving end, try to see the reason for the comment, even if you don’t agree with the comment itself. It could be that there is a problem but the reviewer didn’t know how to express their thought.
• Remember the manuscript’s stage. A first draft needs encouragement plus big-picture guidance. A final draft deserves precision. Match your kindness to the work’s developmental needs.
• Lead with what works. Open with one or two concrete strengths. This isn’t cheap praise; it orients the writer and creates receptivity.
• Prioritize issues. Use a short list: “Top three things to fix.” Writers can’t do everything at once; prioritize clarity, structure, and emotional truth in that order unless otherwise necessary.
• Frame problems as opportunities. Instead of “this is confusing,” say “this could be clearer if…” Then offer a concrete way forward.
• Use “I” statements for impact. “I got lost after paragraph two” beats “You lose the reader.” It reflects the reader’s experience without blaming.
• Be specific with examples and listen to what it is that the reviewer is saying. Quote a sentence and show a revision, e.g., “Try: ‘The house held its breath’ instead of ‘The house was silent’ to tighten the image.” Concrete rewrites teach craft.
• Avoid absolute language. Words like “never” and “always” escalate defensiveness. Replace them with “this part” or “here.”
• Name the effect you want. Instead of “Make it stronger,” say “Aim for more immediacy here by shortening sentences and adding sensory detail.”
• Don’t moralize taste. When you dislike something, say what you felt and why, not that the choice is wrong. “I felt distance in this scene because the narrator steps back; consider a closer point of view” is better than “This POV is wrong.”
• One-line summary. Open with a brief neutral summary of what you think the piece is about. It shows you’ve read with attention.
• Line/edit examples. Provide three targeted line edits or passages rewritten to model your advice.
• Tone & voice note. Comment on voice consistency and whether the emotional register matches the material.
• Encouragement & next steps. Close with a short encouraging sentence and a suggested next step, e.g., “Try a pass focusing only on verbs” or “Let’s rework the opening paragraph together.”

Kindness as Craft

Being nice while reviewing is not about softening every critique; it’s about creating conditions where the writer can actually use your honesty. Kind editing is rigorous and clear. It assumes the writer’s good faith, names specifics, offers options, and preserves agency. The result is feedback that repairs and illuminates rather than deflates.

If you want a simple checklist to keep beside you while you edit, use this:

• Did I start with strengths?
• Are my top priorities clear and limited?
• Did I offer at least one concrete rewrite or example?
• Is my language specific, nonjudgmental, and actionable?
• Did I close with encouragement and a next step?

Kindness in editing and in writing reviews is a discipline, not a soft skill. It asks you to hold both the truth of the text and the dignity of its maker. When you do that, your words become gifts: precise, rooted in care, and built to help a manuscript or a published book stand taller.

Have you reviewed other authors' work? Have you had a particularly good or bad experience you'd like to share?

Sally and several others of our amazing WITS folks will be presenting at the Pen and Potential virtual writing conference on October 24th and 25th: "Creating Creativity: The Soul of the StoryTeller." There's still time to sign up!

About Sarah (Sally)

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://nostresswriting.com.  Sally is a freelance editor and book coach, with many of her students and clients becoming successful, award-winning authors.

You can find her at info@mindpotential.org

Featured Image by Deleyna via Canva.

How Proper Body Position Fuels Health and Creativity

by Susan Watts

As both an author and a martial artist, I’ve learned one lesson that applies equally to writing and training: your stance shapes your strength. In martial arts, even the most powerful strike means nothing if your balance is off. In writing, the same applies. Poor body position can drain energy, cloud focus, and shorten your creative sessions. The mind may write the words, but the body carries the process. When you respect that partnership, you protect not just your art, but your long-term health.

Posture as Foundation

Think of your writing posture as a martial arts stance. Sitting upright with shoulders rolled back and chest open allows better breathing and reduces the tension that creeps into the neck and shoulders during long writing sessions. When you slouch forward, your body pays the price.

Here’s the hidden enemy: forward head tilt. Your head weighs about 10–12 pounds in neutral alignment. But for every inch you tilt forward, the load on your neck multiplies:

• 15° tilt → 27 lbs of strain
• 30° tilt → 40 lbs
• 45° tilt → nearly 50 lbs
• 60° tilt → up to 60 lbs

That’s like hanging a heavy kettlebell from your neck all day. Over time, this posture leads to “tech neck,” tension headaches, fatigue, and even early wear on spinal discs. In martial arts, we try to never throw a punch with a bent back or dropped guard. In writing, we should never try to create with a collapsed stance.

The Desk as Your Dojo

The dojo is arranged with intention—space is clear, tools are ready, and alignment matters. Your desk should reflect the same discipline:

• Chair height: Adjust until thighs are parallel to the floor, feet flat. Add a footrest if needed.
• Monitor: Place the top of your screen at or just below eye level, about an arm’s length away. This helps prevent forward tilt.
• Keyboard & mouse: Keep them close, elbows at your sides, wrists neutral (not bent up or down).
• Lighting: Natural light is ideal. If that’s not possible, use a lamp angled to the side to reduce glare and eye strain.
• Space discipline: Clear clutter. One inspiring object (a quote, a photo, a talisman) is better than a pile of distractions.

A properly set-up desk protects your spine and frees up cognitive bandwidth. Instead of wasting energy shifting, fidgeting, or fighting discomfort, your body becomes quiet and steady. That’s when creativity has room to move.

Movement as Recovery

In martial arts, no one holds one stance indefinitely. We pivot, shift, and flow. Writers must learn the same. Sitting for long periods locks joints, slows circulation, and fogs the mind. The solution? Micro-movements and breaks.

• Every 30–45 minutes: Stand, stretch, and walk.
• Wrists: Rotate them gently or stretch fingers wide, then make a soft fist.
• Shoulders: Roll them backward in big circles to open the chest.
• Spine: Stand tall, interlace your fingers overhead, and reach up to lengthen.

These short resets improve circulation, loosen tight muscles, and reset your focus. Just as a martial artist regains energy between rounds, a writer can reclaim clarity between pages.

Breathing and Mental Focus

Posture is the framework, but breath is the fuel. In martial arts, a fighter who panics and breathes shallowly tires quickly, loses focus, and makes mistakes. Writers face the same battle: shallow chest breathing fuels tension, anxiety, and mental fog, while intentional breathing grounds the mind and restores clarity.

Why Breath Matters for Writers

• Oxygen to the brain: Poor posture compresses the diaphragm, cutting oxygen intake. Less oxygen = less mental stamina.
• Stress regulation: Slow, deep breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system, reducing stress hormones that can cloud creativity.
• Focus sharpening: Controlled breath narrows scattered thoughts, allowing you to move from “mental noise” into flow.

I’ve listed below a few practical breathing techniques you can try:

1. Box Breathing (Calm & Center)
   • Inhale through your nose for 4 counts.
   • Hold for 4 counts.
   • Exhale slowly through your mouth for 4 counts.
   • Hold again for 4 counts.
   • Repeat 3–5 cycles.
     Steadies nerves before a sparring match or before tackling a blank page.
2. Reset Breath (Break Writer’s Fog)
   • Inhale sharply through your nose.
   • Exhale in a slow, audible sigh through the mouth.
   • Repeat 2–3 times.
     The equivalent of shaking out the arms between rounds. It releases tension and resets the mind.

Discipline for Longevity

Writing is a marathon, not a sprint. So is martial arts. Both require discipline not just to show up, but to protect the vessel that carries us forward. By treating posture, desk setup, movement, and breathing as training, you ensure that your creativity doesn’t come at the expense of your health.

The discipline of stance is a form of respect for the craft, for your body, and for the words waiting to be written. A strong writing stance can help you maintain a lifetime of stories.

Takeaway: Treat your desk like a dojo. Align your stance. Protect your neck from the hidden weight of forward tilt. Move often. Breathe with intention. With discipline, your body becomes not a barrier, but a partner in the creative journey.

I will be discussing more about how movement meets mood in the Creating Creativity online conference, October 24-25, 2025. You can check it out at www.penandpotential.com.

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 image from Depositphotos.