Sometimes in our fevered pitch to tap out a novel or script for whatever deadline, we forget an important aspect:  What does the story promise the reader?

Writing is hard. An idea may seize us and then we just write until the end shows up. Or we’re stuck after the first page and wonder, what next? Or, worse yet, even with careful plotting and planning, the story fails to attract readers (such as a literary agent, a producer, or just an ordinary discerning reader).

When writing my own stories and when working with writers I’ve always loved the notion that a story promises to demonstrate human needs readers can identify with and care about.

In addition, a well-designed story addresses human needs scene by scene.

Do your scenes carry emotional resonance? Do details and reactions help us care?

Bill Johnson, in his fine book I highly recommend called A Story Is A Promise, mentions what may seem obvious:  A story that clearly communicates its promise draws in an audience.

A few questions Bill (and I) ask, with my embellishments added:

…What does your story promise the audience? (One notion or promise, please, not a half-dozen promises. Stories de-rail fast when the focus becomes diffused.)

…How do you introduce your story’s promise? Is it interesting enough? With emotional resonance (which can be of any kind)?

…What events fulfill your story’s promise? (Do you need more events? Bigger ones?)

…What details evoke the drama of your story’s promise? 

…In the opening scene of every chapter or act, how are you making a downpayment on your story’s promise?

…Do the events of your story make the stakes clear?

From expert Lisa Cron in her book, Story Genius: “Story is about an internal struggle, not an external one. It’s about what the protagonist has to learn, to overcome, to deal with internally in order to solve the problem that the external plot poses.”

Use the one “promise” of your story as your “control,” then write and revise. Your story will become sharper and affect readers in an amazing way. 

Sometimes when a story won’t unfold the way we’d like, or sometimes when a novel or script is passed on over and over, I’ve found the key might be the character lacks a “Fatal Flaw.”

Most novels and screenplays are about the journey a character takes because they have something to change or learn. Knowing the character’s flaw can help a writer create more depth in a way that pushes the plot along almost automatically.

A novel or scripted story is where we watch a character make choices under pressure. To apply that pressure, we need to know their flaw—that thing they might not want to admit to but it’s been holding them back in life.

The Fatal Flaw is NOT the same as an ordinary character weakness. More on that later.

Dara Marks, in her wonderful book on the subject, Inside Story: The Power of the Transformational Arc, offers this:

“The FATAL FLAW is a struggle within a character to maintain a survival system long after it has outlived its usefulness. …It’s an unyielding commitment to old, exhausted ways…and resistance to the rejuvenating energy of new, evolving levels of existence and consciousness.”

The law of nature is simple:  If something or someone isn’t growing or changing, it or the character is heading for decay and death.

To find the Fatal Flaw in your character, think about where they’ll be a few years from now if they don’t change. What’s holding them back from being all they can be?

Examples of Fatal Flaws you may have seen in literature and other media:

• A man grew up using fists to get what he wants and still believes in doing that.
• A woman grew up learning how to please everybody else but never herself.
• A young girl shoplifts to feel important to her circle of friends.
• A person keeps remarrying the wrong kind.

A Fatal Flaw is not just a weakness easily corrected or managed. Shyness, for example, isn’t a Fatal Flaw. A bad habit such as drinking too much might be a symptom of a Fatal Flaw but it’s not a Flaw itself. Sometimes a jerk is just a jerk but that may be a symptom of a Fatal Flaw.

Typically the Fatal Flaw took seed early in life, in childhood or the teen years. Look into your character’s past and create the backstory for them. What is it about their personality now that has lingered since that childhood episode and they need to face it now? What is that past “thing” that changed them?

The antagonist or a buddy is often the key character to point out the Flaw, forcing your protagonist to face the Flaw.

Figure out your character’s Fatal Flaw and you’ll have a good story leading to an explosive, emotional Midpoint Crisis and last-act Climax.

Did your manuscript get a pass from maybe 50 literary agents thus far?

Or, is something still bothering you about your manuscript and you can’t put your finger on it?

Do you want a handy tool to help you cut excess words and scenes? Or help finding the missing scenes?

Start revising with your logline (or a new and improved logline).

A logline is that one-sentence summation of a plot. It’s a valuable tool for steering the revision of every chapter of your novel or the scenes of your screenplay.

To write an effective logline, focus on the protagonist AND antagonist. Include a deadline or urgency.

An effective logline is the CONTROL for every chapter and scene. Your writing and revision work has to answer to the logline, chapter by chapter.

TAKE ACTION:  Type the logline at the top of every chapter or at least put the logline nearby so you can read it before going into each chapter.

The logline at the head of every chapter will alert you to what doesn’t belong or what might be missing.

You likely will find things to change, even if it’s only deleting a small paragraph you don’t need or editing a chapter hook you can sharpen.

The logline as a revision tool has 2 basic tenets: 

1) Keep it to 50 or fewer words and one smooth sentence with no more than two commas if any commas at all.

2) Keep it in a pattern answering this:  Who must do what action/decision by what deadline against who or what?

Here’s a quick, off-the-cuff logline example from the movie The Wizard of Oz: “In order to find her way home, Dorothy must survive obstacles thrown at her by the evil Wicked Witch and find the Wizard of Oz.” (25 words)

Every “chapter” of my manuscript has to be about escaping the witch so Dorothy can get home (for serious reasons I also build into the story).

Keep reminding readers of the urgent deadline for the protagonist. The logline is there to remind you of that, chapter by chapter and scene by scene. The story’s scenes/chapters:  A crystal ball shows how much her auntie missed and needed Dorothy; an hourglass with sand sifts down to her doom and the doom for her dog; Dorothy sees friends such as the Scarecrow attacked and left with stuffing pulled out of him. The bad stuff just keeps happening.

Sometimes at chapter beginnings we writers feel we must “build up” to the action or explain something first because the reader won’t “get it” if we don’t set it up. While that might be true here and there, most of the time readers want exciting stuff unfolding RIGHT NOW, with the explanations coming in the “scene sequel” AFTER the action or within the next scene.

An effective logline can save you time and headaches. It’s your “steering wheel.”

A sharp logline can make revising easier and more rewarding.

Sometimes a pass by agents/editors/publishers is because of…

Vocabulary. Your “word wardrobe.”

How does your vocabulary look on the opening pages?

You’ve tended to plot, characterization, action, and scene design. Your critique group loves your novel. Then 50 to 75 agents pass on your submission. 

When looking at your manuscript opener, scrutinize vocabulary because it reveals one BIG thing publishers and readers want to buy—VOICE.

If going through your entire manuscript to improve word choices seems daunting, step back from that. Focus on the first five to 30 pages—that portion most often sent when querying. 

Even minor vocabulary changes can help an agent pause and be impressed.

Vocabulary as your “word wardrobe” dresses your novel for its interview with agents and other readers. A novel’s word wardrobe is part of your author voice.

How can you change pages with ordinary or dull language overnight?

1) Apply more “private language” from the character’s profession, special skills or hobby.

Pastimes have “private language.” Even if your character is a child in first grade, choose words that make readers think differently about first grade but also authentically. If your character is a banker, how do I know that on page one? Read the first three pages of Pulitzer Prize-winning Trust by Hernan Diaz to see how money talks in an understandable, approachable way. Try a similar approach.

What if your character is a thug or ordinary person doing ordinary things? 

Every character has lived a life or they care about something that gives you license to use more interesting words. What do they do for transportation? For food? Clothes? Housing? What do they dislike or like? Find that terminology to sprinkle onto the page.

Often, this exercise can bring in humor not present previously—also always a reader hook.

The trick with “private language” is to not over-do it. Try two really good words on page one. Two more on page three. See how that feels to you.

2) For a better voice—do word hunts! 

Read your prose on page one and two aloud. If it sounds too flat or ordinary, use this quick fix: 

Find 5 or 10 popular and well-reviewed novels and sit down with them. Now find two words that stand out on every page in the first few pages of each novel. Or flip to the final 10 pages or the middle and skim for interesting words.

Bring those words into your manuscript’s opening pages. Not all words will fit, but they might inspire you to find a similar word that creates page magic.

3) Look for lyricism, playful words, and those that appeal to the 5 senses. 

Be bolder with colors and describing objects or sounds. Bring in pleasant alliteration or assonance. (Sure, those repetitions with consonant and vowel sounds can be overdone, but that’s not going to be what you do.)

Here are words from the opening pages of Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt:  intellectual prowess, penchant for, emboss, backlit by glare, fogbound sky, sneakers squeak, satisfying swoosh. 

Van Pelt’s opening pages tuck in MANY instances of alliteration and assonance.

Swap out old words on your page one and use two new words that pop. Use “prowess” and “penchant” in Sentence 1 or soon after. How does the page feel now?

Be less shy about being lyrical or mystical. Van Pelt used “fogbound sky.” Maybe you have a “fogbound pond” or a character with a “fogbound outlook.”

Let poetry, too, give you “word gifts.” Look up a poet’s quirky words in a synonym finder or thesaurus and use what you like or what works for your sensibilities to surprise us on page one.

4) Character history or background can bring better vocabulary and voice—in contemporary novel pages or any genre.

Try mentioning in brief your character’s history or cultural background on page one and two, and ten. In very shorthand language on page one, who are they? How did they come to be? Readers—agents included—find ancestry or character history fascinating.

Tell in a sentence “how” your protagonist or antagonist came to be or why they have a certain trait. Do this on page one or two. Where did the family migrate from? What year? Was your thug’s great-great-grandfather a pirate in the Caribbean? Or the chef at a king’s palace? Does your thug cling to that history and therefore it defines him?

With FASCINATING ancestry or historical reference on page one, you’ve likely drawn in the reader, who might become your literary agent.

In conclusion:

With a better word wardrobe dressing your pages, you have four quick-fix tricks to improve your “voice” and the potential for better appreciation by a literary agent, editor, publisher, reviewer, or any reader.