The Waiting Game

I think most authors would acknowledge that rejection is a significant part of being a writer and that it’s not fun at all. Pouring your heart and soul into something only for an agent or a journal editor to say “No, ta” is demoralising, and when it happens again and again and again it can be downright depressing. The only thing that makes it worth it is the thrill of having your work accepted.

But the waiting, when rejection and acceptance exist simultaneously in a writer’s mind like Schrödinger’s cat, is sometimes the hardest part of it. If you’re waiting to hear back from a potential publisher or agent, it can be a frustrating and confusing time. You might worry that they haven’t even received your manuscript, or that they hate it, or that they’ve gone travelling for a year and left your short story on their desk.

To quieten the brain bunnies (and perhaps shorten your waiting time) here are three questions to ask yourself:

What am I waiting for?

Some magazines and journals allow “simultaneous submissions” – you’re allowed to submit your piece to other places while waiting for a response. This should be clearly stated in the submission guidelines, and if it isn’t you could try checking Duotrope (just google the name of the magazine + Duotrope so you don’t actually have to pay for Duotrope).

If simultaneous submissions are allowed, try to focus on sending your piece to other places rather than twiddling your thumbs and waiting for that one response. It might be your dream journal to be published in, but when it comes to finding a home for your writing, monogamy isn’t realistic.

If simultaneous submissions are not allowed, the journal ought to get back to you relatively quickly. Personally, I think it’s bad manners to keep a writer’s work for months and months while not allowing them to submit elsewhere, and I avoid submitting to journals that do this.

Have I been waiting longer than I’m supposed to?

Sometimes it can feel like you’ve been waiting for years but it has actually been three weeks. Long waits to hear back from journals or magazines can take a while to get used to, but a wait of several months is perfectly normal. Journals often receive huge numbers of submissions and have few staff to read through them.

Check the journal’s website to see how long the expected wait time is. This will usually be in the submission guidelines but might be in another section, such as FAQs. It’s also worth double checking that they’ve actually received your manuscript – you will usually receive an email notification if they have.

How can I gently give these people a kick up the arse?

If you’ve been waiting for a response for longer than the expected wait time, it’s sometimes acceptable to email the publisher and give them a nudge. I say “sometimes”, because some journals, agents, etc clearly state on their website that they cannot respond to every submission and that a lack of response indicates they are not interested in the manuscript. If this is the case, definitely don’t bother them.

If it’s not the case, then word your email politely and include all the necessary details for them to check on your submission: your name, the title of your piece, and the date you submitted it.

Wishing you all the luck (and patience) you need!

Approaching Literary Agents – Round 2

My supernatural mystery novel, The Redmaid Witch, has been poked and prodded and trimmed and tweaked, and while I’ve no doubt it’ll need more editing before being ready for readers, I think it’s getting there.

In 2021, I had a great experience publishing my YA Contemporary novel Other People’s Butterflies with the small press Art Over Chaos. But while small presses have many advantages, the one thing they generally can’t offer is reach. To put it bluntly, a small press means a small number of sales. And with the cost-of-living crisis hitting hard, I’m once again drawn to mainstream publishing. 

I say ‘once again’ because in my twenties, I wrote my first novel and tried to get a deal with a mainstream publishing house. In the UK, this meant presses like HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, and Penguin Random House. These presses won’t accept manuscripts directly from writers, so I had to get myself an agent.

I did eventually manage to get one, and then it turned out that an agent isn’t a magical key to the kingdom of publishing but just, y’know, a human doing their job. My agent did her job of submitting my manuscript to the big publishing houses, and the big publishing houses said No.

Things I Know

At least the journey of querying agents, finding one to represent me and working with her gave me an insight into the process that will hopefully be useful now that I’m ready to give it another go. I’m sure there are plenty of other writers on this journey, or planning for it at a later date, so here is what I’ve learnt about approaching agents.

Don’t be discouraged by a slow start. Agents will generally request a synopsis of your book, along with the first three chapters or 10,000 words. If they love what you send them, they may ask for a “full request”, i.e. the whole manuscript. If they love that, they may make an offer of representation.

Usually, none of this happens. I submitted to lots of agents and waited a long time before getting a full request. But apparently agents are like buses because after that long wait, two came along at once.

I won’t pretend they were fighting over me (one was significantly more enthusiastic about my manuscript than the other) but they both wanted to meet and discuss things, which was pretty awesome.

This seems to be the way with most things in writing. You spend a small eternity waiting for something – a flash of inspiration, an acceptance from a journal, a person who actually wants to buy your book – and then the writing gods smile upon you and everything goes right all at once.

So I’m not going to give up after being ignored by a handful of agents. I’ll carefully consider their feedback (assuming they give me any) and I’ll keep beavering away.

Expect to be asked to make big changes. My agent wasted no time in asking me to add 10,000 words to my novel, change the age of one of the characters and tweak the ending to something a little more upbeat.

Traditional publishing is notoriously conservative, so agents often ask authors for changes that will boost a novel’s mainstream appeal and increase the chances of a Yes from a big publishing house.

You may be asked to change the length of your story – not because it feels rushed or flabby, but simply because it’s not the right length to be marketed as a novel. Or you may be asked to alter an aspect of the story so that it fits neatly into a category – Adult vs YA, Sci-Fi vs Fantasy, etc.

In my twenties, I wasn’t precious about my writing and was happy to make changes if they increased the possibility of a book deal. Now, I feel like I may be a little spoiled by the creative freedom afforded by publishing my debut novel with a small press.

If I do manage to get an agent, I’ll do my best to keep a balance. I’ll cheerfully change the length and shape of my novel, but I won’t sacrifice anything that changes the heart of it. I know The Redmaid Witch has some aspects that don’t exactly scream “mainstream appeal”, but if I’m putting a book out into the world, I want it to still feel like it’s mine.

Think long-term. When I met my agent, all I was interested in was what she could do for my first novel and I didn’t think much about any future books. Understandable, perhaps, since I’d only written one, but it turned out to be a mistake.

I didn’t get a clear picture of what categories of book she was willing to represent, and when my first novel failed to attract a publisher and my second novel was decidedly YA, her lack of interest in representing YA became an issue and we just sort of drifted apart.

Since I’m still happily genre-hopping, I’m going to consciously seek out an agent who represents a range of genres, and is interested in both Adult and YA fiction. If I can find one who also represents poetry it’ll be a dream come true!

Things I don’t know

There are many, many more things I don’t know about finding and working with a literary agent. I last queried agents almost a decade ago, and there could have been huge changes in the mainstream publishing industry that I’m still blissfully unaware of.

There are bound to be new trends and new ways of doing things that I’m not up to speed with. For the most part, I’m ignorant of Booktok and Booktube and all that scary “influencer” stuff, but there’s no doubt it has affected the publishing landscape hugely over the last several years.

What are your thoughts on literary agents? Are you hoping to snag one soon, or in the future? Or would you prefer to bypass them entirely and go for small presses or self-publishing? Are you one of those blessed creatures who has a happy, long-term relationship with an agent? If so, please share your secrets in the comments!

Tips for Coping with Criticism as a Writer

Have you ever had a performance review at work? That awkward meeting when your boss evaluates whether or not you deserve to keep your job, what you could be doing better, etc?

Wouldn’t it be nice if you could have regular, unscheduled performance reviews, often from total strangers, on a variety of different platforms? Well, that’s basically what being a writer is. Our readers are the boss, and we rely on their feedback to improve our craft, make our books as good as possible, and, ultimately, to get paid.

Of course, some feedback will be encouraging and constructive. Other feedback will be … less so. If writers complain about harsh criticism of our work, we’re often told that we need to grow a thick skin. Which isn’t bad advice, but how, exactly, are we supposed to do that?

The fact is, a lot of writers are sensitive people. And when you pour your heart and soul into a book, harsh criticism of it can kinda feel like someone is pointing at your child and calling her ugly.

So I’ve been thinking about some ways of dealing with criticism, and I’ve come to realise that there are actually a number of different reactions to harsh critique. I think that recognising and understanding them could be helpful when dealing with them, so let’s start with…

The Defensive

“This beta reader has pointed out a whole load of flaws in my book. But she clearly hasn’t read chapter 3 properly – if she had, she wouldn’t be saying the ending needs foreshadowing. And she can’t be right about the pacing, I paid extra attention to that. Yeah, honestly I just don’t think she gets it.”

If your knee-jerk reaction is to scoff and dismiss criticism, try to do the following:

• Pause. Let the words sink in. Try not to be afraid of them or how they’ll make you feel.

• Listen to your gut, not your knees. Knee-jerk responses are rarely helpful, but gut feelings can be useful. If your gut feels confident that the criticism is one you can safely ignore (for example, the book simply not matching a reader’s preferences), then go ahead and dismiss it. But if your gut tells you the reader is making an important point, ignore that criticism at your peril!

• How many people are saying the same thing? If one reader makes a criticism, this may be a matter of personal taste. If multiple readers say the same thing, it’s more likely that you have a problem to address.

The Defeatist

“My writers’ group just gave me some pretty some harsh criticism. I don’t know how I’m ever going to fix this manuscript. Maybe I should just start a new one. Or try a different genre. Or quit writing altogether.”

If you find yourself wanting to throw in the towel, try these first:

• Remember positive feedback you’ve received. A bad review doesn’t make you a bad writer. Chances are, your writing has brightened many people’s days, and quitting would be a loss to those readers as well as future readers.

• Read 1* reviews of classic literature. Pick a masterpiece like, say, Pride and Prejudice. Then go and read 1* reviews where readers complain that there’s no kissing and Mr Darcy is a snob. There’s no stronger evidence that perfectionism is pointless.

• Read a flawed book that you love. Maybe the plot is thin but the characters are fantastic, or maybe the dialogue is a bit flat but the world-building is phenomenal. Remember that a lack of negative feedback is not the goal. Bringing readers joy is the goal.

The Drama Queen

“This reviewer really hates my book. But that’s okay, everyone’s entitled to their opinion. It’s not the end of the world.” (Said while looking up the reviewer’s address and buying lighter fluid and matches)

No judgment. But maybe try the following tips before making any rash decisions:

• Allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling. Despite what many people say, it’s okay to be hurt by bad reviews. It doesn’t mean you’re over-sensitive, over-reacting, or over-anything else. That being said, lashing out at the person criticising your writing is always a bad idea. Yes, even if they’re talking out of their arse.

• Use criticism as rocket fuel. So what if certain people think your writing sucks? You’re going to work hard, become a super-successful, widely-read, award-winning author and … well, they’ll probably still think you suck. But you’ll be super-successful and won’t give a shit anymore.

• Remember – one person’s 1* review is another person’s 5* review. A lot of complaints: “too slow-paced”, “the main character was a bitch”, “too dark”, “too silly”, “too gay” are exactly what other readers are looking for!

I hope some of these tips are helpful. Feel free to add your own in the comments, and if you disagree with any of my points go ahead and tell me … I can take it.

How to Write Bad LGBT+ Representation

There are plenty of articles about how to include good LGBT+ representation in your stories. Authors are drowning in lists of do’s and don’ts, and yet we still seem to be getting it wrong. After all, read the reviews for any book with queer characters or themes, and it’s only a matter of time before you come across the phrase “bad rep”.

I’m not denying there are problems with how LGBT+ people are portrayed in fiction. But the constant nit-picking can be disheartening to queer authors, especially when you never hear accusations of “bad heterosexual representation” or “bad cisgender representation”.

So here are my top tips for writing bad LGBT+ representation, based entirely on negative reviews and people whining on Twitter. (Please note this is intended as a light-hearted article. I’m a queer author who wants to see more queer characters in fiction!)

Tips for writing bad LGBT+ rep

1. Write a queer character who doesn’t represent the reader’s personal experiences.
2. Write a flawed queer character.
3. Write sweet, heart-warming stories with happily-ever-afters for everyone. That’s unrealistic!
4. Write dark, gritty stories where problems aren’t easily resolved. That’s depressing!
5. Write a story about a friendship group where everyone is LGBT+ (straight people think this is statistically unlikely).
6. Write a romance without sex scenes. You’re sanitizing queer relationships!
7. Write a romance with sex scenes. You’re over-sexualising queer relationships!
8. Be a straight woman writing m/m romance. This is an easy way to get accused of fetishizing queer relationships.
9. Write a butch lesbian, a flirty or promiscuous bisexual, or a gay guy who loves musical theatre. Stereotypes are bad, which means all these characters are bad!
10. Write a character who confuses people. It’s really not difficult. Try an asexual character who gets horny sometimes, or a trans character who doesn’t want surgery.
11. Write a bisexual female character who ends up with a man.
12. Write a bisexual male character who ends up with a woman.
13. Write LGBT+ characters, but don’t write about them making out with each other. This way you can write openly queer characters and still get accused of queerbaiting, woop woop!

In all seriousness – if you want to write stories with LGBT+ representation, just go for it. Write the books you want to read. Write the books you needed when you were growing up. If you’re not LGBT+ yourself, find LGBT+ beta readers and listen carefully to their feedback. Put your passion on the page and try not to worry too much.

If you fancy reading a YA contemporary with #ownvoices asexual/aromantic rep that undoubtedly ticks some of the above boxes, try my debut novel Other People’s Butterflies.

And if you’re feeling brave, post your recommendations for books with “bad” LGBT+ rep in the comments. Gimme stories that are too sad, too sexy, not sexy enough, too confusing, or that break any of the bullshit rules that queer authors are expected to follow.

Historical Fiction – How “Modern” Should the Characters Be?

I’ve been living in the past lately. Why wouldn’t I, when there’s so much fabulous historical fiction around? Between The Murder Next Door, HMS Expedient and Nights at the Circus, I’ve not read anything set later than 1912 in quite a while.

Writing characters from another time can be difficult. You don’t want to take readers out of the story by having characters do or say things that are obviously anachronistic. You also don’t want readers to start hating the characters because they’ve said or done things that are completely objectionable to a modern audience (unless they’re the villain, of course).

So how modern should we make them? I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer to this question, but here are some of my thoughts. Feel free to add your own in the comments!

Modern characters in period costume

In some historical fiction, the characters act, think and talk very much like modern people. They might use the occasional old-fashioned word like “strumpet” or “consumption” but it’s just window dressing.

Is there anything wrong with this? Not necessarily. If you’re writing a fun, escapist historical romance, a lot of readers will actually be looking for 21^st-century characters enjoying a modern love story, but with corsets and adorably formal language.

If you know that historical accuracy is not a priority for you or your readers, stand your ground against the purists and let your characters be as progressive, sarcastic, outspoken, sex-positive and generally “modern” as you want them to be.

Tread carefully

But what if gritty historical realism is more your style? This is where things get tricky, because you have to look at your characters through two different lenses. The first is their historical context – what were the norms of behaviour in that time and place? The second is the modern context – how will modern readers react to those behaviours?

The number one thing to be careful with is bigotry. We all know that sexist and racist attitudes were more socially accepted in the past, but be wary about how your characters express them. Some useful questions to ask yourself are:

• Are they being hateful, or just ignorant?
• Can their views be challenged in some way?
• Is it necessary? Remember there are other ways of making your characters realistically flawed.

A less obvious thing that 21^st-century readers often have a problem with is passivity. In our modern society, we’re brought up to think of ourselves as masters of our own destiny and act accordingly.

This wasn’t always the case, but readers often still expect characters in historical fiction to shape their own stories. Don’t expect them to empathise with a woman who meekly accepts marriage to a man she hates and doesn’t even bother to have an affair!

Character vs personality

One thing to remember when writing characters from other time periods is that different personality traits were valued at different points in history. In her rather excellent non-fiction book Quiet, Susan Cain argues that “personality” is basically a 20^th-century invention.

Before most people lived in big cities and worked in sales-based economies, “character” was the order of the day, and traits such as being hard-working, honest and modest were valued.

20^th century changes in how people made a living caused a shift in focus from character to personality, and people began to value flashier traits such as confidence, charm and creativity.

Don’t be afraid to write a protagonist “of good character” rather than one with “lots of personality”. Nobody reads Pride and Prejudice and says “If only Mr Darcy were more expressive and a better communicator, I’d like him so much more.”

Context is key

Don’t listen to anyone who tells you that independent female characters, powerful ethnic minority characters or happy LGBT+ characters don’t belong in historical fiction. People have always found ways to overcome societal barriers.

However, it’s important to remember that traits such as strength, power and independence look different in different contexts. Just because a 21^st-century feminist is expected to be outspoken and unfiltered, that doesn’t mean an 18^th-century feminist would act the same way.  

Perhaps she has to be cunning, or even sneaky, to get ahead in the world. Perhaps she has to be more flexible, or more stubborn and determined. Maybe she has to get angry, or maybe it’s vitally important that she doesn’t lose her temper. Don’t ask yourself “What would I do in that situation?”, but “What would I do if I’d grown up in that situation?”

Thanks very much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts on character in historical fiction, and I’d also love to get some hist fic recommendations!

What to Expect When Writing an “Own Voices” Story

There’s so much debate, hand-wringing, and general fuss about the phrase “own voices” that it’s easy to forget how simple and vital the central concept is. The phrase was coined by the writer Corinne Duyvis to refer to an author from a marginalised or underrepresented group, writing about their own experiences or from their own perspective.

This is a very natural thing for writers to do. We’re constantly being told to “write what you know”, and writers from a marginalised or underrepresented group have added motivation. We’re often virtually invisible in fiction. And if we’re not invisible, we’re stereotyped and misrepresented by authors who don’t share or understand our identities.

So why not tell our stories? Well, just because something is natural doesn’t mean it’s easy. My YA novel Other People’s Butterflies is own voices, because the main character is aromantic-asexual, and so am I. The process of writing and publishing it has been strange, emotional, awkward, and liberating.

I’d like to share my experience of writing an own voices story, and help other writers know what to expect if they decide to do the same. I’m aware that experiences can vary wildly, so if you’ve written own voices work and had a completely different experience, please feel free to share in the comments.

Step 1: Feeling very, very naked

Writing about your own experiences puts you in a vulnerable position. You can fictionalise all you like, but it’s still your own thoughts, feelings, and perhaps life events going onto the page. This can leave you feeling very exposed.

Here’s the part where someone tells me to stop being a pussy. Because this is what writers are supposed to do, right? We use our own experiences to create stories. But when writing own voices, you’re writing about experiences that most readers won’t have had. You’re risking judgement, mockery, or the reader saying “Eh, this isn’t relatable to me, so I’ll just read something else.”

You may also be writing about parts of yourself you’ve struggled to come to terms with (a common experience for queer writers) or experiences that made you feel shitty about yourself. It can be emotionally draining.

My advice to anyone struggling with this is to remember the following things:

• You are in control, and can share as much or as little of yourself as feels right. You owe your reader a good story and nothing else.
• You don’t have to write in a linear fashion. If you’re struggling with a particularly dark or difficult scene, write something for a happier part of the book and go back to the difficult scene later.
• Engage with your community. Remember that your experiences aren’t abnormal, and you aren’t alone.

Step 2: Under pressure

Writing an own voices story can be a high-pressure experience. Are you supposed to provide representation for everyone in your community? What if your representation is too simplistic? Or inadvertently promotes stereotypes? Or is just plain crappy?

My advice here is simple (some would say too simple): Reject that pressure. You can’t possibly represent everyone in a diverse community. Everyone wants a different type of representation – some want it to be wholesome and optimistic, others want it to be complex and challenging – and you can’t please them all.

Write your own story in your own style, and ignore the people who tell you it ought to be a different story in a different style. Personally, I’ve written about an aro-ace girl who makes mistakes, does bad things, and still ends up okay. I know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I also know that some people are looking for exactly that.

Step 3: Am I “own voices” enough?

Writers have a lot to worry about while crafting a story. Is it engaging enough? Believable enough? Funny enough? But if you’re writing own voices, you may also find yourself worrying if it’s authentic enough.

Other People’s Butterflies is a novel, not a memoir. My protagonist shares my sexual/romantic orientation, but our experiences differ in multiple ways. This is the case for most own voices authors, and it can cause anxiety when there’s so much pressure to write “lived experience”.

Also, identity can be really f*cking complicated. Just ask anyone who is mixed race, has an “invisible” disability, or is in the + part of LGBT+. This can cause confusion and worry about claiming your own identity.

My advice is to be honest with yourself. Do feel you can write authentically about this topic? If there are gaps in your knowledge or experience, can you find out what you need to know in a way that supports others and doesn’t exploit them?

Step 4: Potential bullshit from publishers, agents, etc.

Lots of publishers and agents are looking for own voices work. Some (including my publisher, Art Over Chaos) go about this in a responsible way, by advertising their desire for own voices stories and striving to create an inclusive environment. Others engage in identity policing.

Rather than trusting that a story is own voices if the author says it is, they will ask intrusive questions, pressure queer authors into outing themselves, and generally demand proof of identity.

I understand why publishers do this. There are, unfortunately, some shameless con artists out there, who will do things like pretend to be a different race in an attempt to get their writing published.

Nobody wants to be taken advantage of by unethical people, but identity policing disadvantages writers in difficult or dangerous situations who are unable to be completely open about their identity. You know who it doesn’t disadvantage? Con artists. They will always find a way around it.

If you’re not comfortable with identity policing, just try to avoid publishers who engage in it. Don’t answer questions that violate your privacy or dignity. Trust your instincts and prioritise your own safety, security and wellbeing.

Step 5: Celebrate!

Despite all the difficulties of creating an own voices work, rest assured that you are doing something worthwhile. You are creating something that will make people feel seen and understood. Be proud.

Thanks for reading this longer-than-usual post. If you have any experience of writing own voices stories (even if it’s something you’re just beginning to consider) I’d love to hear about it. And if you’re a reader, please share your favourite own voices books!

Four Quick Writing Tips from “The Sense of Style”

I recently read Steven Pinker’s excellent writing guide The Sense of Style: The Thinking Person’s Guide to Writing in the 21^st Century. It’s aimed at non-fiction writers and I read it for my Science Communication MSc, but it also contains a lot of useful stuff for fiction writers. Here are four quick tips from the book that fellow writers might find handy…

“Beautiful” is more beautiful than “very beautiful”

When I was a teenager, I used to cram my writing full of intensifiers like “very”, “extremely” and “exceedingly” (Exceedingly was my favourite – I thought it made me sound fancy). This is an easy trap to fall into, because we can all get a little over-enthusiastic when we’re trying hard to get a point across.

The problem is that intensifiers can actually undermine the point you’re trying to make. As Pinker explains, an adjective on its own tends to be interpreted categorically. Someone is either completely honest, or not. Someone is either entirely beautiful, or not.

If you add an intensifier like “very”, you turn this all-or-nothing thinking into a spectrum. Someone might be quite beautiful, very beautiful, extremely beautiful, etc. It muddies the waters and takes away the impact of the adjective.

Save the heaviest for last

If you’re writing a list, the longest or most important word or phrase should go at the end to maximise its impact. For example, if you’re writing about a burglar who stole a bunch of things, it should be “He stole a TV, a laptop, and 2000 dollars in cash,” rather than “He stole a TV, 2000 dollars in cash, and a laptop.”

Importance should generally be prioritised over length. For example, “He stole a TV, 2000 dollars in cash, and a baby” is better than “He stole a TV, a baby, and 2000 dollars in cash.”

Watch out for zombies!

Before reading this book, I’d never heard of a “zombie noun”, and probably used them without meaning to. It’s a noun that’s derived from a verb, such as “make an appearance” (derived from “appear”) or “put on a performance” (derived from “perform”).

When a verb gets turned into a noun, it becomes lifeless and zombiefied (yes, that’s a word). Too many zombie nouns will make your writing sound stuffy, so it’s best to avoid them.

Learn the rules, then go ahead and break them

One thing I enjoyed about Pinker’s style guide was its impatience with grammar Nazis and language purists. We’ve all been annoyed by seeing “your” and “you’re” used interchangeably for the millionth time, but someone who acts like their world is falling apart every time someone makes a small error really needs to get a life.

The book argues that language is constantly evolving. If a word or phrase is used “incorrectly” by 90% of the population, and has been used by respected writers, there’s not much point in labelling it “incorrect”.

Also, (whisper it) there are more important things than grammar. If a woman prefers the term “chairperson” to “chairman” or a non-binary person uses singular “they”, it’s a dick move to insist that the rules of grammar are more important than equality or identity.

I hope you found these tips helpful. Got any quick tips of your own? Please share them in the comments!

How to Make “Bad” Characters Likeable

Badness isn’t fashionable these days. When I was growing up (way back in the 00s), being rebellious and cynical was all the rage and giving a f*ck about other people’s feelings was not. But now we’re expected to be respectful of everyone, channel our anger into political action instead of kicking dustbins, and buy exactly the right brand of fairtrade, organic quinoa.  

The trend for antiheroes also seems to have come to an end and I can’t help but feel it ended too soon. Maybe that’s because of a personal preference for flawed characters, or maybe it’s because the majority of those antiheroes were straight, white men. If you ask me, characters who are female, POC or LGBT+ haven’t had a fair shake at being bad.

Since “unproblematic” has become the ultimate compliment, I was a little worried about the protagonist of my upcoming novel, Other People’s Butterflies. She does stuff that’s not just morally questionable, but unquestionably bad. But so far, the feedback I’ve had about her has been positive. So here are my tips for writing a character who’s kind of shitty but also likeable.

Consider writing in first person

If you don’t see the thoughts and feelings behind bad behaviour, people will interpret it in their own way. And that interpretation is likely to be something like “She did an awful thing because she’s awful.”

If you write in first person, the reader becomes almost complicit when the protagonist does bad things and has a better understanding of why they are behaving that way. If you don’t want to write in first person, you could always try “deep third” – where you write in third person but still get right inside the character’s head.

Some sins are more forgivable than others

Forget everything you learnt at Sunday school, because when it comes to fiction, we’re pretty f*cked up. If you ask readers about the characters they hate and why they hate them, you’re unlikely to hear “I hate this murderer because he murdered loads of people.” You’re more likely to hear complaints about arrogance, constant whining or being a spoilt brat.

That’s because, for most of us, shocking crimes aren’t a part of our daily reality. Violence is something we see on telly and we’re mostly desensitised to it. But we often have to deal with entitled arseholes, closet misogynists and two-faced liars.

Because we have real world experience of how it feels to deal with this kind of behaviour, we’re often unforgiving of it. So basically, it’s easier to make a violent criminal likeable than a douchey dudebro or gossipy bitch.

Persuade the reader

A way of making a bad character more engaging is to make them difficult to argue with. Give them a reason for bad behaviour that, logically speaking, makes sense. Or, even if it doesn’t make sense, you could still have them express themselves so eloquently that it seems to make sense.

The latter is particularly powerful when crafting interesting villains. There’s nothing like knowing in your gut that a character is wrong, but being unable to explain why.

Seduce the reader

I’m not saying you should make bad characters gorgeous (though it’s surprising how many awful male characters get a “hot guy pass”). I’m saying you should recognise that we all have urges that are selfish, greedy or spiteful, and seeing a fictional character give in to those urges can be cathartic. So much so, that it often makes us feel like we’re on their side.

This is pretty much the opposite of the previous technique. Rather than having a character tell the reader, “My behaviour might seem bad, but here’s why it’s actually good from my perspective”, you’re having them say “Yeah, I know I’m doing something bad, but admit it … you want to do the same thing.”

Relatability is key with this technique, and this is a reason to show bad behaviour that kicks up instead of down. A character getting revenge on their awful boss? Pretty relatable. A character firing an annoying employee on a whim? Less relatable because, well, lots of us don’t have employees.

“Pet the dog”

This is a term coined by screenwriters that means showing a supposedly nasty character doing something kind. It softens their edges and shows that, hey, they’re not a total arsehole after all! Simple but effective.

A crappy childhood doesn’t make a supervillain

If your “bad” character grew up in an abusive home, or was badly bullied, or suffered a huge loss, this can act as motivation for bad behaviour. But don’t rely too much on sympathy. Plenty of people get bullied, abused or bereaved without becoming horrible people.

Go for empathy rather than sympathy. Show how your character goes from feeling bad to doing bad things, rather than just emphasising how bad he feels. That way, you’re explaining his behaviour rather than excusing it. You’re helping the reader understand, rather than just telling her “You should feel sorry for this character, not hate him.”

Thanks for reading my tips on how to make “bad” characters more likeable. Do you have any of your own to add? And who are your favourite fictional baddies?

The Ups and Downs of Beta Readers

So, the emotional rollercoaster of writing your first draft is finally over. And so is the emotional rollercoaster of rewriting it to flesh out those thinly-drawn characters and fill in that glaring plot hole. Time to submit it to agents/publishers and relax?

Unfortunately not. No amount of careful editing is a substitute for a fresh pair of eyes on your work. So if you want to publish, you’ll probably need to hand over your baby to someone else and listen to their opinions. And this is quite the emotional rollercoaster itself.

Low point – The anxiety of waiting

Argh! I sent the manuscript over three weeks ago and haven’t heard anything. What if they found it so boring they couldn’t finish it? What if they finished it, but absolutely hated it and don’t know how to tell me? Should I ask them how far they’ve got, or will I seem like a nag? The suspense is killing me!

High point – Finding a good beta reader

If you’re lucky, you’ll find an experienced reader with a rich understanding of what makes a book great. Someone who offers valuable insight into the strengths and weaknesses of your work, and is always honest but never discouraging. A good beta reader truly is worth their weight in gold.

Low point – Bad beta readers

Unfortunately, not every beta reader is like this. Some beta readers’ feedback will simply be a list of spelling and grammar mistakes. Some get off on “tough love” and will make sure you know your manuscript needs A LOT of work before you should even consider publishing. Some will insist you ought to tell an entirely different story.

As frustrating as this is, we writers need to take some responsibility here. Make sure your beta reader understands what you want from them, and be careful who you pick. If you’ve written a horror novel, someone who reads nothing but romance is probably not well-suited to the task.

High point – “I really enjoyed it”

Hooray! When your beta reader says they enjoyed your story, or it moved them, or they read it all in one sitting, the sense of relief is enormous. Your beta reader is one of the first people to sneak a peek at the manuscript you’ve been slaving away over for ages, so their general impressions are crucial.

If they actually enjoyed the damn thing, it takes the sting out of any criticisms they have. You feel like you’re working to make a good thing better and ready for publication, rather than desperately trying to save something crappy.

Low point – That thing you couldn’t be arsed to fix needs fixing

Sometimes, you get the feeling that something’s wrong with your manuscript. Not just a little flaw that can be easily fixed, but something big and unwieldy that would require a lot of re-writing. Maybe your protagonist is fundamentally unlikeable, or the whole thing would work better in first person than third person.

Because sorting this out seems like a lot of work (and you’ve already put so much work into the first draft) your policy is to deny, deny, deny. Readers won’t notice a problem. Everything will be fine. Then a beta reader says the exact thing you were afraid to hear, and it becomes clear you’ve got to fix the damn thing.

High point – Your beta reader helps you with something major

Sometimes, a beta reader will suggest a tweak that makes your story so much better. Adding a little backstory, cutting a section that slows the pacing, whatever. You read it through, realise your manuscript is vastly improved, and feel simultaneously embarrassed that you didn’t think of the change yourself, and extremely grateful.

Hooray for beta readers

Despite all the ups and downs of having your work beta read, there’s no doubt that beta readers provide an incredibly valuable service. So make sure you show your appreciation! If you can’t afford to pay them, offer your own beta reading services (or something similar like editing or sensitivity reading) in exchange.

Have you ever done any beta reading? How did you find the experience?

When to Get Inside a Character’s Head (and When to Avoid It)

One of the best things about writing is that it gives you an opportunity to explore the world from different perspectives. Getting inside the minds of your characters can lead to a richer understanding of what it’s like to be someone else, living in a different place or time or body.

And sometimes, a character’s mind is just a fun place to be. Many writers have that one character who’s a particular joy to write (for me, it’s Mitch from The Misfortunes of Oscar Goldberg. Basically, the inside of his mind looks like The Lego Movie) so why not escape into someone else’s brain for a while?

But sometimes, even when writing in first person, it’s more effective to take a step back and focus on a character’s actions or surroundings rather than their thoughts and feelings. So when should you get inside a character’s head? Here are some thoughts on when to do it and when to avoid it.

Do it

To generate empathy. Characters don’t always have to be likeable, but readers should be able to empathise with them to some extent, and get a sense of why they do the things they do. 

If your protagonist makes some pretty questionable decisions, it’s important to show the thought processes, feelings and backstory behind those decisions. In the case of an antagonist, getting inside her head can make her more of a complex adversary and less of a pantomime villain who does bad things because she’s bad.

When most of the action is inside your character’s head. There are plenty of brilliant novels where not much happens at all. Classics like Pride and Prejudice (about a man changing his manners and a woman changing her mind) prove that you don’t need car chases or sword fights to create a thrilling story.

But if it’s light on action, there needs to be a lot going on behind your characters’ eyes and your readers need to know about it. The emotional drama needn’t be overwrought and soap opera-ish, but it should be complex and sincerely felt.

When someone is in an unusual situation. Sometimes, a character gets into a situation that isn’t easy for a reader to relate to. This is particularly common in Fantasy and Sci-Fi. When weird shit hits the fan, a reader might not know how to react. Is this a dangerous situation? A whimsical detour?

You can give the reader cues through tone and pacing, but one of the most effective ways of helping a reader relate to a weird situation is by getting inside the character’s head and showing what they think and feel about it.

To show that a character’s mind works differently. If your character has an IQ of 152 or 45, his thought patterns may differ significantly from the average reader’s. The same is true of characters with other kinds of neurodivergence like autism, ADHD, or mental illness.

If a reader only sees the character’s behaviour, they may find it difficult to relate to. But give them a chance to see inside the character’s mind and they are much more likely to understand. If you’re writing about someone different to you, remember to do your research!

Avoid it

When a character needs to keep a secret from the reader. Sometimes, to avoid spoiling plot twists, your character needs to keep things hidden. In a murder mystery, for example, your character might figure out whodunnit some time before it’s revealed to the reader.

In this type of situation, it’s important not to spend too much time inside a character’s head. It’s just not realistic to have a character with a huge secret who never thinks about it.

During action-heavy scenes. If there’s a lot of action going on, cutting away from it to explore a character’s mental or emotional reactions can be distracting and slow the pace.

 This doesn’t mean action scenes can’t be emotional – many of the best ones are intensely emotional. But it’s best to keep the emotions of an action scene simple and primal, e.g. shock, fear or rage. Hold off on exploring a character’s more complex reactions until the aftermath.

When you want a character to remain ambiguous. Mysterious characters are great for keeping readers on their toes. If you want an aspect of a character – their morals, their loyalties, their past – to remain shadowy, it’s best not to spend too much time inside their head.

I hope these tips were useful. As always, feel free to add your own!