Writing a novel can feel overwhelming, especially when you’re trying to perfect every page as you go. But what if you didn’t have to get it right the first time? What if, instead, you focused on getting it down, shaping it later, and only polishing once the story is in place?
That’s the power of the three-draft method — an approach popularised by Matt Bell in his excellent craft book Refuse to Be Done: How to Write and Rewrite a Novel in Three Drafts. At its heart, this method gives writers structure, clarity and, perhaps most importantly, permission to keep going when things feel messy.
Here's how it works:
I’ve always found that writing doesn’t get easier just because you know what comes next.
This isn’t a green light for chaos. You have to know the rules before you break them. You have to understand how rhythm works before you fragment a sentence. You need to learn what a story arc is before you bend it, or break it. But once you do, experimentation can lead to extraordinary storytelling.
So when should you consider breaking the rules? And how can you do it well? Luckily there are loads of great examples.
From Claire Keegan's Small Things Like These to Samantha Harvey's Orbital, these compact works of fiction pack a punch around 200 pages. No filler. No indulgent middle act. Just distilled intensity, executed with precision.
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But the journey to a polished manuscript has only just begun. Now comes the editing and your next two to three drafts.
According to Deborah Levy, author of Hot Milk and The Cost of Living: "Editing is the most wonderful part of writing. It begins to roar in the edit." Embracing the editing process is crucial to transforming your initial draft into a compelling narrative that will grab the attention of literary agents and book editors.
These ten tips are ones I’ve always found helpful after that crucial first draft is done.
Jeanette Winterson, a long-time advocate for technological innovation in storytelling, believes this shift is not something to fear but to embrace. She describes AI as “alternative intelligence”, suggesting that its ability to be other might be precisely what human writers need—pushing creative boundaries, offering new perspectives, and reimagining storytelling.
I’ve always been fascinated by this sub-literary genre, from what makes it work to why it continues to captivate readers and how it manages to be both intensely specific and universally resonant.
The best campus novels transport us to a world of intellectual ambition, youthful recklessness, and, often, profound disillusionment. They capture a moment in life where identity, relationships, and ambition collide.
But what exactly makes a great campus novel, and which books best define the ever-growing genre?
Do you need a killer opening line for your novel? Or is there an alternative way to draw readers in right from the start?
I'm slightly obsessed by the opening lines of novels, and for me, the opening line isn’t merely about crafting a flashy hook; it’s about setting the tone, sparking curiosity, and providing readers with a reason to keep turning the pages. A brilliant first sentence generates intrigue and anticipation, drawing the audience into your story before they even realise it.
Joan Didion's writing is a masterclass in precision and insight. Her distinctive style, marked by pared-down, rigorous prose, captured the nuances of American life and personal introspection. As a leading figure in the New Journalism movement of the 1960s, Didion's work blended literary flair with journalistic integrity, offering readers a profound lens through which to view the world.
I’m a massive fan of Donna Tartt, particularly (like many people) The Secret History, which I wrote about recently. It got me thinking—whatever happened to Donna Tartt?
It has been more than a decade since Tartt published her last novel, The Goldfinch (2013), which won the Pulitzer Prize and cemented her status as one of the most celebrated literary figures of our time. But since then? Silence.
Tartt has never been a prolific writer. She famously takes a decade (or more) between books, crafting intricate, deeply atmospheric novels that become instant modern classics. The Secret History (1992) and The Little Friend (2002) were each published with long gaps in between, setting a pattern of meticulous, slow-burn literary output. But now, more than ten years have passed since The Goldfinch, and there’s no official word on what comes next.
So, where is Donna Tartt? And why is the wait for her next novel taking even longer this time?
However, voice is often confused with point of view (POV), the narrative perspective from which you choose to tell your story. First-person, third-person limited, or omniscient each has its strengths and challenges.
I have tried two approaches. First-person for modern fiction (both my published novels) and third-person limited for my long-paused historical novel. I am more comfortable telling a contemporary story with the former, although that style did not feel appropriate for a historical novel.
So, how do you choose the right one? And how do you develop a distinct voice within it? Let’s break it down.
For a while, I thought I needed long, uninterrupted stretches before I could write. Otherwise, what was the point? I told myself that anything less than 90 minutes was pointless—but in reality, I was just putting blockers in the way.
I’ve since learned that writing a novel doesn’t require marathon sessions. It can be done in snatches, even 20 minutes here, a paragraph or two there.
If you feel like you don’t have time to write, you’re not alone. But that doesn’t mean you can’t finish a book. I’ve spent ages thinking about this and collected some strategies and wisdom from authors on how to write a novel when your schedule is packed.
Joan Didion has been a monumental influence on countless writers, including myself. Her works, from Slouching Towards Bethlehem to The Year of Magical Thinking, have profoundly shaped modern literature.
Anything new by her is a major literary event. So, the recent announcement of the posthumous publication of her personal journal, Notes to John, has ignited a significant ethical debate within the literary world.
Yes, it is exciting to see Didion's unpublished work, but is it right to publish her personal journals? Especially those detailing conversations with her psychiatrist?
However, Lee Child, the author of the Jack Reacher series (29 books and counting), sees it differently. He argues that originality doesn’t come from plot. It comes from execution.
This isn’t a problem. It’s a liberation.
