She helped shape the New Journalism movement in the 1960s, bringing a personal, literary sensibility to reportage. She created some of the most arresting portraits of American life in the second half of the twentieth century.
If you’re anything like me, finishing The Secret History leaves a strange kind of void. Donna Tartt’s literary debut is one of those once-in-a-decade novels: intellectually rich, psychologically intense, and impossible to put down.
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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