Will Raywood, author

The Real Secret Behind Andy Weir’s Self‑Publishing Success

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Before The Martian climbed bestseller lists, before Hollywood came calling, Andy Weir reached a moment that should’ve ended his writing career. Instead, it set everything in motion, and the reason why says a lot about how creative success really works.

In the wake of Project Hail Mary’s massive success, it’s worth revisiting the origin story behind one of sci‑fi’s most unlikely icons.

A Childhood Dream and an Unexpected Opportunity

Andy Weir had dreamed of becoming a writer since childhood, but fearing that creative writing wouldn’t pay the bills, he went into engineering instead. Then opportunity arrived in the strangest way: he was laid off… and discovered his stock options were worth a fortune. So he made a bold decision. He quit engineering to pursue his dream of writing a novel.

He spent three years on that manuscript and tried to get it published. But no, it wasn’t The Martian, or anything you’ve read. That first book didn’t get a single bite from agents or publishers. Discouraged, Andy returned to programming, but he didn’t stop writing. He posted serialized fiction on his website, juggling three projects at once, The Martian being one of them.

Mark Watney, Andy’s Alter Ego, or Optimism in the Face of Rejection

When Andy began writing The Martian, he wasn’t chasing a career. He wasn’t thinking about agents, publishers, or Hollywood. He was simply a man alone with a story, and in a strange way, he wasn’t so different from his protagonist.

Mark Watney is stranded on Mars, cut off from the world, relying on his wits and stubborn optimism to survive. And Andy, sitting at his desk after years of rejection, was doing something similar. He was writing into the void, unsure if anyone would ever read his work.

Maybe that’s why Mark feels so alive on the page—he’s Andy’s alter ego. His humor, resilience, and refusal to give up even when the situation looks hopeless are reflections of Andy’s own creative spark. Through Mark, readers connected emotionally with the author himself, and that connection is the foundation of audience engagement.

The Martian became a hit first with Andy’s readers, who eventually urged him to publish it on Amazon. You know what happened next: the book exploded, caught the attention of a major publisher, and soon after, a film studio. When Ridley Scott signed on to direct, it felt like a crowning moment.

But Andy isn’t someone who always had it easy. Many writers collapse under rejection and give up before trying an alternative path. Andy didn’t. When he wrote The Martian, he carried his optimism with him despite earlier failures.

Humanizing Hard Sci‑Fi

And here’s the part that’s easy to overlook: the novel didn’t take off overnight. Andy spent years building a loyal following before self‑publishing. That community was key. He didn’t write for everyone; he wrote for readers who shared his passion for hard science fiction and wanted stories grounded in real engineering.

Of course, he didn’t invent the subgenre. Mars Trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson was already a classic. But Andy brought something different: he humanized hard sci‑fi. He made it warm, accessible, often hilarious.

In The Martian, he drops us into the shoes of a protagonist facing an impossible situation—key to instant emotional engagement. The plot itself is simple: a man-versus-nature survival story, essentially Robinson Crusoe on another planet. Andy didn’t rely on a complex plot or elaborate character arcs. Instead, he built a chain of problems, each life‑threatening, each solution creating new challenges. And crucially, he avoided the trap of over‑explaining. Like any skilled storyteller, he gave readers just enough technical detail to follow the story without drowning them in information.

Quality Over Quantity

Andy’s path to publishing was unusual, but not unique, and it offers valuable lessons. In the age of AI, some indie‑publishing gurus insist that success is all about quantity. But Andy needed just one book to break through. You can publish a thousand titles, but if none resonate, your career won’t take off.

Quality matters more than quantity. While publishing his serialized fiction, Andy listened to reader feedback and revised his work. By the time The Martian hit Amazon, it was polished and battle‑tested.

Andy’s journey reminds us that success often arrives when we stop chasing it. Writers are notoriously bad at predicting which of their stories will take off. You can’t engineer a bestseller. It’s out of your control, and trying too hard can smother creativity.

The most valuable lesson I took from Andy’s story is this: stay positive, even in hardship. The joy of creating should be its own reward. That’s how you keep the creative flame alive and build a sustainable writing life.

And of course, Andy didn’t stop with The Martian. Project Hail Mary may be his most successful book yet, and the film adaptation does it justice. If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor. Whether you love sci‑fi or just a great buddy adventure with wit, heart, and wonder, you’re in for something special.

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So what do you make of Andy’s journey? Was it luck, or was his success inevitable? Let me know in the comments.

Can You Outline Like J.K. Rowling? Try My Simple 3‑Step Method

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When I wrote my first novel, I had no idea how to plot. The result? I wasted months rewriting it, going in circles, fixing one problem only to create three more. When I discovered J.K. Rowling’s plot grid, it transformed how I outline my stories.

You know that sinking feeling you get halfway through a draft? The one where the ten brilliant subplots you dreamed up have twisted into a tangled, confusing mess? I’ve been there. J.K. Rowling was, too, until she developed a deceptively simple method that changed everything.

While some writers and theorists spend years searching for the “secret structure” behind great novels, I almost laughed when I first saw Rowling’s handwritten grid. It was so straightforward. But here’s what most people miss when they glance at that now-famous photograph:

Rowling’s secret isn’t the grid itself. It’s how she uses it.

She doesn’t just map the events of the story; she uses the grid to engineer emotional momentum.

Sure, creating a plot grid takes work. It might even look intimidating at first. But trust me, the work you put in upfront will save you months of painful rewrites. This tool helps you write faster, guiding you to a finished draft in weeks instead of months, all while ensuring your story hits every emotional beat.

It’s a double win!

Before we dive in, let’s tackle the fundamental question. Do you even need to outline your story? Can’t you just write by following inspiration wherever it leads? After all, famous writers like Stephen King and George R. R. Martin prove you can find massive success without a detailed plot.

The good news is that Rowling’s technique works for both approaches. Plotters devise a detailed outline before they start drafting. For them, the grid is a blueprint. Discovery writers can do what’s called reverse outlining. After finishing a draft, they create an outline from the existing text. This helps them see the story’s structure at a glance, find plot holes, and ensure every thread makes sense.

A Long History of Visual Outlining

The idea of structuring a story with a visual map is nothing new. Great writers have been doing it for ages. Vladimir Nabokov wrote Lolita on index cards. While traveling across the United States with his wife to study butterflies, he filled out cards for individual scenes and shuffled them daily, exploring different narrative possibilities.

William Faulkner covered the walls of his study with pages outlining the plots of his novels.

Joseph Heller created large charts while writing Catch-22 to track character appearances and timelines in his famously nonlinear story.

Modern novelists and screenwriters use everything from corkboards to spreadsheet trackers, all of which serve the same function as Rowling’s grid. Now, let’s see how you can turn this tool into your storytelling superpower.

Step One: Build the Story Grid

At its core, Rowling’s plot grid is a simple story matrix. Across the top, she listed chapters or time segments. Down the left side, she listed different story threads.

Start by creating a simple table. For the columns, I recommend starting with broad story sections rather than individual chapters. Think in terms of five acts or the main story beats: Setup, Rising Action, Crisis, Climax, and Resolution.

For the rows, list your key story elements. Your initial grid might look something like this:

  • Setting: Where and when does the story take place? (Especially useful if characters travel).
  • Protagonist’s Arc: The core emotional journey of your hero.
  • Main Themes: The underlying ideas you want to explore.
  • Main Plot: The primary sequence of events.
  • Subplot A, Subplot B, etc.: Secondary storylines.

As you fill this out, your goal is to get a bird’s-eye view of your story. The immediate benefits are obvious:

  • See the whole story at a glance, making it easy to spot plot holes.
  • Track multiple plotlines to ensure they are properly set up and resolved.
  • Plan your foreshadowing and payoffs with intention.
  • Control your pacing and maintain narrative momentum.
  • Experiment with structure by rearranging scenes without losing the big picture.

These are great, but they’re just surface-level benefits. If readers don’t care about your story, the most perfect plot in the world won’t save it. The magic begins when we focus on emotion.

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Step Two: Map the Character’s Emotional Journey

Science shows that engaging stories trigger a cascade of neurochemicals in our brains: dopamine, oxytocin, cortisol, and endorphins. Our brains are wired to respond to narrative. Falling in love with a story is like falling in love with a person; the logical part of our mind takes a back seat, and we get to bask in that neurochemically induced bliss.

This is how you hook readers for life.

The key is understanding one simple truth: what matters isn’t the events of the story, but how those events affect the characters and, by extension, the audience. If a story is about a girl and her puppy, then that puppy becomes the most important thing in the universe. What happens to the puppy—and how the girl reacts—matters more than any broader event. There may be a revolution, a war, a natural disaster, or even an AI takeover or alien invasion. But to make the story compelling, the author must filter every event through the character’s emotional experience.

The hidden power of the plot grid is its ability to map this experience. Don’t just use it as a checklist for plot points. For every event, ask: how does this change the character?

Let’s look at Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone:

  • Plot Event: Harry receives a mysterious letter from Hogwarts.
  • Emotional Impact: Before this, Harry felt neglected and invisible. The letter’s arrival changes everything. More than a plot point, it’s the moment Harry first dares to hope that he might belong somewhere. That feeling becomes the emotional engine that pulls the reader into the story.

Stories are always about characters and their journeys. The distinction between “plot-driven” and “character-driven” stories is misleading. Characters react to the events of the plot, but their reactions, in turn, influence the plot’s direction.

To prove it, try a thought experiment. Take a supposedly plot-driven classic The Count of Monte Cristo, where Edmond Dantès escapes prison, finds a treasure, and seeks revenge. Now, replace him with Jean Valjean from Les Misérables. Would the plot unfold the same way? Of course not. Valjean would likely use the treasure to help the poor and seek justice, not vengeance.

So, both plot and characters are equally important in moving the story forward.

In Step 2, add a row called “Protagonist’s Emotional State” to your grid. Here, you’ll map how their feelings change in response to the plot. An emotional progression could look like:

Hope → Doubt → Despair → Resilience → Triumph

This ensures your story isn’t just a sequence of “what happens next,” but a meaningful journey of inner change.

Step Three: Create a Detailed Story Outline

Now that you have your big picture framework, you can zoom in. Add a column for every chapter of your book. Don’t worry if you don’t know the final chapter count; you can always adjust this later.

As you populate each cell, make sure every chapter is doing its job. Ask yourself:

  • What is the character feeling now?
  • What changes emotionally in this scene?
  • What belief about themselves or the world is being challenged?

If several chapters go by with your protagonist feeling the same way, the story can feel emotionally stagnant, even if dramatic things are happening on the surface. This “emotional flatness” is a main reason readers disengage.

To avoid this, weave your main themes into the plot and the character arc. The best storytellers integrate these so seamlessly that the reader feels the theme’s power without consciously recognizing it until a climactic moment of clarity. For example, in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, the theme of love and sacrifice permeates the entire story. Harry’s mother, Lily Potter, sacrifices herself to save him from Lord Voldemort. That act of love becomes the force that not only protects Harry but shapes his entire journey.

Book cover: Trust Your Story: Master Storytelling and Build a Successful Creative Writing Career by Will Raywood

I know that creating a detailed outline can feel daunting, but it can also be very fun and empowering. It’s a living document, a tool meant to help, not constrain you. Go back and tweak it whenever inspiration strikes.

Ready to take your writing career to the next level? If you want to create unforgettable characters and stories readers will cherish, check out this book: Trust Your Story. It’s a comprehensive guide covering everything from core storytelling techniques to devising a winning author strategy.

So, what are your thoughts? Have you tried Rowling’s plot grid or similar methods? I’m curious to hear what works for you. Leave a comment below!

The Sanderson System: 7 Steps to Writing a Blockbuster Novel

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I used to consider myself a slow writer. Whenever I heard about authors who finish their novels in less than a month, I was skeptical. Surely such a feat requires exceptional skill… and maybe a few sleepless nights. Not for me, thanks very much.

I’m no writing machine, I told myself. I need inspiration. I need time to mature my story outline, find my characters’ voices, and redraft the first chapter a dozen times for good measure.

Yet, as an experiment, I applied the writing method I’m about to present and… to my surprise, it worked. Instead of a full year, I drafted a novel in just a few weeks. And you know what? The book turned out quite well. It garnered good reviews and sold decently.

Any author can learn to write faster with the right techniques. In fact, drafting quickly can improve your story and your prose, for reasons I explain in my article about Stephen King’s routine. Give it a read.

But this post is about another author, a highly successful one: Brandon Sanderson. Whatever one might think of his books, we can’t deny their popular appeal. In 2023, he raised a record‑breaking $41.7 million on Kickstarter for four new novels. Some readers pledged hundreds of dollars for a single campaign.

George R. R. Martin divides writers into two camps: architects, who design an outline before drafting, and gardeners, who plant the seed of a story and discover its shape as it grows. Sanderson outlines extensively.

I’m (usually) an architect. I’ve found that the best way to get the kinds of endings I like, I have to know where I’m going before I start.

He needs to know the story’s conclusion before drafting. He admits, “I write for endings.” His outlines are engineered so every plotline converges toward a single climactic moment. He dislikes rewriting and wants his first draft to be as close to final as possible, in contrast to discovery writers like Martin or King, who revise heavily.

That said, Sanderson balances planning with improvisation through what he calls a “floating outline.” His “Points on the Map” philosophy gives him enough structure to avoid getting lost, yet enough freedom to invent along the way. I analyzed his method and broke his process into seven steps.

Step 1. Imagine major scenes

Once you have a story idea, visualize the big moments, like emotional climaxes, plot turns, major character revelations. Some writers start with themes; others begin with the mood and core emotions of their story‑in‑the‑making. Either way is fine. Use whatever method drives your imagination.

These major scenes become the “points” your story must reach. To ensure your story engages your audience, define the main conflict as early as possible. It can be external, like an existential threat or a major challenge for the protagonist, internal, or both.

Sanderson does his worldbuilding before drafting, and that’s a wise approach. Drafting and worldbuilding at the same time will slow you down. You don’t need a full compendium before writing, just enough information about the key elements, like the main conflict and character arcs. The world exists to support the narrative, so resist the temptation to invest too much time in aspects that won’t matter to the plot.

Step 2. Divide the book into broad parts

Book cover: The Natural Laws of Story: Master the Art and Science of Engaging Narratives by Will Raywood

Some writers prefer the three‑act structure; others lean toward its five‑act cousin, the Hero’s Journey, or different frameworks entirely. This technique works regardless of the number of acts. Think of your plot as a living organism and don’t force it into a rigid template just to follow convention. You might end up with three acts, four, or even six. Don’t worry about the number at the start, you can adjust later as your outline develops.

Regardless of structure, every story needs a few essential elements: setup, inciting incident, rising action, crisis, climax, and resolution. You can add optional beats like a midpoint, falling action, or denouement. But your first task is to visualize the overall shape of your story and identify its key turning points, the moments that define the emotional arc.

For more details on story structure and outlining methods, check out my guide The Natural Laws of Story. You’ll find plenty of examples from famous works and exercises to help you practice.

Step 3. Map out the scenes into an outline

The order of your scenes and where they fall in the novel matters. You want to create an addictive experience for your readers, where every setup leads to a buildup and resolves with a satisfying payoff. Your most dramatic scene should be the climax, usually toward the end of the story, in the final act.

Make sure all your scenes follow a logical progression. One proven method is to raise the stakes progressively. Each act ends with its own climax, a moment of heightened dramatic intensity that leads naturally into the next act, where the stakes escalate again.

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Step 4. Build bullet‑point lists for each story beat

These bullet points include:

  • Plot steps that must happen beforehand
  • Character progression beats
  • Foreshadowing or mystery‑setup beats

These points are reminders, not commandments. They exist to keep you oriented, not to constrain you. Your outline is a living structure meant to evolve as you develop it and draft your manuscript.

The early acts of your book will usually have more bullet points than the later ones. That’s normal. Even if you’re an architect, you should leave yourself and your characters room for discovery and exploration. As you draft, revisit your outline regularly and add new bullet points.

These new points help you map out subplots, secondary character arcs, and—importantly—build connections between all the elements of your story.

Step 5. Outline every chapter before drafting

This step is optional, but it will dramatically speed up your drafting. Truly. It’s the difference between writing a novel in three months and writing one in a single month. The secret? Granular outlining.

The fastest, most productive writers outline not only every act but every chapter. Each chapter is a mini‑story with its own setup, conflict, rising action, and climax. Outline each chapter with a few bullet points, just as you did for the acts in the previous steps. These points will act as road posts and guide you during drafting.

If you’d like to support my work and see more articles and videos like this, check out my books, for example the story about a disastrously misguided debut novelist.

Come for the comedy, stay for the cautionary tale!

Step 6. The ending grows more powerful during drafting

Everything you do should contribute to building dramatic tension that releases during the climax. Even if you had a strong ending in mind back in Step 1, you can always strengthen it while drafting.

Imagine the plot as an elastic band, the band representing the tension and suspense in your story. As the narrative progresses and conflicts intensify, the elastic stretches further. The audience becomes more invested, anticipating the release of that tension. The climax is the moment when the band reaches its limit and snaps back. This release provides a powerful emotional payoff as the tension built throughout the story resolves. The snap mirrors the falling action and resolution that follow, as the characters and narrative return to equilibrium.

Step 7. Revise the manuscript

Like many writers, I used to dread revisions. Now I enjoy them. This is where you turn a rough diamond into something that shines… or at least something you’re not embarrassed to share.

Every writer develops their own revision method. It’s a topic I discuss in other posts, so I’ll be brief here. If you’ve followed all the previous steps, you already have a functioning structure, so revisions focus more on pacing, style, and polish rather than fixing character arcs or rebuilding the plot from scratch.

If you’ve done your job well, you don’t need to “kill your darlings.” No grim task required. That famous advice applies mostly to discovery writers like Stephen King, or gardeners, as GRRM calls them.

But what do you do if you find plot holes? Well, that topic deserves its own article. Stay tuned, and don’t forget to subscribe to my newsletter so you never miss important updates.

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Does Your Book Idea Pass these 4 Tests?

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How do bestselling authors know when an idea has the muscle to carry a novel… or even an entire series? No writer wants to spend years drafting a book only to discover the premise isn’t compelling enough to stand out in today’s ruthless market. So how can you tell if your idea has legs?

Test 1: The Golden Triangle Test

In the publishing industry, editors look for one thing above all: a crisp, irresistible high‑concept premise that pitches itself. But how do you know if your idea qualifies?

Here’s an empirical approach: share your premise casually at a social gathering or on social media. Say something like, “A friend told me about a book with this cool idea, have you read it?” Then offer only the gist of your premise, a hook designed to intrigue.

Watch their reaction. Do their eyes light up? Or do they politely change the subject? A high‑concept idea should trigger an immediate emotional response, and there’s science behind that.

Research shows that gripping stories release a blend of neurochemicals known as the Angel’s Cocktail:

  • Dopamine from mystery and suspense
  • Oxytocin from emotional connection
  • Endorphins from humor and delight

To create an addictive reading experience, your story must activate all three. That means finding the mental sweet spot where three human superpowers meet: curiosity, empathy, and imagination. I call this the Golden Triangle of Storytelling, a concept I explore in my writing guides.

If I had to summarize it in one sentence: The mystery pulls you in; the characters and the world make you never want to leave.

  • You trigger curiosity by creating a mystery and managing information gaps, revealing key truths gradually, intentionally, at moments of heightened dramatic intensity.
  • You trigger empathy by making readers care about your characters, often by placing your protagonist in a challenging or seemingly impossible situation.
  • You trigger imagination by transporting readers into your fictional world, not with long descriptions, but with enticing glimpses of a larger reality beyond the page.

The Golden Triangle applies to your premise just as much as to your full novel. Ask yourself: does your idea spark curiosity, empathy, and imagination? If it triggers at least one, it may have potential. If it triggers two or all three? Congratulations, you may have the seed of a great story!

Examples:

  • Good Omens: An angel and a demon team up to stop the Apocalypse. Triggers curiosity and imagination.
  • The Martian: An astronaut is stranded alone on Mars and must survive until rescue arrives. Triggers curiosity and empathy.
  • Jurassic Park: Scientists resurrect dinosaurs and open a theme park. Triggers imagination and curiosity. What could possibly go wrong?
  • Coraline: A lonely girl discovers a secret door leading to a perfect copy of her home… but the magical world is a trap designed to steal children’s souls. This premise triggers all three: curiosity, empathy, and imagination.

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Test 2: Does the Idea Play to Your Strengths?

If your idea passes the first test, move on to the second: how confident are you that your execution will do justice to the premise? Are you passionate enough about this topic to write an entire novel about it? Do you have sufficient familiarity with the genre and subject matter?

Of course, you don’t need to be an expert to write about a topic. “Write what you know” is one of the most common, persistent, and—frankly—dangerous pieces of writing advice. It’s passion that sustains a novel, not formal education or professional experience. Research fills the gaps. In fact, many iconic works of fiction were written by authors with no background in their subject matter.

Mary Shelley had no scientific training when she wrote Frankenstein. Jules Verne wasn’t an engineer, yet he imagined submarines, spaceships, and technologies far ahead of his time. Agatha Christie had no experience in law enforcement or criminal psychology; her only relevant knowledge came from working as a volunteer nurse during World War I. She certainly didn’t know the intricacies of police procedure.

Tom Clancy sold insurance while writing The Hunt for Red October… And thank goodness he didn’t follow the “write what you know” rule. Hilary Mantel wasn’t a historian; she worked as a social worker and then a shop assistant before becoming one of the most celebrated historical novelists.

That said, you still need the motivation to research. Authenticity matters. Don’t rely blindly on AI or quick internet searches; you may need books by experts, primary sources, or even research trips. When I was researching my second novel, I read multiple guides and essays on the historical period, traveled to the locations in France and Italy where the story takes place, and spoke with local historians to get the details right.

“Write what you know” is useful only in one sense: write from the human experiences close to your heart. Tolkien never wrote a trench memoir, yet the trauma he carried from World War I permeates his work. He transmuted lived experience into myth. He wrote from emotional truth, not technical expertise in warfare.

In summary: write what you feel, research what you don’t know, and let your imagination do the rest.

Here’s a simple test. Write down your story idea, set it aside for a few days, then return to it. Does it still ignite your imagination? Are you emotionally invested in the subject matter? Can you envision at least three scenes in vivid detail?

In fact, if your idea is good, you won’t even need to write it down. It’ll stick with you, follow you around, pop into your thoughts, and haunt you until you either give in and write the book or stumble onto an even better idea.

If your premise passed the first two tests, don’t pop the champagne just yet… there are still two more to go.

Test 3: Is This the Right Story for Your Readers?

Knowing your audience is essential, I can’t overstate this. Will they care enough about your premise to invest hours in your book? Is the idea strong enough to sustain their interest through an entire novel, or is it better suited to a short story or novella?

One of the most important habits for any writer is simple: read widely. Read at least a dozen novels in your genre. Read outside your genre. Read classics. Read recent releases, especially the books your audience is talking about.

The more you read, the easier it becomes to come up with ideas and judge whether they are marketable to your readership.

Test 4: Can Your Idea Carry a Full Novel?

So how do you know if your idea can carry a full novel? Ask yourself whether the premise creates conflict and opens multiple pathways for escalation. Take Good Omens as an example: An angel and a demon team up to stop the Apocalypse.

Conflict:

  • Natural enemies forced to work together: tension guaranteed
  • They must hide their alliance from their superiors
  • They must confront cosmic forces determined to bring about the Apocalypse

Escalation Pathways:

  • Their friendship strains under pressure
  • The Antichrist grows more powerful
  • Heaven and Hell discover their betrayal
  • Human free will disrupts divine plans

These are just a few possibilities; the premise generates dozens more. That’s the trait of a story idea with long‑form durability.

If your idea passes all four tests, congratulations! You’re off to a strong start. The next step is to turn that raw potential into a solid story outline.

Check out my post on story outlining and plotting; the methods I share there can save you a lot of time and help you bring out the full power of your premise. So, do you have a favorite method for testing your story ideas? Share it in the comments. I’d love to hear about your experience.

If you’d like to support my work and see more articles and videos like this, check out my books. Learn more about the Golden Triangle of Storytelling and my 4Ps Method in my recently published guides Trust Your Story and the Natural Laws of Story.

Plot Is Overrated? Lee Child’s Claim and the 4Ps Storytelling Method Explained

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In a BBC interview, bestselling author Lee Child makes a shocking claim: plot is overrated. That goes against everything writers are taught: the three‑act structure, the five‑act structure, Save the Cat, every plotting formula out there. When I first heard it, I felt liberated. I’ve been saying this for years: you don’t need to reinvent the wheel. You can tell an original, powerful story using a conventional plot. But if the plot doesn’t matter, what does?

In this video, I unpack what Lee Child means and introduce you to the 4P Method, a fast, simple, and highly effective way to outline stories that grip your readers.

Lee Child’s Claim: Plot Is Overrated

So, what exactly is Child arguing? His point is: there are only a handful of plot structures that work, and you can’t invent a new one. As an example, he notes that the ancient myth of Theseus and the Minotaur provides the template for countless modern thrillers and spy stories, including Ian Fleming’s Dr. No. Child compares plot to a rental car, something you borrow for your story. It doesn’t need to be fancy; it just needs to get you where you want to go.

But here’s the problem… plot is important. Research in psychology and neuroscience confirms what storytellers have known since Aristotle. Narrative structure (the shape of the story) is essential for reader engagement. It pulls readers into the characters’ world and makes them care about what happens next.

Before we go further, let’s clarify what “plot” means, because story and plot are not the same thing. Russian Formalists introduced the distinction between story (fabula) and discourse (syuzhet), terms later developed by narratologists. The fabula is the chronological sequence of events as they supposedly happened. The discourse (what we call the plot) is how the narrator presents those events.

A great example is the pilot episode of Breaking Bad, which hooks the viewer by opening with the climax. We see a middle‑aged man in a bullet‑riddled RV, panicked and pantless, speeding down a desert road. We’re instantly asking: How did he end up here? Only then does the plot rewind to Walter White’s ordinary life as a schoolteacher.

If the story goes A → B → C, the plot might go B → A → C.

Would you say the plot is unimportant? Aristotle certainly didn’t. In Poetics, he considered plot the most important element of a story.

So yes, plot is crucial. But here’s the catch: you shouldn’t start your planning with the plot. First, you need to understand what your story is — its emotional core, its central truth — and only then decide how to tell it.

Want to master the art of emotional storytelling? Subscribe to my free newsletter for exclusive insights into the art and science of narrative. You’ll get a fascinating e-book as a welcome gift!

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I’ve analyzed hundreds of successful books and developed a simple, fast, and highly effective method for outlining a novel. It begins with four essential questions: Where? Why? Who? How? I call it the 4Ps Storytelling Method: Place, Purpose, Protagonist, and Plot.

Place: Establishing the Story’s World

In Stage 1, choose the type of story you want to tell and the world in which it unfolds. This is the protagonist’s familiar environment, the baseline from which everything begins. “Place” goes beyond geography, as it defines the cultural framework of the story and sets the audience’s expectations.

A contemporary novel implies a present‑day setting. A heroic fantasy suggests an invented realm with its own gods, customs, and magic systems.

Breaking Bad is set in Albuquerque, New Mexico, a perfect backdrop for a story centered on large‑scale drug trafficking. The setting isn’t decorative; it shapes the story’s logic.

Purpose: Defining the Emotional Core

In Stage 2, outline the main theme, idea, or emotional core of your story. This is the second P: Purpose, the red thread that binds every element into a cohesive whole.

Creative brilliance is hard to define, but we recognize it instantly. It doesn’t come from rigid rule‑following; it comes from clarity of vision. In exceptional works, every component serves a deliberate purpose, and the whole becomes greater than the sum of its parts.

Ask yourself:

  • Why are you writing this story?
  • Why does it matter to you?
  • Why will it matter to your audience?
  • What emotions, ideas, or personal experiences do you want to express?

Don’t skip this step. A clear artistic vision will guide your plot decisions and help you shape meaningful character arcs.

Protagonist: Choosing the Right Character

In Stage 3, define your main character: their motivations, desires, and the obstacles standing in their way. This is the third P: Protagonist. You need the right protagonist for your story, someone who embodies the themes and conflicts you want to explore.

The story arc in Breaking Bad shares striking similarities with Crime and Punishment. Both Walter White and Rodion Raskolnikov are intelligent men wrestling with darker impulses. Both commit crimes out of desperation. Walter cooks meth to secure his family’s future after a cancer diagnosis. Raskolnikov murders a pawnbroker to escape poverty and test his belief that extraordinary individuals can transcend moral law.

Both see themselves as superior, entitled to break boundaries. And in both stories, we witness their descent as they become trapped in the consequences of their choices.

Jack Reacher is another compelling example, the character who propelled Lee Child to global success. A former major in the U.S. Army Military Police, Reacher is now a drifter, a modern knight‑errant roaming America. He’s mythic yet grounded, always an outsider, always guided by a strict moral code. He perfectly embodies Child’s recurring themes, especially the “one man vs. the system” dynamic.

Plot: Designing the Story’s Architecture

Now we reach the final P. In Stage 4, outline the fabula (the chronological story) and the plot (the order in which events are revealed). You don’t need a detailed outline yet, just a blueprint. You can reuse an existing plot formula, but only if it serves your story.

Lee Child often reuses the same structure because it aligns with his intentions. Jack Reacher arrives in a corrupt town, uncovers a conspiracy involving a vulnerable victim and a powerful antagonist, investigates, exposes the truth, and dismantles the corrupt system. Reacher’s drifter lifestyle makes this endlessly repeatable.

Book cover: The Natural Laws of Story: Master the Art and Science of Engaging Narratives by Will Raywood

But what works for Child won’t necessarily work for you. Contrary to popular belief, there is no perfect plot structure. Your plot must serve the needs of your narrative and work in synergy with all other story elements.

Think of your plot as a living organism. Don’t force it into a rigid template just to follow convention. You might end up with three acts, four, or even six. Don’t worry about the number at the start, you can adjust later as your outline develops.

Regardless of structure, every story needs a few essential elements: setup, inciting incident, rising action, crisis, climax, and resolution. You can add optional beats like a midpoint, falling action, or denouement. But your first task is to visualize the overall shape of your story and identify its key turning points, the moments that define the emotional arc.

You can find the full breakdown of the 4Ps Method in my guide The Natural Laws of Story. It also includes a Story Arc Development Worksheet to help you apply the method to your stories. Check it out!

Conclusion: What Really Matters in a Great Story

In the end, what matters is the synergy between all the elements of your story. Choose the plot that best serves your intent, your emotional core, and your artistic vision. And do yourself and your readers a favor: don’t obsess over plot formulas. Use structure as a tool, not a cage. Let your story breathe, and let your choices be guided by meaning, not by templates.

So, what’s your take? Do you agree with Lee Child that plot is overrated, or do you believe originality in plot still matters? Share your thoughts in the comments.

The Hidden Methods Behind Bestselling Book Ideas

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Not all story ideas are created equal. Some set our imagination on fire, while others leave us cold. So how do bestselling authors come up with the kind of high‑concept premises that make their books irresistible?

I’ve analyzed over a hundred bestselling novels and asked one question: is there a hidden method behind those wild, mind‑bending ideas that seem to pitch themselves? 

The surprising part is that any writer can learn to generate powerful, high‑concept ideas. And in this article, I’ll show you how.

Here’s the paradox: many famous writers can’t even explain where their ideas come from. Neil Gaiman said that ideas arrive through daydreaming. Is this all down to that mysterious quality we call talent? Well, I don’t believe in such things. For me, talent is simply a combination of passion and skill.

Even though many authors don’t consciously know how they come up with ideas, when you analyze enough bestselling novels, clear patterns emerge. So we’re going to reverse‑engineer the unconscious process of ideation into several methods you can use.

Method 1: Combine familiar ideas in an original way

First, let’s set expectations. You’re very unlikely to invent a completely new idea… and the good news is, you don’t need to. In a brilliant bit of meta‑commentary, Terry Pratchett once wrote about one of his books:

This book was written using 100% recycled words.

In the same way, most books are written using 100% recycled ideas. In fact, finding a story premise is easy. Given my background in science, I love Lee Child’s metaphor: like chemists combine atoms to form molecules, you can combine ideas to create a gripping premise.

Take Gaiman’s Coraline. He combined familiar tropes: a child longing for ideal parents, a secret door to a mirror world, and a domestic space turned uncanny. The resulting “story molecule” is:

A lonely girl enters an uncanny world where her dream parents hide a monstrous secret.

None of the ingredients are new, but the combination is.

Exercise: Make a list of topics close to your heart and see if you can combine two or three of them in an intriguing way. Write down your candidate ideas; you can stress‑test them using a method I present in this article: Does Your Book Idea Pass these 4 Tests?

Ever wondered how some bestselling authors write a full novel in less than a month? Yes, just one month, from the first spark of an idea to a publishable manuscript. It’s not talent or luck.

Subscribe for my newsletter to learn the exact techniques and receive a free e-book as a welcome gift!

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Method 2: Subvert genre tropes

A cliché is simply a trope we’ve seen so often it becomes predictable. Your goal is to flip it upside‑down.

Take the Apocalypse. We’ve read and watched it countless times: the ultimate force of evil unleashes destruction on humankind. Yet Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett gave it a shockingly unexpected angle: an angel and a demon team up to stop the end of the world. Instead of cosmic enemies, they become reluctant coworkers, then allies.

Exercise: List familiar, overused tropes in your genre and see if you can invert them. For example: monster hunting in a fantasy world. Flip it by imagining dragons as an endangered species. Your hero is an ex‑dragon hunter who now fights to protect them. That’s a story I wouldn’t mind reading!

Method 3: Use the What‑If Engine

Stephen King argues that you don’t need a fully formed story idea to start writing; you just need a situation. Here’s how to use this method: imagine a strange or highly unusual scenario and ask, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Then develop a chain of consequences, each more dramatic than the last.

In Jurassic Park, the initial question is: What if scientists bring dinosaurs back to life? Consequence: a corporation exploits the technology and builds a theme park. Worst‑case scenario: the dinosaurs escape and wreak havoc.

The Martian is another example: What if an astronaut finds himself marooned on Mars? The initial incident triggers a cascade of complications, each raising the stakes.

The What‑If Engine works beautifully in speculative fiction, but you can apply it to any genre:

  • Gone Girl: What if your missing wife wasn’t a victim but the architect of the crime?
  • The Fault in Our Stars: What if two terminally ill teens fell in love?
  • The Rosie Project: What if a socially rigid scientist tried to find love using a questionnaire?

If you’d like to support my work and see more articles and videos like this, check out my books, for example the story about a disastrously misguided debut novelist.

Come for the comedy, stay for the cautionary tale!

Method 4: Constraint‑driven premises

Okay, now we’re entering experimental, slightly geeky territory. If you’re scientifically inclined, like yours truly, you’ll enjoy this.

Writers often feel they don’t invent ideas so much as discover them, as if stories already exist somewhere, waiting to be found. Even J.K. Rowling has expressed this belief, which may seem surprising since she’s a plotter, not a discovery writer.

When writers say ideas “just appear,” they’re describing the output of brain systems that operate beneath conscious thought. This is implicit cognition, mental processes running automatically, outside awareness.

Implicit cognition excels at solving problems under constraints. Give the brain a limitation, and it starts generating creative solutions.

Method: Impose a strict constraint on the story world or the protagonist.

Examples:

  • A vigilante who refuses to kill (Batman)
  • A lawyer who loses the ability to lie (Liar Liar)
  • A detective crippled by phobias and obsessive‑compulsive disorder (Monk)

Constraints force the author to invent original solutions, which naturally produces high‑concept stories. They generate tension and conflict—both external and internal—creating strong dramatic momentum.

This method also works beautifully when applied to the setting, a technique often used in cozy mysteries. Five people are trapped in an isolated manor; one is murdered; no one can leave until the culprit is unmasked. But you can use setting constraints to spark original ideas in any genre.

Examples:

  • No Exit (Jean‑Paul Sartre): A single room in the afterlife. Three souls locked together for eternity. This play inspired The Good Place.
  • 12 Angry Men: Twelve jurors confined to one room, forced to deliberate a murder case. The room becomes a microcosm of American society.
  • Life of Pi: A teenage boy stranded on a lifeboat with a tiger.
  • Lord of the Flies: A deserted island with no adults; isolation forces the boys to create their own social order.

A severe constraint imposed by social structure can also generate endless high‑concept possibilities. China Miéville’s The City & the City is one of his major “big idea” stories, adapted for the screen by the BBC. It merges murder mystery with dystopia to depict a chilling scenario: two city‑states—Besźel and Ul Qoma—occupying the same physical space. There are no walls. Instead, citizens are conditioned to unsee the other city entirely. A secret police force called the Breach enforces this mental separation with ruthless precision.

So what happens when a resident of one city commits murder in the other? The protagonist, a detective, must cross the invisible barrier between the two worlds to solve the case.

Method 5: Contradiction‑driven premises

Implicit cognition is also excellent at detecting contradictions, things that “don’t match.” These contradictions create cognitive dissonance, the mental discomfort we feel when we hold conflicting beliefs, values, or identities. It’s like holding two magnets with opposing poles close together: they repel each other, creating tension. Because this tension is unpleasant, we instinctively try to resolve it.

Method: Force a character into a situation that creates cognitive dissonance, especially when their core values or beliefs are challenged.

Ebenezer Scrooge in Dickens’s A Christmas Carol is a classic example. On the surface, he wants to accumulate wealth and live in solitude. Yet deep down, he craves human connection, a need buried in his unconscious. The events of the story force him to confront this contradiction, and that confrontation forms the narrative’s emotional core.

A recent bestselling example is The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides. A famous painter murders her husband and then refuses to speak; a psychotherapist becomes obsessed with making her talk. The engine of the story is cognitive dissonance: a woman who should be expressive (an artist) goes silent. The therapist’s identity (“I understand people”) clashes with her refusal to communicate.

Contradiction‑driven premises also shine when the protagonist leads a double life, their hidden identity at odds with their social persona. Classic examples include:

  • Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: a respectable doctor hides a monstrous alter ego.
  • The Picture of Dorian Gray: a man who worships beauty becomes morally corrupt while his portrait bears the consequences.

Implicit cognition constantly categorizes people by roles: hero, victim, mentor, villain. Flipping one of these roles creates instant narrative tension. Give a character a role they “shouldn’t” have, like:

  • Dexter Morgan, a forensic technician who moonlights as a vigilante serial killer.
  • Walter White, a high‑school chemistry teacher who becomes a drug kingpin.

As you can see from these examples, you now have several reliable methods for creating a high‑concept premise for your book. But the most important part is ensuring your execution does justice to the premise. For that, you need a powerful story arc, and designing one is the topic of my next blog post.

So, do you have a method for finding story ideas? I’d love to hear about your experience. Share your thoughts in the comments.

Forget AI: Stephen King’s routine is what you need to write a novel fast

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It took me three years to write my first novel, and it wasn’t even good. Then I tried Stephen King’s famously productive routine, and it changed everything. King has written more than 60 novels and novellas, plus over 200 short stories. While most published authors write one book a year, he writes a full novel in about three months.

What’s his secret? I followed the advice he outlines in On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, and what I discovered may surprise you. Here’s my four-step plan to finish a novel in under three months.

Step One: Start With a Strong Premise

First, you need an idea for your book. The good news is that you don’t need a fully formed story to start writing. King begins with a situation. He asks, “What if?” What if a high school girl had telekinetic powers? (Carrie). What if a writer were held captive by his “number one fan”? (Misery).

When it comes to the writing process, there are two broad types of writers: plotters and discovery writers, also known as pantsers. Plotters develop a detailed plan before drafting. They know their characters’ backstories, goals, and secrets, and they understand how the story will unfold and resolve.

King belongs to the discovery writers. He doesn’t plan his stories in detail. Instead, he trusts his instincts and improvises as events unfold, following the story wherever it leads. He writes,

Plot is […] the good writer’s last resort and the dullard’s first choice.

Many debut writers feel stuck because they believe they need a groundbreaking idea, an original theme, and a detailed outline before they can even begin. King argues the opposite. Clarity comes during the writing process, not before it. For him, writing isn’t the reward for having a good idea; it’s the method by which good ideas are discovered.

Even if you’re a plotter, you can still use King’s routine. In fact, plotters can often write novels even faster than three months. I’ve done it myself, no AI needed, but that’s a topic for another video.

Step Two: Learn to Write Well… and Fast

Once you have a story idea, the next stage is the most important one: write the first draft without interruption.

King writes six pages every day, roughly 2000 words. That may sound like a lot, but it’s entirely doable, even with a full-time job and a busy family life. You need two things: the ability to write fast and a routine you can sustain for several weeks.

Some writers believe that writing fast means sacrificing quality. In fiction, the opposite is often true. Writing quickly can produce prose that feels more spontaneous and alive. Many famous works were written in bursts of creative energy. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in just a few days. Ray Bradbury wrote Fahrenheit 451 in nine days. Stephen King himself drafted The Running Man in a single week.

The surprising part is that anyone can learn to write faster. When I started, I struggled to write 200 words an hour. With practice, that number steadily increased. Many writers produce 500 to 1000 words an hour, and with certain techniques, even more. If you can write 1000 words an hour, you only need a couple of hours a day to hit that six-page goal.

One powerful technique is freewriting, which has been around for almost a century and used by many great writers. Try this: choose a topic you care about and write as fast as you can for two minutes without stopping. Don’t worry about grammar or sentence structure. Don’t analyze. Just keep writing whatever comes to mind.

You may be surprised to discover that your true feelings about the topic differ from what you thought. Freewriting bypasses the conscious mind and reveals deeper truths beneath the surface. This is a key part of discovery writing.

Writing fast can feel incredibly liberating. Don’t worry if the results are rough or even nonsensical. You’ll revise them later, in step four. During drafting, your only goal is to give voice to your characters and explore their deepest fears, desires, and anxieties.

Step Three: Build a Daily Writing Routine

The next step is to create a routine that allows you to write every day without interruptions. King writes in a kind of self-hypnosis, what psychologists call a flow state, where the outside world fades away and you’re fully immersed in the work.

To reach that state, you need a dedicated workspace where you won’t be disturbed. Turn everything off: your phone, email notifications, TV, everything. Clear your desk of distractions, keeping only some water or your favorite drink. King writes with the door closed to shut out the world.

Once you start, don’t stop unless there’s an emergency. If you get stuck on a scene, leave a placeholder and keep writing.

Sound matters, too. King often listens to music while writing or revising. Whether you write with music or in silence is up to you, but if you do use music, make sure it matches the mood of your story. King prefers energetic rock and metal, which suit his style and pace.

The time of day also matters. Set a non-negotiable writing slot. King writes from 8 a.m. to noon, but other authors choose times that fit their lives. Toni Morrison woke at 4 a.m. to write while raising two children. I’ve known writers who worked from 5 to 7 every morning without fail. Night owls may prefer late evenings; writers like Marcel Proust and Franz Kafka worked through the night.

In short, a full-time job, family responsibilities, and a social life are not insurmountable obstacles for motivated writers. If you write at least 1000 words a day, finishing the first draft in three months is entirely realistic.

Ever wondered how some bestselling authors write a full novel in less than a month? Yes, just one month, from the first spark of an idea to a publishable manuscript. It’s not talent or luck.

Subscribe for my newsletter to learn the exact techniques and receive a free e-book as a welcome gift.

Step Four: Revise Your Manuscript

Congratulations! You’ve written the final sentence of the last chapter. But the journey isn’t over yet. King recommends taking a six-week break before revising, though for some writers a week or two is enough. Distance helps you return to the manuscript with fresh eyes.

Like many writers, I used to dread revisions. Now I enjoy them. This is where you turn a rough diamond into something that shines… or at least something you’re not embarrassed to share.

When revising, ask yourself what the story is really about. What’s the core emotion beneath the surface? In Carrie, it’s humiliation and rage born from bullying. In Misery, it’s the fear of losing creative freedom. In It, it’s the childhood trauma we carry into adulthood.

Do you see a theme or a common thread emerging? Does your manuscript truly serve it? Cut anything that distracts from the story, including unnecessary characters, long exposition, and even entire subplots. This is where King’s advice “kill your darlings” comes in. For him, the final manuscript is the first draft minus ten percent.

He recommends multiple self-editing passes, each focused on a specific aspect such as structure, character, or style. First drafts are supposed to be messy. Rewrite awkward sentences. Keep descriptions tight. As King puts it,

Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.

Here’s a passage from Doctor Sleep:

Danny left the little room next to his mother’s and crossed the hall. The wind gusted and a dying palm tree beside the building clattered its leaves. The sound was skeletal.

Notice how he uses precise but minimal details. Words like “dying” and “skeletal” deliver emotional impact and set the mood. King is skeptical of adverbs, saying that “the road to hell is paved with adverbs.” He wouldn’t write “the wind gusted sharply,” because “sharply” adds nothing. He wouldn’t write “the boy walked quickly,” but instead chose verbs like hurried, trotted, or darted—more concrete and visual choices.

He also favors active voice. “John gave a rose to Jane” feels more natural than “Jane was given a rose by John,” because we first see the action, then its recipient.

These aren’t rigid rules. Adverbs and passive voice can be effective when used deliberately. Whatever makes your writing more concise and vivid also makes it more engaging.

Book cover: The Natural Laws of Story: Master the Art and Science of Engaging Narratives by Will Raywood

My Own Method for Building Strong Story Arcs: The 4Ps Method

If you follow King’s advice closely, you’ll draft your novel in under three months, take a six-week break, and spend another six weeks revising. I managed to complete my manuscript from start to finish in less than three months.

I’m neither a strict plotter nor a pure discovery writer; I developed my own method for building a strong story arc, which I explain in detail in a recently published writing guide: The Natural Laws of Story. Check it out!

Have you tried Stephen King’s routine? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment below!

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