The Secret to Writing a Stronger Story Is More Truth

What if the secret to writing stronger fiction is not simply adding more plot, more action, or more dramatic twists? What if the real secret is allowing more truth onto your page?

I recently had the opportunity to join author Shiloh Creed on The Author’s Mind for a wonderful conversation about writing, emotional depth, transformational stories, and the courage it takes to share your work with the world. Although much of our discussion focused on fiction, the principles apply to nearly every kind of meaningful storytelling. Whether you are writing a novel, memoir, leadership book, family history, or personal essay, your readers are looking for something deeper than carefully arranged words. They are looking for a story that feels honest and gives them a reason to care.

You Are Already Inside Your Story

Fiction writers often believe they are creating entirely imaginary worlds and characters, yet even in the most fantastical stories, authors tend to place pieces of themselves on the page. It’s natural. Your fears may become your character’s conflict. Your unanswered questions may become the mystery at the heart of the story, and your deepest hopes may become the transformation your hero or heroine is fighting to reach.

You may not realize you are doing it, but some part of you is almost always present. This is one reason I ask writers so many questions about the message beneath their stories. What do you want readers to understand when they reach the final page? What is truly at stake? What must the character confront, release, learn, or become?

A story does not have to end with a perfect happily ever after, tied up in a bow… especially because life rarely works that way. However, readers want to witness a meaningful rise. They want to see a character real or imagined, face a seemingly impossible situation and discover the courage, wisdom, community, or truth needed to move forward. That is when a story becomes more than entertainment and gains the ability to educate, entertain, inspire, and transform.

Do Not Protect Your Characters from the Truth

Many writers hesitate to make conflict too painful. Because we often write parts of ourselves into our characters, raising the emotional stakes can suddenly feel too deeply personal. We may soften the conflict, rescue the character too soon, or focus entirely on an external battle while avoiding the more vulnerable struggle taking place within.

Powerful stories require both outer and inner stakes… and outer and inner battles. Your character may be escaping a dangerous enemy, solving a crime, saving a kingdom, or fighting to preserve a relationship. Those circumstances matter, but the reader also needs to understand what the experience means inside the character. What do they fear losing? What belief about themselves is being challenged? What shame, grief, insecurity, or old wound has the situation exposed?

The more honestly you explore the inner battle, the more deeply your readers can connect with the outer one. Every memorable hero has flaws, and every believable villain has some degree of humanity. Strong characters are not perfect representations of good or evil. They are layered, complicated, contradictory, and recognizable. Even if you are writing about an alien race or a world that has never existed, readers still need to feel the emotional truth of the beings who inhabit it.

Let the Dark Night Be Dark

One of the most important moments in a transformational story is often called the dark night of the soul. This is the point where the character feels there is no way forward. Their old identity, belief system, relationship, or way of living can no longer continue, yet they cannot see what comes next. Life feels completely unfathomable.

Writers sometimes rush through this moment because it is uncomfortable. They want to reassure the reader quickly or move toward the triumphant ending, but the depth of the fall helps determine the power of the rise. If you want the character’s transformation to feel believable, your reader must understand why this moment is uniquely devastating.

The groundwork should be planted throughout the story, with the stakes clear and high, so that when the darkness arrives, the reader immediately understands that this is the worst thing that could happen to this particular person. You should not have to stop and explain why the moment matters. The reader should already know because earlier experiences, reactions, choices, memories, and moments of reflection have revealed what the character fears most.

When the dark night comes, the reader should feel trapped in the cave beside the character, when the character is facing the dragon… and realizes that they are the dragon.  

Now comes a very important point. The eventual rise does not require a suddenly perfect life. It requires an honest shift. The character may still be frightened, fallible, or uncertain, but they have gained something they did not have before. They see differently, choose differently, and recover more quickly when the next challenge arrives. That is what makes the transformation feel real.

For Today’s Reader: Openings That Invite & Hooks that Compel

There was once a time when readers might give a book three chapters before deciding whether to continue. Today, you often have only one page—sometimes only the first paragraph! Readers are surrounded by distractions, messages, videos, responsibilities, and endless streams of information, so your opening needs to create immediate curiosity, tension, emotion, or connection.

That does not mean every book must begin with an explosion or a body on the floor. Different genres create different kinds of magic. A suspense novel may begin with danger, while a literary novel may begin with a striking observation. A romance may begin with longing, conflict, or an unexpected encounter. The method can vary, but something needs to invite the reader forward.

Pay attention to the first and last sentences of your paragraphs because they often act as small hooks, pulling the reader from one thought or moment into the next. White space also matters. A page filled with dense blocks of text can feel intimidating before the reader has absorbed a single word, while some shorter, varied paragraphs, rich language and intentional pacing can make the page feel more welcoming. This create emphasis where it matters most… and an enjoyable read.

There is no single correct way to write a book, but there are techniques that work and some that do not. One of the best ways to understand the difference is to read widely and study what keeps you turning pages.

Become a Voracious Reader

Writers often ask how they can improve their craft, and one of the most important answers is wonderfully simple: read. Read deeply within the genre you want to write. Notice what captures you and pay attention to pacing, emotional movement, character development, dialogue, plot and structure.

Ask yourself when your attention begins to wander and the times you feel unable to put the book down. Notice where you wish the author had given you more time to process an important moment or where the story moved so quickly that the emotional impact was lost.

Reading helps you internalize the natural rhythm of effective story. Many writers discover that they have instinctively used important storytelling patterns long before learning their formal names. That happened to me when I first studied Joseph Campbell’s monomyth and the Hero’s Journey. I realized I had already been weaving many of those patterns into my work. Learning the framework did not replace intuition; it gave me language and tools that helped me work more intentionally and efficiently.

Never stop learning, but do not feel that you must dissect every creative impulse until the joy disappears. The more you understand your craft, the more confidently you can make choices on the page while still allowing creativity and discovery to remain part of the process.

Know Exactly Who You Are Writing For

Many new authors say their book is for everyone. I understand why. You have poured so much of yourself into your work that you naturally want as many people as possible to read it. However, when you try to write for everyone, you often struggle to connect deeply with anyone.

Ask yourself who the reader is for this particular book. What do they love? What are they struggling with? What do they hope to feel or experience? What kind of pacing, language, characters, or emotional journey will speak directly to them?

Knowing your reader allows you to create an intimate conversation through your book. It does not limit the reach of your story; it gives the story a clear place to begin. When a core group of readers feels genuinely seen and moved by your work, they are often the ones who help carry it outward.

Find Feedback That Helps You Grow

Writing can be an isolating experience, and receiving feedback, especially on your first book, can feel unnerving and painfully personal. Helpful feedback should challenge you. It may feel a little uncomfortable because growth often does, but it should not crush your creativity or convince you that you have nothing worthwhile to say.

Look for editors, mentors, and writing communities that understand your work and respect your voice. You need honest feedback, but you also need safe places to develop your craft. The right people will recognize what is already working, identify what could become stronger, and help you move toward the best version of your story without tearing you down.

A poor experience with one editor or writing group does not mean you should abandon your book. It may simply mean you have not found the right people yet. Keep looking for those who can offer both truth and encouragement, because writers need room to grow without losing the joy that drew them to writing in the first place.

Care for the Writer, Not Only the Writing

Sometimes the best thing you can do for your manuscript is step away from the computer. Go outside and notice the air, the sounds, the blossoms, and the changing light. Move your body, eat food that nourishes your mind to remain clear and energized, and spend time with people who restore you. You can even give yourself permission to enjoy some dark chocolate now and then.

Creativity is not separate from the rest of your life. Your mind, body, emotions, relationships, and environment all influence the words you place on the page. You do not need to earn rest by exhausting yourself first.

A sustainable writing life is not built only on discipline. It is also built on nourishment, curiosity, community, and joy. When you care for yourself as a whole person, you often return to the page with greater clarity and a renewed ability to connect with your story.

Do Not Let Fear Keep Your Story Inside You

Many people dream of writing a book, but far fewer finish one. Sometimes the difference is not talent, intelligence, or even opportunity. It is the willingness to take the next courageous step.

A publisher may ask for a query, yet the writer never sends it. An editor may invite a submission, but fear convinces the writer to wait. A manuscript may be almost complete, yet perfectionism keeps it hidden for another year.

Momentum creates momentum. The path may not unfold exactly as you imagined, and you may revise more than expected, change directions, learn new skills, or discover that your story is becoming something different and more meaningful than your original plan. The important thing is to continue moving.

Your story does not have to be perfect before it can matter. It needs your honesty, your willingness, and your commitment to keep going. Spend time with your art, learn your craft, and find people who will support your growth. Write with emotional courage, and then take the chance of allowing someone else to read what you have created.

This I know: there is someone who may need the truth that only you can tell.