Also, Might I Recommend This Song Playing In The Background Of The Prequels, Starting The Moment Vulcan

Also, might I recommend this song playing in the background of the prequels, starting the moment Vulcan arrives on scene, acting like a real sleaze, with a musical motif of his own conveying here comes trouble:

I could imagine Rhian opening a slick, black, cab door and ushering Vulcan in with an effusive, showbiz persona, and with the build-up, the climb in the music, all of the changes he makes while Rafal is gone would occur in sequence, like in a montage.

At around [1:02], Vulcan would start challenging Rhian, the host, and things would go swiftly downhill, becoming rotten. Ball guests would riot. The so-called "party" reaches new heights and a chandelier falls, creating a crater in the middle of the dance floor.

At [2:12] Rafal reappears with a shotgun (apparently he strayed from home, having gone MIA after WWI), chases everyone out, and starts to clean up the party. If he gets a broom, he twirls it in the end like a baton before making an exit.

hear me out for a sec guys

"rafal" as gatsby

sophie as daisy

agatha as nick

tedros(?) as tom (he doesn't really fit the role so i guess he's kind of a placeholder??)

i am in NO WAY a literature nerd so humble me about these takes if need be lol

Hey, how would Rafal react to Rhian hugging him or Rhian react to Rafal hugging him since Rafal doesn't show emotions or be affectionate?

If Rhian actually managed to hug Rafal quickly enough, blindsiding him, assuming it was a surprise or if it were done from behind, so as to not give Rafal the opportunity to shove him away, I think Rafal would probably stiffen on instinct and (possibly) tolerate the contact while standing upright and dead still, assuming he clocked that it was indeed Rhian and not someone else. If he managed to override the instinct, he might be able to find it in himself to relax, but that seems a little unlikely to me, given that he abhors overly cutesy, touchy-feely things.

I think only something drastic could cause Rafal to initiate a hug with Rhian. Even then, I'm not sure it would ever happen. If it did, I'm sure it would shock Rhian to his core, but that he would relax and reciprocate it. (Evil Fall Rhian, however, wouldn't take it in stride and could be more reactive.)

Oh, and it occurred to me that I did write the first scenario in a fic:

the wrong stars are out tonight

Idk why, but you give off eldest daughter vibes

Interesting. I'm not sure if I'm interpreting this right—is this a reference to birth order psychology? I find this a bit funny because while I technically am the eldest daughter, I'm also an only child and therefore, was almost always the youngest person among my adult relatives. Literally, nearly all of the relatives I most frequently interact with to this day are over sixty.

Hi, I just read a couple of your fics, I love your writing! How do you build suspense or add details into your stories? Do you have any sort of writing tips? Thanks!

Wow, thank you so much! I'll describe some of my thought process behind those elements and a few others below if that helps.

And if anyone wants WIP news, there's some buried in here.

⸻

First, I almost never execute an idea right away since I either don't have the time to, or want to let it incubate for a while. Most of my ideas stay in outline form for months before I execute them, and I add and add certain details over time.

The one exception to this inclination so far has been "In Unrecognition of Rhian..." that I wrote in almost one sitting. In my experience, the pre-thinking, outlining, and Draft Zero (not One—I can explain if you'd like) can sometimes be longer than any of what I consider the "real" writing.

A tip: Carry your phone or a notebook with you everywhere. Sometimes, you have to record something immediately to preserve the wording exactly as you had it then because you can't always reconstruct it from memory.

⸻

If you want to know about the inclusion of details, a lot of the time, I try to make every detail count, so it moves something forward. In fact, one of my greatest wishes in the act of writing is for everything I (consciously) put into the text to have a reason to be there. Though, I imagine not everyone wants that. I'm sure some writers handle randomness and serendipity better than I, so do what you see fit.

Nevertheless, front-loading decisions is usually a method that works out well for me, to pick things apart and question them before I write and well before I think about whether I like the phrasing.

Be outrageously mean and discerning about certain things, like you're a set designer. That way, you'll be forced into thinking about decisions more deliberately and sooner, leaving less work for yourself in the end. If you were working with physical objects, you would probably have less leeway in changing your mind anyway. You might have a deadline or demand to get the furniture arranged so to speak. You can't just change the color of an item you've already bought and may be unable to return. There's only so much manpower you can invest in dying that sofa a new color, and so on. However, this is where you, as a writer, can upstage the hypothetical set designer. If you can't decide or don't want to commit to a decision yet due to gaps in the information/plot, leave yourself a placeholder like this: [COLOR of MATERIAL(?) fabric], [SYNONYM], [FIND BETTER VERB] or [JET STONE or SPINEL - DECIDE ON ONE LATER] and return to fill it in whenever you're ready. You have the ability to change things at any time, unlike the set designer of a film.

Essentially, interrogate the element you chose, to see if it could do more and better. For instance, if the default thing you chose more thoughtlessly at the start was something like a blue sky, ask yourself: Could a different sky or time of day serve the story better? Could it do more than what it's already doing? Or, if you want to keep the blue sky, what precisely do you want it to accomplish?

It can be incredibly fun to be as arrogant as you want about this, by the way. And, this is no lie—you can think of yourself as someone high-up, marshaling and deploying troops to enact your bidding, which is ultimately, telling a striking story with some substance to it.

Anyway, interrogation of some kind sometimes helps me, but that's only because, again, I happen to be a very outline-oriented, front-loading, do-the-heavy-lifting-on-the-front-end-of-things type of writer. I usually start with word vomit or a bare-bones script of a near-complete draft before I do the "real" writing, which is sometimes closer to re-ordering lines or putting thoughts into readable, complete, better sentences, and that is why the "outline" or Draft Zero of my longfic is likely longer than the fic itself will actually be, at something under 260 pages currently.

Possibly, one of the most extreme examples I have of front-loading is how I have one WIP fic I already have the exact start and end sentences pre-written for and (so far) have plans to write to those ends.

I'll share them to illustrate my point (though, unfortunately, there is a reason I can't yet disclose what exactly justifies them being the way they are):

First line:

There the bones lay, sun-bleached and white.

Last line:

Sun-bleached and white, there lay the bones.

Basically, all I'll divulge for now is that I'm trying to write a story that is cyclical in nature, which is why it needs a circular ending, to mirror back with. That is the (currently vague and unspecified) purpose these lines will serve. My ambition is that these lines will impact the reader each time differently. (Hint: The bones aren't the same bones each time. It's two different sets of them, at different points in time.)

I will also add: I love word order, emphasis, and italics, probably because I'm a control freak. Still, it's a really cool feature of language, the way you can assemble a sentence to either spotlight it or overshadow it.

It's all about the importance or weight you have the power to assign. Oftentimes, the last thing in a sequence is the most memorable while something placed in the middle is the least remembered or processed by the mind and the most overlooked—due to the Serial Position Effect in psychology.

Ok, now back to details, whether they be for plot or characterization.

For the characterization details, I try to think of them in terms of: How could this thing I want to convey manifest itself physically, through movements, the surroundings, the overall environment, and the environment's response to the character's action or inaction. In the case of fairy tales, the genre allows for things to be uncanny or overly fitting, for there to be slightly more deliberate cause-and-effect than there would be in reality, which I like to play with (most prominently seen in my whump fic.) These details help me give a sense of something easily, and that's why, for me, it's better not to shoot for absolute realism in descriptions, but more... things (especially adjectives) that are fitting and "too eerily convenient" and "matching pairs" above all.

For example, I once described Rafal's shirt buttons as restrictive, and this, in turn, serves as a tangible signal that alludes to his standards, his rigor, his need for oppressive control over the world and himself. Basically, you have to find a way to translate or transfer over the abstract into the visual, like you're exchanging one medium for another.

That's also why I like to think of myself as writing for density, trying to fit the most I can into the narrowest of crevices, jam-packing the majority of sentences with stuff that, even if a reader happened to overlook it, could (hopefully) make someone's mind click upon closer inspection, in the same way mine does since I already know it's there. The last thing I want my writing to lack is substance.

Everything must serve a purpose, and serving a dual- or triple-purpose is best, your "purposes" here being: character, plot, and setting. (A fourth addition to those could be: interest/intrigue, which is more your call.) Be ruthless. Ask: Is this is accomplishing something for you and has it earned its keep, its right to stay in the text?

Furthermore, as a writer, be more ruthless than you would be as a reader in tolerating the excess. If it does zero of those three things, you must ask yourself: Should it stay? Does it add to a coherent whole? Does it work well with its brothers (the sentences around it)? Is it out of place?

Do not let your manuscript give you guff. At the same time, you can let the so-called "nonsense" stay if you have plans to rework it. No point in deleting something unfinished, when you're still drafting or editing! Also, save everything you scrap. You might need it again.

Then again, about cutting and brevity (something I'm definitely still learning) I love to elaborate and compound things and (at times) overcomplicate them more than they need to be, so use your own subjective judgment, as in everything and anything else besides.

If you're writing for a genre that allows for drama, write like a sensationalist. Use verbs that pull their weight. Don't always fall back on cliches. Go for impact, syllable, and sound at times over simply opting for your favorite word. Sometimes, decisions feel more "objectively" right or fitting if you develop your "internal ear." I don't know what to call it exactly, but since English is my first language and since I often consume ungodly amounts of the written word, even lowbrow stuff more often than higherbrow texts, honestly, I just have a decently developed sense of what flies and what doesn't.

But, consciously, deliberately learning to have a command over language could also help. A lot of the learning process comes down to paying attention and forming insights. Personally, I have a persistent obsession with language and words, so part of that is something I focus on automatically because of my interest. If that doesn't happen to be the first thing that comes to mind for other people, I'm not sure, but you can direct yourself to look for what you want to train, I think.

Accumulate some kind of varied, critical mass of texts, literally just a high enough volume of texts, to let them seep into your brain over time. This could be like what adults tend to tell young children who are reluctant readers: read, read, read.

It doesn't matter what they read as long as it captures their interest and gets them started on reading at that early stage. It usually tends to be later on when critical people start to care about children's highbrow and lowbrow reading choices, I think.

At some point, I think that if people who followed through with this were to continue with this passive "process," I think they would hear others' voices, the "echoes" or the "phantoms," and be able to replicate them. This would function in a similar way as how we can often imagine the speech patterns of people we know well, to a lifelike degree in our internal monologues, like how we may recognize them by their unconscious verbal tics, or otherwise distinctive phrases, not necessarily by the actual sound of their voice but by how they deliver what they say, by the form, not the content.

And then, possibly, the writer's voice could likely emerge as something that's an amalgamation of the others' voices, all reconstructed. Or, that's partly how I see it, because, I feel like in my case, I can't exactly stray as far as I'd like to from some influences I've had, or that at least one of my "voices" formed through imitating fictional narrators, real writers, and registers of speech I liked at different times. Basically, all this is to say: learning voice seems to have a lot to do with observation and imitation.

Additionally, go for an emotional illusion of "truth-ness" over the objective truth. Write for the mood or the sense of conveying what you want to convey, immaterially, instead of writing the literal plot exactly how it went. Sometimes, it may be acceptable to sacrifice complete factual accuracy for the sake of story, depending on what you're dealing with.

If you want to make more conscious, active progress sooner rather than passive progress over time by letting things inculcate themselves, you could always change the "lens" with which you read. Read for more than story. When you see a technique done somewhere else, you can reverse-engineer it and apply it to your own writing. Doing so gradually builds your understanding of what writing is capable of accomplishing, in comparison to other mediums, like screenwriting. Basically, I'll just say: "learn to read like a writer."

⸻

As for suspense, I rely on having a sense of story beats, drop-offs, and shorter sentences at certain pivotal points. There are lead-ups, set-up, pay-off, but those aren't always something that I think about on a conscious level. By a certain point, if you ingest enough of others' fiction, you will likely end up with a sense for it, to know where things slot into place. That's how it appears to me, at least.

Maybe an example from one of my fics could help make it more concrete:

Rafal sighed in relief. He'd served the absurd, seemingly arbitrary punishment the Pen had dealt him and it was now well over with.

Then, the Storian moved.

To my great satisfaction, Rafal is absolutely wrong.

The reader knows there is a false sense of security, and I want the reader to know and anticipate with bated breath that something could go wrong because suspense, by definition, is built on a foundation of anticipation, not jump scares or shock value alone.

This article on suspense versus surprisingness as qualities could also help explain, and this second article has a great example involving a bomb.

One brief digression into what I could call "stream-of-action," specifically: the fewer "interruptions," the better. Do not deviate from that line of suspense you've been building. Action sequences aren't the place for extraneous descriptions. Do not cut into a sequence with those descriptions. You have to hold back and wait for the right moment to include your more content-filled sentences. All you need are clear, unbroken lines of action to go by, so you do not fall into the trap of defusing tension.

Anyway, false beliefs or subversions tend to help, from my experience. You, the reader, knowing more or anticipating more than a character could in their position is of prime importance. We sometimes call that device "dramatic irony" or dread. (If you want a few examples of that, my whump fic, the source of the above excerpt, used it.)

You, as the reader, clearly know more of what's to come, even getting a vague sense of it before Rafal does, which I would hope contributes to the dark humor of it all? Basically, you can lord your superior knowledge over him in a low position right then.

Oftentimes, readers love to feel smarter than a character as long as the character isn't annoying them. (The converse is when a plan is withheld and you get to piece together the machinations in Rafal's head before the plan plays out, to keep with my particular example.)

You can also start with something little and anticlimactic, sometimes, so the reader gets a sense of something being "off" or as being less than they were expecting, essentially, underwhelming in effect before the true flare-up. You can't always go into something with full force, loud and raucous and blaring, with glaring headlights, see? If you start playing an instrument at full volume, to the top of its capacity, then you'll have nowhere louder to go when you want to achieve a crescendo.

I, personally, for action sequences, to sustain the sense of movement (and overlap depending on the number of subjects) like to cram in as many active verb clauses as I possibly can into one sentence, as long as it seems readable.

Then, the shorter moves are brief, brisk and punctuating, like staccato. That's how I view it all.

Pacing is controlled by the speed at which the reader can read. So, shorter, more comprehensible sentences or longer, flowing sentences tend to work best for anything intended to be fast-paced. It also helps to keep verbs closer to their subjects; the fewer intervening phrases there are, the easier something will be to read. Basically, don't divorce the subject from its verb by too far, generally.

Here's one other example from one of my fics that may be of use:

In an instant, the room hushed as the elusive School Master of Evil entered the foyer, appraising Hedadora’s cloud of white hair and pink-rimmed glasses.

He was positively saturnine, Hedadora noted as she saw the sunken shadows beneath his eyes.

Rafal picked up a pitted olive from a dish. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The most build-up occurs in Hedadora's pov, which is why I intentionally chose a somewhat unsympathetic, outsider pov, to generate more emotion than Rafal's pov could reach on his own. His eating an olive instead of doing something grand or impressive is the anticlimax. The sentence in which Rafal acts is the "nothing," the lacking response, before the "everything" that follows shortly after. It's all about timing.

It also helps to picture imagery if you can (I myself don't have fully rendered or vivid images in my mind, but I do have a vague sense of positioning for characters and objects). Events can unfold either in a sequence, or all at once, depending on what fits your purposes. Though, usually, all at once is the more intense option because the reader has to juggle multiple things happening at once in their mind.

And generally, I also love the idea of crescendos for plot structures. I drew a lot of inspiration from this very particular excerpt from a book because it reminds me of my objective to imitate this collision-like sense when I write. The excerpt, taken out of context from How to Stop Time by Matt Haig, is probably the single most memorable, unintentional description of suspense I've ever read, meaning, it's greatly influenced me:

“Life has a strange rhythm. It takes a while to fully be aware of this. Decades. Centuries, even. It's not a simple rhythm. But the rhythm is there. The tempo shifts and fluctuates; there are structures within structures, patterns within patterns. It's baffling. Like when you first hear John Coltrane on the saxophone. But if you stick with it, the elements of familiarity become clear. The current rhythm is speeding up. I am approaching a crescendo. Everything is happening all at once. That is one of the patterns: when nothing is happening, nothing continues to happen, but after a while the lull becomes too much and the drums need to kick in. Something has to happen. Often that need comes from yourself. You make a phone call. You say, 'I can't do this life any more, I need to change.' And one thing happens that you are in control of. And then another happens which you have no say over. Newton's third law of motion. Actions create reactions. When things start to happen, other things start to happen. But sometimes it seems there is no explanation as to why the things are happening—why all the buses are coming along at once—why life's moments of luck and pain arrive in clusters. All we can do is observe the pattern, the rhythm, and then live it."

The fact that luck and pain arrive in clusters could definitely apply to fortune harming or helping characters in the very same moments. If used correctly, I'm fairly sure "busyness" (a.k.a. overlap and subplots) tends to grant you the illusion of complexity.

Honestly, I love reversal-of-fortune tropes. They are some of the best out there, and they're the reason why some longstanding stories like "Cinderella" have withstood the test of time. We get human satisfaction from deserved reversals. (Or, at the very least, I happened to get satisfaction from bringing down and torturing the torturer in my fic.)

If anyone has any more specific questions, I'd be happy to answer them!

If any of this sounds like a lot or like information overload, you certainly don't have to take everything at once or at all. Some things I've attempted to describe kind of become less conscious queries you "sense" while writing.

lets out a single agonized bloodcurdling scream but doesnt elaborate on why and just walks it off