<![CDATA[Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction and Thriller Editor

<![CDATA[Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction and Thriller Editor - Blog]]>Tue, 09 Jun 2026 21:19:32 +0100Weebly<![CDATA[Red herrings in crime fiction and thrillers: Designing false conclusions]]>Tue, 09 Jun 2026 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/red-herrings-in-crime-fiction-and-thrillers-designing-false-conclusionsLearn how to use red herrings to create believable false conclusions, deepen mystery structure, and keep readers confidently wrong at just the right moments.

In this post ...

What is a red herring?
What’s the difference between a red herring and controlled misdirection?
Writing red herrings: The golden rules
What a red herring is not: Common misconceptions (with examples)

What is a red herring?

A red herring is a storytelling device that introduces information that appears to support a plausible explanation, but ultimately leads to the wrong conclusion.

Bear in mind that red herrings are not always limited to characters or their motives. Some writers construct them around how an entire fictional world works.

What’s the difference between a red herring and controlled misdirection?

I like to separate red herrings from the idea of controlled misdirection because a red herring feels heavier.

While it does involve misdirection, it works by building a false but plausible explanatory path that steers the reader towards an incorrect conclusion, only to collapse later under the weight of the real solution. This not only delays the reader’s understanding, but also forces them to construct a competing narrative that appears to solve the mystery … until it doesn’t.

Sometimes writers like to introduce other points of misdirection that are less weighty. These focus not on shaping the conclusion, but how information is interpreted in the moment. These are what I call ‘controlled misdirection’.

Key distinction
At their core, the difference is this:

Controlled misdirection shapes how the reader interprets information, while red herrings construct a complete but ultimately false explanation.

In practice, both can appear alongside each other in crime fiction. They’re just operating slightly differently.

Writing red herrings: The golden rules

All effective red herrings should be:

believable: The false lead must feel like a genuinely viable explanation. It should align with genre expectations and established patterns of behaviour or evidence.

relevant-seeming: A red herring should feel connected to the central mystery. If it feels random or unrelated, readers will dismiss it rather than engage with it.

supported by surface evidence: There must be enough apparent justification to make the conclusion feel earned at the time. Coincidence alone won’t be convincing.

coherent as a theory: The red herring should form a complete, internally consistent explanation, even if it’s ultimately wrong.

integrated into the story’s logic: It should arise naturally from the world of the story rather than feel artificially inserted for the purpose of misleading the reader.

timely: Introduce it early enough that it can function as a competing explanation, not as a late, shoehorned-in distraction from the real solution.

emotionally plausible: Red herrings often work well when they tap into familiar motives like jealousy, greed, revenge, panic and so on.

resolvable: Every red herring must eventually be dismantled or explained so that the reader understands exactly why it was misleading.

What a red herring is not: Common misconceptions

Here’s what a red herring is not ...

It’s not controlled misdirection (according to my framework)
Controlled misdirection uses true information that’s misinterpreted. A red herring may include this, but its defining feature is the construction of a complete but ultimately false explanation.

It’s not a twist
Twists are sudden, unexpected revelations that reshape a reader’s interpretation of earlier events and alter their understanding of the story. In short, they resolve uncertainty, whereas red herrings prolong it by sending the reader down the wrong path.

It’s not foreshadowing
Foreshadowing plants early clues or hints that later gain meaning, while a red herring builds a complete but false path that’s later exposed as untrue.

It’s not factual deception
A red herring does not mislead the reader about facts. Instead, it misleads them about the explanation those facts appear to support.

It’s not withholding
Withholding is about timing – when information is revealed. A red herring is about what explanation the reader is encouraged to believe, not when information appears.

How red herrings work: The mechanics

Here’s a simple framework for constructing effective red herrings, followed by a couple of examples of the mechanism in practice.

The setup: A plausible false path is introduced: A suspect, motive or explanation is presented with enough surface evidence to feel credible.
The reinforcement: The false theory gains support: Additional details reinforce the path, creating a coherent narrative.
The commitment: The reader adopts the theory: The explanation becomes emotionally and logically satisfying enough to feel ‘solved’.
The collapse: The truth invalidates the path: New information reveals the explanation cannot account for key facts.

Below are a couple of examples from two published novels. I’ve framed the analyses broadly so that they focus on the mechanisms rather than any plot details. However, if these books are on your reading list, perhaps come back to this article when you’ve devoured the novels. That way, you’ll enter those fictional worlds completely green.

These examples show how the same underlying mechanism can operate at different levels: worldbuilding in one case, and character psychology in another.

Example 1: The Bedlam Stacks, by Natasha Pulley
Pulley’s novel is a smashing example of how a red herring can go beyond suspects and be structural, working on how the story’s world works.

The setup

The story introduces a remote, unfamiliar setting with unusual environmental and cultural conditions that appear to follow an initially unfamiliar but still seemingly explainable logic.

The reinforcement

The reader (alongside the protagonist) forms a working explanation of how the environment, local phenomena and events are functioning based on incomplete early information.

The commitment

The explanatory path feels convincing because it’s supported by consistent observable information, partial knowledge and familiar real-world assumptions.

The collapse

As the story progresses, readers discover that they need to revise their initial understanding of earlier events and observations.

Example 2: Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn
Flynn’s novel is an excellent example of layered red herrings based around people and psychology.

The setup

The story presents a missing-person case within a marriage, framed through competing accounts of events, behaviour and relationship history.

The reinforcement

The reader forms shifting but coherent theories about what happened, with a particular focus on one character as the most likely cause of the central event.

The commitment

Each explanatory path feels convincing at the time because it’s supported by selective evidence, emotionally persuasive testimony and apparently consistent behavioural patterns.

The collapse

As new information is introduced, earlier theories are repeatedly invalidated or reframed, forcing the reader to abandon their previous conclusions in favour of new ones.

Summing up

A strong red herring should distract the reader’s attention, but it must do so in a way that makes them believe in what is a complete and convincing explanation of the mystery, even though it will ultimately prove false.

The key is to stick to the golden rules so that readers are confidently wrong, but for the right reasons.

About Louise Harnby

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.

She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Controlled misdirection in crime fiction and thrillers: Shaping interpretation]]>Tue, 19 May 2026 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/controlled-misdirection-in-crime-fiction-and-thrillers-shaping-interpretationLearn how to use controlled misdirection to guide your reader towards convincing but incorrect interpretations, and build deeper, more engaging mysteries.

In this post

What is controlled misdirection?
What’s the difference between a red herring and controlled misdirection?
Writing controlled misdirection: The golden rules
What controlled misdirection is not: Common misconceptions
How controlled misdirection works: The mechanics (with examples)

What is controlled misdirection?

Controlled misdirection is a deliberate storytelling technique that leads the reader towards a convincing but incorrect interpretation of information.

When done well, it doesn’t feel like a trick but like something natural and logical – even though, later, that information will turn out to be incomplete or misjudged.

What’s the difference between a red herring and controlled misdirection?

I like to separate controlled misdirection from red herrings because the latter feels heavier. Red herrings work by building a false but plausible explanatory path that steers the reader towards an incorrect conclusion, only to collapse later under the weight of the real solution.

However, sometimes writers like to introduce other points of misdirection that are less weighty. These focus not on shaping the conclusion, but how information is interpreted in the moment.

The writer presents accurate, relevant details in a way that encourages the reader (and often the protagonist) to infer the wrong meaning from them. That’s what I call ‘controlled misdirection’.

Key distinction
At their core, the difference is this:

Controlled misdirection shapes how the reader interprets information, while red herrings construct a complete but ultimately false explanation.

In practice, both can appear alongside each other in crime fiction. They’re just operating slightly differently.

Writing controlled misdirection: The golden rules

All controlled misdirection should be:

believable: The incorrect interpretation must feel entirely plausible within the story. Focus on how character motives, circumstances or evidence can be reasonably misread. If the interpretation feels forced, readers will recognize the manipulation and disengage from your story.

true to perspective: Misdirection must respect the limits of your narrative point of view. In restricted or limited POV (common in crime fiction and thrillers), the reader can only interpret what the viewpoint character could realistically observe, infer or misunderstand.

relevant: Misdirection should connect meaningfully to the story’s central logic, otherwise it becomes clutter and risks frustrating the reader.

grounded in truth: The underlying information should be accurate and meaningful. Controlled misdirection works best when the reader isn’t being deceived by falsehoods, but by how those truths are framed and understood.

timely: Introduce the misdirection early enough that it can genuinely compete with the real solution in the reader’s mind. If it appears too late, readers might already be committed to the correct interpretation, making the misdirection feel artificial or forced.

substantial: Readers of crime and thriller fiction expect to be misled, but the misdirecting details must be substantial enough that, in hindsight, it feels convincing rather than flimsy. Thin or superficial distractions won’t earn that reaction.

specific: Effective misdirection points towards a clear, incorrect interpretation rather than vague ambiguity. Ambiguity has its place, but misdirection works best when the reader feels confident in their reasoning.

restrained: Too much competing misdirection can overwhelm the reader and become difficult to manage within the story. It’s better if you use a few well-developed misdirections that readers can invest in, rather than a large number that risk confusion.

resolved: Every misdirection should be accounted for by the end of the story so that readers understand how they were misled and where the truth actually lay. This makes the experience feel fair.

What controlled misdirection is not: Common misconceptions

Here’s what controlled misdirection isn’t.

It’s not a lie
Controlled misdirection isn’t a licence to mislead readers with false information. The reader is given accurate details, but encouraged to interpret them in a particular way.

It’s not a twist
Twists are sudden, unexpected revelations that reshape a reader’s interpretation of earlier events and alter their understanding of the story. In short, they resolve uncertainty, whereas controlled misdirection seeks to prolong it.

It’s not a red herring (according to my framework)
It’s not a red herring, at least in the classical sense, though the two often operate in close proximity in contemporary crime fiction and thrillers.

Think of it like this: Controlled misdirection gives the reader true information, but shapes how they interpret it. A red herring, by contrast, introduces a coherent but ultimately false theory that steers the reader towards an incorrect conclusion.

It’s not foreshadowing
Controlled misdirection and foreshadowing can look similar on the surface but they’re actually working in two different directions.

Controlled misdirection points away from the truth, guides the reader to an interpretation that feels right at the time, but turns out to be incomplete or incorrect, whereas foreshadowing nudges the reader towards it.

It’s not withholding
Withholding is about when information is revealed – it's a timing choice. Controlled misdirection, on the other hand, is active in the present and guides the reader towards an incorrect interpretation – it’s a shaping choice.

How controlled misdirection works: The mechanics

Here’s a quick 4-step framework, followed by a couple of worked examples, that you can use to build effective misdirection.

The setup: Readers are given accurate, relevant information
The misdirect: That information is interpreted incorrectly
The justification: The incorrect interpretation feels plausible at the time
The turn: The information is later reinterpreted correctly

Below are two examples of controlled misdirection in action.

Example 1: Misdirection through forensic interpretation
The setup: Readers are given accurate, relevant information

A man is found dead in his office late at night. There are no injuries and no signs of forced entry, just a collapsed body and a half-finished drink on his desk.
A toxicology report identifies a rare industrial compound in the victim’s bloodstream. Trace amounts are also found on the rim of his glass.

The misdirect: The information is interpreted incorrectly

Investigators conclude that the victim was deliberately poisoned using this compound, most likely by putting it into his drink.

The justification: The incorrect interpretation is plausible at the time

The compound is used in industrial cleaning products and isn’t something the victim would likely have come into contact with accidentally.
A cleaning contractor had access to the office and the chemical, and a batch of the compound appears to be unaccounted for.
The forensic evidence seems consistent and reliable, which reinforces the poisoning theory.

The turn: Later, this information can be reinterpreted correctly

It’s discovered that the victim was taking medication that, when combined with alcohol, produces the same chemical signature at the cleaning compound. It’s this reaction, not deliberate poisoning, that caused the death.
The trace residue on the glass came from routine cleaning, and the missing batch is traced to a logging error.
The initial toxicology result was technically accurate but misinterpreted, pointing investigators in the wrong direction until new information allowed the evidence to be correctly understood.

Example 2: Misdirection through behavioural interpretation
The setup: Readers are given accurate, relevant information

A woman is found dead in her home. There are no signs of forced entry. Neighbours recall hearing an argument the night before.
Her husband says he discovered the body. He has no clear alibi for the estimated time of death and seems unusually calm when he’s interviewed.
Financial records show he recently increased her life insurance policy, and he has a fresh scratch on his wrist.

The misdirect: The information is interpreted incorrectly

Investigators conclude that the husband killed his wife, likely following a domestic dispute, with financial gain as a possible motive.

The justification: The incorrect interpretation is plausible at the time

The marital tension, lack of alibi and financial incentive align with the investigator theory and follow a pattern they’ve seen before.
The physical mark suggests a struggle, and the husband’s demeanour during questioning is interpreted as detachment or concealment.

The turn: Later, this information can be reinterpreted correctly

It’s revealed that the argument was about the victim’s worsening illness and her refusal of further treatment. The life insurance policy had been increased to cover medical costs and provide security.
The scratch came from the husband’s attempt to revive her.
His calmness was the result of shock, not guilt.
The evidence was accurate, but its meaning had been misread, directing suspicion toward an innocent man while the true cause of death lay elsewhere.

Summing up

Effective controlled misdirection doesn’t make the reader feel tricked. Rather, it makes them realize that they formed an interpretation that felt logical at the time, given the information available, but turned out to be incorrect.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[A 9-step line-editing framework for tension-filled crime and thriller scenes]]>Thu, 07 May 2026 15:30:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/a-9-step-line-editing-framework-for-tension-filled-crime-and-thriller-scenesThis practical framework shows you 9 steps for line editing scenes in crime and thriller fiction so that every sentence pulls its weight and delivers the appropriate level of tension.

In this post

Why your novel’s not gripping the reader
What is line editing?
Checking for clarity
Managing narrative velocity with sentence length
Building micro-tension with rhythmic tools
Regulating what the reader knows, and when
Controlling narrative point of view
Strengthening your verbs
Sharpening dialogue with subtext
Ensuring description matches the stakes
Reviewing your story beginnings and chapter endings

Why your novel’s not gripping the reader

If you feel like your novel’s not gripping the reader, it’s all too easy to blame something going on at story level. Perhaps it’s not twisty enough. Maybe the plot’s too thin. Perhaps the structure’s not balanced and the prose feels saggy in the middle of the book.

Before you rework the whole thing, take a step back and ask yourself if it’s the line work.

The reason I say that is because line editing for crime fiction and thrillers takes place within the same foundational framework as any other genre. However, there’s an additional matter that needs engineering at line level: tension.

That tension can’t just live at the macro level – in the story. It has to have a home in the sentences too.

What is line editing?

Structural editing is SHAPING work. It examines big-picture elements like plot, pacing, structure, character arcs and coherence. Editors focus on improving the clarity and impact of the whole story.

Proofreading is QUALITY CONTROL work. It focuses on surface issues, amending spelling, grammar, punctuation, formatting and consistency issues to ensure the novel’s ready for publication.

Line editing is EXPRESSION work. It sits in between the structural and proofreading stages, and considers what the scene is trying to do – whether that’s creating drama, building tension, revealing character, conveying information – and then making stylistic improvements to ensure the language actually achieves that.

Use the framework below to check each scene and make sure that every sentence is pulling its weight.

1. Check for clarity

The first step is to check for clarity. Here, you’re making sure that:

actions are easy to follow
the cause and effect are clear
your sentences aren’t overloaded with clauses.

Just because a line is lean doesn’t mean it needs to be boring. Sometimes writers need to tell it like it is and give the reader the cleanest pathway through so that they can live in the moment of the action rather than having to untangle it.

This is particularly important in high-stakes situations, where the clock is ticking or a character’s in pursuit or being pursued.

Examples

Tangled: He moved off urgently towards the rear exit after glancing briefly at his watch, taking the left, then what he thought might have been the second right, and another turn after that. He wondered if the door would be locked and realized that if it was, he’d have to retrace his steps.
Clear: He checked his watch and hurried to the rear exit. Left. Second right. Another right. What if the damn door was locked? No matter. He’d retrace his steps.

In the edited version, clarity has been improved by following a cleaner telling of the order of play: time (the watch), movement (hurried) and path (direction).

I’ve also used more precise verbs ('checked' and 'hurried') to show how the character’s actions are controlled. This means we can ditch the adverbs ('urgently' and 'briefly') because those verbs do the heavy-lifting.

I’ve also suggested free indirect speech ('What if the … no matter'). That’s more concise and takes us into the character’s headspace without the need for the cluttering filter words ('wondered' and 'realized').

Key principle: Keep tension intact my ensuring your reader doesn’t have to stop and re-read a sentence.

2. Manage narrative velocity with sentence length

Narrative velocity is the speed at which the reader perceives events taking place in a story. At scene level, it’s shaped by sentence structure, pacing and how quickly information and action are delivered.

Just because you’re writing crime fiction or a thriller doesn’t mean the pace has to rocket in every sentence. Instead, make sure it’s controlled in a way that shows rather than tells the perceived speed.

How sentence length affects perceived speed
As a general rule, long sentences tend to slow the pace of a scene, while short sentences accelerate it. There’s space for both, of course, so think about what’s happening in your scene in terms of stakes. Is danger increasing? Is time running out? Is something shocking revealed? Try shortening your sentences in those cases.

For extra impact, use sentence fragments – though sparingly, because then the reader won’t notice that you’re doing it, only how it makes them feel.

If, however, the scene is more reflective – perhaps a law-enforcement officer is trying to make sense of some inconsistent evidence, or they’re remembering a former case – a longer sentence will mirror the more stretched-out thought process.

Example

The report was over two hundred pages long and written in a small, dense typeface that reminded her of the small print on contracts that no one ever read until it was too late. She read the headings but only skimmed the text, slurping lukewarm coffee intermittently because it was dull dull dull and …
And then it wasn’t. She’d nearly missed it.
The witness’s name was all wrong.
Yet oh so familiar.

Notice how in the example above, the leading longer sentences elongate the perceived time, reflecting the tedious graft that our character’s putting in. Then, as something unexpected is discovered, shorter sentences and fragments make the prose snappier. This truncates the moment into something immediate and jarring.

This mirrors real-life human experience. When we’re under pressure we tend to think in bursts, whereas when we’re in a safe, calm space we have more time for reflection. By controlling the length of a sentence in prose we can mirror that tension, or the lack of it.

Key principle: Mix up sentence length so that you’re reflecting mood.

3. Build micro-tension with rhythmic tools

Rhythm determines how quickly a reader moves through a scene. Faster rhythms can convey urgency, action, fear, anger and shock. Slower rhythms can convey sadness, calm, thoughtfulness and introspection. Interruptions to rhythm force the reader to pay attention.

We’ve already looked at how sentence length affects pacing, so here are five more rhythmic devices that you can call on at line editing stage to create or ease tension.
Think about what’s happening in the scene and what the character’s feeling, then consider which tool might be most effective:

Anaphora: This is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses. It can help create a sense of rising passion, obsession or desperation.
Asyndeton: This is the deliberate omission of conjunctions between parts of a sentence. It can help convey urgency, speed and panic.
Periodic sentences: In these, the main clause is backloaded. They’re great for slow reveals, tension or poetic moments.
Polysyndeton: This is the deliberate use of many conjunctions in close succession. It can evoke a sense of overwhelm, abundance or tedium.
Short one-line paragraphs: These are single paragraphs comprising just a few words, and are superb for shocks, revelations and gut-punch moments.

Examples
In all five examples below, there are different levels of micro-tension in play, and the rhythmic tools help mirror the emotional pressure experienced by the characters.

Anaphora: He wanted silence. He wanted sleep. He wanted to forget the gunshot and the blood.

The repetition feels weighty and emphasizes the character’s desperate longing and the pressure he’s feeling.

Asyndeton: He saw the door, the blood, the open window, the broken glass, the shoes still by the bed.

The omission of conjunctions in the asyndeton example allows the list to flow rapidly, conveying urgency.

Periodic sentence: In the corner, slumped in a battered leather chair and snoring lightly, was Arjun.

Postponing who’s in the chair builds suspense.

Polysyndeton: She ran through the rain and the mud and the wind, chasing a voice she could barely hear.

The succession of conjunctions mirrors the character’s exhausting pursuit.

Short one-line paragraph: The man in the photo was him.

By giving this pithy one-liner its own space, the revelation lands hard.

Key principle: Rhythmic tools help readers tap into character experience viscerally, but they need to be used judiciously so that that they don’t overshadow the story.

4. Regulate what the reader knows, and when

When there’s a gap between what’s happening and what the reader understands about it, you create suspense. It’s your chance to make them wait and wonder what’s going to happen – to tease them so that their anticipation builds! And all the while, tension increases.

If a particular scene has important information or a surprise in it, even a small one, look for line editing opportunities to delay the reveal by a line or two. If you have several revelations in your scene, think about how you can break them up so they land in stages.

Example

Despite having been taken over six decades ago, the photo is pin-sharp. So is the caption underneath. I’ve been staring at it for a good hour and I really need to let it go, but somehow I can’t. There’s something I’m missing, something that’s off.
Saskia’s hand waves in front of my face, blocking my view of the photograph. I experience a weird sense of relief, now that I’ve been forced to look away.
‘Earth to Marv,’ she says. ‘What’s up? You look pained.'
I slide the yearbook around. Tell her it’s bugging me but I don’t know why. ‘The Summertons are all there, and I’ve checked the names and dates. And yet …’
She peers at the image, then taps the figure on the left. ‘There.’
I follow her finger but am none the wiser. ‘David Summerton. Youngest son. So what?’
Again, she taps. ‘Look at his hand. The shirt cuff.’
And there it is. Boxy. Chunky. Probably stainless steel.
A wristwatch.
Digital.

In the example above, the tension builds as Marv grapples with his conundrum, and the reader isn’t any the wiser. We uncover the reveal at the same time as him.

I’ve kept that reveal short, concrete and slightly incomplete to maximize impact. This means the reader has to do some of the work in that moment. Further revelation and explanation can come later.

5. Control narrative point of view

What the reader knows, or doesn’t know, is key, so review the scene to check that you’ve reinforced the limits of your chosen narrative point-of-view style.

If you’ve used a limited or subjective viewpoint, which is common in crime fiction and thrillers, check that:

your descriptions are anchored in what the perspective/viewpoint character can experience (see, hear, touch, taste, think, feel)
any accidental ‘camera drifts’ into omniscience are reworked so that viewpoint remains intact
uncertainty stays uncertain until the perspective character earns the right to know something because they’ve experienced it.

Examples (Arjun is the perspective character)

Unearned knowledge: Arjun held his breath. The killer had come up behind him and raised his gun.
Earned knowledge: Arjun held his breath. Something had shifted behind him.

In the first example, Arjun can’t know that a person is behind him, never mind one holding a gun, precisely because this action is happening behind him. In the revised version, he senses movement, but that’s all.

The reader knows only what the character knows, and if Arjun’s uncertain, so are we. That delay in information adds to the tension.

Key principle: Limit the information reported in the narrative to what the perspective character can experience.

6. Strengthen your verbs

If you want to maximise tension, looking at your verbs is a great place to start. Small tweaks can make a big difference to whether an action feels like it’s gentler and happening at arm’s length, or strong and immediate.

Generally speaking, weak verbs dilute tension, while stronger ones amplify it, so line edit in a way that focuses the reader’s attention sharply on what’s being done.

Example
Imagine an escape scene and take a look at the following two options:

Weaker verbs: He was running down the corridor, trying to get away.
Stronger verbs: He sprinted down the corridor and skidded left.

Nothing’s technically wrong with the first version, but the action feels expository. Note the verb – ‘was running’. It’s the past continuous tense, or action in progress. That’s grammatically unproblematic but it’s somewhat soft. This is exacerbated by the addition of a clause that reminds the reader what they already know given that this is an escape scene.

The second version seeks to draw the reader into the moment. I’ve suggested a more forceful verb – ‘sprinted’. Using the simple past tense conveys urgency. I’ve also replaced the expository ‘trying to get away’ with an additional precise verb – ‘skidded’.

Now we leave the reader to join up the dots, and instead of telling them what the intention is – to escape – we focus on what the character’s doing right now. It’s a small change, but one that transforms the energy in the scene and makes it feel more tense.

Key principle: If a verb has scaffolding around it – ‘was [verb]ing’, ‘began to [verb]’, ‘seemed to [verb]’ – experiment with stripping it down so it’s more precise and conveys a sense of impact rather than effort.

7. Sharpen dialogue with subtext

Real-life speech is often filled with stuff that comes out of social norms (eg saying hello and goodbye, offering drinks, talking about the weather).

However, including this in your crime fiction or thriller risks ripping the tension out of a scene because it’s not what the reader’s interested in. When you’re line editing, look for opportunities to:

cut filler and pleasantries
let characters evade or deflect
use interruption and silence.

Example: Authentic but distracting

‘Hi. How are you? Enjoying the sunshine?’
‘Good to see you. I’m good thanks. And, yes, it’s been gorgeous today, hasn’t it?’
‘It has. So did you have a chance to read the witness statement I sent you?’
‘Yes, I did. I read it last night, though I think we might have an issue.’
‘Oh. I interviewed Jackson myself. Do you think there’s a problem with his testimony?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s inconsistent. He couldn’t have been in two places at once. Look at page five.’
‘Ah, I see. I missed that.’

Example: Focused and tension-filled

‘Did you have a chance to read the witness statement I sent you?’
‘I did.’
‘And? What did you think?’
‘I think we’ve got a problem.’
‘With Jackson? No, I interviewed him myself and—’
‘And he can’t be in two places at once. It’s right there, on page five.’

The first version feels real enough, but it's rather expository. There’s no tension between the two speakers.

In the second version, the filler is gone, and one of the characters is cagey, then interruptive when their colleague goes on the defence. The subtext – that one of them missed something – is shown rather than told.

Key principle: Dialogue should do triple duty – reveal character (voice), show the mood (the subtext of the conversation), and deliver intent (so that the story advances).

8. Ensure description matches the stakes

Line editing is also the time to consider whether the stakes in a scene are apparent. The reader should never forget what’s at risk, so check that characters’ actions and reactions match the situation.

Examples of high stakes could include:

a killer and detective have come face to face
a hostage negotiation is unravelling
evidence is about to be destroyed
someone’s undercover identity is about to be exposed
a witness is deciding whether they dare testify.

In these situations, line edit to ensure your description is targeted and precise. That way, the information conveyed is vivid but delivered fast, creating more immediate pressure-based tension.

Examples of low stakes could include:

the routine questioning of a witness
surveying a crime scene
following a lead
doing paperwork, research or background-checking
non-confrontational surveillance.

In these situations, the description can be more detailed and the pace slower. You can still deliver tension, but it’s more stretched out because there’s no imminent threat.

Examples

High stakes: She crossed the room. Yanked open the top drawer of the filing cabinet.
Low stakes: The room was beige and sparsely furnished – a wooden desk, a chair, a lamp with no shade and a ragged flex, and, in the far left corner, a filing cabinet. She went over to it and pulled open the top drawer.

In the high-stakes example, the description is more focused on the immediate movement, which inflates a sense of urgency. Here, the prose creates a mood that’s abrupt and determined.

In the low-stakes example, the character is able to move in a more procedural fashion, and take in their surroundings and notice the details. Here, the prose describes a drab, neglected space, and creates a bleak and institutional mood.

Key principle: Ensure the level of detail given to the reader reflects the character’s ability to process it in any given situation.

9. Review your story beginnings and chapter endings

A super first line in a novel makes readers ask questions and creates a sense of intrigue that draws the reader in. Think of it as a tension pull.

A powerful closing line in a chapter withholds just enough resolution or adds a twist, which creates momentum. This is the tension push – the encouragement to turn the page and read the next chapter.

Examples: Opening lines that pull readers into a novel

The body wasn’t the worst part – it was what was missing from the room.
He was already lying when he said he hadn’t been there.
The first time she saw the file, it didn’t exist.
I’m in trouble.

Those four novel opening lines provide mystery, imbalance and unanswered implication. Rather than explaining, they disturb the equilibrium and force the reader to ask questions.

Examples: Closing lines that push readers onto the next chapter

‘There’s something you need to know.’
The person who opens the door is not who I’m expecting.
She’s seen this script before, and knows exactly who wrote it.
He froze. That wasn’t the sound of the wind.

Those four chapter closing lines function as momentum triggers. Each one either opens a new question, shifts the reader’s perception or interrupts their certainty.

Key principle: Start the book with something that disrupts normal expectations of situation, logic or truth. End a chapter at a moment where certainty shifts.

Summing up

Every story needs to have a great plot – a structured sequence of events where characters pursue goals, face obstacles and experience change through conflict and resolution. Getting that right is structural or developmental editing work – the shaping stage.

But every novel needs to work at line level too, because that expression work is what will keep readers interested and focused, rather than skimming.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Verbs that pull the trigger: How to create momentum in crime and thriller writing]]>Fri, 24 Apr 2026 06:30:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/verbs-that-pull-the-trigger-how-to-create-momentum-in-crime-and-thriller-writingLearn how to compress your thrillers and crime fiction writing with strong verbs that convey motion, emotion and pace.

What is a verb?

A verb is a word that describes an action or a state of being. For example:

They ran down the alleyway
Ze sat on the bashed-up stool.
She loaded the rifle.
His hand trembled as he popped the pill.
‘The kids are happier now that we’ve moved out here.’

Strong and weak verbs

There are different ways of classifying verbs from a grammatical point of view, but this article uses the terms ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ to describe stylistic impact.

Strong verbs
Strong verbs carry the action all by themselves without needing help from other words to make the sentence convey energy and momentum.

A precise, vivid verb can replace a string of modifiers. It makes a line faster and sharper, and can trigger a sense of immediacy, danger, tension or suspense in the reader.

Weak verbs
Weak verbs are vaguer or more generalized, and often rely on help from additional description to explain the action. They tend to slow the pace down.

There’s room for both
There’s no such thing as ‘wrong’ or ‘right’ when it comes to writing. Strong and weak verbs both have their place.

Instead, the writer can make a choice based on the mood they want to create in the scene and how they want the reader to feel in that moment.

A comparison of strong and weak verbs

Take a look at the following comparative examples of phrases. They show how a carefully placed strong verb can show rather than tell us something. For example:

She tried to pull open the drawer but it wouldn’t give.
She yanked at the drawer but it wouldn’t give.

In the first sentence, there’s a verbal phrase in play – ‘tried to pull open’. Those four words create a distance between the character and what they’re doing. We focus on the ‘trying’ rather than on the connection between the character’s hands and the drawer. The pace feels gentler, slower, less immediate.

By replacing that verbal phrase with a single strong verb – ‘yanked’ – the action is more immediate. But there’s emotion being conveyed in that action too:

urgency – it’s being done quickly and without hesitation
forcefulness – it’s movement that lacks delicacy or care

And those emotional undercurrents imply that the character is under pressure, perhaps feeling frustrated, angry or fearful (depending on the scene’s context). In other words, the stronger verb shows the character’s effort through action rather than explanation.

Create immediacy by adjusting filler verbs

Look out for filler verbs in your crime and thriller writing. These act more like padding than action, and sit in the sentence without contributing much.

Common examples include: was, were, seemed, appeared, began, trying and started. These constructions add extra words without adding tension.

Writers can create momentum in action scenes by making just small alterations. Here, we’re not talking about changing the verb to a different one, but modifying what we’ve got.

Take a look at these examples:

He was running down the alley, looking for shadow, a nook, anything that would provide cover.
He ran down the alley, looking for shadow, a nook, anything that would provide cover.

She began to walk towards the cafe, head down, shoulders hunched.
She walked towards the cafe, head down, shoulders hunched.

He put his foot down, and the engine started to roar.
He put his foot down, and the engine roared.

In each of the three pairs above, removal of the filler verb in favour of a tighter revision makes the action feel as if it’s happening now. For the reader, that’s a more immersive experience.

Create impact by interrogating adverbs

Sometimes a writer will use adverbs to intensify the emotion or tension in a sentence.
Adverbs are words that describe or modify verbs (in the same way that adjectives describe or modify nouns).

In these next examples, most of the verbs are weak, and it’s the adverb that’s doing the heavy lifting.

She stood up fast. (Verb is weak. Adverb conveys speed.)
Xe said quietly in Jon’s ear. (Verb is weak. Adverb conveys volume.)
The engine roared loudly. (Verb is strong. Adverb repeats volume.)
A siren wailed. Doors opened and closed with a bang. (First verb is strong. Second and third verbs are weak. Adverbial conveys sound.)
She looked quickly over her shoulder. (Verb is weak. Adverb conveys speed.)
They made their way confidently out of the building. (Verbal phrase is weak. Adverb conveys attitude.)

I’d never suggest obliterating every single adverb or adverbial phrase from a piece of prose – regardless of what genre the author’s writing in – but I do think robust editing requires us to consider whether those adverbs are creating momentum and energy.

This is particularly important in dramatic scenes, of which there are often plenty in crime fiction, mysteries and thrillers. We want the reader in the moment with the perspective character’s movement, not fighting with the words that describe it.

Since the verb is where the action actually happens, it makes sense to interrogate whether readers are being distracted from it.

In the examples above, the writer has the opportunity to consider whether a stronger verb might offer precision that shows what the adverb is telling – which means they can ditch the adverb.

Here’s what that revision might look like when we use stronger verbs that combine movement and emotion:

She jumped up. (Verb conveys speed and urgency.)
Xe whispered in Jon’s ear. (Verb conveys volume.)
The engine roared. (Verb alone conveys volume.)
A siren wailed. Doors slammed. (Verb conveys immediacy and aggression.)
She glanced over her shoulder. (Verb conveys fleeting movement.)
They strode out of the building. (Verb conveys confidence.)

Now the sentences are tighter and more engaging.

Making movement thrilling with strong verbs

Crime fiction and thrillers rely on movement – there might be pursuits, fights, discoveries and escapes. And in all those cases, verbs need to carry that movement in a way that captures emotion.

Instead of weaker neutral verbs like went, looked or moved, think about whether verbs that imply force, violence, emotional state or speed might be more effective.

Compare the following:

He went across the room. (Weak generalised verb.)
He crossed the room. (More precise verb.)
He stormed across the room. (Even more precise and conveying anger.)

She looked through the papers. (Weak generalised verb.)
She combed through the papers. (More precise verb that conveys purpose.)
She rifled through the papers. (Precise but more intense and conveys urgency and aggression.)

She hit the attacker in the face. (Weak generalized verb.)
She punched the attacker in the face. (Stronger verb conveying more powerful blow.)
She slammed her fist into the attacker’s face. (Even higher energy and violence.)

Careful choices allow writers (or their editors) to capture an entire mood in a single verb.

Practise control with a verb-intensity ladder

One way to hone your verb-choosing skills is to build intensity ladders. These help you see how different words, which mean a similar thing, affect the emotional intensity and urgency of a scene.

To be clear, this isn’t about ranking verbs in order of what’s right or wrong or good or bad, but about controlling the impact you want to have on the reader.

Here’s an example where the intensity level moves from calm to extreme. The action we’re considering involves the opening of a door.

Door-opening intensity ladder

Intensity level 1 (lowest): She opened the door. (Emotional tone: neutral)
Intensity level 2: She pushed the door open. (Emotional tone: deliberate)
Intensity level 3: She eased the door open. (Emotional tone: stealth)
Intensity level 4: She pulled the door open. (Emotional tone: purposeful)
Intensity level 5: She jerked the door open. (Emotional tone: startled)
Intensity level 6: She yanked the door open. (Emotional tone: urgent)
Intensity level 7: She wrenched the door open. (Emotional tone: violent)
Intensity level 8 (most extreme): She kicked the door open. (Emotional tone: explosive)

Here’s another example. This time the action involves the act of moving away from a situation.

Moving-away intensity ladder

Intensity level 1 (lowest): He walked down the alley. (Emotional tone: relaxed)
Intensity level 2: He strode down the alley. (Emotional tone: purposeful)
Intensity level 3: He hurried down the alley. (Emotional tone: milder urgency)
Intensity level 4: He rushed down the alley. (Emotional tone: more urgency)
Intensity level 5: He ran down the alley. (Emotional tone: active)
Intensity level 6: He sprinted down the alley. (Emotional tone: maximum effort)
Intensity level 7: He bolted down the alley. (Emotional tone: sudden panic)
Intensity level 8 (most extreme): He fled down the alley. (Emotional tone: desperation)

When you pick verbs that are lower in intensity, the tension will be quieter and the pace slower. When you choose verbs that are higher in intensity, the tension will be more acute and the pace faster.

What works best in any particular scene will depend on the context, but the point is that just one verb helps you turn up or turn down the dial and control motion, emotion and pace.

A tip for editing verbs

If you’re a writer who’s self-editing, or a professional editor providing support for an author, try this exercise. Ask yourself:

What’s the mood of the scene – relaxed, contemplative, risky, dangerous?
Which verbs or verbal phrases are conveying the character’s actions or state of being?
Do those verbs convey motion, emotion and pace?
Are they precise (ie single words) or is there padding (eg adverbs and filler verbs)?
Would a different stronger verb (either low or high intensity) more effectively capture appropriate motion, emotion and pace?

Summing up

When looking at word choices in crime fiction and thriller writing, think about which verbs act as controlled triggers for motion, emotion and pace.

The power lies in choosing something that already carries the meaning, because then there’s no need to add adverbials and filler.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Making Tax Digital (MTD): Using a bridging service]]>Fri, 17 Apr 2026 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/making-tax-digital-mtd-using-a-bridging-serviceIf you’re a UK-based freelance editor or proofreader who still hasn’t decided how to deal with Making Tax Digital, here’s how one of your colleagues solved the problem by using a bridging service.

In this post ...

What is Making Tax Digital?
When does MTD start?
How often do we have to file with MTD?
What is a bridging service?
Why I chose 123sheets
Preparation tips for using bridging services

A caveat

I’m a professional editorial business owner, not a tax expert. The information I’ve provided below is what I’ve picked up on my MTD journey, and I've done my best to ensure it’s correct at the time of writing (April 2026).

If you’re in any doubt about your own tax position, speak to an accountant. There’s lots of information at GOV.UK too.

What is Making Tax Digital?

Making Tax Digital (MTD) is the UK government’s attempt to drag tax reporting out of spreadsheets and shoeboxes and into the twenty-first century.

MTD means we, as UK-based sole traders, have to keep digital records and file updates using compatible software several times a year. The idea is to make things more accurate, reduce errors and cut down on last-minute annual panics.

Personally, I wasn’t panicked by the traditional system. And I was more than happy managing my finances in a spreadsheet … And with submitting my tax return via HM Revenue & Customs (HMRC)’s online self-assessment gateway … And with doing that just once a year … And at zero cost to me.

I’m starting to sound like a grouch, but I promise I’ll be sharing the low-cost solution I found below!

When does MTD start?

MTD is already up and running for self-employed people who are earning over a particular income threshold. Those who don’t meet that threshold will have a year’s grace.

Still, you might qualify to join the scheme early, and that could be a good option for anyone wanting to get to grips with it ahead of time so there’s no last-minute rush.

How often do we have to file with MTD?

With MTD we have to submit what HMRC calls quarterly updates.

The key thing we all need to bear in mind is that these updates are cumulative. We’re not doing four separate mini-returns. Think of it as a rolling picture that builds across the year.

If your financial year starts on 6 April, the deadlines will be as follows:

Q1 (6 Apr–5 Jul): due 7 August
Q1–Q2 (6 Apr–5 Oct): due 7 November
Q1–Q3 (6 Apr–5 Jan): due 7 February
Q1–Q4 (6 Apr–5 Apr): due 7 May

At the end of the year, there's an End of Period Statement (EOPS) that, says HMRC, ‘confirms the figures for the full year and allows accounting adjustments such as capital allowances or basis period adjustments’.

Then there’s the final declaration (which replaces the self-assessment tax return), and that’s due by 31 January following the end of the tax year.

What all this means is that there are way more touchpoints but no change to when your financial year starts or when the final bill gets sorted.

What is a bridging service?

Given that I was already perfectly happy with using a spreadsheet, then submitting my tax returns digitally, and not spending a bean in the process, I absolutely didn’t want to fork out for an accountant four times a year or expensive software.

For that reason, last year I started exploring affordable bridging services.

A bridging service for MTD acts a bit like a translator between your existing records and HMRC’s systems.

If, like me, you’re still recording your income and expenses in spreadsheets, those spreadsheets aren’t set up to talk directly to HMRC. That’s where bridging software comes in.

It bridges the gap by taking the figures from your spreadsheet and submitting them to HMRC in the right digital format. And that allows you to stay compliant with MTD without ditching the way you already work.

In practice, it means:

you keep your records in Excel (or similar)
the bridging tool links to your spreadsheet
it pulls through the relevant numbers
then sends them to HMRC as part of your MTD submission.

So, if you’re happy with spreadsheets, like I am, and don’t want to move to full accounting services just yet (or ever!), a bridging service can be a handy halfway house.

Why I chose 123sheets

My research led me to sign up with 123sheets. Here's why I chose them:

They’re on HMRC’s list of compatible providers.
They provide a downloadable, ready-to-go, MTD-compliant worksheet, meaning I can link the relevant cells in my Excel spreadsheet to the appropriate cells in their worksheet. Then it’s simply a case of logging in to their site, uploading the quarterly update and clicking a ‘File’ button.
It’s cheap at chips – less than £45 (including VAT) a year, and there’s a 50% discount on your first year!
The dashboard is dead easy to use – like it was made for people (like me) who can think of a thousand other things they’d rather do that file a tax return.
There are videos to guide you in the event you get stuck (though you probably won’t).

To be clear, there’s no financial benefit for me by telling you about this company. I’m simply sharing the choice I made with you, and the reasons behind it, so that anyone who’s feeling a bit flummoxed, and who’s a spreadsheet user like me, might feel a bit more reassured that there are user-friendly options out there. There’ll be plenty of other UK-based professionals in our industry who've already opted (or will opt) for other methods with different providers.

Preparation tips for using bridging services

Here are some tips to help you prepare if you decide to go down the bridging-software route.

Choose a good-fit provider

Look for one that makes you feel like it’s easing the load rather asking you to climb yet another hill.
Select one that’s on HMRC’s list of compatibles.
Check that you understand how the software works well ahead of time, and that your records system works with theirs.

Prep your spreadsheet

Make sure your accounts spreadsheet is recording quarterly totals for income and expenses.

It’ll save you time if you add a sheet that captures the cumulative totals: Q1, Q1–Q2, Q1–Q3 and Q1–Q4.

Sign up for MTD

Any bridging service you choose can’t connect your records with HMRC until you’ve authorised them to do so. For that to work, you need to have signed up for MTD.
To sign up for MTD in a particular year, you need to have filed your previous year’s tax return.

Shift your mindset

As soon as your income falls within MTD’s scope, you’ll need to be ready, so start prepping before you need to so that you have a bit of breathing space.
Set up a routine so that you’re recording income and expenses on a regular basis (eg monthly or even weekly). That way, when a submission deadline rolls around, you’re basically already done.

Wrapping up

Change can be hard for busy business owners, especially when we can’t immediately see how the outcomes benefit us. That’s how MTD is making a lot of self-employed people feel.

However, by getting organised, and selecting tools and providers who can help us keep things ticking over smoothly, I'm confident that MTD can be just another a bit of admin rather than a headache.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Dealing with editorial scope creep and client boundaries]]>Wed, 15 Apr 2026 23:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/dealing-with-editorial-scope-creep-and-client-boundariesLearn how to manage scope creep and set healthy boundaries in your editing and proofreading work.

Summary of Episode 154

Listen to find out more about:

What scope creep is
Why scope creep happens
How to prevent scope creep
Spotting scope creep early
Setting and communicating boundaries
How to say no (nicely)
When it’s time to reassess
The emotional side of boundary setting

Listen to the episode

Support The Editing Podcast

Tip your hosts: Support Louise and Denise with a one-off tip of your choosing.

Join our Patreon community: Our patrons benefit from access to PDF transcripts for episodes featuring just Louise and Denise, and for some of our guest episodes.

Music credit

'Vivacity’ by Kevin MacLeod

Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/4593-vivacity
Licence: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

]]><![CDATA[7 types of thriller opening lines (with examples from bestselling novels)]]>Thu, 09 Apr 2026 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/7-types-of-thriller-opening-lines-with-examples-from-bestselling-novelsExplore seven effective types of thriller opening lines, and how published novelists are using them to convince their audiences to keep on reading.

The recognizable patterns in thriller opening lines

The opening line of a thriller has a difficult job. In a single sentence it must capture attention and convince readers that the story is worth their time.

While great first lines vary in style, there are some recognizable patterns. Understanding these can help writers craft first sentences that hook readers immediately.

Below we’ll look at seven types of thriller opening lines – each illustrated with examples from published novels – and examine why they work and what writers can learn from them.

What these opening lines have in common

Despite their differences, superb thriller first lines usually share several notable qualities:

Stakes: suggests that a character’s in danger or facing a threatening predicament
Curiosity: creates intrigue whereby readers have at least one question they want answered
Tension or conflict: hints that something is wrong
Voice: Establishes a tone that makes us interested or invested in the narrator
Momentum: Gives the reader a reason to keep moving through the prose.

1. First-line focus on a pursuit

Some thrillers begin with motion already underway: someone is chasing, escaping or searching.

Example: The Gunslinger, Stephen King (Hodder Paperback edition, 2003)

The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

Why it works
Readers are thrust straight into the middle of a high-stakes chase. In a single line, we sense the tension: one character fleeing, another in pursuit. The sentence immediately conveys motion, suspense and intrigue, and prompts questions like: Who are these figures and what is at stake?

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Curiosity | Tension or conflict | Momentum

Lesson for writers
Movement signals urgency. Starting with that signals that the story is already underway and that the reader has arrived in the middle of something important.

2. First-line focus on psychological mindset

These first lines hook readers by revealing a shocking fact, personal truth or secret. They often feel rather confessional create powerful psychological intrigue because they invite readers into a character’s headspace.

Example 1: Dark Places, Gillian Flynn (Phoenix edition, 2010)

I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ.

Why it works
The opening plunges readers into the narrator’s psyche, exposing an unsettling inner darkness before any plot events occur. This early insight builds psychological tension, making us question the narrator’s reliability and wonder how their mindset will shape the story.

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Curiosity | Tension or conflict | Voice

Example 2: The Martian, Andy Weir (Del Rey edition, 2014)

I’m pretty much fucked.

Why it works
In those first four words, the narrator signals that disaster has struck. The candid, no-nonsense tone generates immediate suspense, encouraging readers to ask: What has happened? How will the character cope?

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Stakes | Curiosity | Tension or conflict | Voice

Lesson for writers
Confessional first lines can draw readers directly into a character’s predicament or provide striking psychological insight in just a few words. These two examples are also good reminders that a strong narrative voice can be just as compelling as action or a crime.

3. First-line focus on a shocking statement

A bold or disturbing statement can grab readers immediately, forcing them to confront moral tension or danger.

Example: I Will Find You, Harlan Coben (Penguin edition, 2023)

I am serving the fifth year of a life sentence for murdering my own child.

Why it works
A single, startling sentence conveys both shock and intrigue. It instantly raises questions and emotional stakes. Readers want to understand the circumstances that led the narrator, speaking directly to us, to this moment.

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Stakes | Curiosity | Tension or conflict | Voice | Momentum

Lesson for writers
A single unexpected statement can create a powerful hook if it suggests a deeper story.

5. First-line focus on a crime or transgression

Some thrillers’ opening lines reveal a crime or transgression that has already occurred or is in progress.

Example: Paradise, Toni Morrison (Vintage edition, 1999)

They shoot the white girl first.

Why it works
The sentence is shocking, violent and blunt, though we’re not given any context. That ambiguity forces readers to ask questions: Who are ‘they’? Who are the other girls that it’s implied are also going to be shot? Why have these girls been targeted?

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Curiosity | Tension or conflict | Momentum

Lesson for writers
Introducing the crime early tells readers exactly what kind of story they’re entering.

6. First-line focus on the environment

Some thrillers begin by establishing an unsettling atmosphere.

Example 1: Neuromancer, William Gibson (Gateway edition, 2016)

The sky above the port was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel.

Why it works
This line uses a striking image to establish a bleak, dystopian environment. It signals that the world of the story may feel strange or unsettling.

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Tension or conflict | Voice

Example 2: The Day of the Jackal, Frederick Forsyth (Arrow edition, 2011)

It is cold at six-forty in the morning of a March day in Paris, and seems even colder when a man is about to be executed by firing squad.

Why it works
This opening sentence starts with information about the weather and the time. It could have been dull, but the author uses it as an artful anchor for the life‑or‑death clause that follows. The stark, cold setting mirrors the flat, cold voice, as if the narrator has accepted the inevitability of the execution.

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Stakes | Tension or conflict | Voice

Lesson for writers
A vivid or unusual image can establish tone while creating curiosity about the setting. And environmental information can be highly effective as long as it’s used to amplify a character’s mood.

7. First-line focus on foreboding

This type of opening signals that something terrible has already happened, or is about to happen.

Example 1: Everybody Knows, Jordan Harper (Faber & Faber edition, 2023)

Los Angeles burns.

Why it works
In just three stark words, this first line establishes a vivid, ominous setting that suggests chaos and danger. Something catastrophic is happening in a familiar city, and readers want to know what caused it and what the consequences will be.

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Stakes | Curiosity | Tension or conflict | Momentum

Example 2: Gone Before Goodbye, Harlan Coben and Reese Witherspoon (Penguin, 2026)

I don’t hear the scream.

Why it works
In just five words, this line creates immediate tension. By emphasizing what the narrator doesn’t hear, it heightens the sense of unseen danger. The absence of sound signals that something is amiss, prompting readers to ask: What’s happening, and what threat lurks nearby?

NOTABLE QUALITIES: Curiosity | Tension or conflict | Momentum

Lesson for writers
Opening lines that imply catastrophe, danger or abnormality can be incredibly effective. By hinting that something is wrong, rather than explaining it immediately, activate the reader’s curiosity and tension, and compel them to keep going.

Summing up

A thriller’s first line doesn’t have to feature explosions or violence. What matters is that it avoids the mundane.

That means encouraging questions and making the reader feel something – for example shock, surprise, disgust, fear, confusion – so that they want to continue beyond the opening sentence and into the rest of the story.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[10 weak first lines in mysteries and thrillers (and how to fix them)]]>Thu, 02 Apr 2026 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/10-weak-first-lines-in-mysteries-and-thrillers-and-how-to-fix-themExplore 10 weak thriller opening lines and learn how to turn them into compelling hooks that grab the reader, set the tone and hint at something that piques their curiosity.

The weight carried by the opening line

The opening line of a mystery or thriller carries an enormous amount of weight. In just a few words, it has to hook the reader, set the tone and indicate a problem or predicament that will pique the reader’s interest.

Manuscripts with first lines that feature routine description, backstory or everyday dialogue can feel flat rather than gripping.

In this article, we’ll look at 10 examples of weak first lines, explain why they don’t work, and show how small revisions can turn them into compelling hooks.

If you’re writing a mystery, crime novel or psychological thriller, these examples will help you craft a first sentence that immediately grabs readers … and keeps them wanting to read.

Example 1: Generic description

Weak first line

It was a cold and rainy night in the city.

Why it’s ineffective
The description is generic and objective. There’s no character, no tension and no intrigue.

Suggested improvement

The rain washed the blood toward the storm drain before anyone noticed the body.

Why the revision helps
The objectivity remains, but now the reader is immediately introduced to a crime – one that makes us ask questions: Whose body? How did they die? And by whose hand?

Example 2: Routine activity

Weak first line

Detective Harris sat down at his desk and found the murder weapon waiting for him.

Why it’s ineffective
While there’s a human being involved in this line, Harris’s actions are mundane. The sentence is front loaded with activity related to where he sits. Even though a murder weapon is mentioned, that’s not particularly interesting given the detective’s job.
There’s no reason for us to do anything with this line than skim over it.

Suggested improvement

Detective Harris stared at the murder weapon – handcrafted blade, premium steel, artisan finish, and identical to the one his son had bought only four days earlier.

Why the revision helps
Now there’s a conundrum for us to consider – the familiarity of the weapon. This creates a pressure point for Harris, and a mystery that readers want an explanation for.

Example 3: Focus on backstory

Weak first line

Martha had always loved living in the quiet town of Hemsby.

Why it’s ineffective
The focus here is on the past rather than the present, and that backstory is generalised and mundane.

Suggested improvement

The first dead body in Hemsby appeared three houses down from Martha’s front door.

Why the revision helps
Now there’s momentum. The word ‘first’ introduces foreshadowing – readers will assume that there’s more than one dead body. The mention of proximity to a named character forces us to wonder about her role: Is Martha a potential victim, too, or is she a transgressor?

Example 4: No intrigue

Weak first line

John woke up early that morning and checked the time.

Why it’s ineffective
So what? the reader might think. Waking up early in the morning is not intriguing. It’s commonplace.

Suggested improvement

John woke to the sound of someone unlocking his front door.

Why the revision helps
Now there’s immediate tension. The word ‘someone’ implies that another person entering the house is unexpected. And yet ‘unlocking’ suggests they have a key. That leads to readers asking questions: Who’s in his space? Should they be there? Is John in danger?

Example 5: Vague observation

Weak first line

The small town felt peaceful that morning.

Why it’s ineffective
This line tells us readers nothing about why they should care about this peaceful place, nor why they should carry on reading about it.

Suggested improvement

The town felt peaceful – until the police divers pulled the suitcase out of the lake.

Why the revision helps
The revised line is still told from an objective perspective, and the peacefulness has been left intact. However, that information is now sharply juxtaposed with a shocking discovery. Using contrast helps to create surprise and intrigue.

Example 6: Dull dialogue

Weak first line

“Morning,” Tom said as he poured coffee.

Why it’s ineffective
This is mundane speech – the kind of thing millions of people say to each other at times and spaces across the entire planet. It won’t compel a reader to continue.

Suggested improvement

“I didn’t do it,” Tom said, though in truth he couldn’t be sure.

Why the revision helps
Now we have an instant mystery. Readers will wonder what the ‘it’ is that Tom didn’t do, and they’ll want to know why he’s doubting himself.

Example 7: Tensionless thoughts

Weak first line

Emily drove to work, thinking about her busy day.

Why it’s ineffective
There’s no pressure point in this character thought. It’s skimmable information.

Suggested improvement

Emily was halfway to work when the radio announced that her husband had been murdered.

Why the revision helps
Now we understand the possible emotional stakes in play. Maybe this information comes as a horrific shock to Emily. Or maybe it will be revealed that she killed him. It actually doesn’t matter. All that’s important is that this is personal, and the reader will be invested in understanding why.

Example 8: Boring environment

Weak first line

The office building is large and modern.

Why it’s ineffective
The description feels flat and doesn’t convey any personality or tension.

Suggested improvement

The modern office block has thirty floors, but I’ll need only one to end Xavier Flint’s life.

Why the revision helps
Now we have an anonymous narrator with a clear agenda. While the motive is as yet unclear, which creates suspense, the tone is distinctly menacing. Readers will be wondering who this character is and what Flint’s done to evoke such anger.

Example 9: Flat impact

Weak first line

The police station is bustling when the missing girl walks through the door.

Why it’s ineffective
This at least introduces an interesting premise – that of the return of a missing person. However, it feels a little flat and lacks impact.

Suggested improvement

Sally Flowers has been missing for eleven years, three months and two days – and she’s just walked through the door.

Why the revision helps
In the revised version, the missing person has a name. And by leading with punchy description of how long Flowers has been missing for, the follow-up clause about her unexpected return creates shock and intrigue.

Example 10: No threat

Weak first line

You take an envelope from the mailbox, open it, and remove a photograph.

Why it’s ineffective
While the use of a second-person narrative hints at voyeurism, there’s nothing in that line that indicates anything’s out of whack.

Suggested improvement

The envelope you’ve taken from the mailbox contains a photograph – of you last night, sleeping.

Why the revision helps
The expository information about the mailbox, envelope and photograph are still there, as is the voyeuristic narration. However, by giving readers a small nudge about what’s in that image, there’s an imminent sense of threat.

Summing up

A great opening line to any thriller or mystery usually does at least one of these things:

Stakes: suggests that a character’s in danger or facing a threatening predicament
Curiosity: creates intrigue whereby readers have at least one question they want answered
Tension or conflict: hints that something is wrong
Voice: Establishes a tone that makes us interested or invested in the narrator
Momentum: Gives the reader a reason to keep moving through the prose.

If these aren't evident in your first line, it’s worth revisiting.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[How to hook readers: The first 5 pages of a thriller]]>Thu, 26 Mar 2026 09:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/how-to-hook-readers-the-first-5-pages-of-a-thrillerLearn what every thriller must accomplish in its first five pages, including compelling opening lines, early pressure points, clear viewpoint characters and narrative momentum. Discover how to hook readers, build tension and set the stage for a gripping, page-turning story from the very first sentence.

Why the first 5 pages are a pitch to the reader

Thrillers live or die by their opening pages. We can think of them as a hook or a pitch – the thing that convinces readers to invest in the rest of the novel. This is the space that sets the tone, whets the appetite and sells the idea of what’s to come.

Readers pick up a thriller expecting immediate tension, momentum and intrigue. An editor will be looking for those same qualities too.

Here’s what you should look out for when reviewing your first five pages.

1. Is the opening line compelling?

The very first line in a novel sets expectations for the entire story. When it comes to thrillers, readers love hearing a distinctive voice, a sense of movement or tension, and a hint of the predicament or situation a character’s dealing with.

Weak opening lines
These often begin with neutral description or background information. For example:

The sun rose over the quiet town of Ashford as people began their day.
The office was quiet, and everyone was busy at their desks.
"I can’t believe it’s Monday already,” Malik said, sipping his coffee and looking out the window at the parking lot. “Do you think the boss will schedule that meeting again today?’

These opening lines struggle because nothing specific or interesting is happening. The information is generic. There are no stakes and no reason for the reader to be curious.

Strong opening lines
Strong opening lines feature a character in motion or a problem.

Harlan Coben is brilliant at writing knock-out opening lines. Take a look at these examples and compare them with the yawn fest above:

Here is how you destroy a life. (Think Twice, Penguin, 2024)
You never meant to kill him. (The Innocent, Orion, 2009)
I sat in the back pew and watched the only woman I would ever love marry another man. (Six Years, Orion 2013)
I am serving the fifth year of a life sentence for murdering my own child. (I Will Find You, Penguin, 2023)
They buried Joe three days after his murder. (Fool Me Once, Penguin, 2023)
I don’t hear the scream. (Gone Before Goodbye, with Reese Witherspoon, Penguin, 2026)

Notice how he zooms right in on a problem – rejection, harm, murder.

It’s not just that Coben gets to the point. It’s that he injects so much emotion into each of those sentences. He does this by making sure that the psychic distance between the reader and the narrator feels close, like the character is talking to us intimately …

There’s oodles of suspense too. Absolutely no way are we putting down any of those books after we’ve read their opening lines because, in just a few words, the author has made us a promise – that having set the scene he will answer the questions we’re already asking:

whose life was destroyed in Think Twice
why the person ended up dead in The Innocent
whether the character will end up getting his girl back in Six Years
how the child ended up dead in I Will Find You
who murdered Joe in Fool Me Once
who’s screaming and why in Gone Before Goodbye.

Tip for writers and editors
If the opening line doesn’t pique the reader’s curiosity, or create tension or intrigue, consider a recast.

2. Have you introduced a pressure point?

A thriller's first five pages don’t need to be infused with violence or high-octane action, but they should show the reader where the pressure is.

Weak pressure
Review your first few pages and make sure they’re not dominated by the routine and mundane. Waking up, commuting and casual conversations risk making your reader skim.

Readers of the genre expect to be thrilled, and if you don’t satisfy that appetite early on, they may disengage and start wondering when the story’s going to pick up.

Strong pressure
Here’s how authors might could inject pressure points into the early pages of their stories:

a looming threat
a dangerous situation
a mystery that demands an answer
a character facing a difficult decision.
a crime or suspicious event
a secret or conspiracy
a race against time.

Tip for writers and editors
Scan the first pages for early conflict or unusual events. Ask yourself this: Is there an indication that something’s already wrong or off? If not, and exposition or a calm setup are dominating, consider how curiosity, danger or high stakes could be introduced.

3. Is a clear point-of-view character present?

When readers can step into a character’s perspective early on, they become engaged faster and more deeply invested in the story.

It doesn’t have to be the protagonist. It could be an anonymous antagonist or transgressor. It could be a victim. The point is that we want to know whose story we’re following in those first few pages.

Weak perspectives
A thriller whose early pages focus on vague, objective information with no emotional resonance can distance readers. We end up not understanding who we’re supposed to be rooting for or who we want to see stopped.

Strong perspectives
Readers are people. They know what it is to be human – to love, to fear, to hate, to despair.

Compelling opening pages feed that innate knowledge. They provide information that helps us invest in a particular character, even if that emotional investment is negative.
We should get an early sense of the following:

what the character’s role is in the story
why they’re interesting
what the stakes are for them
why it’s personal or emotional, even if the plot involves big-picture events such as terrorism, conspiracies or assassinations.

Tip for writers and editors
Consider whether the first five pages tell readers what the viewpoint character stands to lose, why this situation matters to them and what is motivating them to act? If those personal stakes aren’t shown early on, the prose will feel flat and readers might switch off.

4. Have you created momentum?

Thrillers rely heavily on forward movement throughout, but the opening pages are particularly critical because that’s where writers get their first chance to earn readers’ trust and prove that momentum will be attended to.

Weak momentum
The first five pages are not the place for information dumps that provide:

expository background detail
technical explanation
detailed worldbuilding.

There is definitely a place for all of that stuff, but it’s better to introduce it appropriately after the story has got moving, particularly if it’s detailed. Not doing so means things could end up feeling rather static.

Strong momentum
Early pages that focus tightly on a problem, a mystery, a decision or an unusual situation will hold readers’ attention. We don’t need to be given all the answers or supporting information at this point – there’s a whole novel to do that. And in fact, not having all the background helps build intrigue and drive curiosity.

The opening five pages of TM Logan’s 29 Seconds (Zaffre, 2018) give a superb example of narrative momentum. Readers are offered the following:

We meet the main character
A stranger offers her a mysterious one-time deal that could change her life
She is sexually harassed by a drunk colleague.

Throughout these few pages we’re presented with, first, a mystery, then tension as she tries to manage her shock and fear during the harassment. There are more questions than answers, but Logan makes us wait, concentrating on momentum rather than filling in all the detail.

Tip for writers and editors
Focus on motion rather than explanations in the first five pages. That energy will ensure that readers are prepared to wait for the detail that fills in all the gaps.

Summing up

The first five pages of a thriller should do four things:

start with a compelling first line
establish what the problem is – what’s causing the tension
introduce a compelling character for the reader to invest in
create a mystery that drives the story forward.

When those elements are in place, readers will want to turn pages 6, 7 and beyond.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Character names in crime fiction, mysteries and thrillers]]>Sat, 21 Mar 2026 09:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/character-names-in-crime-fiction-mysteries-and-thrillersLearn about why character names matter, how to approach the ‘hard-to-pronounce’ issue, and practical strategies for making your characters memorable, readable and believable.

Why character names are more than just labels
Why names matter
Embracing diversity in character naming
‘Hard-to-pronounce’ names
Helping readers with pronunciation
Helping readers with naming conventions
Names as character signposts
Balancing uniqueness with readability
The role of nicknames and titles
Testing names in context
Other common pitfalls to watch out for

Why character names are more than just labels

The name you choose for a character is a vital part of storytelling. A well-chosen name can signal personality, social background, culture or even foreshadow events in your story.

On the other hand, confusing, repetitive or inconsistent names can pull readers out of the narrative, making them struggle to remember your characters or follow the plot.

In this article, we’ll explore why character names matter, how to approach the ‘hard-to-pronounce’ issue, and look at some practical strategies for making your characters memorable, readable and believable.

Why names matter

A character’s name is often the first thing a reader learns about them. It can:

suggest age, gender identity or cultural background
indicate personality traits or social class
reinforce thematic elements or foreshadow events.

For example, in one of Jeff Carson’s series, the protagonist is called ‘David Wolf’. This evokes a certain intelligence, strength and cunning that blends familiarity with a primal, instinctive edge.

In Chris Brookmyre’s Places of Darkness – a novel set in the future and on a vast space station orbiting earth – the cynical security officer entangled in organized crime is called Nikki Freeman. The first name feels casual and friendly, while the last name suggests autonomy, resilience and someone unbound by convention or authority.

Consider also these two examples from Philip K Dick novels:

Ragle Gumm – from The Zap Gun. This is a quirky, almost comic name that reflects the character’s unusual circumstances.
Pris Stratton – from Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?. This is a memorable and evocative name that blends beauty and artificiality.

Dick’s names often balance familiarity with eccentricity, helping readers navigate surreal, speculative worlds while subtly suggesting character traits or thematic resonance.

Beyond meaning, names help readers track characters across scenes. In novels with large casts and complex plots, distinct names prevent confusion.

Embracing diversity in character naming

Today’s literary landscape is global, and character names reflect that. A name might be culturally or regionally specific, and can reflect both real-world multiculturalism and the inventive worlds of speculative crime and mystery fiction.

Speculative fiction, fantasy, science fiction and other world-building genres have long embraced invented names to convey a sense of otherworldliness or cultural specificity. In crime fiction, mystery and thrillers, readers are also increasingly encountering names from cultures and regions that they may not be familiar with.

Regional branches of the noir tradition in particular – French, Tartan, Nordic, Afro, Asian – are rich and popular, and explore human weakness, moral uncertainty and the darker side of society. With that, we get characters who have authentic names, the pronunciation of which may not at first sight be obvious to some readers:

Examples include:

Mma Precious Ramotswe, the wise and compassionate sleuth (The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith)

Keita Mori, the brilliant and enigmatic Japanese watchmaker with an unusual memory and remarkable abilities (The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley)
Kacper Ryx, the protagonist investigator who tackles theft and other mysteries in sixteenth‑century Kraków (Zły by Leopold Tyrmand)
Inspector Sartaj Singh, the weary Sikh police officer, and Ganesh Gaitonde, the notorious crime lord (Sacred Games by Vikram Chandra)

‘Hard-to-pronounce’ names

When thinking the challenges of pronunciation, we need to start with a question: Hard to pronounce for whom?

When we say that a name’s hard to pronounce, we have to recognize that all we’re doing is reflecting our own personal perceptions and language abilities. There is no such thing as a universally ‘hard-to-pronounce’ name.

What I – as a white, British person who’s something of a monoglot and not nearly as well travelled as I’d like to be – might find hard to pronounce is not what someone else might struggle with.

Consider the examples I gave above – Mma Precious Ramotswe, Keita Mori, Kacper Ryx, Sartaj Singh and Ganesh Gaitonde. Those with a more intimate knowledge of life in Botswana, Japan, Poland and India would not need help pronouncing those character names in the way I would.

The answer isn’t to choose alternative names and rip the authenticity from the novel in service of Western European or North American readers' comfort zones. Instead, authors wanting to help out their audience and maximise engagement can take various steps …

Helping readers with pronunciation

It’s great to see diversity in the genre because this reflects the diversity in the readership base. Authors, however, do have to recognize that naming characters in ways that are universally accessible (at least on first read) is an impossible task.

That diversity will necessarily introduce challenges for some, and names that feel unfamiliar could trip them up and cause disengagement, no matter how brilliant the plot.

The solution is to offer gentle cues that feel natural to the story, rather than forcing explanations on readers. That way, authors can maintain the narrative flow while helping readers engage.

Some strategies could include:

Phonetic hints in dialogue
Show characters correcting pronunciation naturally. For example:

‘It’s pronounced “Ah-LEE-ah”, not “Alia”,’ she said.

That’s the approach Pulley takes in The Watchmaker of Filigree Street to help readers pronounce Keita Mori’s name.

Contextual clues
You could use other characters’ reactions or narrative descriptions to reinforce pronunciation subtly. For example, a viewpoint character’s narrative might go as follows:

Again, he stumbled over the guy’s first name as he called it out. Corrected himself – tee-BOH – and glanced over at the new recruit. Thibault didn’t seem to mind, just nodded and smiled.

Glossaries or appendices
It’s not uncommon in fantasy and science fiction to include glossaries that list pronunciation alongside character names, locations and worldbuilding terms. This can be an option for crime and thriller writers too.

Helping readers with naming conventions

Some readers may be unfamiliar with naming conventions in other parts of the world. These can signal:

power dynamics (boss versus subordinate)
respect, familiarity or insult
cultural hierarchy within police forces, gangs and families.

Example
In Jar City, Arnaldur Indriðason's detective and criminal characters refer to each other by first name, which reflects the patronymic naming convention in Iceland and how first names don't always indicate social intimacy.

Explaining to readers
Crime and thriller writers can follow Indriðason's approach by including an explanatory note for readers in the front matter of the book.

This helps the audience understand social nuance, hierarchy and cultural authenticity, which are especially important in novels where status matters.

Names as character signposts

Names can also act as subtle character signposts. They can hint at personality, social standing or plot function.

Personality: Short, punchy names can suggest energy or sharpness, for example ‘Max,’ ‘Tess,’ ‘Jack.’ Longer, more formal names might convey authority, tradition, or aristocracy, for example ‘Bartholomew’ or ‘Alexandria.’

Role in story: Villainous characters sometimes have harder, harsher-sounding names that can echo danger, like ‘Malvolo’ or ‘Draven.’ Protagonists might have smoother, friendlier-sounding names. Think about your subgenre and audience and be careful not to overdo it! Transgressors don’t usually walk around announcing their bad intentions – they look like regular people and are named like regular people.

Cultural or historical grounding: Carefully chosen names enrich characterization without requiring exposition. A character’s name can reflect their heritage, era or social milieu, which can add realism and depth. For example, the last name 'Singh' could be used to denote a person’s spiritual identity and commitment, and the community to which they belong.

Reader tracking: In crime fiction, a memorable name helps readers track multiple suspects and allies. If there’s a crossover into speculative fiction, names can help establish cultural identity for different kingdoms or species.

Balancing uniqueness with readability

The trick is finding the sweet spot between authenticity, uniqueness and readability. Here are two practical tips:

Distinctiveness
Distinctiveness is particularly important in crime fiction, mysteries and thrillers so that readers don’t end up confusing suspects, detectives and witnesses.

Avoid having characters with the same name: Your reader won’t thank you if there are four people with the name ‘John’.
Consider whether your characters’ names sound too similar. For example, a ‘Sara’ and ‘Sarah’ in the same novel could confuse readers. So might two characters with the last names ‘Swainston’ and ‘Swanton’.

Pronounceable structure
Names should be speakable, even if that means helping your reader learn how to speak them (as discussed above).

The role of nicknames and titles

A carefully applied nickname or title can prevent confusion while reinforcing personality or status, especially in ensemble casts.

Nicknames
These can make characters more approachable or signal relationships. One of my authors, whose characters were Polish, took this approach and it was very effective. A police officer with the last name ‘Cherniawski’ was often referred to in narrative and dialogue as Cheri, when it was appropriate to do so.

As well as signalling intimacy between characters, it also helped Western European and North American audiences shift their attention away from pronunciation and towards character action.

Titles or ranks
These are especially useful in crime, military or political fiction, for example ‘Detective Rivera’ or ‘Captain Leong’.

Aliases
These can add mystery or misdirection, particularly in thrillers and espionage.

Testing names in context

Before finalizing names, test them to make sure they work.

Read them aloud
Reading aloud is a valuable exercise in crime fiction and thrillers, where names will appear frequently in dialogue, police reports and investigative notes. A character’s name should flow within the prose rather than interrupting it.

Ask beta readers
Can they pronounce the characters’ names easily? If they’re struggling, but you’re committed to retaining the name for the purpose of authenticity, check whether there are cues you can introduce to help readers learn quickly.

Check context
Do the names you’ve chosen fit within the cultural or regional context of the novel?

Two common pitfalls to watch out for

When naming characters, watch out for:

1. Unintentional associations
You may have created characters whose heritage is different from your own. Do some research to ensure that your characters’ names don’t inadvertently evoke real people, brands or stereotypes, particularly if those conflict with the character’s persona.

For example, unless you’re writing satirical crime fiction, it won’t make sense to call a lazy, overweight investigator ‘Venus Williams’. The reader will all too frequently end up thinking of an athletic superstar, and your characterization will be undermined. Google Search is your friend here.

2. Inconsistency (especially across series)
Check that characters’ names are spelled consistently and that their titles are consistent. Ms Abi Starling shouldn’t become Miss Abby Sterling.

Maintaining a character list or spreadsheet with name spellings, nicknames and relationships can help you keep track of consistency, especially if you’re writing a book series.

A handy little tool you can use for this purpose, if you’re working in Word, is a macro called ProperNounAlyse.

Summing up

A character’s name is one of the first things a reader encounters, and it often lingers long after the story ends. Thoughtfully chosen names improve clarity, reinforce characterization and deepen immersion.

Even hard-to-pronounce or culturally specific names can work beautifully when authors provide cues, context and consistency.

In short, the best names are:

Memorable: Readers recall them easily.
Consistent: Spelling and usage never shift.
Authentic: They fit the character’s culture, background and story world.
Readable: They flow in prose and dialogue without tripping readers up.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Self-editing checklist for crime, mystery and thriller writers]]>Fri, 20 Mar 2026 12:57:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/self-editing-checklist-for-crime-mystery-and-thriller-writersBefore you send your manuscript to an agent, editor or beta reader, use this comprehensive 10-step checklist to ensure your story is as tight, compelling and credible as possible.

Why self-editing is part of the writing process

A loose end, unconvincing motive, lack of tension and suspense, or mistimed reveal can unravel an otherwise gripping story. For that reason, self-editing is more than just a final step. Instead, think of it as a critical part of your writing craft process.

Check #1: Plot and structure: Does the mystery hold up?

Start with the backbone of your story: the plot.

Strong crime fiction and thrillers typically follow a clear trajectory – setup, investigation, escalation and resolution. That doesn’t mean the novel has to be predictable, but the reader does need to be able to see the logic in the events as they unfold.

In particular, ask yourself whether there any coincidences that solve too problems conveniently. It’s important that any key twists feel earned, rather than shoehorned in to make the story work.

Pay special attention to your ending. A satisfying resolution should feel both surprising and inevitable.

TIP: One useful technique is to work backwards from the reveal. Does every major plot point support that conclusion?

Check #2: Clues and red herrings: Are you playing fair?

Crime, mystery and thriller readers love trying to solve the puzzle alongside the protagonist. That means you need to play fair.

Every crucial clue should have been planted before the reveal. That means finding a balance between keeping those clues obscure but not completely hidden. not hidden, but not obvious either.

As for red herrings, these need to mislead without feeling manipulative or obvious. If readers feel they’ve been tricked rather than challenged, the story loses credibility.
The Golden Age writers were particularly adept at this, making sure that all the pieces are there and, ultimately, fit together.

TIP: Ask yourself whether an attentive reader could solve this mystery well before the ending?

Check #3: Character behaviour: Is it consistent and logical?

In this genre, the transgressive behaviour hinges on human behaviour – the characters’ motives, opportunities and psychology.

Consistency doesn’t require that a character can’t change. They can, and in that case that change will be key to the story’s arc. However, that change needs to make sense for the reader and driven in a way that’s clear to them.

Review each major character and check that:

their motivations are clear and believable
their actions align with their personality, especially when they’re under pressure
the suspects are distinct enough for readers to keep track of them.

TIP: Pay special attention to your antagonist. Their actions must make sense within the logic of the story. A brilliant twist won’t land well if the character behind it feels underdeveloped or inconsistent.

Check #4: Character names: Are they distinct?

Confusion is the enemy of tight crime and thriller writing. And nothing’s more confusing that when characters have the same names.

Of course, that’s something we experience in everyday life, but when it comes to novel writing, readers need to be able to identify who’s who. That becomes even more important when you’re writing a series because to ensure continuity, there’ll be no going back!

Make sure that:

each first name is distinct to avoid confusing readers, especially when there are multiple suspects (no reader will thank you if there are four Johns and five Wills/Bills)
you’ve avoided overly similar-sounding first and last names or repeating initials
the name reflects the character’s age, culture and social context
you verify spelling, titles and surnames to ensure they’ve remained the same from chapter to chapter (or even book to book in a series).

TIP: Create a simple character list or spreadsheet to track names, titles, appearances, traits and relationships.

Check #5: Timeline and continuity: Does everything add up?

Crime, mystery and thrillers often involve intricate timelines – alibis, movements, sequences of events. This is where many drafts fall apart.

Comb your draft manuscript and check the following:

Do all events occur in a logical order?
Are alibis consistent and verifiable?
Are there any contradictions in time, place or action?

TIP: Creating a separate timeline document can make this job easier. List exactly where each character is at every key moment. If something doesn’t line up there, it won’t line up for your reader either.

Check #6: Procedure: Is it plausible but engaging?

You don’t need to be a forensic expert to write in this genre, but your story does need to feel plausible, even if the setting is speculative.

Chris Brookmyre’s Places in the Darkness is a superb example. It follows a murder investigation on a near-future space station, where politics, class and human behaviour drive the mystery. Despite the speculative setting, it feels plausible because the crime – and its motives – are grounded in recognisably human conflicts.

Bear in mind that fiction can become dull if it mirrors real investigations too closely – lots of details about paperwork, delays and routine steps can drain tension and suspense.

Check the following:

Are investigative procedures plausible?
Is the forensic detail accurate within the novel’s world-build?
Is the forensic detail useful but not overwhelming?
Are legal consequences believable?

TIP: Prioritise tension over total realism. Include only the procedural details that increase the stakes, help the reader make sense of the investigation or reveal a character more deeply.

Check #7: Is the dialogue engaging and purposeful?

Dialogue is one of the most powerful tools for building tension and revealing character.

When a character’s speech focuses too much on everyday but mundane information – like discussions about the weather or how people take their coffee – readers can become bored, even though what’s being said would happen in real life.

As you edit:

cut any lines that don’t serve a purpose
ensure that each major character has a distinct and consistent voice
avoid using dialogue purely for exposition, sometimes called maid-and-butler dialogue.

TIP: Read your dialogue aloud. If it feels awkward to say, it’ll feel awkward to read.

Check #8: Pacing and suspense: Do they keep readers hooked?

Crime, mysteries and thrillers need to pull readers forward relentlessly.

Each scene should either advance the plot, deepen character or increase tension – ideally all three. If it doesn’t, consider cutting or rewriting it.

Look out for:

sections where the story drags or stalls
overlong descriptions that slow momentum
chapters that end in a way that doesn’t urge readers to turn the page.

TIP: End every chapter with a question or unresolved tension. This article has 7 suggestions that will help you do that at line level.

Check #9: Point of view: Are the shifts in perspective clear?

When readers have access to what’s going on in every character’s head in a single scene, head-hopping might be in play.

That can rip tension and suspense from your novel because readers know what everyone’s thinking and feeling. Nothing’s withheld.

More crucially, perhaps, it stops them investing in a character’s experience in the moment. The psychic distance widens and makes them feel like they’re a distant observer rather than a participant.

Of course, it’s fine to have more than one viewpoint character, but check that:

you’ve chosen a consistent viewpoint approach throughout the novel
any shifts from one character’s perspective to another’s are intentional and clearly signposted
you give your readers opportunities to feel almost like they’re in a single character’s head

TIP: Highlight every sentence in which there’s information that your POV character couldn’t directly perceive or know. If anything slips through (another character’s thoughts, unseen actions), you’ve broken viewpoint, and it’s time to revise so everything is filtered strictly through that character’s experience.

Check #10: Line craft: Is your writing sharp?

Effective line craft sharpens prose by making every sentence purposeful, precise and engaging. When we line edit, we’re seeking to enhance clarity, tone and rhythm and to eliminate excess.

That way the story flows smoothly and keeps readers immersed. Zoom in on your narrative and focus on the following:

Cutting repetition and filler.
Replacing vague descriptions with specific details.
Eliminating clichés and overused phrases.
Considering every adverb to make sure it’s not telling what’s already been shown through dialogue and action.

TIP: Trust your readers, then cut unnecessary words. If a word, phrase or sentence doesn’t reveal character, advance the plot or heighten tension, remove it.

Summing up

Robust self-editing will mean your draft is in the best shape possible before it goes to someone else. It might feel like a time-consuming thing to do, but it will save you time in the long run, and perhaps even money.

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[How to use AI tools ethically when editing or proofreading]]>Wed, 04 Mar 2026 00:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/how-to-use-ai-tools-ethically-in-editing-when-editing-or-proofreadingLearn about how to use AI tools ethically when editing or proofreading.

Summary of Episode 151

Find out more about the following:

What do we mean by 'AI tools' in editing?
The ethical questions
Protecting client confidentiality
Being transparent with clients
Accountability
Respecting authorship
Staying informed and critical
Real-world scenarios
The editor's role in shaping AI ethics
AI Use and Ethics Checklist (free resource)

Listen to Episode 151

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Music credit

'Vivacity’ by Kevin MacLeod

Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/4593-vivacity
Licence: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Save time editing in Word with Quick Parts]]>Wed, 04 Feb 2026 17:00:31 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/save-time-editing-in-word-with-quick-partsLearn how to edit more efficiently in Microsoft Word using the Quick Parts tool.

In this article ...

What Quick Parts is
Why Quick Parts makes editing more efficient
Common editing tasks you can streamline with Quick Parts
How to create a Quick Part
How to insert a Quick Part while editing
How to review or edit your Quick Parts
Tips for naming your Quick Parts
Quick Parts versus third-party text-expansion tools

Do you edit in Word?

If you edit Word documents, and find yourself typing the same phrases, inserting standard text blocks or fixing the same formatting issues over and over again, Microsoft Word has a built‑in feature that can help you: Quick Parts.

In this article, we’ll look at what Quick Parts is, why it’s so useful, and how you can start using it today to edit faster and more consistently.

Note: I work with the Windows operating system, so the instructions I’ve offered below align with that.

What is Quick Parts?

Quick Parts is a Microsoft Word tool that allows you to store reusable pieces of content – such as text, tables, headers and formatted paragraphs – and insert them into your document easily.

You can think of Quick Parts as a personal library of ready‑made content. Once you save something, you can reuse it across documents without retyping or copying and pasting.

This tool really comes into its own if:

you’re editing multiple documents with similar content
you’re editing large documents and are likely to repeat advice or guidance
or you work as part of a team that needs consistent wording.

Why Quick Parts makes editing more efficient

Using Quick Parts can significantly improve both your speed and accuracy when editing documents. Here’s how:

It saves you time by eliminating repetitive typing.
It improves consistency across documents.
It reduces errors caused by manual edits.
It keeps formatting intact every time you insert content.

Whether you’re editing novels, reports, proposals, policies or meeting notes, Quick Parts helps you focus on content quality rather than repetitive tasks.

Common editing tasks you can streamline with Quick Parts

Quick Parts is especially helpful for content you use frequently, such as:

standard paragraphs or disclaimers
frequently used phrases or sentences
brand‑approved wording
headers and footers
tables or formatted lists
reviewer comments or feedback text.

In a nutshell, if you’ve ever thought, I’ve typed this before, that’s a strong sign it belongs in Quick Parts.

How to create a Quick Part in Microsoft Word

Creating a Quick Part is simple and only takes a moment:

METHOD 1 (quickest)

Select the text, table or content you want to reuse.
Select Alt F3.
Give it a short, clear, descriptive name.
Click OK to save.

METHOD 2

Select the text, table or content you want to reuse.
Go to the Insert tab on the ribbon.
Click Quick Parts (in the Text group).
Select Save Selection to Quick Part Gallery.
Give it a short, clear, descriptive name.
Click OK to save.

You can also assign a category to your Quick Part snippet if you wish:

Whichever method you choose, your content is now stored and ready to use whenever you need it.

How to insert a Quick Part while editing

Once you’ve saved Quick Parts, inserting them is quick and easy:

METHOD 1 (quickest)

Place your cursor where you want the content to appear.
Type your short name.

METHOD 2

Place your cursor where you want the content to appear.
Go to Insert > Quick Parts.
Choose the item you want from the gallery.

Whichever method you use, the content is inserted instantly with all formatting preserved.

How to review or edit your Quick Parts

If you need to change the short name you’ve created, do the following:

Go to the Insert tab on the ribbon.
Click Quick Parts (in the Text group).
Select Building Blocks Organizer.

A new pane will appear:

To amend an item’s short name, select Edit Properties.
To delete an item, select Delete.

Tips for naming your Quick Parts

To get the most out of Quick Parts, use short, clear names that are easy to remember. Think also about how you can reduce the chance of the Quick Parts tool triggering an expansion inappropriately.

IN-PRACTICE EXAMPLE
I edit crime fiction, thrillers and mysteries, and when I'm using the Comments tool, I like to give my author clear indications of which particular element of the editing process I’m focusing on. I do this quickly by using headings that I've set up as Quick Parts. Underneath a heading, I can then explain the problem and suggested solution.

Plus, because the various headings in the comments are consistent, I can easily search for and review them by topic area. That helps me when I'm putting together a more comprehensive analysis in an editorial report.

And to avoid the risk of Quick Parts kicking in when I don't want it to, I add a ‘z’ to my short names. Here are four topic-based headings I've set up in the tool:

If I type ‘zshow’ in a document, it expands to ‘SHOWING VERSUS TELLING’.
If I type ‘zcons’ in a document, it expands to ‘CONSCIOUS LANGUAGE'.
If I type 'zsus' in a document, it expands to 'SUSPENSE AND DRAMA'.
If I type 'zchap' in a document, it expands to 'CHAPTER ENDINGS'.

Don't forget that you can save much larger blocks of formatted text into the Quick Parts too.

Quick Parts versus third-party text-expansion tools

You might already be familiar with third-party productivity tools such as TextExpander. These can really shine when you want to use the same snippets across multiple programs – for example, email, web browsers and other applications.

As always, it comes down to your budget, needs and preferences.

If you want something specifically for Word‑centric editing and formatting, consider the following:

Quick Parts is built directly into Word, so there’s no additional software to buy, install or manage.
It preserves complex formatting, tables and document‑specific styles.
For editors who spend most of their time in Word, Quick Parts can feel more seamless.

If a separate tool would offer you more rounded support and you have the budget for it, that’s fine. You might even decide to use both in your editorial practice.

Summing up

If you already edit extensively in Microsoft Word, the Quick Parts tool will help you reduce repetition, save time, maintain consistency and focus on what really matters: delivering clear, high‑quality content to your client.

And you won’t have to spend a penny more because it’s already part of Word!

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[8 tips for transparent AI disclosure in your editing business]]>Mon, 03 Nov 2025 17:26:34 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/8-tips-for-transparent-ai-disclosure-in-your-editing-businessHere are 8 suggestions for you to consider when disclosing how you use AI in your editing business.

In this post

Read on to find out more about:

the impact of AI on editors and proofreaders
why disclosure is important
where to disclose your AI use
disclosing why you use digital tools
disclosing who's accountable for the output
disclosing use of generative AI
disclosing specific digital tools
disclosing where tools are hosted
disclosing AI's presence and interaction
disclosing whether AI systems are open or closed
seeking consent
drafting your own statement
free checklist for you to download.

The impact of AI on editors and proofreaders

Editors and proofreaders are already feeling the effects of AI-assisted technologies on their work.

Some of it’s uncomfortable – with reports of our colleagues losing clients as workflows they’d previously undertaken responsibility for have shifted to AI.
Some of it’s beneficial – we’re seeing opportunities for efficiency, the knock-on effect of which can be better hourly rates.
And some of it’s confusing – because we might not even realize that AI’s still operating behind the scenes of some applications, even though we’re not actively using it.

Why disclosure is important

Making time to understand whether AI is part of our editorial workflow because of the digital tools we use, and then disclosing that usage, ensures we model transparency for our clients and our community.

And when we do it, others feel inspired to do the same. That helps everyone make informed decisions based on the best information we have available at the moment.

Being transparent also means we’re participating in a journey that fosters professional integrity and trust. Clients are more likely to feel confident in our recommendations when they see us being honest and understand which tools we’re using, why, and what the limitations and risks are.

Perhaps, like me, your approach to disclosure is a work in progress, but I think we should all be accepting of that given how rapidly the landscape around us is changing, and how complex some of the issues are!

Where to disclose your AI use

There’s no single best place. It’s up to you where you make your disclosure and how you link to it.

I work solely with indie authors and so I’ve chosen to include a section in the terms and conditions that make up my contract of services agreement. That’s because this is the text that clients are required to read prior to making a booking.

However, some of you might prefer to create a separate disclosure page and link to it from the T&Cs or your contracts. If modelling transparency is important to you, it’s less about where your disclosure is than that it exists in the first place.

What to include in your disclosure

I’ve suggested 8 things to consider for inclusion in your disclosure, though admittedly these are based on my particular needs.

If I’ve omitted anything that you think would be critical to your editorial business, please do leave a comment!

Tip 1. Why you use digital tools

This is an opportunity to state at the outset not just that you are using digital tools – and most of us are using them, though not all of them are AI-assisted – but also why.

It shows clients that you’re able to use technology responsibly, and that the goal is to maintain professional standards for their benefit.

Example from my T&Cs

To enhance the quality, accuracy, consistency and efficiency of my editing service, I use digital tools that may have AI-assisted technologies running in the background (even if I'm not actively using them).

Reason
I want to clients to know that I’m not working in the Stone Age, and that my use of digital tools will help give them a better result.

Tip 2. Who’s accountable for the output

This is an opportunity to make it clear that regardless of a machine’s involvement in your editing process, it’s you, the editor, who’s accountable and responsible for what’s delivered.

Here you’re focusing on your human value – the sense and sensibility you bring to your work for them, even though you’re using tools to help with some of the mundane heavy-lifting.

Example from my T&Cs

All outputs are reviewed and refined by me, a qualified human editor, before delivery to ensure quality and contextual accuracy. Software and AI tools are used strictly to support my human editing process and do not replace my human judgement or professional oversight.

Reason
I want to draw attention to the fact that a human is in control of the process at all times.

Tip 3. Your use of generative AI in the editing process

Here’s where you can make a clear statement about your specific use of generative AI. It can help to clarify this because not all AI is the same.

Some editors use AI-assisted tools such as ChatGPT, Draftsmith or ProWritingAid for generative support with revisions; some might not. Being transparent helps clients understand what your particular skills are and who or what is doing the work.

Example from my T&Cs

I do not use generative AI to draft recasts of your text or make stylistic recommendations on how your book should read.

Reason
I pride myself on my stylistic line editing skills and want clients to know that I, a human editor, have the capability to do this nuanced and emotional work.

Tip 4. Which specific digital tools you use

This is where you can name the digital tools you use as part of your workflow, their specific purpose and whether they’re licenced.

You don’t have to limit yourself to AI-assisted technologies. You can include word-processing and spreadsheet software, PDF tools, consistency checkers, macros, search engines and file management tools associated with your editorial process.

Including a full list also means that when you seek a client’s consent (see #8 below), they know exactly which tools they’re consenting to the use of.

3 examples from my T&Cs

Microsoft Excel: Used for creating chapter summaries. […] via a licensed version of Microsoft 365.
PerfectIt: Used for consistency checking. A licensed […] Word add-in.
Google search: Used for fact-checking.

Reason
I want my clients to see the breadth of digital tools I use to support my service and to understand that I’m not using any old junk off the internet – where required, I have licences from reputable providers.

Tip 5. Where the tools are hosted

This is an opportunity to tell clients whether each of your tools is hosted locally, in the cloud or elsewhere. Bear in mind the following:

Locally hosted tools: The data stays on your computer, offering more control and privacy.
Cloud-hosted tools: The data is stored on external servers, enabling easy access and collaboration but requiring trust in the provider’s security.

If you’ve committed not to uploading client material to third-party sites, creating this information is a good way of double checking that you’re not in breach of that commitment.

3 examples from my T&Cs

Microsoft Word: […] Hosted locally via a licensed version of Microsoft 365.
PerfectIt: […] A licensed, locally hosted Word add-in.
Dropbox: […] Cloud-based licensed version.

Reason
By stating where my digital tools are hosted, I hope my clients will trust that I’m handling their data honestly and responsibly, but within the realms of what’s on offer and practical for my business.

Tip 6. AI’s presence and interaction

Some of the editing tools we use may have AI operating in the background, and even though we’re not using it, it’s still ‘reading’ text and transmitting data.

This is an opportunity to be honest about that, and for your client to make informed decisions about whether they’re okay with it.

Examples from my T&Cs

Microsoft Word: Used for text editing and reporting. Hosted locally via a licensed version of Microsoft 365. Copilot runs in the background but I don't use it for editing. Copilot may still transmit small portions of the text in your project (commonly called 'code') to generate suggestions. Any editorial suggestions I add to your project may also be processed in this way. GitHub provides privacy controls to protect this private work. This private code will not be stored or used to improve Copilot unless I have explicitly opted in, which I have not.

PerfectIt: Used for consistency checking. A licensed, locally hosted Word add-in. Does not use AI. Runs offline and does not transmit data.

Reason
Compare the italic text in the above examples. I think it’s really important that I’m up front about the fact that Copilot is still sniffing around in the background when I’m using Microsoft Word, even though I’m not actively using the AI to suggest textual edits.

This is especially the case given that I’m not yet ready to turn the function off because I’m still exploring how it might aid efficiency with non-client work that I do in Word.

Tip 7. Use of open and closed systems

You can also disclose whether any AI systems you use are open or closed, or what your position is on this matter.

Closed: These systems are operated by companies that keep their technology and training data private and secure. Uploaded content isn’t shared publicly or used to train AI models. It remains confidential and is processed only for the purpose of providing editing support.
Open: These systems make their code and data public, allowing anyone to modify or retrain them.

Providing this information shows clients that you understand the differences and are making responsible decisions.

Example from my T&Cs

I do not use open AI systems for client work. This ensures that your materials are never used for language model training and that your privacy and data are fully protected.

Reason
I’m still learning about AI, and the list of editorial digital tools I’m using in 2025 may look different in two years’ time. However, I want my clients to be confident that I’m using them in a way that respects their privacy to the best of my ability.

Tip 8. Seeking client consent

If your disclosure is part of your T&Cs and contract agreement, seeking consent is an opportunity for informed transparency, legal compliance and professional integrity.

It’s protects you both, and you’re being clear that there’s choice involved here. You’ve chosen to use a set of tools, but they can decide whether they’re okay with that … before the project’s underway rather than halfway into it, when it's too late.

Example from my T&Cs

I use reputable providers and maintain the confidentiality of your materials. However, by submitting your content for editing, you acknowledge and consent to my use of the digital tools referred to in [section] in the processing of your materials under my supervision.

I use reputable providers and maintain the confidentiality of your materials. However, by submitting your content for editing, you acknowledge and consent to my use of the digital tools referred to in [section] in the processing of your materials under my supervision.

Reason
I want my clients to formally agree that they’re happy for me to use the tools I’ve listed. That way, it’s part of our service agreement from the get-go and avoids misunderstandings.

Can I copy your disclosure statement?

What's right for me, my business and my clients may be partially or completely unsuitable for you and yours, so I wouldn't recommend this.

Instead, think about the tips that I and others in our community have offered up for consideration, and then use that information as a jumping-off point ... something to help you craft your own AI and digital tools disclosure statement – one that's perfect for your business.

However, if you're a member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP), you can access a free webinar called Policy Foundations for Editorial Professionals. This includes prompt-based guidelines to help you build your own disclosure. Go to the on-demand area of the knowledge hub to access the webinar and companion pack.

Summing up

I hope you've found these tips useful. Creating a transparent digital tools and AI disclosure statement helps all of us professional editors to build trust, demonstrate ethical practice and ensure we're complying with privacy regulations.

It clarifies how our clients' materials are going to be handled, distinguishes our human expertise from automated support, and protects both parties by obtaining informed consent.

And, ultimately, by doing this, we're showing our clients that we're professionals who are committed to treating their data and creative work responsibly and securely.

Want to take a look at how I've approached the disclosure of digital tools in my terms and conditions? The button below will take you there – scroll down to section 14.

LOUISE'S AI DISCLOSURE

Free checklist

There's a free fillable checklist to help you think about your position and obligations in relation to the use of AI tools. It's available in my resource library via the button below.

GET THE CHECKLIST

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Glue words, hedge words and qualifiers: How to use them in fiction writing]]>Fri, 01 Aug 2025 00:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/glue-words-hedge-words-and-qualifiers-how-to-use-them-in-fiction-writingLearn how to identify glue words, hedges and qualifiers, and then explore whether they’re adding clarity and enhancing character voice, or cluttering your fiction writing.

In this post ...

Read on to find out more about:

the function of glue words, hedge words and qualifiers
whether glue words, hedges and qualifiers signal poor writing
using glue words, hedges and qualifiers with purpose
how glue words can enhance prose
how hedge words can enhance prose
how qualifiers can enhance prose

What are glue words, hedge words and qualifiers?

Glue words, hedge words and qualifiers serve different purposes and are used in different contexts, but all relate to how language functions in writing or speech.

The function of glue words
The function of glue words is structural. They hold or glue a sentence together. By themselves they add little semantic meaning to a sentence. Examples include:

prepositions (eg ‘with’)
conjunctions (eg ‘and’)
articles (eg ‘a’ and ‘the’)
auxiliary verbs (eg ‘is’ and ‘have’).

He flicked through the report to get a better sense of what the prosecutor’s approach might be.

The function of hedge words
The function of hedge words is modification. They soften or limit the strength of a claim and can introduce uncertainty, speculation, caution or humility. Examples include:

‘I guess’
‘maybe’
‘possibly’
‘might be’
‘probably’.

Xe flicked through the report. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. The detective might even come out on xer side once she understood the background.

The function of qualifiers
The function of qualifiers is limitation. They narrow the meaning of another word such as a noun or adjective, and make a statement more precise. Examples include:

‘kind of’
‘almost’
‘pretty’
‘somewhat’
‘very’
‘really’
‘a bit’.

Lex was pretty sure that, despite the officer’s reassurance, she was almost certainly not going to get away with a warning. A little pessimistic, her dad would have said. But that was Lex all over.

Are glue words, hedges and qualifiers signal of poor writing?

No, glue words, hedges and qualifiers are not signals of poor writing, not when they’re used with purpose.

If you’re reading guidance on using these words, watch out for statements arguing bluntly that they:

signal doubt instead of commitment
create distance between character and emotion
slow pace and clutter clean syntax
reduce impact

then step back and take a breath before you start a process of obliteration.

Why? Because this kind of prescriptivism can encourage developing writers to rip the heart and soul out of a character’s voice, emotions and layered experience.

The key is to ensure that every word on the page is working hard for you – whether it’s a glue word, a hedging word, a qualifying word, or some other language marker.

Using glue words, hedges and qualifiers with purpose

Instead of eliminating glue, hedging and qualifying words, review your sentences and consider whether these markers are:

providing grammatical structure
supporting character voice
making dialogue sound more natural
capturing subtext
enhancing variances in rhythm.

How glue words can enhance prose

Let’s look at an example of how glue words can enhance a piece of prose:

Lex was pretty sure that, despite the officer’s reassurance, she was almost certainly not going to get away with a warning. A little pessimistic, her dad might have said. But, really, that was her all over. Very Lex. Always had been somewhat glass half full. She flicked through the report a second time to get a better sense of what the prosecutor’s approach might be, but the text was all blurred – headings and words and numbers mashed up together.

This paragraph has multiple glue words including ‘was’, ‘that’, ‘despite’, ‘the’, ‘to’, ‘but’ and ‘and’. Think of them as the cement that holds the prose together, ensuring that the prose maintains a smooth syntactic flow even when internal thought becomes more fragmented or reflective.

But note also the rhythmic tool in play in the final clause – the use of multiple gluing conjunctions (polysyndeton) to show rather than tell Lex’s overwhelm as she looks at the report.

Glue words can therefore go beyond their structural function. They can also be used as a literary mechanism to evoke mood and emotion.

How hedge words can enhance prose

The example also contains instances of hedging language including ‘might have said’, ‘somewhat’ and ‘might be’.

Lex was pretty sure that, despite the officer’s reassurance, she was almost certainly not going to get away with a warning. A little pessimistic, her dad might have said. But, really, that was her all over. Very Lex. Always had been somewhat glass half full. She flicked through the report a second time to get a better sense of what the prosecutor’s approach might be, but the text was all blurred – headings and words and numbers mashed up together.

These hedges reflect Lex’s tentativeness in terms of her dad’s opinion, the prosecutor’s strategy and her own self-judgement about her positivity, and this helps readers understand how she bends towards reflection and uncertainty.

The language also helps the writer convey a more realistic voice that carries nuanced emotional conflict. Lex is trying to be rational but her doubt is intruding. Through this, readers are shown how people rarely speak or think in absolutes.

How qualifiers can enhance prose

The qualifiers in the excerpt adjust the meaning of the words they modify to give reads more emotional texture.

Lex was pretty sure that, despite the officer’s reassurance, she was almost certainly not going to get away with a warning. A little pessimistic, her dad might have said. But, really, that was her all over. Very Lex. Always had been somewhat glass half full. She flicked through the report a second time to get a better sense of what the prosecutor’s approach might be, but the text was all blurred – headings and words and numbers mashed up together.

‘pretty’ reduces the strength of ‘sure’.
‘almost’ tempers ‘certainly’.
‘a little’ shows how Lex is trying to downplay her own negativity.
‘really’ adds emphasis to her self-analysis.
‘Very’ acts as a clipped intensifier that introduces a nudge towards mild humour and irony’
‘somewhat’ softens ‘glass half full’.

Overall, the interplay of glue words, hedges and modifiers creates a narrative tone that avoids the extremes of melodrama or stoicism, and instead takes a middle ground that deepens our understanding of Lex as introspective, thoughtful, quietly resigned and gently self-critical.

Summing up

Glue words, hedge words and qualifiers can be effective writing devices when they’re used with purpose.

Don’t ditch yours without first analysing them so you understand whether they’re working for your prose.

If they’re just adding to your word count needlessly, remove or rework them. However, if they’re providing your characters with emotional complexity and intelligence, and enhancing the structure, flow and mood of your sentences, embrace them!

Other resources you might like

Start Crime Fiction Editing: multimedia course
Editing Fiction at Sentence Level: book
Fiction editing line craft: books
How to Line Edit for Suspense: multimedia course
How to Write the Perfect Editorial Report: multimedia course
Narrative Distance: multimedia course
Resource library
Switching to Fiction: multimedia course

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Embedded dialogue: How to capture speech memory in narrative]]>Mon, 14 Jul 2025 00:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/embedded-dialogue-how-to-capture-speech-memory-in-narrativeThis post explores how to use embedded dialogue snippets and what effect they have on tone, character and flow.

In this post ...

Read on to find out more about:

capturing speech memory
what embedded dialogue is
when to use embedded dialogue
when active dialogue works
the difference between embedded dialogue different and free indirect speech.

Capturing speech memory

Dialogue doesn’t only happen in real time. Sometimes a character recalls what was said or what they half-heard, or they mentally echo something that was stated in the past. This is speech memory.

Done well, capturing those moments on the page enhances the reader’s experience. It can affect the mood and flow, and subtly shine a narrative light on one particular character, while still revealing how others interacted verbally with them.

What is embedded dialogue?

Embedded dialogue is reported speech or remembered lines that are woven into the narrative. The quotation marks and dialogue tags that we’d expect to see in active, real-time dialogue are omitted. Here's an example that compares the two approaches:

Active dialogue plus narrative:

“You never really see me,” he’d said. But once again, he’d made it all about him, hadn’t he?

Dialogue embedded in the narrative:

He’d told her she never really saw him. But once again, he’d made it all about him, hadn’t he?

While the reader gets the same information, the mood is different. The active-dialogue version feels punchier, more immediate. The embedded-dialogue version feels more contemplative.

When to use embedded dialogue

1. To reflect a character’s processing of a memory of speech
A remembered line can reveal emotion or motive without cutting to a flashback or breaking the scene.

Here are a couple of embedded-dialogue examples:

She'd said he was born angry. Maybe she was right.

Johnny had specifically told me not to open the bag. So why had I just done the complete opposite?

Active-dialogue versions might look like this:

“You were born angry.” That’s what she’d said. Maybe she was right.

“Don’t open the bag,” Johnny had said. So why had I just done the complete opposite?

Again, neither of these versions – the embedded or active dialogue – are right or wrong. But they do convey a different mood, and the prose flows differently. The active dialogue versions are blunter, terser and highlight different voices. The embedded dialogue is smoother and less tense, and highlights one voice.

2. To keep the focus on the viewpoint character and their present tension
Recalling memories of the spoken words can add weight to prose without shifting the spotlight away from the viewpoint character's perspective in the now.

Here are two embedded-dialogue examples:

The judge had warned him: one more slip, and that was it. This, it seemed, was the slip.

He’d told himself not to look back. That the future was what counted. A fresh start.

Active-dialogue versions might look like this:

The judge had warned him: “One more slip, and that’s it.” This, it seemed, was the slip.

“Don’t look back,” he’d said to himself. “It’s the future that counts. A fresh start.”

I think the embedded dialogue feels much more grounded in the characters’ immediate conundrums. It's their voice that shines through. The active dialogue, however, even with the pluperfect (past-perfect) speech tags, pulls the reader out of the present and shines a light on other characters' speech.

3. To avoid disruption
Long dialogue flashbacks can derail pacing. Embedded snippets allow you to fold the past into present seamlessly.

Again, here are two embedded-dialogue examples:

He remembered what the old man used to say about control – it’s only real when you don’t have it … just fear in disguise that he shouldn't obsess over.

That gumshoe detective had asked him about Denise’s whereabouts that night, what they’d talked about, what they’d eaten for dinner. Jack hadn’t paid much attention at the time – he’d no reason to doubt her. Still, thinking about it now, it was a little weird.

Now let’s turn that into active dialogue:

The old man used to say, “Control is only real when you don’t have it. It’s just fear in disguise. Try not to get obsessed with it.”

That gumshoe detective had fired questions at him: “Where was Denise that night? Can you recall what you talked about or what you ate for dinner?” Jack hadn’t paid much attention at the time – he’d no reason to doubt her. Still, thinking about it now, it was a little weird.

I think the active-dialogue versions are disruptive because the recalled speech is so lengthy and flips the focus onto the past speakers.

However, in the embedded-dialogue versions, the flow of the narrative captures the past speech but maintains the smooth flow of the prose and keeps the reader’s gaze firmly on the current viewpoint characters.

4. To add variety to how 'remembered' dialogue is displayed
Using a mixture of embedded and active dialogue can add variety to how remembered speech is displayed, making it more interesting for the reader.

Here's an example that includes both:

The last thing I wanted was to aggravate those two goons who'd trashed my apartment the previous week. Next time, they'd informed me, it wouldn't just be the dining table that got broken. It would be my legs. And my arms. "In fact, if it's attached to you and we can snap it, we will,” the beefier of the two had advised me.

Here, the two styles work with each other to capture multiple speaker voices, but in a way that still ensures the first-person narrator's immediate experience remains dominant.

When active dialogue works

Active dialogue is brilliant in the following circumstances:

A single character is recalling speech said in the past, but it’s (a) short and (b) you actively want to create a more staccato rhythm and grittier mood.
Two or more characters are interacting and it’s important to hear their words.
You want readers to interpret tone directly from the speaker’s voice rather than the narrator’s.

The difference between embedded dialogue and free indirect speech

Both free indirect speech and embedded dialogue are narrative techniques used to represent characters’ thoughts or speech, but they differ in structure and how much the narrator mediates the character's voice.

Here are two examples:

Example 1. Free indirect speech:

She walked to the window. Why was he so late? He always made her wait.

Notice how this feels more subjective. The psychic distance between the reader and the character is very close.

Free indirect speech is all about the viewpoint character and focuses on conveying what’s going on in their head now.

Example 2. Embedded dialogue:

She walked to the window, wondering why he was so late. He always said he'd be on time.

Notice how this feels a little more objective and told because of the expository filter word ‘wondering’ and ‘speech-memory indicator ‘said he’d’. The psychic distance is a little wider in this case, as if the prose is being told by the narrator.

Embedded dialogue is all about the viewpoint character’s recollection; it holds the essence of memory … that something specific was actually said in the past.

Neither is right or wrong. Instead, free indirect speech and embedded dialogue serve different purposes, and so one might work better than the other depending on what the author’s trying to achieve.

Summing up

Embedded dialogue snippets let you carry the weight of past speech without quoting every line. Use them to deepen character, maintain narrative flow and give your prose a more intimate texture.

When done well, embedded dialogue allows the past to echo through to the present, shaping motive and mood without slowing the action. It’s not just about what was said, but how your viewpoint character remembers it.

Other resources you might like

Dialogue resource centre
Editing Fiction at Sentence Level (book)
Fiction editing courses
How to Edit Slurs in Dialogue (multimedia online course)
How to Punctuate Dialogue (multimedia online course)
How to Line Edit for Suspense (multimedia online course)
Narrative Distance: A Toolbox for Writers and Editors (multimedia online course)
Style Sheets for Fiction Editing (multimedia online course)
Switching to Fiction (multimedia online course)

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[5 books to help you build, grow, sustain and promote your editorial business]]>Mon, 07 Jul 2025 23:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/new-5-book-series-from-the-editing-podcast-hostsLearn about editorial foundations, growth, sustainability, legacy and marketing with this 5-book series from the hosts of The Editing Podcast.

Fancy reading some of the core takeaways from The Editing Podcast? Notes from the Podcast is a brand-new book series that focuses on five core areas of editorial business development.

What’s in the series?

Currently there are five books in the Notes from the Podcast series, all focusing on what Denise and I like gassing about the most – running, growing, sustaining and marketing an editing and proofreading business.

Editorial Foundations – helps editors and proofreaders who are setting up their new businesses. It captures the conversations we’ve had about building a freelance business from the ground up.

Editorial Growth – helps early- to mid-career editors and proofreaders who want to grow, focus and professionalize. The Notes capture our discussions about refining, marketing and elevating a freelance editing practice.

Editorial Sustainability – helps more experienced editors and proofreaders who want to invest in longevity. The focus here is on strategy and business evolution.

Editorial Legacy – focuses on how we as editors can make quiet contributions that shape and support the editorial profession.

Editorial Marketing – speaks to every editorial freelancer who’s ever felt nervous about business promotion, and who wants ideas about how to go about being globally visible.

Is the content identical to The Editing Podcast?

The content in the podcast is scripted with the spoken word in mind. Publishing those conversations verbatim would not have made for engaging books.

What we’ve done instead is extracted that content and presented it so that the written word takes centre stage.

So, yes, it’s still our podcast content, but it’s been repurposed and reworked so that it’s book-fit.

How long did it take to create the books?

The answer to how long it took depends on your starting point.

We didn’t write the books from scratch – creating them required having the podcast scripts in the first place. And since we broadcast our first episode in 2019, so you could say the journey started then.

However, it was 2022 when Denise and I got together for a strategic-planning weekend in Tynemouth so we could review where we were with The Editing Podcast and discuss our longer-term goals.

During the discussion – with breaks for fish and chips, and ice cream … not always in that order – the idea for a book series was born.

We’ve spent the past three years doing the following to bring these books to life:

scoping the themes of the series
exploring different series names
developing the cover designs to reflect the podcast branding
organizing, revising and checking the content
discovering what we need to do, and what we need help with
preparing the books for print-on-demand publication.

Did you use AI?

The biggest challenge we faced in making this project viable was untangling well over 100,000 scripted words spread across 145 separate episodes broadcast in no particular order.

Some of that scripted content was irrelevant because it:

took the form of speaker-identification tags
included jokes or anecdotes that went off at a tangent
focused on issues that weren’t relevant to the five core book themes
included information about how to subscribe to the podcast.

Even the content that was relevant wasn’t located only in episodes whose titles made it obvious. It was all over the place! Plus, it was scripted in a way that suited voices rather than books.

Initially we embarked on doing that untangling work ourselves. However, it was backbreaking – eye-wateringly inefficient, not to mention mundane.

We realized it would take us years, not months, and the project looked like it might have to be shelved …

Unless we got help.

We talked over the options and wondered if AI might come to the rescue. We decided to give it the task of:

hunting down where the theme-relevant content was located within all 145 episodes
extracting the relevant snippets
and then returning them to us.

That was a learning curve because it took a while to work out how give it the right prompts to ensure it gave us exactly what we wanted. However, it was time well spent because we got there in the end!

So, yes, we did use AI – to analyse our own content and extract the chunks of it that we wanted. From then on, it was up to us to do what we do best …

What Louise and Denise did

Once the AI had delivered our booty, we spent several months doing the following:

organizing the content logically within each of the volumes
stylistically line editing each book to make it book-fit rather than spoken-fit
writing new information to provide clarity

With that done, we turned to:

creating the prelims, introductions and conclusions
designing the covers and promotional images
formatting the interiors so they’re KDP-ready
copyediting the five manuscripts
proofreading the page proofs
sending advance PDF copies to multiple reviewers who generously agreed to cast their eye over the series and provide testimonials (thank you, each and every one of you!)
preparing our marketing plan.

And finally, we published!

Why bother publishing when people can listen?

Denise and I have always been massive advocates for repurposing valuable content because it respects the fact that people like to get their information in different ways.

Some like to listen. Some like to watch. And some like to read.

Plus, some of our listeners have specifically asked for books, saying that they love listening to The Editing Podcast, but sometimes they want to revisit a particular nugget but can’t remember which episode it was in.

By reorganizing our conversations into themed narratives, we’ve given people choice.

How to buy the books

All five books are available through Amazon.

ORDER YOUR BOOKS NOW

Still want to listen? Head over to The Editing Podcast!

LISTEN TO THE PODCAST

About Louise

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Why ‘good’ versus ‘bad’ binaries can harm crime fiction]]>Tue, 01 Jul 2025 23:30:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/why-good-versus-bad-binaries-can-harm-crime-fictionThis post explores how oversimplifications of human motivation as ‘good’ versus ‘evil’ can damage crime fiction, mysteries and thrillers.

In this post

Read on to find out more about:

the trouble with clear-cut morality
turning flat caricatures into relatable characters
exploring justice that reflects reality
building tension through real-world themes.

The trouble with clear-cut morality

In real life, morality is murky. Few people do harm ‘just because’. People do bad things for complex reasons, and those in investigative roles – and apparently on the side of justice – don’t always behave impeccably.

Compelling contemporary crime fiction tends to avoid rigid binaries that present ‘good’ and ‘bad’ characters, where the villain is evil because they commit a crime, and the sleuth is good because they solve it.

Going down that route can weaken character development, limit emotional relatability and misrepresent how justice manifests in a way that’s plausible.

How to turn flat caricatures into relatable characters

In a binary model, the villain is ‘monsterized’ as inherently bad – the evil psychopath or lowlife. The focus is more on the nastiness they’ve done.

Meanwhile, the investigator is ‘heroized’ as inherently good – the wonderful restorer of order. The focus is on how they’ve saved the day.

However, when you provide a deeper understanding of the reasons why a criminal acted as they did, and when you make space for a sleuth’s flaws, doubts and moral ambiguity, readers are able to access more plausible and fully rounded characters with human backstories and worldviews, however flawed.

An example from the bookshelf
One of my favourite examples of a flawed law-enforcement officer is Mick Herron’s Jackson Lamb, the unkempt, chain-smoking, foul-mouthed and flatulent head of Slough House, home to MI5 agents who’ve made career-ending mistakes.

He’s vicious but protective, revolting but brilliant, both burned out and razor-sharp, more anti-hero than saviour. It’s Lamb’s complexity that keeps readers turning the page.

Prompt for writers and editors
Check your villain and sleuth. Where are the cracks that could move them away from binary stereotypes and towards human beings that your readers feel compelled to get under the skin of?

Does the sleuth wonder if they're doing the right thing? Does the criminal regret, justify or second-guess themself? Making space for this adds tension.

Exploring justice that reflects reality

Ditching binary models of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ allows you to explore crime and justice in a way that engages readers who’ve experienced systemic injustice in real life, as well as those whose privilege means they haven’t.

For example, a criminal’s actions might stem from something far more alarming than pure greed. It could be grounded in, or driven by, their experience of poverty, fear, abuse, racial- or class-based oppression.

Taking this approach asks readers to consider where biases in the system are, who the establishment serves, and whether equal opportunity really stands up under the microscope.

Examples from the bookshelf
When I first read The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood over thirty years ago, Aunt Lydia, one of Gilead’s enforcers, didn’t get a voice, so I had no access to her motivations as a perpetrator. In The Testaments, she finally gets to narrate. It’s a glorious study of how abuse, fear and oppression can drive the most appalling behaviours, and what deeper motivation might lie beyond.

On the surface, SA Cosby’s Razorblade Tears is a revenge thriller focusing on two former conmen – one Black, one white – bent on dishing out justice after their sons are murdered. But embedded within the criminality is a powerful story about grief and the prejudice each man must confront within himself.

Prompt for writers and editors
Check your assumptions. What lived experiences do your villain and sleuth bring to the table, and how do those affect their perception of the crime, evading detection and the approach to the investigation?

Avoid telling readers who’s ‘right’ and who’s ‘wrong'. Instead, show them conflicting perspectives and allow them to decide for themselves.

Ask questions about your perpetrators and your investigators: What does this person want and fear? What trauma or injustice shaped their choices? Who might see them as a hero, and who might see them as a villain?

Building tension through real-world themes

Avoiding traditional ‘good’ and ‘bad’ binaries encourages space for exploring themes that cement tension throughout the novel, and speak to readers living in the world as it is now … or the one it might be in the not-too-distant future.

Through those themes, you might explore societies’ values, and what constitutes criminal behaviour in terms of your own and your readers’ values. Are there are circumstances where bad deeds might be justified for the greater good?

For example, could the perpetrator and the investigator both be grappling with thorny concepts that make who’s ‘right’ and who’s ‘wrong’ ambiguous?

Human comfort versus environmental sustainability: A resistance movement rises against a draconian regime that’s dismantled modern technology to prevent ecological collapse. Is this a fight for freedom or the beginning of a new disaster?
The right to knowledge versus the threat of chaos: A journalist uncovers the existence of a human-made virus so dangerous that its mere exposure could trigger global panic. Do they reveal the truth or bury it for the greater good?
Loyalty to the vulnerable versus telling the truth: A detective learns that their spouse has hidden evidence to protect their autistic child from prosecution. Do they uphold the law or shield their family?
Security versus privacy: A whistleblower leaks details of an AI system that secretly monitors millions. Is it an act of justice, betrayal or both?

An example from the bookshelf
Tom R Weaver’s debut thriller Artificial Wisdom mixes cli-fi, techno-political intrigue and ethical tension.

It asks readers to consider whether truth matters more than survival, and whether we should trust our fate to humanity alone or something beyond it.

Prompt for writers and editors
Check your underlying themes. Which big-picture questions might you draw the reader's attention to and that don’t have clearcut answers? What happens when the system itself is unjust? What if both the criminal and sleuth are victims of the same failing structure?

Summing up

Crime fiction and thrillers can reveal uncomfortable truths about people and systems. By embracing ambiguity, you can craft more emotionally resonant and morally engaging stories.

To keep your characters interesting and out of binary waters, ask yourself whether the most compelling villain might be one who almost persuades us, and whether the most unforgettable hero might be one who almost breaks our trust.

Other resources you might like

Start Crime Fiction Editing: multimedia course
Editing Fiction at Sentence Level: book
Fiction editing line craft: books
How to Line Edit for Suspense: multimedia course
How to Write the Perfect Editorial Report: multimedia course
Narrative Distance: multimedia course
Resource library
Switching to Fiction: multimedia course

About Louise

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[5 tips on how to introduce backstory to crime fiction]]>Mon, 16 Jun 2025 16:00:01 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/5-tips-on-how-to-introduce-backstory-to-crime-fictionBackstory helps readers understand why characters act the way they do and what their motivations are. This post offers five tips on how to introduce it so that it enriches, rather than distracts from, the main story.

In this post ...

Read on to find out more about:

what character backstory is
drip feeding the information
using natural dialogue
interjecting with narrative reflection
using other characters to reveal backstory
using sounds, objects or settings as triggers

What is character backstory?

Backstory is the fictional history of a character before the main plot begins. It could include past events, relationships, traumas or achievements that shape their present behaviour and decisions. Backstory should be:

Interesting to the reader: It should engage us. Dull or generic backstory risks slowing the pace of the story without adding anything memorable.
Relevant to the scene: It should be introduced at points where it helps readers make sense of what’s happening in a particular scene, otherwise it will feel like dislocated filler.
Purposeful to the story: It should serve the story and help readers make sense of a character’s actions and choices.
Tightly conveyed: It should provide just enough information to enhance the story. Too much backstory could turn into an information dump that encourages readers to scan over it.

To ensure you hit the mark, think about which of the following mechanisms might work best for your novel.

1. Drip feed the information

Think of backstory as the seasoning rather than the main dish. It can be tempting to give readers everything you want them to know about the past in a dedicated and detailed chapter. However, this comes with risk. Your reader, who’s itching to move forward and find out what’s going to happen next, is forced backwards.

The focus is no longer on the now of the novel, but on a different time and space. That in itself can be distracting.

Plus, by giving readers all this backstory in one fell swoop, you could lose the opportunity to introduce suspense, mystery or intrigue.

Instead of an information dump, try instead a brief but telling reference that’s related to the current action.

For example, if your character’s past involves an event that’s made them mistrustful of small spaces, you could hint at this in the narrative, but explain it more fully in a piece of dialogue later on. Here’s how that might look at first mention. The backstory nudge is in bold.

Baz legged it towards the market square but took the long way, avoiding the alley. Too dark. Too small. He’d never make that mistake again, not after last time.
Ten minutes later he was by the fountain, its mist on his face, the warm glow of festoon lights overhead. He ditched his cap, shook off his jacket and turned it inside out, then melted into the crowd. Just another tourist.

This way, you’re revealing backstory in smaller chunks – ones that invite the reader to think: What happened last time he went into a dark alley?

This builds suspense and leaves readers with questions that you can answer later. And for now, the reader stays in the moment with Baz, running towards the square and finding safety in the crowd.

2. Use natural dialogue

Dialogue can be a superb way of unveiling backstory. Depending on when it comes up, you can drip feed or go into more detail.

The key is to ensure that it sounds natural rather than being a convenient tool. For example, if Marcus already knows about Baz’s fears, the following will feel overworked. The dialogue is for the reader’s benefit only, not what these two people might actually say to each other.

What to avoid

‘You’re late,’ Marcus said, tapping his watch. ‘I was expecting you five minutes ago.’
‘I came the long way,’ Baz said. ‘After that incident in November 2024 where I was left for dead in a dark alleyway, I’ve not felt able to take the risk.’
Marcus nodded. ‘Yes, I remember the doctor saying you might not make it, that the seventy-three stiches in your head were only a surface indication of the trauma beneath. And your recovery took ... remind me how long it was.’
‘Seven months,’ Baz said.

This kind of dialogue-for-convenience is sometimes referred to as maid-and-butler dialogue. To avoid it, try something like the following instead.

What to do instead

‘You’re late,’ Marcus said, tapping his watch. ‘I was expecting you five minutes ago.’
‘I came the long way,’ Baz said. ‘Avoided the alley. After, you know, last time, I couldn’t bear—’
‘You need to find a way past that, mate. Let bygones be bygones. I get it, but all you’re doing is turning one risk into another.’

Again, this version hints at a traumatic event in the past, but leaves an intriguing space for more to be revealed later.

3. Interject with narrative reflection

If the time has come to reveal more, you could use the space between the dialogue to offer a little more insight.

Take care to restrain it. Give the reader just enough, then pull them back to the present action. Here’s how that might look.

‘You’re late,’ Marcus said, tapping his watch. ‘I was expecting you five minutes ago.’
‘I came the long way,’ Baz said. ‘Avoided the alley. After, you know, last time, I couldn’t bear—’
‘Yeah yeah. Look, you need to find a way past that, mate. I get it, but all that’s doing is turning one risk into another.’
Easy for Marcus to say. He hadn’t been left for dead, beaten to a pulp, the seventy-three stiches transforming his scalp into something Picasso would have been proud of. Seven months he’d been laid up for. Seven—
‘Hey, earth to Bazza. C’mon. Let’s get a pint. I’ve got a plan.’
Marcus took him by the elbow and steered him through the crowd. It began to rain. An umbrella snapped open above his head.

4. Use other characters to reveal backstory

You could decide to hint at a character’s backstory through how others see them. Again, readers should be given only what they need to know, and the reveal should be relevant to the scene.

Fi touched the screen. ‘So this is our route out. I don’t like it. See here? This alley is tight. No lights. Baz might be on his own, and we both know Baz doesn’t do confined spaces … at least he hasn’t done for the past eighteen months.’
‘That’s our route out,’ Marcus said. ‘You and me. Baz is leaving through the front door, in plain sight. I’ve got it all worked out.’

Notice how we’re given a nudge about something in Baz’s past that means alternative arrangements have to be made. These add a little complexity to the plan Fi and Marcus are working on, but there’s space to explore in more detail at a later point.

If it’s time to introduce that extra detail, an alternative could see Marcus reflecting internally on a plan he’s put together. Here, the backstory is more detailed but it’s still relevant to the present issue that he’s focusing on – planning an escape.

The obvious route out was the alley. Through the kitchen, into the yard, over the wall, and they’d be gone. Two minutes tops. In theory it was good. In practice it was risky. Not for him and Fi. They were sound. But Baz would need to keep his head in the game. And for the past eighteen months, it hadn’t been. His friend had been ambushed, beaten to a pulp, the seventy-three stiches transforming his scalp into something Picasso would have been proud of. Since then, even the suggestion of a tight, unlit space had him going off on one.
Back to the drawing board.

5. Use sounds, objects or settings as triggers

The external environment can be effective tools with which to introduce backstory. Your protagonist might see, hear or touch something that triggers a memory or an emotion.

Here are two examples. Once more, they’re mere nudges that make the reader ask questions, rather than lengthy explanations that risk flattening the prose.

There was a door to his left. Baz opened it. A narrow flight of wooden steps led downwards. He flicked the switch by the latch. A light flashed on, then fizzled and died. He stepped back and shut the door. Shuddered. Too dark, too tight. Not happening.
Anyway, Marcus was due in ten minutes. He could investigate.

Fi ran her hand over the cracked porcelain sink. Same kind they’d had in the safehouse in Rotterdam. Good times. Her, Marcus and Baz. All in it together. All of them with their heads in the game. All of them thinking they were invincible.
‘Fi, join me.’ It was Marcus, his muffled voice coming from somewhere beneath her.
‘He’s down there,’ Baz said, pointing over his shoulder at a roughly hewn slatted door, slightly ajar. ‘Some sort of cellar, I think.’

Summing up

Backstory is as a tool that gives your crime fiction and its characters emotional depth at any point it’s introduced. If it doesn’t affect how the reader engages with the story in the moment, remove it.

Keep it taut so that the reader remains engrossed in the novel’s present – what the characters are doing/feeling now. Nudges and hints at first mention are often far more suspenseful and intriguing.

If backstory is dragging on for multiple paragraphs or even chapters – a within-novel biography – rethink its structure and how you might break it up so that you reveal it gradually.

Other resources you might like

Start Crime Fiction Editing: multimedia course
Editing Fiction at Sentence Level: book
Fiction editing line craft: books
How to Line Edit for Suspense: multimedia course
How to Write the Perfect Editorial Report: multimedia course
Narrative Distance: multimedia course
Resource library
Switching to Fiction: multimedia course

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[How to use an editorial marketing buddy to conquer overwhelm]]>Sat, 28 Sep 2024 23:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/how-to-use-a-marketing-buddy-in-your-editing-businessDiscover how to use a marketing buddy to conquer overwhelm and get your editing and proofreading business promotion moving.

Summary of Episode 132

Listen to find out more about:

Sharing the problem of marketing inertia
Why feeling nervous about marketing with someone else can be empowering
Finding a marketing buddy: Forums, groups and professional development events
Making space for marketing anxiety
Researching your preferred promotion methods
Planning business promotion
Ideas for you to work on together: Content, events and presentations

Listen to the episode

Related resources

Branding for Business Growth (multimedia course)
Editor Website Essentials (multimedia course)
Marketing Toolbox for Editors (multimedia course)
Resource library for editors, proofreaders and writers

Support The Editing Podcast

Tip your hosts: Support Louise and Denise with a one-off tip of your choosing.

Join our Patreon community: Our patrons benefit from access to PDF transcripts for episodes featuring just Louise and Denise, and for some of our guest episodes.

Music credit

'Vivacity’ by Kevin MacLeod

Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/4593-vivacity
Licence: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Human vs AI: How editors and proofreaders can remain relevant]]>Wed, 07 Aug 2024 00:00:00 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/human-vs-ai-how-editors-and-proofreaders-can-remain-relevantHow human editors and proofreaders can remain relevant when AI capability is improving exponentially.

Summary of Episode 131

Listen to find out more about:

Emotional intelligence and sensitivity
The ability to be subjective
Focusing on the writer as well as the writing
Service opportunities
Being present in person
Unique personal and business identities

Listen to the episode

Related resources

Branding for Business Growth (multimedia course)
Editor Website Essentials (multimedia course)
Marketing Toolbox for Editors (multimedia course)
Resource library for editors, proofreaders and writers

Support The Editing Podcast

Tip your hosts: Support Louise and Denise with a one-off tip of your choosing.

Join our Patreon community: Our patrons benefit from access to PDF transcripts for episodes featuring just Louise and Denise, and for some of our guest episodes.

Music credit

'Vivacity’ by Kevin MacLeod

Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/4593-vivacity
Licence: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[Implied dialogue: 4 reasons to use it in fiction]]>Tue, 15 Aug 2023 15:42:29 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/implied-dialogue-4-reasons-to-use-it-in-fictionDiscover what implied dialogue is and four ways you can use it in your novel, whatever the genre, to enrich your readers’ experience.

What’s in this post

Find out more about:

what implied dialogue is
reducing psychic distance to involve the reader
summarising information the reader already knows
breaking up large chunks of dialogue
making direct speech more impactful

What is implied dialogue?

Implied dialogue is information that could be included naturally in a character’s speech but is instead offered in a narrative form that implies that direct speech has taken place.

Here’s a comparative example:

Version 1: Direct speech
‘Take a seat,’ Ava said. ‘And brace yourself. I’m having second thoughts about Steve and Akeno. Yes, I know I originally ruled them out because of all the witnesses who vouched for them. But there’s a gap. I double checked the times and no one saw them between 8.45 and 9.30. That’s forty-five minutes – easily enough time to sneak out of the club, hike up the trail with the equipment and plant it near the glade. I hate to say it, but they could be our thieves.’

Version 2: Combination of direct speech and implied dialogue
‘Take a seat,’ Ava said. ‘And brace yourself. I’m having second thoughts about Steve and Akeno.’
Yes, she’d originally ruled them out because of all the witnesses who’d vouched for them, but there was a gap. She’d double checked the times and no one had seen them between 8.45 and 9.30. Forty-five minutes – easily enough time to sneak out of the club, hike up the trail with the equipment and plant it near the glade.
‘I hate to say it’ – she grimaced – ‘but they could be our thieves.’

In the first version, aside from the speech tag (Ava said), the information is conveyed as present-tense direct speech. I’ve used single quotation marks, but doubles would have been fine too if I’d been writing in a different style.

In the second version, some of that direct speech has been rendered as third-person past-tense narrative instead. It still has the feel of Ava’s speech because the narrative follows on coherently from her introductory statement about having second thoughts. That she actually spoke these words to the listener is therefore implied.

4 reasons to experiment with implied dialogue

Whether you use implied dialogue, and how often, is a stylistic choice. There are certainly no rules. However, it’s worth considering the impact it can have on your writing and the way your reader engages with your prose.

Here are four reasons why I think you should experiment with it.

1. Reducing psychic distance to involve the reader

When two or more characters are talking to each other through direct speech, the reader is relegated to the role of invisible listener.

With implied dialogue, the narrator shifts their gaze towards the reader and invites them to participate by being an active listener.

That reduces the psychic (or narrative) distance between the narrator and reader so that our experience of the novel is more intimate.

EXAMPLE 1
Below is an example from p. 290 of False Value by Ben Aaronovitch. Our protagonist Peter Grant narrates in the first person, which means that the psychic distance between him and the reader is usually fairly intimate – he’s always telling us, the readers, what’s happened.

In this example, he’s on a Skype call with an FBI agent called Reynolds who’s updating him on what she’s discovered about a case.

By rendering some of Reynolds’s speech as implied rather than direct, Aaronovitch subtly ensures that the reader’s still invited to the party. It’s as if Grant has looked away from Reynolds on the screen for just a moment, and towards us.

‘Spoiler,’ said Reynolds. ‘I re-interviewed the surviving witnesses and they agreed that Anthony Lane opened fire at the Mary Engine and the jars on the rack. Before you ask, they were both interns and didn’t know where the items had come from.’ [Direct speech. Wider psychic distance between narrator and reader]
The dead guy, a certain Branwell Petersen, MIT graduate and former Microsoft employee, had died, the witnesses thought, because he stepped between the shooter and the Rose Jars. [Implied dialogue. Closer psychic distance between narrator and reader]
‘The interns said he threw himself into the line of fire,’ said Reynolds. ‘As if his life was less important.’ [Direct speech. Wider psychic distance between narrator and reader]

2. Summarising to avoid repetition

Sometimes the reader has already accessed information via a viewpoint character. If that character then shares the detail with another via direct speech, the reader will be subjected to repetition that encourages them to skim.

A narrative summary enables authors to imply the spoken sharing of information without actually putting the whole conversation down on paper twice.

EXAMPLE 2
In the excerpt below, the protagonist – with the help of a companion – has escaped from an unknown location after being kidnapped.

I stopped to orientate myself and spotted a street sign – Coldharbour Lane. I’d been in bloody Brixton the whole time. […] I wanted off the street, but didn’t want to put a random homeowner in danger. Instead we ran left towards the train station. [Narrative: Location of lair]
[…] After less than a hundred metres, Foxglove was showing signs of serious distress and I felt her stumble a couple of times, but we’d reached the shopping parade by then and fortunately the Nisa Local was still open. A nervous black girl of about fifteen who was manning the tills gave us a weary look of disgust as we rushed in. Then got all confused when I told her I was a police office and that I needed to use a phone. I retreated with Foxglove into the corner where we’d be hidden by the shelves and called Guleed. [Narrative: Location of store]
[…] Guleed picked up, and I said, ‘We’re in the Nisa Local near Brixton Station and Chorley’s lair is on Coldharbour Lane.’ [Direct speech: Repetition of narrative x2]

Notice how the dialogue at the end of the excerpt repeats information we already know because Grant has narrated the journey of discovery and the direction he takes in the previous paragraphs. It’s repetitive and dull.

But actually, I’ve butchered it. The real excerpt from pp. 329–30 of Lies Sleeping, also by Ben Aaronovitch, looks like this:

I stopped to orientate myself and spotted a street sign – Coldharbour Lane. I’d been in bloody Brixton the whole time. […] I wanted off the street, but didn’t want to put a random homeowner in danger. Instead we ran left towards the train station.
[Narrative: Location of lair]
[…] After less than a hundred metres, Foxglove was showing signs of serious distress and I felt her stumble a couple of times, but we’d reached the shopping parade by then and fortunately the Nisa Local was still open. A nervous black girl of about fifteen who was manning the tills gave us a weary look of disgust as we rushed in. Then got all confused when I told her I was a police office and that I needed to use a phone. […] I retreated with Foxglove into the corner where we’d be hidden by the shelves and called Guleed. [Narrative: Location of store]
Guleed picked up, and I told her where I was, and where Chorley’s lair was, and let her get on with it. [Implied dialogue]

Take a look at the final line. Aaronovitch uses narrative, rather than direct speech, to imply what Grant has actually said to Guleed.

The repetition is gone. Instead, of laboured direct speech that tells readers what they already know, the implied dialogue is taut and pacy, and lets us move on to the next part of the scene.

Summarising information via implied dialogue doesn’t necessarily reduce the word count, but that’s fine. The goal is not to necessarily to reduce the number of words (though that may be the result) but to keep the reader interested and drive the story forward.

3. Breaking up would-be monologues

When non-viewpoint characters have information to share, direct speech is the perfect vehicle because we can learn about their experiences even though we haven’t been party to them.

However, when there’s a lot of detail, that information can turn into what feels like a monologue. The reader can end up dislocated from the environment, as if the speaker is talking in a vacuum or floating in white space. You might see this referred to as ‘talking heads syndrome’.

Implied dialogue is the antidote. It breaks up the dialogue so that while some of what was said is rendered in direct speech, chunks of it are voiced by the narrator. That is, what was actually spoken by the non-viewpoint character is implied.

EXAMPLE 3
Below is a fine example from False Value again, this time on p. 287. Consider how long Reynolds’s spiel would have been if Aaronovitch hadn’t broken it up by allowing the protagonist and first-person narrator, Peter Grant, to bear some of the burden.

It’s implied that the 113 words about what happened on August 2015 were spoken by Reynolds, but it’s Grant who delivers the information to the reader on her behalf. The monologue has been avoided but we know exactly how that conversation went.

I flipped the master power switch as soon as I was inside and pulled a Coke out of the fridge to serve as a coffee substitute while I waited for my PC to boot up. As soon as Skype was running, Reynolds’s call flashed up. [Narrative. Closer psychic distance between narrator and reader]
‘What was all that about?’ I asked when I saw her face. [Direct speech. Wider psychic distance between narrator and reader]
‘Skinner’s been connected to another case,’ she said. [Direct speech. Wider psychic distance between narrator and reader]
At 10.15 on a Monday morning in August 2015, one Anthony Lane walked into the offices of an obscure tech start-up in San Jose carrying a concealed handgun. He talked his way past the receptionist before using the threat of force to gain access to the secure area at the rear and then, once he was in, opened fire. One person was killed instantly, two others were wounded and Lane himself was shot eight times in the back by a responding police officer. The attack barely made the news, being just one of several hundred to several thousand – depending on where you set the parameters – of active shooter incidents so far that year.
[Implied dialogue. Closer psychic distance between narrator and reader]
‘It wasn’t on my list,’ said Reynolds, ‘because the perp was dead.’
[Direct speech. Wider psychic distance between narrator and reader]

And don’t forget the impact on reader inclusion discussed earlier. This monologue-breaker has also served to turn Grant’s narrative gaze towards us – the readers – rather than focusing solely on the person who’s talking to him via Skype.

4. Making direct speech more impactful

Using implied dialogue can also enable direct speech to shine a little more brightly, especially when there’s a punchy spoken one-liner that deserves to stand out on the page.

EXAMPLE 4
The excerpt below is from p. 369 of Lies Sleeping. The author uses a combination of direct speech, implied dialogue and narrative to present a coherent telling of the what the characters are saying and doing.

In this case, the implied dialogue is how readers know about the relatively mundane conversations that have taken place between the characters, but note in particular the penultimate line in which we learn that Guleed said she’d been about to phone.

What that does is put her closing direct speech centre stage. And that’s right and proper because it’s anything but mundane. It’s a section-closer that drips with suspense and tension – compelling the reader to turn the page so they can find out more about the problem Guleed’s identified, what the implications are and how the team are going to fix it.

‘I’ve checked for booby traps and handed it over to the local boys. Alexander is sending a search party tomorrow.’ [Direct speech]
He asked after Stephanopoulos and I passed on the assurances that Dr Walid had given me. I asked if he was heading back tonight and he said he was. [Implied dialogue]
‘Anything else to report?’ he asked. [Direct speech]
‘A creeping sense of existential dread,’ I said. ‘Apart from that I’m good.’ [Direct speech]
‘Chin up, Peter. He’s on his last legs – I can feel it.’ [Direct speech]
Once Nightingale had rung off I called Guleed, who’d been arriving as a nasty surprise to bell foundries and metal casting companies from Dudley to Wolverhampton all day. [Narrative]
She said she’d been just about to phone. [Implied dialogue]
‘I was right,’ she said. ‘There’s another bell.’ [Direct speech: Standout one-liner]
[SECTION BREAK]

Summing up

Implied dialogue does what it says on the tin. It is narrative that implies what characters said to each other, even though it’s not presented in the present tense and (often) with quotation/speech marks surrounding it.

And while direct speech that’s rich in voice, conveys mood, and shows intent is knockout, it may be that you’re concerned about excluding your readers – or, worse, boring them. If that's the case, experiment with this tool and see what effect it has on your prose when you mix things up a little.

Related resources and cited texts

Dialogue resource centre
Editing Fiction at Sentence Level (book)
False Value, Ben Aaronovitch, Gollancz, 2020
How to Line Edit for Suspense (multimedia online course)
Lies Sleeping, Ben Aaronovitch, Gollancz, 2018
Narrative Distance: A Toolbox for Writers and Editors (multimedia online course)

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[5 ways editors can use text generative AI as a business tool]]>Thu, 08 Jun 2023 00:18:18 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/5-ways-editors-can-use-text-generative-ai-as-a-business-toolDiscover how editors and proofreaders can use text generative AI as a business tool that enhances marketing, increases productivity and reduces stress.

Listen to Episode 114

Summary of Episode 114

Simplifying complex information
Creating content ideas for business marketing
Generating outlines for editorial marketers who lack writing confidence
Keyword and keyphrase research
Suggesting compelling calls to action for a website

Related resources

ChatGPT, AI chatbots … and why you need to be worried about them (blog post by Lisa Cordaro Publishing Services)
Branding for Business Growth (multimedia course)
Editor Website Essentials (multimedia course)
Emotional Marketing that Gets Editors Work (multimedia course)
Marketing Toolbox for Editors (multimedia course)
Resource library for editors, proofreaders and writers

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Music credit

'Vivacity’ by Kevin MacLeod

Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/4593-vivacity
Licence: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[How to use dialogue snippets as a narrative tool]]>Mon, 08 May 2023 15:33:07 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/how-to-use-dialogue-snippets-as-a-narrative-toolDoes your novel’s narrative have several consecutive snippets of dialogue that reflect a non-viewpoint character’s state of mind? If so, how do you punctuate them? And is there an alternative to using speech marks?

What’s in this post?

The difference between dialogue and narrative
Using speech snippets as a narrative device
Different styles of punctuation
Using free indirect speech as an alternative
Should the snippets be capitalized?
Keeping the text lean and engaging

The difference between dialogue and narrative

Dialogue is the conversation between two or more characters. It’s what people say out loud and is often indicated by opening and closing quotation marks (or speech marks). Depending on your style of choice, these marks can be either singles ‘blah blah’ or doubles “blah blah”.

Narrative is the telling of the story – how an external narrator or viewpoint character reports on the events taking place in the novel.

In the example below, the dialogue between the characters is in quotation marks. The surrounding text is narrative, and through it we learn what the viewpoint character – Milo – is thinking and what he can see and hear as the journey progresses.

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. The country was going to hell in a handcart and they had the audacity to talk about ‘defence of the realm’. Jesus.
The driver turned right at the junction, taking them over the bridge and south of the river.
Milo banged on the glass partition and shouted, ‘Hey, you’ve gone the wrong way, mate. We need to go north.’
‘Don’t worry yourself, sir,’ the driver said, his voice tinny through the intercom. ‘I’ve been told exactly where to take you.’

Note the following:

I’ve used single quotation marks in line with British English-style convention.
Each new speaker’s dialogue starts on a new line.
The full stop after realm sits outside the closing quotation mark because this isn’t direct speech.

Here’s how it might look using US English style:

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. The country was going to hell in a handcart and they had the audacity to talk about “defence of the realm.” Jesus.
The driver turned right at the junction, taking them over the bridge and south of the river.
Milo banged on the glass partition and shouted, “Hey, you’ve gone the wrong way, mate. We need to go north.”
“Don’t worry yourself, sir,” the driver said, his voice tinny through the intercom. “I’ve been told exactly where to take you.”

Note the following:

I’ve used double quotation marks.
Each new speaker’s dialogue starts on a new line.
The full stop after realm sits inside the closing quotation mark.

Using speech snippets as a narrative device

Sometimes the narrative can include snippets of speech to inform readers about a character’s state of mind or a types of behaviours.

Although full sentences are used in the speech snippets, it’s not conventional dialogue. Rather, it’s narrating character’s recollection of utterances that give the reader a flavour of another character’s perspective.

Here’s an example punctuated using British English style. Note the following:

I’ve used single quotation marks in line with British English-style conventions.
Adamson’s speech snippets are not given a new line but incorporated into the narrative.
Commas and a conjunction separate the speech snippets.
Commas and a conjunction separate the speech snippets. These replace any full points that would have appeared if the actual conversation had been reported and rendered as dialogue.
The commas sit outside the speech marks to indicate that this is Milo’s narrative rather than conventional dialogue.

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. Like that jerk Adamson barking on about his so-called obligations. During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that ‘It’s all about the defence of the realm, old chap’, ‘Democracy’s lost its way, don’t you think?’, ‘Got to look after our own, you know’ and ‘Government’s best done by our lot, not civilians’.

And here’s an example punctuated using US English style, which some people might find a little trickier because of the question mark and the punctuation convention. In the three examples below:

I’ve used double quotation marks in line with US English-style conventions.
Adamson’s speech snippets are not given a new line but incorporated into the narrative.
Commas and a conjunction separate the speech snippets. These replace any full points that would have appeared if the actual conversation had been reported and rendered as dialogue.
Most of the commas still sit inside the speech marks as per US English style. The tricky bit is deciding what to do with the snippet containing a question mark.

Option 1: Allow the question mark to do the separating

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. Like that jerk Adamson barking on about his so-called obligations. During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that “It’s all about the defence of the realm, old chap,” “Democracy’s lost its way, don’t you think?” “Got to look after our own, you know,” and “Government’s best done by our lot, not civilians.”

Option 2: Recast so that the snippet with a question mark is at the end of the sentence

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. Like that jerk Adamson barking on about his so-called obligations. During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that “It’s all about the defence of the realm, old chap,” “Got to look after our own, you know,” “Government’s best done by our lot, not civilians,” and “Democracy’s lost its way, don’t you think?”

Option 3: Add a separating comma after the closing quotation mark to emphasize the separation

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. Like that jerk Adamson barking on about his so-called obligations. During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that “It’s all about the defence of the realm, old chap,” “Democracy’s lost its way, don’t you think?”, “Got to look after our own, you know,” and “Government’s best done by our lot, not civilians.”

If you’re an editor who doesn’t have the scope to suggest a recast, I think Option 1 is fine. The question mark acts in place of a separating comma and avoids cluttering punctuation.

Option 3 indicates a clear separation but it’s a break from US-English style and clutters the paragraph with a comma that isn’t strictly needed.

Using free indirect speech as an alternative

Free indirect speech (also called free indirect discourse) is an alternative that could work for writers worried about getting tangled up in how to punctuate snippets of direct speech in narrative.

Free indirect speech reads like direct first person dialogue but retains a third-person viewpoint. Here’s how it might work in our example.

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. Like that jerk Adamson barking on about his so-called obligations. During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that it was all about the defence of the realm, old chap, democracy had lost its way, we had to look after our own, and government was best done by our lot, not civilians.

Note how I’ve experimented with just a little italic for emphasis – old chap and our lot.

That’s so that although Milo is reporting the kinds of things he heard his boss say, the reader pays attention to the some of the tone of his boss’s voice and some of the language that Milo finds particularly grating.

Keeping the text lean and engaging

It’s worth paying attention to how many dialogue snippets you’re using. If they’re in a single sentence of the narrative, there’s a risk the prose won’t flow well and the reader will get lost. In the example I provided above, there were four, and that’s probably about the limit.

So what should you do if you’re passing an editorial eye over a sentence with lots of snippets?

Option 1: Can you create the same impact with fewer snippets?
Check whether all those snippets need to be there. Are some of them conveying similar information? If that’s the case, could you retain only those necessary to convey the essence of the character’s thought processes to the reader?

The example below has eight snippets.

During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that ‘It’s all about the defence of the realm, old chap’, ‘The old-boy network has to be protected’, ‘Democracy’s lost its way, don’t you think?’, ‘Got to look after our own, you know’, ‘The old ways are the best ways’, ‘We know who our friends are’, ‘A little corruption keeps the wet blankets in check’, and ‘Government’s best done by our lot, not civilians’.

Yes, Adamson might have uttered all of those statements, but capturing the essence of his mindset can be still achieved my omitting at least three of them.

I recommend you pick the utterances that are most powerful. That way, you'll ensure your reader remains engaged.

Option 2: Create two sentences from one
If editing out some dialogue snippets isn’t an option, try breaking the sentence into two.

During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that ‘It’s all about the defence of the realm, old chap’, ‘The old-boy network has to be protected’, ‘Democracy’s lost its way, don’t you think?’, ‘Got to look after our own, you know’, ‘The old ways are the best ways’ … that sort of thing. The bullshit had continued – more of the same on the lines of how ‘We know who our friends are’, ‘A little corruption keeps the wet blankets in check’, and ‘Government’s best done by our lot, not civilians’.

Option 3: Mix up dialogue snippets and free indirect speech
Another option is to combine two different literary tools – direct speech snippets and free indirect speech. Here’s how it might work.

During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that ‘It’s all about the defence of the realm, old chap’, ‘The old-boy network has to be protected’, ‘Democracy’s lost its way, don’t you think?’, ‘Got to look after our own, you know’, ‘The old ways are the best ways’ … that sort of thing. The bullshit had continued – more of the same about how they knew who their friends were, how a little corruption kept the wet blankets in check (Adamson had winked at that one), and how government was best done by our lot, not civilians.

Again, I experimented with just a little italic to draw attention to Adamson's tone and its grating effect on Milo, and added an action beat in parentheses to highlight Adamson's readiness to break the law.

This option ensures the use of direct speech isn’t overworked, and instead gives the reader a different way to access the information in the narrative about how Adamson’s mind works.

Should the snippets be capitalized?

Whether or not you should capitalize the snippets is a style choice. I've chosen to capitalize them in the examples I provided because I wanted to indicate that this is how these full sentences would have been rendered if we'd been shown the actual conversation as it happened.

If I was dealing with partial dialogue, I'd approach the text as in the next example.

Milo fumed. Stuck-up establishment idiots. They didn’t have a clue. Like that jerk Adamson barking on about his so-called obligations. During their previous meeting, Milo had nodded and smiled in all the right places while his boss informed him that it was ‘all about the defence of the realm, old chap’, how democracy had ‘lost its way, don’t you think?’, that they had to ‘look after our own, you know’ and government was best done by 'our lot, not civilians’.

Summing up

Using snippets of direct dialogue as a narrative tool can be a superb way of conveying a non-viewpoint character’s mindset and behaviour.

However, writers and their editors need to ensure that readers won’t be tempted to skim. For that reason, pay attention to:

consistent punctuation that supports readability, clarity and style
brevity that captures the essence of the character’s perspective
whether different tools could be combined to make the prose more interesting.

Related resources

Book: Editing Fiction at Sentence Level
Book bundle: Transform Your Fiction series
Courses: The Fiction Line Editing Bundle
Course: How to Line Edit for Suspense
Course: How to Write the Perfect Fiction Editorial Report
Course: Narrative Distance: A Toolbox for Writers and Editors
Free resources: Dialogue
Free resources: Line craft

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

]]><![CDATA[How to punctuate dialogue broken midstream by an action beat]]>Sat, 22 Apr 2023 23:37:03 GMThttps://www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com/blog/how-to-punctuate-dialogue-broken-midstream-by-an-action-beatWant to know how to punctuate dialogue that’s interrupted midstream by an action beat? This post shows you one way of handling it in your fiction writing and editing practice.

What’s in this post?

What is dialogue?
What is an action beat?
Midstream dialogue interruptions: Using dashes
Which case to use: Upper or lower?
How to avoid using three consecutive punctuation marks

What is dialogue?

Dialogue is the part of a novel that conveys character speech. It’s more usually set off by opening and closing quotation marks (or speech marks).

Depending on your style of choice, these marks can be either singles (‘blah blah’) or doubles (“blah blah”).

It’s more common to see double quotation marks used for books written in US-English style, and single marks used for books written in British-English style, but this is a convention rather than a rule. Consistency is what authors and editors aim for, so make your choice and stick with it.

What is an action beat?

An action beat is a short description that comes before, between or just after dialogue. It assists dialogue by telling readers about how a character interacts with their environment while they’re speaking, and is useful for showing rather than telling readers how a character is feeling.

That’s particularly useful when the narrative style is limited to the perspective of a single viewpoint character, a common and effective style of writing for many commercial fiction authors.

Examples of dialogue with action beats

Below are three examples of character speech. Note how the action beats help ground the character in their environment and help the reader understand how that character is feeling.

In these examples, I’ve placed the action beats in the middle of the dialogue so you can focus on how the various beats I’ve chosen convey different emotions to the reader: frustration in the first, contemplation in the second, and boredom in the third.

‘So Mac’s not delivering the report for another week?’ Louise rolled her eyes. ‘Okay. Let’s make a backup plan.'

‘So Mac’s not delivering the report for another week?’ Louise drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Okay. Let’s make a backup plan.’

‘So Mac’s not delivering the report for another week?’ Louise glanced at the clock and yawned. ‘Okay. Let’s make a backup plan.’

Note that none of these action beats are interrupting the speaker midstream. When they do, the punctuation can become a little more challenging.

Midstream dialogue interruptions: Using dashes

When authors want to interrupt the speech midstream with an action beat, a common approach is to punctuate with parenthetical dashes.

Spaced en dashes (–) are a popular convention in British-English style.
Closed-up em dashes (—) are a popular convention in US-English style.

This is not the law, not a rule, not the only way or the right way. It’s just the style that many publishers and independent authors choose to follow and that readers are used to seeing. Again, consistency is recommended so that readers aren’t unnecessarily distracted.

Example 1
Here’s an example written in British-English style, using spaced en dashes and single quotation marks.

‘I’m struggling to understand why you’ – he jabbed his finger right under my nose – ‘thought it was okay to change the name of this operation. You’re not the senior investigating officer.’

And here it is again in US-English style, using closed-up em dashes and double quotation marks.

“I’m struggling to understand why you”—he jabbed his finger right under my nose—“thought it was okay to change the name of this operation. You’re not the senior investigating officer.”

Example 2
Here’s an example written in British-English style, using spaced en dashes and single quotation marks. This time we’re dealing with an additional punctuation mark: the ellipsis.

‘So Mac’s not delivering the report for another week? Jesus, he’s already had two extensions. And in his last email he said it would be in by …’ – she scrolled through the messages in her inbox – ‘the third of May. It’s right here in black and white. Right, Ibi, tell him he’s blown it and get someone else on it.’

Which case to use: Upper or lower?
The action beats contained within the parenthetical dashes don’t start with a capital letter. Instead, the convention asks for lower case because the text is interrupting the dialogue midstream.

Avoiding three consecutive punctuation marks

At one point In Example 2 above, there are three punctuation marks in a row: an ellipsis, a quotation mark, and a dash. That’s not something that would bother me because I can see the function each has:

The ellipsis shows that the speaker takes a pause.
The closing quotation marks indicates that the speech has stopped.
The dash marks interruptive narrative and tells the reader that the speech will resume after the action beat.

However, some authors feel uncomfortable with multiple punctuation marks. If that’s you, you could try the following:

1. Remove the ellipsis and let the reader insert their own pause
Without the ellipsis, it’s not as clear to the reader if the scrolling is happening at the same time as the character is speaking or if she takes a pause, but does it really matter? In this case, probably not.

‘So Mac’s not delivering the report for another week? Jesus, he’s already had two extensions. And in his last email he said it would be in by’ – she scrolled through the messages in her inbox – ‘the third of May. It’s right here in black and white. Right, Ibi, tell him he’s blown it and get someone else on it.’

2. Tell (rather than show) the pause
If an author feels it’s absolutely necessary for the reader to know about the pause but doesn’t want to show it with an ellipsis, they could tell it (she paused).

Some might consider this a less elegant solution – a little wordy perhaps – but most readers likely won’t bat an eyelid unless those told pauses and hesitations are littering a text.

“So Mac’s not delivering the report for another week? Jesus, he’s already had two extensions. And in his last email he said it would be in by”—she paused and scrolled through the messages in her inbox—“the third of May. It’s right here in black and white. Right, Ibi, tell him he’s blown it and get someone else on it.”

Summing up

As always, bear in mind that punctuation conventions are useful and helpful ... until they mess with rhythm and mood. The guidance I’m offering is just that – guidance. It’s not a prescriptive set of rules you must follow.

If you want to interrupt dialogue midstream with action beats, try setting off the beat with dashes.

The choice of whether to use single or double quotation marks and spaced en dashes or closed-up em dashes is the author’s (or the publisher’s). If you’re a freelance fiction editor, check what your client’s style preferences are.

Once the style choice has been made, go for consistency so that readers can concentrate on immersing themselves in the story rather than untangling the punctuation.

Related line-craft resources

Book: Editing Fiction at Sentence Level
Courses: The Fiction Line Editing Bundle
Course: How to Line Edit for Suspense
Course: How to Write the Perfect Fiction Editorial Report
Course: Narrative Distance: A Toolbox for Writers and Editors

About Louise Harnby

Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
Learn: Books and courses
Discover: Resources for authors and editors

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In this post ...

What is a red herring?

What’s the difference between a red herring and controlled misdirection?

Writing red herrings: The golden rules

What a red herring is not: Common misconceptions

How red herrings work: The mechanics

Summing up

About Louise Harnby

In this post

What is controlled misdirection?

What’s the difference between a red herring and controlled misdirection?

Writing controlled misdirection: The golden rules

What controlled misdirection is not: Common misconceptions

How controlled misdirection works: The mechanics

Summing up

About Louise Harnby

In this post

​Why your novel’s not gripping the reader

What is line editing?

1. Check for clarity

2. Manage narrative velocity with sentence length

3. Build micro-tension with rhythmic tools

4. Regulate what the reader knows, and when

5. Control narrative point of view

6. Strengthen your verbs

7. Sharpen dialogue with subtext

8. Ensure description matches the stakes

9. Review your story beginnings and chapter endings

Summing up

About Louise Harnby

What is a verb?

Strong and weak verbs

A comparison of strong and weak verbs

Create immediacy by adjusting filler verbs

Create impact by interrogating adverbs

Making movement thrilling with strong verbs

Practise control with a verb-intensity ladder

A tip for editing verbs

Summing up

About Louise Harnby

In this post ...

​A caveat

What is Making Tax Digital?

When does MTD start?

How often do we have to file with MTD?

What is a bridging service?

Why I chose 123sheets

Preparation tips for using bridging services

Wrapping up

About Louise Harnby

​Summary of Episode 154

Listen to the episode

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Music credit

In this article

The recognizable patterns in thriller opening lines

What these opening lines have in common

1. First-line focus on a pursuit

2. First-line focus on psychological mindset

3. First-line focus on a shocking statement

5. First-line focus on a crime or transgression

6. First-line focus on the environment

7. First-line focus on foreboding

Summing up

​​About Louise Harnby

The weight carried by the opening line

Example 1: Generic description

Example 2: Routine activity

Example 3: Focus on backstory

Example 4: No intrigue

Example 5: Vague observation

Example 6: Dull dialogue

Example 7: Tensionless thoughts

Example 8: Boring environment

Example 9: Flat impact

Example 10: No threat

Summing up

About Louise Harnby

In this article

Why the first 5 pages are a pitch to the reader

Why your novel’s not gripping the reader

A caveat

Summary of Episode 154

About Louise Harnby

Summary of Episode 151

In this article ...

Common editing tasks you can streamline with Quick Parts

About Louise Harnby

In this post

The impact of AI on editors and proofreaders

Why disclosure is important