Some writing obstacles aren’t plot problems or lack of inspiration—they’re upholstered. After unexpectedly finishing an entire chapter of Fall From Grace in a single day, I discovered the biggest difference wasn’t my writing. It was where I sat. The recliner I’d always considered a harmless pre-writing stop had quietly become the world’s most comfortable procrastination machine.
Every writer thinks the manuscript is in pretty good shape—right up until the editorial feedback arrives. From confidence and outrage to revision, gratitude, and complete memory loss, here are the twelve stages writers cycle through when an editor gets involved.
Most stories don’t arrive fully formed. They begin as a name, a setting, or the faintest glimmer of an idea, then grow one decision at a time. But every so often, a story appears almost complete. Rainmaker was one of those rare exceptions. Here’s how it came to life—and why, years later, I finally gave it the cover I’d always imagined.
Writers rarely work on just one book at a time. While readers see the finished novel, there’s often an entire queue of stories in progress behind it—drafts, edits, serials, and ideas waiting for their turn. Here’s a look at what’s currently occupying my writing desk this summer, from new thriller adventures to ongoing serial fiction and the next novel waiting in the wings.
Most writers think of serial fiction as a publishing format. Mark Posey argues it is something even more valuable: a practical lesson in storytelling craft. Because every installment must earn a reader’s return, serial fiction exposes weaknesses in pacing, structure, and chapter endings that can hide inside a completed novel. The skills it teaches—curiosity, momentum, and reader engagement—strengthen every form of storytelling.
Every story has a plot. A detective solves a murder. A spaceship crew saves a colony. A retired man plants tomatoes. But the stories readers remember long after the last page are rarely about those events alone. Beneath the plot lies a deeper story—the emotional truth, the question being explored, the reason the story resonates. As an editor, one of the most important questions I can ask is: What is this story really about?
Every published novel has a hidden history. Behind every finished book are deleted scenes, rewritten chapters, abandoned plot lines, and countless small decisions that readers never see. The first draft may discover the story, but revision is where the story reveals what it was trying to become all along.
Readers are becoming more selective—and that may be very good news for skilled storytellers. In a marketplace flooded with rushed and disposable content, craftsmanship matters more than ever. Readers aren’t just consuming words. They’re investing trust. And trust is earned one sentence, one scene, and one book at a time.
Your writing system probably won’t fail all at once—it’ll decay, one small glitch at a time, until the tool you rely on starts slowing you down instead of supporting you. When that happens, the real solution isn’t finding a replacement that works the same way—it’s rethinking how your system works entirely. Here’s what OneNote’s decline taught me about rebuilding a writing workflow that’s faster, more flexible, and far more resilient.
Writers collect craft books the way other people collect unread classics and half-finished notebooks: with tremendous optimism and the vague sense that owning them counts as progress. But a few books earn their place beside the desk because they’re not just inspiring—they’re useful. In the first of this series, Mark looks at why The Story Grid has become one of the writing books he returns to again and again: because when a manuscript goes sideways, this is the book that explains why.
