Writing is fundamentally about creating experience through language. Before plot, character, or theme, writing begins with the simple act of selecting words and arranging them to create meaning and emotional resonance.
Specificity is power. "The dog ran" is information. "The greyhound bolted" is experience. Specific nouns and active verbs create immediacy and texture. Generic language feels distant and cold. The more precisely you name what you observe, the more vividly readers enter your world. This applies whether you're writing fiction, poetry, or prose.
Rhythm in prose operates like rhythm in music. Short sentences create speed and urgency. Long, complex sentences can feel meditative or overwhelming depending on construction. Varying sentence length prevents monotony and matches the emotional pacing of your narrative. Read your work aloud—your ear will tell you where rhythm stumbles.
Point of view determines everything. A story told in first person feels intimate and limited. Third person allows omniscience or selective perspective. Second person directly addresses the reader. Your choice of perspective shapes what readers know and how much emotional distance they maintain. There's no universal "best"—only the right choice for each story.
Dialogue serves multiple functions simultaneously: it reveals character through speech patterns, advances plot through what's discussed, and breaks visual monotony on the page. Real dialogue is often fragmented and elliptical—people interrupt each other, trail off, repeat themselves. Dialogue that sounds perfectly grammatical often feels false because it's too polished.
Conflict drives narrative. Without tension between desires, beliefs, or circumstances, there's no story—only description. Even quiet, introspective stories contain conflict: internal struggle, social tension, the gap between hope and reality. Acknowledging and developing conflict is what transforms observations into narratives that grip readers.