Creative Writing: February Update

Progress, Challenges, and Learning Along the Way  

Consistency has been key so far in my writing journey. I have been disciplined about writing at least 1,000 words a day. That is not an overwhelming amount, but it keeps the momentum going. I could push myself to write more, but for now, the focus is on steady progress rather than setting unsustainable targets.  

The Writers’ Group That Wasn’t for Me  

In my January update, I mentioned joining a writers’ group. That experiment ended quickly. I quit after the first meeting. The format involved members reading their work out loud without ever sharing the written text. For a few reasons, that was not a good fit for me. I might try to find a different kind of group, but for now, I am comfortable working solo.  

Wrapping Up Act 1: A Quick Review  

At the end of what I consider to be Act 1, I took a short break to reflect. The overall plan had worked well, but some sections slowed down the action too much and felt poorly integrated. Another issue became clear: my tendency to rely heavily on dialogue without enough physicality.  

For years, I have played with dialogue in my head and on paper, treating it as the core of storytelling without always considering the need for accompanying movement, setting, and body language. This habit resulted in what I have seen referred to as "ping-pong dialogue," a rapid back-and-forth with minimal grounding in the physical world. I came across an interesting discussion on this blog post. 

Clearly, when writing for an audience rather than just for personal entertainment, this style is not enough. That said, I recognize that under the right circumstances, it might serve a purpose. The trick is knowing when and how to use it effectively.  

The Challenge of Act 2: Finding the Right Pace  

As I moved into Act 2, I realized I did not have as clear a plan as I had for Act 1. After a few short chapters, it became apparent that I was rushing toward Act 3, closing loops too quickly. This left me with two possible approaches:  

• Expanding the existing chapters by adding more depth, layering in description, or enriching character interactions.  
• Reconsidering the plot structure by introducing another layer of complexity before reaching the final act.  

I am currently working through this, but unlike Act 1, I do not have a strict list of pre-planned chapter outlines. Instead, I start each writing session by deciding what needs to happen that day. Sometimes I manage to stay on track. Other times, new elements emerge during the writing process. While this allows for more organic creativity, it also increases the risk of taking unnecessary detours. Since I am not writing under a deadline, I have the flexibility to explore, but I am keeping an eye on whether these side paths lead somewhere meaningful or if they are dead ends.  

Word Count vs. Quality: Coming to Terms with Rewriting  

Right now, I have about 40,000 words written. I know that does not mean much in itself. I am becoming more comfortable with the idea that, when all is said and done, perhaps only 25,000 of those words will be worth keeping. The revision and editing process, which once felt overwhelming, is starting to scare me less. Maybe that is because I am beginning to trust that I can go beyond a complete first draft and shape the work into something stronger.  

This stage of writing continues to be a learning process, both in terms of craft and in my own habits as a writer. I may not have a perfect roadmap for Act 2 yet, but I am making adjustments as I go and trusting that the story will take shape. Onward!

What I’m Reading  

Much of my reading this month has been tied to my self-study plan for the Certified Senior Advisor Exam.  I have not decided yet whether I will take the exam or not. I may write a separate post about that, as it intersects with themes of lifelong learning, personal knowledge management, and teaching experience. The study process itself involves identifying key topics, then developing a basic understanding of each topic, getting familiar with the vocabulary and the issues at hand.  Preparing for test taking come next, getting a sense of the types of questions that might come up on the exam, including logic-based questions, vocabulary questions, and perhaps more challenging scenario questions.  In this context, to go well beyond the exam, I am reading The Measure of Our Age: Navigating Care, Safety, Money, and Meaning in Later Life, by M.T. Connolly.    

For fiction, I have been listening to Playground, by Richard Powers, as an audiobook, while walking. I have found that sitting too much, even for fiction, does not work for me. Walking and listening seem to complement each other well.  

Exploring the Relationship Between Knowledge and Fiction (Part 5: How Knowledge Drives Plot)

This is the fifth post in the "Knowledge and Fiction" Series.

Part 5 - How Knowledge Drives Plot: Withholding, Revealing, and Structuring Information in Fiction

Introduction: Knowledge as a Driving Force in Storytelling 

In fiction, knowledge is more than just a backdrop. It can be the engine that drives the entire plot. Some of the most compelling stories revolve around the acquisition, control, or revelation of knowledge. A secret long buried, a piece of forbidden wisdom, or a discovery that changes everything. These elements shape the stakes of a narrative and influence characters' choices in profound ways. 

Think of The Da Vinci Code, where the protagonist races to uncover hidden historical knowledge. Or Dune, where those who control spice production control the universe. In Jurassic Park, genetic knowledge makes the impossible possible, with unanticipated consequences. 

In my own novel-in-progress, I’m grappling with what knowledge is most critical to the story. Right now, I’m exploring multiple threads. But eventually, the plot will dictate what is essential and what fades into the background. 

So how do writers decide what knowledge should be central? And how does the way we reveal (or withhold) knowledge shape the reader’s experience? 

Defining "Critical Knowledge" in Fiction 

What do we mean by “critical knowledge” in a story? It’s the knowledge that: 

• Drives conflict and resolution. 
• Separates those who have power from those who don’t. 
• Forces characters to make choices they wouldn’t otherwise make. 
• Is either hidden, misunderstood, or in the wrong hands. 

Many great novels are built around this kind of knowledge: 

• Magic in Harry Potter – who can access it, how it’s controlled, and the dangers of lost or forbidden spells. 
• Religious knowledge in The Name of the Rose – a battle over books, literacy, and secrecy. 
• Genetic knowledge in Jurassic Park – knowledge that both enables and threatens life itself. 

In each case, knowledge is not just background, it’s a force that moves the plot forward. 

So how do I determine the critical knowledge in my own novel? The key question is: What’s at stake? 

• If this knowledge is lost, what happens? 
• If the wrong person gets it, does it change the course of history? 
• If it is misunderstood, could it lead to catastrophe? 

Right now, I’m in the phase of exploration, pulling together ideas and research that have fascinated me for years. But as I move further into drafting, I’ll need to get sharper about what’s truly necessary versus what’s just interesting to me. 

The Narrative Flow of Knowledge: When and How to Reveal It 

Revealing knowledge in fiction is an art. Writers use a variety of techniques to manipulate what the reader knows and when. Some common approaches include: 

• The Slow Reveal – Used in mystery and detective fiction, where the protagonist (and reader) piece together the truth over time. (Sherlock Holmes, Gone Girl) 
• The Omniscient Reader – The reader knows more than the characters, leading to dramatic irony. (Romeo and Juliet, The Handmaid’s Tale) 
• The Unreliable Narrator – Knowledge is distorted, requiring the reader to question what is true. (Fight Club, Life of Pi) 

The way knowledge unfolds in a novel is just as important as the knowledge itself. If you dump too much information at once, the reader disengages. If you withhold too much, they may feel lost. 

The Teaching Parallel: How We Build Knowledge for Readers 

I keep coming back to the idea that storytelling is a lot like teaching. A teacher can’t just dump a complex concept onto students without first understanding what they already know. Similarly, a novel needs to scaffold knowledge, introducing pieces at the right moment so that the reader can follow, learn, and eventually reach an "aha!" moment. 

Many science fiction and fantasy books do this exceptionally well. Consider The Three-Body Problem, which gradually layers complex physics concepts without overwhelming the reader. Or The Handmaid’s Tale, where the reader slowly pieces together the dystopian society’s rules through the protagonist’s fragmented recollections. 

For my own novel, this means thinking about not just what knowledge is essential, but how and when to reveal it. If the world is too complex upfront, it might alienate readers. But if I introduce knowledge too late, it could feel like a forced twist. 

Knowledge in My Own Novel: Challenges and Choices 

This is where theory meets reality. 

Unlike my previous fiction projects, where I had to research entirely new areas (like synesthesia for a past novel), this time I’m pulling from decades of personal research and professional experience. That should, in theory, make things easier. But in practice, it means I have too many ideas, and I need to start cutting. 

Some questions I’m working through: 

• What knowledge is essential to the conflict? 
• How do I balance speculative elements with realism? 
• Should knowledge be a puzzle for the reader, or should they always be one step ahead of the characters? 

This phase of writing is about experimenting—trying different knowledge structures to see what feels natural for the story. 

Expanding the Role of Knowledge in Fiction 

Beyond just structuring my own novel, I’m thinking about the bigger picture: how different types of knowledge shape different kinds of stories. 

Some possibilities: 

• Knowledge as power – Characters fight to control it (1984, The Hunger Games). 
• Knowledge as burden – A character knows something they wish they didn’t (Oppenheimer and the atomic bomb, Frankenstein). 
• Knowledge as survival – A character must acquire knowledge to stay alive (The Martian, Station Eleven). 

Then there’s the question of narrative structure—should knowledge be delivered in a straightforward chronological story? Or would alternative structures, like epistolary storytelling (Dracula), found documents (House of Leaves), or multiple POVs better serve the themes? 

These are open questions I’m still exploring. 

Closing Thoughts: Beyond the Last Page 

One thing I know for sure: I want my novel to leave the reader with something lasting,  It could be a question, a shift in perspective, or even a lingering sense of uncertainty. 

Some of my favorite books did exactly that. So as I refine my own approach, I’ll be thinking about not just how knowledge functions in my novel, but how it might change the reader’s own knowledge beyond the book itself. 

For now, I’m still in the process of discovery. But that’s what makes writing—and knowledge itself—so fascinating. 

What’s Next? 

As I continue writing, I’ll be reflecting more on: 

• How knowledge structures influence world-building 
• The ethics of knowledge control in fiction 
• Memory, truth, and unreliable narrators 

The next post in the series will explore World Building and Personal Knowledge Management.  Writing a novel isn’t just about creativity.  It’s also about managing vast amounts of knowledge, figuring out how best to organize it, keep research notes, manage manuscript editing, versioning, etc.