A Good Story Is Not Just What Happens. It Is How You Make the Reader Feel About What Happens.
You did not hate Malfoy because the book told you to hate him.
You did not hate him just because he was “evil.”
You hated him because of the way the story made you experience him.
You saw him through a specific lens.
The storyteller chose which moments to show you, which details to emphasize, and how those moments felt.
That is what made you feel something.
And this is where storytelling gets really interesting.
Take Romeo and Juliet.
Most people know it as a tragic love story about two young lovers who loved each other so much they would rather die than live without each other.
That is one version of the story.
That is the romantic lens.
But using the exact same events, you could tell a completely different story.
You could tell it as the story of two reckless teenagers who fell so hard and so fast that they ignored the danger around them, kept secrets from everyone who cared about them, and made choices that put the people closest to them in even more danger.
Their love did not start the feud.
But their secrecy, impulsiveness, and desperation poured gasoline on it.
Same events.
Same characters.
Completely different feeling.
That is the power of storytelling.
It is not just what happens.
It is how the reader is guided to feel about what happens.
You did not hate him just because he was “evil.”
You hated him because of the way the story made you experience him.
You saw him through a specific lens.
The storyteller chose which moments to show you, which details to emphasize, and how those moments felt.
That is what made you feel something.
And this is where storytelling gets really interesting.
Take Romeo and Juliet.
Most people know it as a tragic love story about two young lovers who loved each other so much they would rather die than live without each other.
That is one version of the story.
That is the romantic lens.
But using the exact same events, you could tell a completely different story.
You could tell it as the story of two reckless teenagers who fell so hard and so fast that they ignored the danger around them, kept secrets from everyone who cared about them, and made choices that put the people closest to them in even more danger.
Their love did not start the feud.
But their secrecy, impulsiveness, and desperation poured gasoline on it.
Same events.
Same characters.
Completely different feeling.
That is the power of storytelling.
It is not just what happens.
It is how the reader is guided to feel about what happens.
So if I had to boil it down to just 3 things that separate a fantastic writer from everyone else, it would be this
Any writer worth their salt has always been, and always will be, consistent.
You have to dedicate time to writing.
You have to show up even when you do not feel inspired.
You have to put yourself in the right headspace, sit down, and do the work.
And yes, that requires discipline.
You have to dedicate time to writing.
You have to show up even when you do not feel inspired.
You have to put yourself in the right headspace, sit down, and do the work.
And yes, that requires discipline.
A good storyteller can make washing the floors sound interesting.
Not because washing floors is exciting.
But because they understand how to make the reader care.
As writers, we do not have the luxury of slapping on a soundtrack and call it a day.
All we have are words.
So every scene, every sentence, and every little moment has to pull the reader forward.
Not because washing floors is exciting.
But because they understand how to make the reader care.
As writers, we do not have the luxury of slapping on a soundtrack and call it a day.
All we have are words.
So every scene, every sentence, and every little moment has to pull the reader forward.
And this might be the most important one.
Because the thing that can make or break a writer is not just whether they can write pretty sentences.
It is whether they can look at an idea and know:
Is there a story here?
Is there tension?
Is there emotion?
Is there a reason someone would keep reading?
Because once you understand what makes a story worth telling, writing stops feeling like guessing.
You are no longer just putting words on a page and hoping they work.
You are building an experience the reader actually wants to follow.
Because the thing that can make or break a writer is not just whether they can write pretty sentences.
It is whether they can look at an idea and know:
Is there a story here?
Is there tension?
Is there emotion?
Is there a reason someone would keep reading?
Because once you understand what makes a story worth telling, writing stops feeling like guessing.
You are no longer just putting words on a page and hoping they work.
You are building an experience the reader actually wants to follow.
That’s right.
It’s not about your spelling.
It’s not about having a massive vocabulary.
It’s not about how many beautiful adjectives you can squeeze into one sentence.
Of course, those things can help.
But they are not what makes someone keep reading.
One of the most memorable short stories I have ever read was not even written in perfect English.
It was an email from a German man, written in broken English, telling me about how he went to buy bread.
That was it.
Bread.
He walked into his usual bakery.
The woman behind the counter already knew what he wanted, so she smiled, put the loaf in a paper bag, and handed it to him.
He probably said “danke.”
She probably said “bitte.”
Then he tucked the loaf under his arm and left.
Just like he'd always done.
Just a man buying bread from the same bakery he always went to.
But that night, as he was falling asleep, his eyes suddenly opened.
His stomach dropped, he felt shivers down his spine.
He had forgotten to pay.
And even though it was such a tiny thing, his mind would not leave it alone.
He felt stupid.
Then embarrassed.
Then angry at himself.
Then worried.
What if she got in trouble because of him?
What if she noticed and thought he had stolen from her?
What if he walked in tomorrow and she looked at him differently?
And that is where the story was.
Not in the bread.
Not in the money.
Not even in what happened the next morning, because the next day he went straight back to the bakery and paid for the loaf.
And the funny thing?
They had not even noticed.
The woman behind the counter just looked at him, confused.
To her, nothing had happened.
But to him, an entire little war had taken place inside his head.
That is storytelling.
Taking something ordinary and making the reader care because they understand what it feels like.
It’s not about your spelling.
It’s not about having a massive vocabulary.
It’s not about how many beautiful adjectives you can squeeze into one sentence.
Of course, those things can help.
But they are not what makes someone keep reading.
One of the most memorable short stories I have ever read was not even written in perfect English.
It was an email from a German man, written in broken English, telling me about how he went to buy bread.
That was it.
Bread.
He walked into his usual bakery.
The woman behind the counter already knew what he wanted, so she smiled, put the loaf in a paper bag, and handed it to him.
He probably said “danke.”
She probably said “bitte.”
Then he tucked the loaf under his arm and left.
Just like he'd always done.
Just a man buying bread from the same bakery he always went to.
But that night, as he was falling asleep, his eyes suddenly opened.
His stomach dropped, he felt shivers down his spine.
He had forgotten to pay.
And even though it was such a tiny thing, his mind would not leave it alone.
He felt stupid.
Then embarrassed.
Then angry at himself.
Then worried.
What if she got in trouble because of him?
What if she noticed and thought he had stolen from her?
What if he walked in tomorrow and she looked at him differently?
And that is where the story was.
Not in the bread.
Not in the money.
Not even in what happened the next morning, because the next day he went straight back to the bakery and paid for the loaf.
And the funny thing?
They had not even noticed.
The woman behind the counter just looked at him, confused.
To her, nothing had happened.
But to him, an entire little war had taken place inside his head.
That is storytelling.
Taking something ordinary and making the reader care because they understand what it feels like.
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