My Top 12 Writing Tips! | Advice That Changed How I Write

TL;DR

Cut scenes or details the reader can infer; jump to the next necessary plot moment instead of staging every logistical step.

Briefing Cornell Notes

Briefing

The most consequential shift in Shaelin’s writing philosophy is a practical one: cut anything the reader can already infer and spend the saved space making every moment more vivid. The advice “if the reader can imagine something happening without needing to be told, then you don’t need to show it” targets a common early-writer impulse to over-explain realism. Instead of lingering on logistics—like the drive to the hospital, the characters’ feelings in transit, or the procedural details—she argues for jumping to the next plot-relevant beat. The result is leaner plotting and fewer redundant scenes, because the story keeps its focus on what’s necessary rather than what merely feels “real.”

From there, the list becomes a toolkit for sharpening prose and increasing reader investment. Strong verbs are treated as an immediate quality upgrade: replacing familiar phrasing with more visceral, unexpected action can make sentences feel alive, even if it means experimenting with unusual or invented verb choices. Closely related is a line-editing discipline—avoid “to-be” constructions and prune “-ing” forms—framed not as rigid dogma but as a constraint that builds control. She describes learning through rigorous pruning, where the act of cutting forces better language choices and cleaner rhythm.

Several tips focus on how to make writing feel engaging rather than merely informative. “It’s not show don’t tell, it’s described don’t explain” reframes a widely repeated craft slogan: “showing” becomes description, while “telling” becomes explanation. Another principle—“if your story is boring, slow it down; don’t speed it up”—pushes back on the idea that pacing alone fixes dullness. The underlying claim is that readers get bored when there isn’t enough richness to sink into, and slowing down can deepen texture and attention.

Specificity is presented as the engine of stronger description. Vague writing, even when dressed up with fancy wording, risks “purple prose,” while selecting more interesting, concrete details naturally makes the language more compelling. Tension is handled with a balancing act: find hope and despair in every scene, because despair without any hope removes forward motion, while hope without despair drains tension.

Character work gets its own set of reframes. Goals are less about a concrete checklist and more about yearning—what the character craves or longs for. Contradictions are treated as a feature, not a flaw: conflicting beliefs and expectations reveal humanity and make characters feel real. Finally, she emphasizes economy and artistic surprise: cut as many words as possible to let important ones stand out, and chase “artistic incongruity,” where details feel askew in an artful way (like turning an “innocent baby” into a “knowing baby”).

The throughline is a single question she carries into drafting and editing: how can this be more interesting? Whether by choosing better details, reworking scenes, or changing the setting, she treats interest as the non-negotiable standard—because readers will tolerate almost anything if it holds their attention.

Cornell Notes

The core message is that strong writing comes from restraint and intentionality: cut what the reader can infer, then use the freed space to make scenes more interesting and specific. Shaelin’s advice repeatedly links craft choices to reader engagement—lean plotting, stronger verbs, and line edits that remove “to-be” and excess “-ing” forms. She reframes “show don’t tell” as “described don’t explain,” and argues that boredom is often a richness problem, not a pacing problem. Character tension and motivation are built through hope/despair balance, yearning instead of just goals, and embracing contradictions. Underneath it all is one guiding question: how can each detail, scene, and paragraph be made more interesting?

Why does “don’t show what the reader can imagine” matter for plot and pacing?

The advice targets over-writing driven by a realism instinct. Instead of staging every step (like the drive to the hospital and procedural details), the writer can cut to the next plot-relevant moment because readers can infer the missing connective tissue. That trimming reduces redundancy and keeps attention on necessary beats, which she says aligns with her preference for focusing on important moments rather than “technicalities.”

How do strong verbs and word pruning improve prose quality?

Strong verbs replace familiar, generic action with more visceral, surprising movement inside sentences. She also credits line-edit constraints—especially cutting “to-be” verbs and pruning “-ing” forms—with building control of language. The practice of pruning is described as rigorous but clarifying: constraints force better choices, and trimming excess adjectives/adverbs and “weasel words” makes important words stand out instead of getting muddled.

What does “described don’t explain” change about how to apply “show don’t tell”?

The reframing treats “showing” as description and “telling” as explanation. A flashback to a professor’s margin note (“Even in flashback describe don’t explain”) becomes the key: description gives sensory or concrete specificity, while explanation leans into commentary. She argues the rephrasing makes the guidance more approachable because it tells writers what to do in practice.

Why does she claim boring stories should be slowed down rather than sped up?

The claim is that “boring” often isn’t caused by too much slowness; it’s caused by insufficient richness—too little for readers to sink into. Slowing down can increase the density of detail and investment, making the story feel fuller even if the plot advances at the same rate. Her reading preference matches this: the stories she’s most compelled by tend to be rich and detailed, not merely fast.

How are tension and character motivation built, according to her tips?

Tension comes from balancing hope and despair in every scene: despair alone removes forward motion, while hope alone removes stakes. For motivation, she shifts from “goal” as a concrete target to “yearning” as what the character craves or longs for—especially in literary, character-driven work. She also argues contradictions make characters more interesting, because real people are inherently conflicted and that complexity reads as human rather than inconsistent.

What is “artistic incongruity,” and how does it show up in writing exercises?

Artistic incongruity is the interest created by something unexpected or askew in an artful way—details that don’t quite match expectations. In an exercise, she says a professor had students pair nouns with expected adjectives, then deliberately make the pairings incongruous. The example given is changing “an innocent baby” into “a knowing baby,” which keeps the image but tilts it into surprise.

Review Questions

Which parts of a scene can you cut because readers can infer them, and what is the next plot-relevant beat you should jump to instead?
Where in your draft do you rely on “to-be” or “-ing” forms, and what stronger verb or tighter sentence could replace them?
How would you revise one scene to include both hope and despair, and what would the character’s yearning be in that moment?

Key Points

1
Cut scenes or details the reader can infer; jump to the next necessary plot moment instead of staging every logistical step.
2
Prioritize strong verbs and experiment with fresher, more visceral phrasing to avoid generic action and lifeless sentences.
3
Use line-edit constraints—especially removing “to-be” and pruning “-ing” forms—to build language control and improve clarity.
4
Reframe “show don’t tell” as “described don’t explain”: aim for concrete description rather than explanatory commentary.
5
Treat boredom as a richness problem; slow down to add depth and texture rather than assuming faster pacing fixes it.
6
Write with specificity: choose more interesting, concrete details instead of relying on elaborate wording for vague ideas.
7
Build tension and character depth through hope/despair balance, yearning-based motivation, and embracing contradictions.

Highlights

If readers can imagine what happens next, the writing doesn’t need to show every step—cut the redundant “realistic” logistics and move to the plot’s next beat.

Strong verbs and ruthless pruning (“to-be,” “-ing,” excess adjectives/adverbs) are presented as direct levers for cleaner, more vivid prose.

Tension isn’t just despair or just joy; it comes from hope and despair coexisting in every scene.

Specificity beats purple prose: interesting details make the language interesting without needing complicated phrasing.

Artistic incongruity—like turning “an innocent baby” into “a knowing baby”—creates memorable surprise through artful mismatch.

Topics

Cut Redundancy
Verb Strength
Line Editing
Specificity
Tension Balance
Character Yearning
Artistic Incongruity