The Principles That Guide My Novelistic Writing
« There is no universal method. There are convictions that each novel tests, confirms, or reshapes. »
I do not believe in formulas for writing a novel. Every book imposes its own demands, detours, and challenges. Yet over the years, certain principles have become essential to my way of working.
I do not consider them as rigid rules. Rather, they are convictions forged by experience, which each new novel in turn confirms, challenges, or deepens.
1. A Story Must Continue to Inhabit Me
An idea can emerge in a few seconds. A novel, however, requires months, sometimes years of companionship.
For me to truly commit to a book, a question must persist, a character must return, a scene must refuse to fade once the computer is closed. What matters is not the initial brilliance of an idea, but its capacity to keep living within me long enough to become a novel.
2. Construct the Plot Around Human Beings
Characters remain the heartbeat of the novel for me. A plot may be intricate, tense, meticulously crafted; it only takes on genuine meaning if it impacts beings in whom the reader can believe.
I therefore endeavor to shape the story around what the characters desire, fear, hide, or risk losing. The more prominent the narrative mechanics become, the more I ensure they serve their human journeys.
3. Reading to Understand What Moves a Novel
Reading remains for me an endless avenue of learning. Not to imitate, but to observe what truly creates an emotional resonance.
I linger on how tension is established, how dialogue rings authentic, how a scene discovers its rhythm, how an emotion emerges without being forced. Reading is a perpetual school because it shows, far better than any theory, what words actually do to the reader.
4. Remaining Within the Book
Inspiration matters, but it is never sufficient on its own. A novel demands continuity.
For me, what matters most is never severing the thread with the book: returning to it, keeping the characters alive, letting the story continue to work even when I am away from the keyboard. Discipline is not a word quota; it is loyalty to the creative workshop until it discovers its form.
5. Rewriting Also Means Reconstructing
The first draft allows the story to come into being. It does not yet tell what the novel will ultimately become.
Rewriting is not merely about trimming a sentence or finding a more precise word. It can require shifting a scene, re-evaluating causality, deepening an arc, clarifying what the reader understands, removing redundancies, or rebuilding an entire sequence. It is often in this phase that the book achieves its true architecture.
Inventing a Story Is Not Constructing a Novel
I long believed that the essence was finding a compelling story. Experience taught me that one must then build it: orchestrating information, causalities, tempos, expectations, and the interweaving of narrative threads.
The more vital this structural work is, the less visible it should be.
What No Technique Can Replace
After several published novels, I remain convinced that technique alone is never enough. One can learn to better structure a tale, fine-tune the pace of a chapter, or polish dialogue. But no craft can ever replace a vision of the world.
This unique gaze is what distinguishes one writer from another. Two authors may recount the very same story: they will never write the same novel.
What I Have Learned by Writing
Each novel has compelled me to revise certain assumptions. Some demanded greater freedom, others deeper architectural rigor. All reminded me that a book is never reducible solely to its initial spark or its stylistic finish.
A novel truly exists when the story, the characters, the architecture, and the prose cease pulling in opposing directions and begin moving as a single, unified wave.
Continue the Foundational Texts
📌 A reflective article on this creative craft was published on the blog:
Read the original publication "How to Write a Novel?" on Rida Lamrini's Blog ↗