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5 Tips from a Horror Writer on Finishing Your Novel

June 13, 2023 | 5 min read

By Will Boechler

We’ve all hit that point in writing our project where you stare at the page, all the hard work and time that you’ve spent crafting your world and your characters, and think, “Where do I go next?” This point can be frustrating, but there are ways around it, all right at your fingertips.

Hello, my name is William Boechler, and I’m a horror author and Freewrite user from Portland, Oregon. Here are five tips that I use when my stories need a little extra oomph to get them going.

1. Trust Your Characters: External vs. Internal Motivation

Sometimes when writing you may find yourself stuck because you don’t want to mess up your character’s characterization, or how they feel, or how they might act in a certain situation or scene. When I have trouble with this I try to look for two things: the external and the internal motivation for each character.

The external motivation depicts the basic goal of the character. In Cormac McCarthy’s hit apocalyptic book, The Road, the story revolves around a father and son moving about this long dead landscape. The goal: the father wants to travel south. That is the father’s external motivation. His internal motivation, however, is something much deeper and more personal and not as easily revealed up front. As the book goes on we realize that this father desperately wants to make sure that his son is safe in this new hellish world. This is his internal motivation. The very core at which his being operates. He wants to go south, but he really wants to make sure that his son is safe.

When I get stuck, I jot down in a notebook what I think my characters’ internal and external motivations may be for the scene, but also the entire work. Then, as I write, I can more clearly see what boundaries the character would push to get what they want.

2. Secondary Scenes

When I’m stuck writing a scene, I try to think of something that informs the character’s actions in the moment, whether that be a past event, trauma, relationship, or something else that I can emotionally tether to the present moment that I’m stuck in. But the key is that it has to be something emotionally connected. The stronger the connection, the stronger it can inform the scene.

Once I find whatever that moment is, I crack it open and explore what else surrounded that moment. What smells, what feelings you can pull. I call these scenes that, though important, will not necessarily make it into the actual project "Secondary Scenes."

The fun part about Secondary Scenes is that since they may not see the light of day, you can write without the worry of having it be critiqued or having to polish it up for a publisher. Those scenes are strictly for you to learn more about your character so that you can push your story forward, so you can be as outlandish with descriptions as you’d like, take up pages with a single detail if you have to, or write your characters’ unfiltered reactive thoughts. Perhaps then, while sifting through the psyche of your character, you can discover something about them that even you didn’t know before.

3. Zooming Outlines

Although there are two types of writers, Planners and Pantsers, this tip can universally apply to both. One of my old screenwriting professors once gave me an exercise to write out the story that we were planning on three different levels of closeness:

One of the entire story as if it was a plot summary, called the Paragraph Outline. Per its namesake, it should be no more than a paragraph or two.
Then you move one step closer and create the Full Outline, which gives you a better look at breaking the project up into acts. It's more detailed and can span several pages on its own. This outline also allows you to come up with specific beats that you want to hit in your story.
Lastly, there are the Scene Outlines, the closest of all, which let you break down the purpose of each scene in your story and explore their narrative weight. Ideally, you would have many Scene Outlines, which allows you to also reorganize the pacing of your story on a whim if you feel something doesn’t flow properly.

Using these outlines has allowed me to keep myself on track when I find I’m writing a scene where nothing really happens. I try to make sure there is a goal in each scene for multiple characters, and it’s easier to organize and change those by scene if you have an outline dedicated to it.

4. Soundscapes and Atmosphere

One of my favorite things to do when I’m stuck writing is take a step back from the story and imagine what the world sounds like around my characters. I ask myself a variety of questions, like:

Where are they? What is the mood of the place?
What is the character feeling in that moment? How can I emphasize that with sound?

What I do is find videos on YouTube that are two, maybe even three hours long that simulate the character’s environment in some way, and I loop them. This can be literally anything, from the Twin Peaks Double R Diner with smooth soft jazz and occasional dinner plates clanging, to a large gothic castle’s library in a medieval setting, complete with a fireplace crackling, old book pages rustling under studious fingers, and a distant rumble of thunder.

Then, while that soundscape is playing, I go and find something musical to go along with it. It’s usually a film’s score of some sort that fits the scene’s mood, or a personal playlist for the character specifically (and if you aren’t already making playlists for your characters, I highly recommend it). As the soundscape continues and the music swirls around me, I find it easier to access my character.

5. Watch Your Favorite Films or Read Other Books

The last tip is tried and true—if you’ve hit a wall with your current project, sometimes it’s best to take a step away from it and indulge in something that you like. Whether that be a film that you enjoy, a TV show, or a book you’ve read several times, it’s important to give your project breathing room.

If you’re looking to continuously inspire yourself while you take time away from your project, try watching or reading things in your genre. Of course, watching or reading things outside your genre can prove to be very useful, too. You may be surprised what you can learn from a Western when you’re a horror writer.

There you have it! Five tips that help me finish my projects whenever I get stuck. No matter what, it’s important to remember that your project isn’t something that’s going to come easily. Writing is like tending a garden. Fussing over the garden too much will make it fall apart. You have to trust your ability to sit patiently, tending to the garden gently and with care, and slowly, each plant in that garden will bloom into the beautiful flower of a finished draft.

One day, when the time is just right, you can pick those flowers, and you’ll realize you have in your hands a beautiful, vibrant bouquet unlike any ever seen before.

Will Boechler is an author from Fargo, North Dakota. He currently lives in Portland, Oregon, pursuing his MFA in Creative Writing and watching the rain fall by his window.

He writes on a Freewrite Smart Typewriter with custom black keys.

Visit his website at WBoechler.com.

The Haunting

Hitting “publish” on an essay or a blog always stirs up insecurity — the overthinking, the over-editing. The fear that someone will call me out for not being a real writer.

I initially hesitated to make writing part of my freelance work. My background is in photography and design. Writing was something I gravitated toward, but I had no degree to validate it. No official stamp of approval.

Like many writers, I started with zero confidence in my voice — agonizing over edits, drowning in research, second-guessing every word.

I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.

I even created a shield for myself: ghostwriting.

If my words weren’t my own, they couldn’t be wrong. Ghostwriting meant safety — no risk, no vulnerability, just words without ownership.

I still remember the feeling of scrolling to the bottom of an article I had written and seeing someone else’s name, their face beside words that had once been mine.

The truth is, I always wanted to write. As a kid, I imagined it. Yet, I found myself handing over my work, letting someone else own it.

I told myself it didn’t matter. It was work. Getting paid to write should be enough.

But here’s the thing: I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.

I wasn’t just playing it safe — I was slowly erasing myself. Word by word. Edit by edit. And finally, in the by-line.

The Disappearing Act

This was true when I was writing under my own name, too. The more I worried about getting it right, the less I sounded like me.

I worried. I worried about how long an essay was (“people will be bored”), finding endless examples as proof of my research (“no way my own opinion is valid on its own”), the title I gave a piece (“it has to be a hook”), or editing out personal touches (“better to be safe than be seen”).

I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting. Advice meant to help only locked me in. It created a sentence rewritten to sound smarter, an opinion softened to sound safer, a paragraph reshaped to sound acceptable.

I built a guardrail around my writing, adjusting, tweaking, over-correcting.

But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.

It took deliberate effort to break this habit. I’m not perfect, but here’s what I know after a year of intentionally letting my writing sound like me:

My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.

But playing it safe makes the work dull. Writing loses its edge.

The Resurrection

The drive for acceptance is a slippery slope — one we don’t always realize we’re sliding down. It’s present in the small choices that pull us away from artistic integrity: checking how others did it first, tweaking our work to fit a mold, hesitating before saying what we actually mean.

And let’s be honest — this isn’t just about writing. It bleeds into everything.

It’s there when we stay silent in the face of wrongdoing, when we hold back our true way of being, when we choose work that feels “respectable,” whatever that means. It’s in every “yes” we say when we really want to say “no.”

If your self-expression is rooted in a need for acceptance, are you creating for yourself — or for others? Does your work help you explore your thoughts, your life? Does it add depth, energy, and meaning?

My work is clearer. It moves with my own rhythm. It’s less shaped by external influence, by fear, by the constant need to smooth it into something more polished, more likable.

I get it. We’re social creatures. Isolation isn’t the answer. Ignoring societal norms won’t make us better writers. Often, the most meaningful work is born from responding to or resisting those norms.

But knowing yourself well enough to recognize when acceptance is shaping your work brings clarity.

Am I doing this to be part of a community, to build connections, to learn and grow?

Or am I doing this to meet someone else’s expectations, dulling my voice just to fit in?

The Revival

Here’s what I know as I look back at my writing: I’m grateful for the years spent learning, for the times I sought acceptance with curiosity. But I’m in a different phase now.

I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.

I know who I am, and those who connect with my work reflect that back at me — in the messages they send, in the conversations we share.

It’s our differences that drive growth. I want to nurture these connections, to be challenged by difference, to keep writing in a way that feels like me. The me who isn’t afraid to show what I think and care about.

So, I ask you, as I ask myself now:

If no one was watching, if no one could judge, what would you write?