Hieronymus Hawkes's Blog

How to keep your readers turning pages instead of checking their notifications

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Let’s talk about pacing.

Not the kind you do in your kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil and wondering if your protagonist is boring.

I mean the heartbeat of your story. The rhythm. The momentum. The thing that keeps readers saying, “Just one more chapter,” and then suddenly it’s 2:47 a.m. and they’re cursing themselves for a lack of self-control.

If your pacing’s off, your story drags. Or it rushes. Or worse, it runs in place like a caffeinated hamster.

So how do you get it right?

1. In Late, Out Early

This is the golden rule of scene work. Don’t spend five paragraphs describing how someone gets out of their car, walks to the door, and opens it, unless they’re defusing a bomb with every step.

Get in after the boring parts. Start with the tension already in the air. And when the scene has done its job? Leave. Don’t linger. No long goodbyes. Exit like a movie star in sunglasses.

Think of each scene like a party. Arrive just as the drama starts, and ghost as soon as things calm down.

2. Every Scene Should Earn Its Keep

Every scene should do at least one of these things:

Move the plotReveal characterRaise the stakesDeliver conflict

If it does all four? Gold star. But if it does none of these? You probably need to cut it. Or combine it with another scene that’s doing the work.

If your character is just drinking coffee and reflecting on life for three pages, make sure there’s a sniper outside the window, a betrayal in the works, or a confession brewing with that latte.

3. Conflict is the Fuel

Stories are made of people who want things and can’t get them easily. That’s conflict. Every character should want something, even if it’s just a glass of water or the last word in an argument.

When wants collide, tension crackles. Even quiet scenes get electricity when people are at odds.

Want your pace to hum? Keep the wants alive. Keep the obstacles real.

4. Snappy Dialogue is a Shortcut to Speed

Good dialogue is like a back-and-forth tennis match. Bad dialogue is like a very polite game of lawn bowls.

Keep it tight. Let characters interrupt, miscommunicate, talk past each other. Let them want things mid-conversation.

And if you can slip in subtext, humor, or a sucker punch while doing it? Chef’s kiss.

5. Thrillers Need Rest Stops

Even roller coasters have a pause at the top of the hill.

If you’re writing high-octane fiction, thrillers, action, or even emotional drama, moments of stillness are essential. They let readers breathe. They give contrast to the chaos. They allow tension to rebuild before the next drop.

Without breathers, readers burn out. Or worse, stop caring.

So, throw in a quiet beat. A human moment. A flashlight-lit heart-to-heart in the middle of the storm. Then yank the floor out again.

And Then There’s the Saggy Middle…

You close in on the halfway mark and that story that was chugging along so confidently … then slumps. You lose steam. The plot feels soft. You question everything, especially whether this book is even worth finishing.

You, my friend, have encountered the Saggy Middle.

This idea, and the smart advice below, comes courtesy of bestselling author Alessandra Torre via her excellent Inkerscon newsletter. She outlines common causes of saggy middles and, more importantly, how to fix them.

Here’s the gist:

What Causes Saggy Middle Syndrome?

Weak Stakes – Your character’s problem just isn’t dire enough.Passive Protagonist – They’re reacting, not acting.No Midpoint Reversal – The story stays on the same rails instead of veering off dramatically.Repetitive Scenes – Plot is circling instead of climbing.Wandering Subplots – They’re there, but no one knows why.

Sound familiar? It doesn’t mean your book is broken. But it does mean it’s time to pour gas back into the story.

Five Ways to Fix Your Middle

Drop a Midpoint Bomb
Add a twist, a betrayal, a dead body, a long-lost sibling. Something that forces everyone to recalibrate. This recharges momentum instantly.Raise the Stakes
Make the consequences of failure worse. Internal, external, romantic, whatever works. Just make your character sweat.Force Hard Choices
Stop letting your main character drift. Put a fork in the road. Choices reveal character and ripple through the plot.Add Complications That Matter
Don’t just make your character late for work, introduce a problem that redefines what they want or how they’ll get it.Tighten Threads
Subplots should start converging. Every scene should pull double duty, character and plot.

(Torre even suggests making a list of everything you need to reveal before the climax. It’s like breadcrumbs for your brain.)

Final Takeaway

Whether you’re fine-tuning a thriller or polishing your cozy fantasy, pacing matters at every level, scene, chapter, and arc. If your middle gets mushy, it’s not a sign you should quit. It’s a signal to raise the stakes, deepen the conflict, and let your characters surprise you.

Big thanks to Alessandra Torre for letting us peek under the hood of the saggy middle. You can find more of her sharp, honest writing advice at Inkerscon.

And hey, if your pacing feels like it’s limping along, just remember:

Even a roller coaster has slow climbs…
…right before the biggest drop.

TL;DR
Pacing isn’t about writing fast, it’s about writing purposefully. Every beat should matter. Every scene should crackle. Every page should pull the reader forward, even in the quiet parts.

Keep things lean. Keep things moving. And for the love of story, don’t let your protagonist spend two pages brushing their teeth (unless it’s a high-stakes dental showdown and the villain is hiding in the medicine cabinet).

September 18, 2025Still Rock and Roll: The Impact of Billy JoelFrom The Lost Souls to Madison Square Garden #writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack In … September 16, 2025Don’t Let Chapter One Kill Your BookYour beginning matters, but not as much as finishing the damn story … September 11, 2025When the Blackbird SingsMy Blackbird Tattoo: A Tribute to Love and Loss My Blackbird Tattoo, … September 9, 2025Yes, It’s All Been Done. So What?When it feels like every story has already been told, tell yours …

From The Lost Souls to Madison Square Garden

#writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack

In 1980, I was a sophomore in high school when Glass Houses dropped, and it hit me like a brick through a plate-glass window. It was loud, edgy, playful, and full of hooks. This was before streaming, before playlists, before you could hear what you wanted when you wanted. You caught your music on the radio, on vinyl, on 8-track, or on cassette. The funny thing to me is I don’t think I ever owned any of Billy Joel’s albums outright, but they lived in my head anyway. They got in through repetition and radio waves and the sheer inevitability of greatness.

Eventually, most of his songs found their way into my rotation. Billy was everywhere, at school dances, on car radios, blasting out of boomboxes. He was the soundtrack to breakups, parties, and quiet moments of clarity.

For me he was always one of those artists that I really enjoyed but never sought out. I knew the words to a lot of his songs and, he had so many that you could sing along to, but for whatever reason I never went out of my way to acquire any of his music.

Fast forward 45 years, and I finally got to see him live.

My wife and I were lucky enough to catch Billy Joel in concert earlier this year, before his recent illness forced him to step back from touring. He was sharing the bill with Sting (whom we love, and had seen in Vegas the year before), but the truth is, as much as I love Sting, Billy stole the show. At 76, he was still in perfect voice, hitting the high notes with power and ease. And beyond the voice, it was showmanship. He’s a natural. He knows how to connect. He’s funny, loose, commanding, like someone who’s been playing to packed stadiums his entire life (which he has for more than 40 years) and still gives a damn every time.

It was more than a concert. It was a masterclass in endurance, craft, and joy. Another thing that really struck me was just how good his voice was, and still is, at least before his diagnosis of hydrocephalus, and being a singer/songwriter, he was always able to write to his strengths.

Preparing to go to the show and looking at his playlist for the concert it was amazing to see just how many hits he had, easily twenty huge hits and arguably another ten. From Cold Spring Harbor in 71 to River of Dreams in 93, he made 13 studio albums as a solo artist, along with 8 live albums. He also did a classical music album after he quit making pop music. This year he put out a companion album for his documentary and it includes stuff from his earliest work with his first bands The Lost Souls, The Hassles, and Attila, outtakes and intros to songs, covering his whole career.

This week, we started watching his documentary, The Billy Joel: And So it Goes, the new one that features not just Billy but his early bandmates, his first wife, who was also his early and most successful business manager, and the people who helped shape his early rise. It’s riveting. Honest. Full of grainy footage, backstage tension, and those little musical decisions that end up defining an artist. It also includes a bunch of never-before-seen footage. I knew a lot of Billy’s music. I didn’t know his whole story. It’s fascinating. His first wife, Elizabeth Weber comes off as the hero in part one and his divorce from her is where part one ends. Without her Billy might have never had the huge career he had. It might have all ended with The Stranger, without the right singles and the right PR push at the right time. She was a notoriously tough boss and being his wife she didn’t get the credit or respect she deserved.

Part two is his life after divorcing his first wife. Three more marriages and a betrayal by his new business manager, who was his first wife’s brother and whom she advised him against hiring.

The revival of his spirits when he met Christie Brinkley was a bittersweet time. They were really happy for many years and had a daughter together, who also happens to be a singer/songwriter. But it came to light that his manager basically fleeced Billy of all his money. He had to rebuild his fortune and so dove hard into touring and writing new music. Sadly, this actually led to the end of his marriage to Christie, as the pressure of so much travelling and pushing to write new music really drove him to alcoholism, something he struggled with for most of his adult life. His third marriage was almost doomed from the start, as his drinking was a massive problem that he was unable at the time to get under control. His fourth marriage was something he didn’t expect, and he has two young children now and seems to be happily married and has finally managed to find balance.

Part one already made me appreciate him on a deeper level, as an artist, a survivor, and a man who kept showing up even when the industry tried to chew him up and spit him out. Part two revealed his desire to be the dad he never got to have. Although he did eventually find his father in Vienna and that he had a half-brother, also a piano player and conductor. It feels like this desire to get approval from his father was a driving force in his life, even though he might not have been consciously aware of it. In the end, his brother told him that his father loved him and respected him and his accomplishments, but Billy didn’t believe him, as he never heard the words come from his father’s mouth.

Part two also showed Billy’s renaissance, after he had stopped making new music and taking a long break, he was asked to perform for the Hurricane Sandy benefit, which was received so well that it led to his Madison Square Garden residency, which lasted ten years and 104 sold out shows in row. It was a feat he really didn’t expect, and it revitalized critical opinion. He finally achieved the recognition that he deserved for his talents.

Here is a quote from his last MSG show:

“Let me mention a couple of things that we’ve done,” he said. “We were the first group to play at Yankee Stadium [in 1990]. We were the last band to play at Shea Stadium [in 2008]. We played Berlin the night that the Berlin Wall came down [in 1990, so not quite]. We were the first American full-fledged performance in the Soviet Union [in 1987]. And we were the first band to play after Castro came to power, and we played Cuba [1979]. We played in front of the Coliseum in Rome for a half million people [in 2006]. And the food was great. But out of all of them, this is the best. There’s no place like this.”

We sat through each part in their entirety, which is uncommon for us. We usually do thirty minutes with dinner, maybe an hour. But these episodes were so riveting we had to watch the whole episode in one sitting. (2.5 hours a pop on back-to-back nights)

His music really turned out to be timeless and has aged immaculately. His music was honest and soulful and real. He really couldn’t be pigeon-holed into a music category and that was part of the early career negative critical review.

Billy Joel has always been part of the landscape of my life. But somehow, he keeps surprising me, showing me there’s more to the story. That may be the best any artist can hope for.

I hope he overcomes his health issues and can return to performing. If he does, I cannot suggest strongly enough that you should go see him. He is simply an amazing performer. One of a kind.

September 16, 2025Don’t Let Chapter One Kill Your BookYour beginning matters, but not as much as finishing the damn story … September 11, 2025When the Blackbird SingsMy Blackbird Tattoo: A Tribute to Love and Loss My Blackbird Tattoo, … September 9, 2025Yes, It’s All Been Done. So What?When it feels like every story has already been told, tell yours … September 4, 2025Death Becomes Her: Remembering Aeon FluxFrom Liquid Television fever dream to Hollywood reinvention, why this leather-clad chaos …

Your beginning matters, but not as much as finishing the damn story

#writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack

You want it perfect. I get it.

The first line. The first page. That sacred, glowing doorway where your book begins and every reader walks through.

It matters. Of course it does.

But not the way you think.

Most new writers obsess over the beginning. They write and rewrite Chapter One until the soul leaks out of it. They chase the mythical “perfect first line” like it holds the key to the whole book. And it may, but…

Here’s the truth: Your first line will almost definitely not be the first thing you write.

And your first chapter? Odds are good you’ll cut it.

Stop spinning your wheels rewriting the first three chapters.

Move forward.

Finish the story.

Then we can get crazy and overzealous about the beginning and the perfect first line, after you have a story.

Why Beginnings Matter

They set the tone.

They make promises, about voice, genre, pacing, style.

They give the reader a taste of what’s to come.

They are not where you dump your worldbuilding or monologue your backstory.

A good beginning drops us in late. Usually.

We don’t need the two-hour conversation that leads to “Let’s define our relationship.”

We need the moment the glass shatters.

Hooks Aren’t Just Gimmicks

Yes, your opening should grab attention.

But that doesn’t mean you need a snappy punchline or some overly-clever twist.

A good hook sets expectations. It matches the vibe of what follows.

Think of the start of one of my favorite books, William Gibson’s Neuromancer:

“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.”

You don’t know the character or the conflict yet, but you know what kind of ride you’re in for.

Write Your Way Into the Start

Most of us write ourselves into the story.

We noodle around, build momentum, and then somewhere around Chapter 2 or 3 we find the real beginning.

That’s not a problem. That’s the process.

Write scenes. Write character moments. Write out of order. Or not. I can’t. But everybody has a different way to make this work.

The important thing is to keep going until you finish.

Eventually, something will click, and you’ll say, Ah. That’s my start.

Don’t Be Afraid to Cut

Think of your first chapter like scaffolding.

It helped you build the story, but you might not need it once the structure stands.

Write it. Learn from it. Then ruthlessly delete it if it’s not pulling its weight.

(Yes, even if it has a line you love. Especially then.)

But keep the words. I have a section in my Book Guide called Boneyard. I keep the scraps there. You never know when you might want to resurrect some of this. It might be for another story.

What Not to Do at the Beginning

Don’t try to explain everything up front.
Your reader doesn’t need a full history of the kingdom, a glossary of alien species, or the character’s entire childhood trauma in paragraph one. Trust them to catch up.Don’t start with a dream.
Just…no. Unless the dream becomes literal and integral to the plot immediately, it’s usually a cheap fake-out. It signals, “I don’t know how to start, so here’s a gimmick.”Don’t bury the hook in a pile of description.
It’s tempting to wax poetic about the forest or the weather or the moonlight. But if nothing’s happening, we’re already slipping away.Don’t start with someone waking up, unless it’s the most interesting wake-up in literary history.
There are exceptions (The Hunger Games does this well), but nine times out of ten, “they woke up” is just a placeholder for “I haven’t figured out the actual start yet.”Don’t promise one thing and deliver another.
If your first line is edgy and dark but your book is a cozy mystery, readers will bounce. Your opening should reflect the tone, genre, and energy of the book they’re about to read.Don’t get stuck perfecting the beginning forever.
You’re not married to it. You’ll come back later, with a better understanding of the book, and probably a better sentence too.

Final Thought

The beginning will matter. But only after you finish.

So, stop fussing. Start writing.

The perfect first line? Don’t ask me. I’m not William Gibson. If everything works right it will coalesce from all the hard work of crafting your story.

I can tell you that for my first published book I ended up writing a brand new first chapter that actually stuck, after I finished the story.

September 11, 2025When the Blackbird SingsMy Blackbird Tattoo: A Tribute to Love and Loss My Blackbird Tattoo, … September 9, 2025Yes, It’s All Been Done. So What?When it feels like every story has already been told, tell yours … September 4, 2025Death Becomes Her: Remembering Aeon FluxFrom Liquid Television fever dream to Hollywood reinvention, why this leather-clad chaos … September 2, 2025Building Stories One Scene at a TimeA Scene-First Approach to Stronger Storytelling #writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack I build every …

My Blackbird Tattoo: A Tribute to Love and Loss

My Blackbird Tattoo, Still Raw

#writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack

I’ve always had a soft spot for heavy guitars and deep, growling vocals. So when My Own Prison dropped in 1997, Creed hit me right between the eyes. I was hooked. Scott Stapp’s voice fit that sound perfectly, and the band exploded, until Stapp’s battles with mental health and addiction brought everything crashing down.

For a while, it seemed like that was it. But Creed’s lead guitarist and primary songwriter, Mark Tremonti, wasn’t done. He regrouped with his bandmates and brought in a new frontman, Myles Kennedy, former lead singer of The Mayfield Four to form a new band, Alter Bridge. By the time Myles joined, Mark had already written all the music for their debut album, One Day Remains, which quietly turned twenty last year. What they didn’t know then? Myles was also a world-class guitarist and a gifted lyricist. He ended up playing on tour and co-writing half the songs.

When they hit the studio again, Mark and Myles came in as true partners, and what they made still blows me away. Blackbird, their second album, is easily one of my favorite records of all time. The title track especially. It’s one of those songs that feels too personal to explain but too powerful not to share. The story behind it makes it hit even harder. Myles wrote the lyrics while watching a close friend face the end of his life.

“Blackbird was inspired lyrically by a friend of mine named Mark Morse. He sold me my first guitar when I was a kid, and we stayed friends for years and years. He actually passed away right as that song was being completed so it was dedicated to him and his memory. It’s really about seeing the suffering he was going through and hoping he would find his solace soon and be free from all of that.”

— Myles Kennedy

The solo in that song, shared by both Myles and Mark, was rated by Guitarist magazine as the greatest guitar solo of all-time in the 2011 list.

I didn’t know Mark Morse. But I knew what it meant to lose someone you love and to find a song that felt like it was written for that exact moment. I lost my wife to cancer a few years later and I ended up getting a tattoo made to honor her with the blackbird theme.

Some songs just find their way into your story.

This was mine.

Here is the song:

For a while, it seemed like that was it. But Creed’s lead guitarist and primary songwriter, Mark Tremonti, wasn’t done. He regrouped with his bandmates and brought in a new frontman, Myles Kennedy, former lead singer of The Mayfield Four to form a new band, Alter Bridge. By the time Myles joined, Mark had already written all the music for their debut album, One Day Remains, which quietly turned twenty last year. What they didn’t know then? Myles was also a world-class guitarist and a gifted lyricist. He ended up playing on tour and co-writing half the songs.

When they hit the studio again, Mark and Myles came in as true partners, and what they made still blows me away. Blackbird, their second album, is easily one of my favorite records of all time. The title track especially. It’s one of those songs that feels too personal to explain but too powerful not to share. The story behind it makes it hit even harder. Myles wrote the lyrics while watching a close friend face the end of his life.

“Blackbird was inspired lyrically by a friend of mine named Mark Morse. He sold me my first guitar when I was a kid, and we stayed friends for years and years. He actually passed away right as that song was being completed so it was dedicated to him and his memory. It’s really about seeing the suffering he was going through and hoping he would find his solace soon and be free from all of that.”

— Myles Kennedy

The solo in that song, shared by both Myles and Mark, was rated by Guitarist magazine as the greatest guitar solo of all-time in the 2011 list.

I didn’t know Mark Morse. But I knew what it meant to lose someone you love and to find a song that felt like it was written for that exact moment. I lost my wife to cancer a few years later and I ended up getting a tattoo made to honor her with the blackbird theme.

Some songs just find their way into your story.

This was mine.

Here is the song:

For a while, it seemed like that was it. But Creed’s lead guitarist and primary songwriter, Mark Tremonti, wasn’t done. He regrouped with his bandmates and brought in a new frontman, Myles Kennedy, former lead singer of The Mayfield Four to form a new band, Alter Bridge. By the time Myles joined, Mark had already written all the music for their debut album, One Day Remains, which quietly turned twenty last year. What they didn’t know then? Myles was also a world-class guitarist and a gifted lyricist. He ended up playing on tour and co-writing half the songs.

When they hit the studio again, Mark and Myles came in as true partners, and what they made still blows me away. Blackbird, their second album, is easily one of my favorite records of all time. The title track especially. It’s one of those songs that feels too personal to explain but too powerful not to share. The story behind it makes it hit even harder. Myles wrote the lyrics while watching a close friend face the end of his life.

“Blackbird was inspired lyrically by a friend of mine named Mark Morse. He sold me my first guitar when I was a kid, and we stayed friends for years and years. He actually passed away right as that song was being completed so it was dedicated to him and his memory. It’s really about seeing the suffering he was going through and hoping he would find his solace soon and be free from all of that.”

— Myles Kennedy

The solo in that song, shared by both Myles and Mark, was rated by Guitarist magazine as the greatest guitar solo of all-time in the 2011 list.

I didn’t know Mark Morse. But I knew what it meant to lose someone you love and to find a song that felt like it was written for that exact moment. I lost my wife to cancer a few years later and I ended up getting a tattoo made to honor her with the blackbird theme.

Some songs just find their way into your story.

This was mine.

Here is the song:

When it feels like every story has already been told, tell yours anyway—because your voice still matters.

#writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack

We’ve all heard it.

“Everything’s been written already.”

And in some ways, that’s true. The hero’s journey? Done. Star-crossed lovers? Check. Betrayal, revenge, redemption, chosen ones, ragtag crews, apocalypses, cozy villages with dark secrets, yes, yes, and absolutely yes.

In fact, over 3 million books are published every single year. That’s not counting the millions of stories written but never shared: fanfiction, blog posts, serial web fiction, private notebooks, and hard drives full of drafts labeled final_final_v3.docx.

So, if it’s all been done before, what are we doing here?

We’re telling our versions.

Because what makes a story feel fresh isn’t that it’s never been done. It’s that you haven’t done it. Your voice. Your worldview. Your sense of humor. Your scars and obsessions. The way you twist the familiar.

It’s Not the Ingredients—It’s the Recipe

Think of storytelling like cooking. We all start with the same basic ingredients: love, fear, loss, desire, power, survival. But just like you can have a hundred versions of spaghetti, and some of them will make you cry with joy and others will taste like 3 week old tuna casserole, stories hit differently depending on who’s making them.

Take a look:

The Hunger Games wasn’t the first dystopian rebellion story, but Suzanne Collins mixed Roman gladiators with reality TV and adolescent trauma.Circe by Madeline Miller took a well-known Greek myth and told it from the perspective of the sidelined witch, with rich emotion and modern nuance.Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik reimagined Rumpelstiltskin through an Eastern European lens and a trio of female protagonists with deeply personal stakes.Knives Out gave us a classic whodunit, but filtered through sharp political commentary and a caretaker heroine we hadn’t seen before.Even Star Wars was famously described as “Flash Gordon meets Akira Kurosawa.”

The familiar becomes new when it passes through you. (Made a rhyme there)

What Makes It Yours?

So how do you make something feel like your story, even if the bones are ancient?

Here are some ways to start:

Change the lens. Shift the point of view. Whose voice hasn’t been heard? What happens if the villain tells the tale?Blend genres. Try a spy thriller in a magical world. A romantic comedy inside a space station. A western with ghosts and golems.Twist expectations. Start with the trope—and break it halfway through. Or double down and push it to its limit.Write from the scar, not the wound. Use what you’ve lived through after you’ve gone through the healing, not while you’re in it. Filter it through fiction. The feelings will be real even if the world is not.Let your weird out. The strange details that only you would think to include? That’s your magic.

The Truth Is…

The world doesn’t need you to reinvent the wheel.

It needs your version of the wheel, how it rolls, how it breaks, how it spins out in a hail of sparks while your character clings to the axle screaming.

It needs your voice in the mix.

So yes, it’s all been done. But not like this. Not with your fingerprints on it, or with your heart.

And that’s reason enough to start.

What’s your favorite example of a story done differently?

September 4, 2025Death Becomes Her: Remembering Aeon FluxFrom Liquid Television fever dream to Hollywood reinvention, why this leather-clad chaos … September 2, 2025Building Stories One Scene at a TimeA Scene-First Approach to Stronger Storytelling #writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack I build every … August 28, 2025Still Sick, Sad, and Perfect: Why Daria Still MattersCynical, Sarcastic, and Exactly What We Still Need #writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing … August 26, 2025Why Your Character’s Choices Matter More Than Their BackstoryWe Get It, They Have Issues. What Are They Gonna Do About …

From Liquid Television fever dream to Hollywood reinvention, why this leather-clad chaos agent still lives rent-free in my brain.

#writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack

This is the third installment in my MTV flashback series, a personal rewind to the glory days of cable TV and the chaotic wonder of burgeoning adulthood. Before streaming. Before algorithms. Back when we stayed up too late and let our screens melt our brains in the best way possible.

And few things melted mine quite like Aeon Flux.

The Origins: MTV Gets Weird

In the early ’90s, MTV wasn’t just about music, it was a cultural petri dish. Liquid Television was where things got experimental. It was the kind of show that felt like you were watching someone’s art school thesis while half-asleep at 2 a.m. And that’s where I first met Aeon Flux, legs for days, a sneer like a whipcrack, and a high mortality rate.

Created by Peter Chung, Aeon Flux debuted as a series of silent, often fatal short films. Aeon died. A lot. Her eyelashes caught flies. Her fingers crushed bullets. Her world was all wires, latex, and betrayal. It was grotesque and gorgeous. It made absolutely no sense, and that was part of the charm.

The TV Series: A Ballet of Death and Meaning

When Aeon Flux got her own half-hour series in 1995, everything changed, sort of. She still kicked, killed, and smirked her way through an authoritarian future, but now she talked. So did her nemesis/lover Trevor Goodchild. The dialogue was philosophical, dense, often maddening. But it felt important, even when you didn’t fully understand it.

The animation was jagged and hyper-stylized, all distorted anatomy and cold colors. There was a deliberate discomfort to it, like everything was a little too close, a little too sharp. Bodies twisted, drooled, exploded. Aeon wasn’t a superhero. She was more like a question: What happens when you take agency too far? Or when morality is a weapon wielded by the powerful?

And still, despite the cerebral voiceovers and cryptic plots, it worked. Maybe not always as narrative, but as atmosphere. As vibe. It was a sci-fi fever dream that stuck its hooks in deep.

The Movie: Charlize, Structure, and Sacrilege

Fast forward to 2005. Suddenly Aeon Flux had a story you could follow and a face you recognized: Charlize Theron in tight black PVC, running and flipping and emoting. The film was divisive. Fans of the show missed the jagged art and the unapologetic strangeness. Newcomers wondered what they’d walked into.

And yet…I liked it. I still like it. For all its smoothing out, the movie tried to keep some of the original’s weird DNA, genetic memory, totalitarian biotech, that Aeon/Trevor tension. Charlize gave the role her all, and honestly, seeing any version of Aeon Flux on the big screen felt like a tiny miracle. (Plus Charlize Theron, I mean come on)

Why It Stuck With Me

Looking back, Aeon Flux wasn’t just edgy or sexy or strange. It was committed. It leaned into its contradictions: erotic and grotesque, silent and verbose, nihilistic and sincere. It refused to hold your hand. It made you feel things, even if those things were mostly confusion and awe.

And maybe that’s what keeps me coming back, not just to the DVDs gathering dust somewhere in a drawer, but to the feeling it gave me. That art could be cryptic. That TV didn’t have to make sense to be good. That sometimes a woman in thigh-high boots could die thirty times and still walk off with your heart.

Weird Was Good

Looking back on these three strange, brilliant fragments of old-school MTV,120 Minutes, Daria, and Aeon Flux, I’m struck by how much room there used to be for experimentation. For contradiction. For the kind of content that didn’t fit neatly into a category or chase a trend. These weren’t just shows, they were signals from a weirder world, one that felt more honest because it didn’t try so hard to make sense.

It wasn’t just MTV, either. In the same era, Twin Peaks somehow made it onto primetime network television, inviting millions of people to watch a red room dream sequence and pretend they understood what was going on. And we loved it. That kind of creative risk feels almost impossible now.

Aeon Flux was never supposed to be comforting. It was slippery, defiant, sometimes deliberately incomprehensible, and I loved it all the more for that. We don’t get much of that on TV anymore. But maybe that’s what memory is for, to remind us that we were there, once. Sitting cross-legged in the glow of the screen, letting art that didn’t explain itself crash straight into our frontal lobes.

And sometimes, that’s all you need.

September 2, 2025Building Stories One Scene at a TimeA Scene-First Approach to Stronger Storytelling #writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing Unfetterred Treacle on Substack I build every … August 28, 2025Still Sick, Sad, and Perfect: Why Daria Still MattersCynical, Sarcastic, and Exactly What We Still Need #writingcommunity  #booksky #amwriting  #writing … August 26, 2025Why Your Character’s Choices Matter More Than Their BackstoryWe Get It, They Have Issues. What Are They Gonna Do About … August 21, 2025The 120 Minutes that Changed EverythingA Love Letter to the Late-Night Show That Defined a Generation of …

A Scene-First Approach to Stronger Storytelling

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I build every story in scenes.

After I build my story structure, but before I write chapters, before I polish dialogue, I break down the entire story through scene summaries.

It’s the part of my process that saves me from wandering middles, sagging plots, or characters who somehow stop acting like themselves.

There are great resources out there on writing scenes. Thea Liu’s “Writing Scenes in a Book” breaks down scene anatomy beautifully. Tiffany Yates Martin’s post on Jane Friedman’s blog is a masterclass in what keeps a scene tight and propulsive.

But here’s how I think about it when I’m mapping a story and how I decide what scenes even belong.

Every Scene Has a Job

For me, a scene earns its place by doing two things:

It moves the story forward — through action, discovery, escalation, or complication.It moves the character forward — through choice, realization, shift, or consequence.

If a scene does neither? It’s filler. And filler has a way of slowing everything down.

Worse, filler can trick you into thinking your story has momentum when all it really has is motion.

I ask myself, What changes by the end of this scene?

If the answer is nothing, I haven’t found the real purpose yet.

Common Scene Pitfalls:

Repeating information the reader already knowsAdding worldbuilding without any impact on character or plotScenes that are just “vibe,” pretty descriptions, witty banter, nothing actually changesCharacters talking in circles with no shift in stakes, goal, or relationship

They might be well-written. They might even be fun. But if they don’t move story or character, they aren’t pulling their weight.

The Scene Summary Method

Before I draft a scene, I write a one- or two-line summary. It’s not a beat sheet or a detailed outline, more like a gut check.

For example:

Remi confronts Novak in the club and learns Novak is working with the Admiral.Annie finally admits she doesn’t want to go back and changes her plan.

That’s it. Sometimes there might be a little more detail if that scene is vivid in my mind.

The summary forces me to name the scene’s purpose in plain language.

And when I line up those summaries across a chapter, or a whole act, I can spot gaps, pacing problems, or threads I’ve dropped before they derail me in draft.

I’m not saying I never go off-map. But I like to know the map exists.

When a Scene Surprises You

Some of my favorite scenes weren’t in the original plan.

They showed up when a character pushed back or a moment surprised me.

That’s fine. In fact, that’s often gold.

But when that happens, I still stop and ask:

Does this move the story? Does this move the character?

If the answer is yes, I run with it. And at that point I may have some replotting to do. Fortunately, because I have these scene summaries and I modify them to match the new thing that happened in the new scene.

If it’s no…I cut it, or I park it in my boneyard for another story.

Surprise is good. Detour is not.

Why This Works for Me

It keeps me from writing dead air.It gives me a skeleton for pacing and emotional arcs.It helps me build a story that actually works before I invest time making it pretty.

I still rewrite, of course. But this habit saves me from losing weeks on scenes that were never pulling their weight.

If You’re Stuck…

If you’re staring at a chapter that won’t click or a scene that feels flat, try this:
Write a single sentence summary of what’s supposed to happen.
Then ask yourself:

What’s the change?What’s the consequence?

It’s not fancy. But it works.

Cynical, Sarcastic, and Exactly What We Still Need

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Do ya’ll remember Daria? I actually own the complete series on DVD. The grainy late-90s animation and those classic alt-rock needle drops hit me right in the flannel-wrapped feels. But it’s more than that. Daria wasn’t just a cartoon; it was a mirror for every kid who rolled their eyes at high school, suburban conformity, and the creeping horror of mall culture. I can’t even remember how I found it. Probably channel surfing. But I loved it from the word go. And somehow the show still holds up, maybe because it never tried to sugarcoat the truth, even when the truth was awkward, uncomfortable, or hilariously bleak.

The Retrospective: Smart, Sarcastic, and Way Too Real

Daria started as a side character on Beavis and Butt-Head, the eye-rolling foil to their slack-jawed idiocy. But when MTV gave her a series of her own in 1997, the result was sharper, funnier, and way more subversive than anyone expected.

Set in the fictional town of Lawndale, Daria followed its titular deadpan heroine Daria Morgendorffer as she navigated the absurdity of high school with brutal honesty and unapologetic sarcasm. The show mocked everything: popularity contests, academic pressure, clueless parents, vapid teen culture, overbearing teachers, and the casual hypocrisies of small-town life. Every episode was a gut-punch wrapped in a smirk. She had zero fucks to give before that was even a thing.

Well, maybe not zero. Beneath the biting humor was a surprising amount of heart. Daria wasn’t just snark, she cared. She just didn’t want you to know it. Her friendship with Jane, her reluctant moments of family loyalty, even her occasional flashes of vulnerability made her real. She was the embodiment of every teenager who kept their heart under lock and key for fear the world would stomp on it. It hit Gen X right where it mattered.

That balance of cynicism and secret heart is why the show never felt mean. It wasn’t punching down. It was punching holes in the ridiculous expectations the world shoved on teenagers and letting the air out with surgical precision.

Why It Mattered to Me: Laughing in the Face of It All

I wasn’t a teenager when Daria dropped. I was 33, on my second marriage with two small kids, and yet I still saw myself in that deadpan stare and quiet defiance. I was a late-70s, early-80s kid who’d grown up on a steady diet of sitcom tropes and glossy teen dramas that felt as hollow as they looked. But Daria? She wasn’t trying to fix the world. She was trying to survive it without losing her soul, or her sense of humor. And that felt a lot like high school me.

Daria gave us permission to be smart and skeptical in a world that rewarded surface over substance. It showed that you could roll your eyes at the nonsense and still care about people. That you could feel like an outsider and still have friends who got you, like Jane Lane, the ride-or-die every weirdo needed. It wasn’t about winning. It was about staying true to yourself when everyone else seemed happy to sell out.

Why We Still Need  Daria : More Than Just Snark

We live in an era drowning in hot takes, curated feeds, and forced positivity. Everyone’s performing, online, at work, even with friends. Authenticity has become a brand, and sincerity feels like a risk.

And yet, somehow, a cartoon from the late ‘90s still feels like the most honest voice in the room.

Daria wasn’t about being the smartest person in the room for clout. It was about being honest, even when it was uncomfortable. It called out hypocrisy, fakery, and shallow trends without ever getting preachy. It took aim at the absurdity of chasing popularity, hollow ambition, and mindless conformity and fired with sniper-like precision.

We need that now. We need characters who aren’t afraid to say, “This is ridiculous.” Who aren’t performing for likes or followers. Who know that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is just not play the game. Daria didn’t tear people down for cheap laughs. She pointed out the cracks in the facade and dared you to stop pretending they weren’t there.

Because Maybe the World is Saturated with Too Much Quinn

Twenty-five years later, Daria still matters. Maybe even more. Because in a world that looks more like Sick, Sad World every day, the last thing we need is another shiny, happy facade. Turns out, Sick Sad World wasn’t satire. It was a spoiler.

We’re living in the age of the influencer, the curated identity, the algorithm-approved opinion. And if we’ve learned anything, it’s that the world doesn’t need more Quinns trying to climb the social ladder. It needs more Darias who aren’t afraid to look at the ladder and say, “Hard pass.”

We need more Darias. And maybe, just maybe, we need to be a little more Daria ourselves.

One thing I’ll mention to those of you who didn’t see the original run. Almost all of the music was replaced when it went to DVD and syndication/streaming. It would have cost too much to pay all the licensing fees. So the versions you see now are missing all the cool music of the era.

College Humor did a fake trailer for a Daria Movie, starring Abrey Plaza. I would have happily watched this movie.

Daria’s High School Reunion Movie Trailer

What about you? Were you a Daria kid too? Or did you discover her later? Drop a comment—I’ll be over here bingeing season two and not smiling about it.

August 26, 2025Why Your Character’s Choices Matter More Than Their BackstoryWe Get It, They Have Issues. What Are They Gonna Do About … August 21, 2025The 120 Minutes that Changed EverythingA Love Letter to the Late-Night Show That Defined a Generation of … August 19, 2025How to Actually Fix EducationDitch the Tests, Teach for Mastery #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle This is a little … August 14, 2025Story Static and the Need to MoveOr, Why My Fitness Tracker Thinks I’m a Novelist on the Run …

We Get It, They Have Issues. What Are They Gonna Do About It?

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We love a juicy backstory. That tragic childhood, that long-lost love, that formative betrayal, these are the things that make a character feel real, right?

Kind of.

Backstory matters, but not as much as we like to think. What really defines a character on the page, the thing that hooks a reader, is choice.

Choices Reveal Character

You can tell me a character grew up on the streets, clawed their way out of poverty, and learned not to trust anyone, but I won’t feel that character until I watch them choose not to save a friend in a dangerous moment because they’re too afraid of betrayal. Or better yet, until I see them risk it anyway.

What your character chooses, especially under pressure, reveals who they are in a way no backstory ever can. Readers want to watch people make decisions, wrestle with consequences, and change.

It’s in those heart-pounding moments, when the stakes are real (well they’re made up, but you know what I mean,) the outcome uncertain, that character shines through. Does your thief turn in the loot to save a kidnapped child? Does your hero take the fall to protect someone else? Does your villain hesitate before crossing a line they swore they’d never cross?

Your readers aren’t here for your character’s résumé. They’re here to watch them make choices that echo beyond the page.

Backstory Explains. Choice Defines.

Backstory explains why your character fears commitment.

Choice shows whether they run, or whether they stay despite their fear.

Backstory explains why your villain craves power.

Choice shows how far they’ll go to seize it…or whether they’ll walk away.

It’s tempting to pour all your creative energy into a rich, layered history for your characters. And that’s fine, as long as you remember that history is the shadow, not the spotlight. The real story is in what your character does when it counts.

Ask yourself this, when the moment comes, what decision do they make? What does that reveal about who they are, and who they want to be?

Stakes + Choice = Reader Investment

A choice without stakes is boring. And a backstory without a present-moment decision is just exposition.

But put your character in a situation where they have something to lose, force them to choose, and suddenly your reader is leaning in. They want to know what happens next. They want to know who this character really is. They have to know!

Stakes don’t have to be life and death. They can be personal, emotional, or relational. The point is, the outcome matters to your character, and by extension, to your reader. Give them a meaningful decision with consequences, and you’ll create a moment that sticks.

Think about the choices that make you fall in love with a character. The soldier who refuses an unjust order. The sister who forgives a betrayal. The villain who spares a life at the last second. Those are the moments readers remember. Those are the moments that define your story.

Use Backstory as Context, Not Crutch

The best stories weave backstory in as subtext—the shadows behind the choices. Hint at it. Let it shape the character’s internal conflict. But keep the spotlight on the now.

Your character’s past matters.

Their choices matter more.

Think of backstory like seasoning, not the main course. Use it to add depth and flavor, but don’t let it overpower the dish. Your reader wants to experience the story unfolding in real time, not sit through a history lecture.

If a piece of backstory doesn’t inform a choice or raise the stakes, ask yourself if you really need it on the page. Sometimes, what’s unsaid can speak volumes.

Writing Challenge: Take a scene you love and ask yourself, am I relying on backstory here? What choice is my character making right now? How can I make it harder, riskier, or more revealing?

That’s where the story lives.

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A Love Letter to the Late-Night Show That Defined a Generation of Outsiders

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I heard last week that MTV is bringing back 24/7 music videos for one week. Sep 1-7. But along with the videos I really hope

they bring back the best thing that was ever on that channel besides Liquid TV and Æon Flux(That might be fodder for another post,) and that is 120 Minutes.

I still remember the first time I stumbled onto 120 Minutes. It was early June 1986, just after I’d graduated from the Air Force Academy. I was home visiting my dad, up late like always, flipping through channels in that half-dreamy way you do when you’re twenty-one and the world feels both wide open and totally uncertain.

And there it was. This strange, offbeat music show with bands I didn’t recognize but couldn’t stop watching.

MTV did something unexpected that year. Between the neon swagger of hair metal and the bubblegum pop clogging their regular rotation, they slipped a strange little show onto the airwaves: 120 Minutes. It aired after midnight, when most of the world had already gone to bed. But for the few of us who stumbled across it, it felt like unlocking a secret world.

This was deep in the pre-internet days, no Spotify, no YouTube, no algorithmic playlists. If you wanted to find new music, you had to hunt for it. You taped late-night radio shows. You flipped through vinyl bins in cramped record stores. You swapped cassettes with that one friend who always seemed two steps ahead of everyone else.

120 Minutes wasn’t mainstream. It wasn’t trying to be. But it gave alternative bands, the ones you’d never see on daytime MTV, a tiny, flickering stage.

The Cure. Siouxsie and the Banshees. The Smiths. R.E.M. Bands you might’ve read about in Spin or heard in passing on some college radio station suddenly showed up on your TV, if you stayed up late enough, or remembered to set the VCR.

It didn’t make alternative music a household name. But it gave it a foothold. And for those of us watching, it felt like the first time the music we loved wasn’t just hiding in the shadows.

Pixies – Valouria

120 Minutes wasn’t just a show, it was a curated gateway into a world you didn’t know existed. As host Dave Kendall once put it, “By far the most important thing about 120 Minutes was that it acted as a distribution channel for organic musical produce, if you will.”

The Smiths – How Soon is Now?

It wasn’t commercial or polished for mass appeal. It was raw, authentic, and unapologetically alternative. Hosted by names like J.J. Jackson, Kevin Seal, and eventually Matt Pinfield, it felt like the cool older sibling of MTV’s regular programming, a little smarter, a little weirder, and way more interesting.

The Cure – In Between Days

That graveyard slot meant staying up late, or recording on your VCR, and joining a kind of unofficial club. One fan summed it up perfectly on Reddit, “120 Minutes was very important for my musical taste.”

It became a ritual. A treasure hunt. You never knew what you’d find, post-punk, college rock, goth, industrial, or some new hybrid nobody had a name for yet.

The show didn’t just showcase bands. It stitched together a community of insomniacs, outcasts, and music nerds who shared a craving for something different.

The Moments That Hit Different

What made 120 Minutes unforgettable wasn’t just the music. It was the moments when the show seemed to know a shift was coming.

Like the night in 1991 when a little-known Seattle trio called Nirvana premiered “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” It wasn’t their first time on the show, but this time, it detonated. Within weeks, MTV pushed the video into heavy rotation, and suddenly, grunge wasn’t underground anymore.

120 Minutes Intro to World Premiere of Smells Like Teen Spirit

Or when Lou Reed guest-hosted and interviewed Iggy Pop, a cultural crossfire that felt like passing the torch to a new generation of rule-breakers.

And of course, when Matt Pinfield took the reins in 1995, an unabashed music nerd who could rattle off band lineups, B-sides, and trivia like your best friend at a record shop. With him, 120 Minutes felt even more like a conversation among insiders.

Each of those moments was a thread in a bigger story, a quiet cultural shift that MTV probably never planned, but couldn’t stop once it started.

The I.R.S. Years — Soundtrack of a Subculture

If there was a label that felt like the lifeblood of that scene, it was I.R.S. Records.

Long before R.E.M. headlined arenas, they were the kings of college radio, and I.R.S. was their home. Founded by Miles Copeland, I.R.S. became almost synonymous with the early alternative scene. They weren’t chasing pop stars. They backed bands that didn’t fit, sharp-edged, offbeat, often a little too smart or strange for the mainstream.

The English Beat. The Alarm. Wall of Voodoo. Concrete Blonde. And R.E.M.

If you saw that logo on a cassette or LP, you gave it a listen, because odds were, it sounded like nothing else.

English Beat – Mirror in the Bathroom

120 Minutes gave those bands a place on TV, and gave us, the fans, a pipeline into a world we might never have known existed otherwise.

Etched in Memory and on Mixtapes

That early R.E.M. material, Murmur, Reckoning, Fables of the Reconstruction, felt like messages smuggled in under the radar. Songs like “Radio Free Europe” or “So. Central Rain” didn’t shout for attention. They got inside your head and stayed there.

Radio Free Europe – REM

I taped those songs off late-night radio. I bought the cassettes. I played them on repeat, on road trips, in dorm rooms, in base housing. They weren’t just part of my playlist. They became part of my wiring.

And that’s the real legacy of 120 Minutes. It didn’t hand you a curated playlist. It invited you on a hunt, and because of that, the music felt like it belonged to you in a way no algorithm could ever replicate.

A few months into my discovery I was disc jockeying at a local college radio station and one of my early favorites was a band I discovered on 120 Minutes. The Aussie band Hoodoo Gurus.

Hoodoo Gurus – Bittersweet

The Soundtrack That Stuck

Decades later, those same bands still fill my playlists. I still crank The Cure. I still catch R.E.M. deep cuts on SiriusXM’s 1st Wave. The vibe 120 Minutes introduced me to, the edge, the authenticity, the sense that this music lived outside the mainstream, still feels like home. A huge number of these bands are on my regular playlist today.

120 Minutes didn’t just shape my taste. It shaped how I approached discovery itself. How I learned to value the hidden, the different, the things you find when you’re willing to stay up a little later and listen a little closer.

The entire archive is here if you are interested:

https://120minutes.org

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