Why Readers Stop Reading

SPEAKER_00 0:00

When there's no narrative question driving your story, reading becomes passive, and a passive reading experience is one that's really easy to walk away from. Welcome to the Fiction Writing Made Easy Podcast. My name is Savannah Gilbo, and I'm here to help you write a story that works. I want to prove to you that writing a novel doesn't have to be overwhelming. So each week I'll bring you a brand new episode with simple, actionable, and step-by-step strategies that you can implement in your writing right away. Whether you're brand new to writing or more of a seasoned author looking to improve your craft, this podcast is for you. So pick up a pen and let's get started. In today's episode, I'm sharing 10 writing mistakes that will make readers put down your novel and how to fix each one if you realize you've made it in your draft. Now, before we dive in, let me clarify something. This episode isn't about using too many adjectives, avoiding adverbs, or fixing things at the sentence level. The mistakes we're going to talk about today are bigger picture story issues that can quietly undermine your entire manuscript. Because if these problems aren't addressed, then you can end up with a story that just doesn't work. But the good news is that once you know what to look for, these problems are surprisingly fixable. And if you can catch them while you're outlining, drafting, or revising your messy first draft, then not only does everything downstream get easier, but you're also far more likely to end up with a story that actually works as well. So whether you're starting a brand new draft, already deep in revisions, or trying to figure out why your story still isn't landing the way you hoped, then this episode is for you. So let's go ahead and dive in, starting with mistake number one. Mistake number one is starting the story too early. When a story starts too early, readers will spend the opening pages waiting for the real story to begin. And if they have to wait too long, they're probably gonna stop waiting altogether. This is one of the most common first draft mistakes I see, and it usually shows up as having too much quote unquote normal before the central problem appears. So imagine the story opens with the protagonists going about their daily life, they're working, they're reflecting, and they're interacting with the people around them. That's really just setting the scene. And from a reader's perspective, there's no real clear reason to lean in and be invested in the story yet. And that's exactly why this is where so many openings lose their momentum. So the big takeaway here is that readers don't need to see everything about your character's normal world before something changes. They mostly just need a reason to care. So that means your opening scene can't just be quote unquote normal life. Instead, something needs to be happening because readers care when a character is actively trying to do something, get something, learn something, achieve something, and risks failing in the process. So your point of view character should be pursuing a goal with something at stake so that there's enough tension on the page to pull readers forward instead of making them wait for the story to start. So, for example, let's say your story is about a woman who discovers her husband has been living a double life. It can be really tempting to open with chapters that establish their seemingly happy marriage, but readers don't really need a full picture of the quote unquote before to feel the impact of that disruption. All they need is enough context to understand why it matters to the character and how it affects her. So, what you might do instead is you might open with a scene that grounds the reader in the character's normal world and includes the moment she finds something she wasn't meant to see, which points her to the husband leading a double life. And then this would allow the true nature of their marriage to emerge later as the story unfolds. So if you recognize this mistake in your story, a useful question to ask is what is the moment that introduces the central conflict or that central problem that my protagonist can no longer ignore? And whatever your answer is, that is where your story begins. Everything else, the context, the backstory, the existing relationships, all of that can be woven in through scenes, through dialogue, and through small details once readers are already invested. Alright, so that is mistake number one, starting your story too early. Mistake number two is sending readers genre signals that are confusing. When readers can't tell what kind of story they're reading, they don't know how to engage with it. And that uncertainty almost always turns into disengagement. This mistake usually shows up in one of two ways. Sometimes the story opens clearly in one genre and then drifts into another. For example, a romance that begins with a warm, slowburn, meet cute, but gradually takes on the dark, propulsive energy of a thriller. That's what I mean by starting in one genre and then drifting into another. And then other times the genre is unclear from the very first page. So in this situation, readers finish the opening chapter without a clear sense of what kind of reading experience they've signed up for. And in both cases, the problem isn't the genre choice itself, it's the broken promise. And what I mean by that is readers will feel unmoored because the story isn't aligning with the expectations it sets. And when a reader can't tell what kind of story they're in for or if they feel like the story keeps changing the landscape or changing the rules, then they're gonna stop trusting it and they're probably going to put the book down. So if you recognize this mistake in your story, a useful question for you to ask is if someone were to only read the first chapter of my book, what genre would they think they were reading? And then ask yourself whether the rest of your book delivers on that promise. And if there is a mismatch or if you struggle to answer the first question, then that just means that your genre signals need clarifying, and that's okay too. Getting clear on your genre isn't about boxing yourself or your story in. It's just about making a promise to your readers and then keeping that promise. All right, so that is mistake number two. The genre signals you're sending readers are confusing. Mistake number three is that there's no narrative question to pull readers forward. When there's no narrative question driving your story, reading becomes passive. And a passive reading experience is one that's really easy to walk away from. Now, this mistake usually shows up in stories where a lot is happening, but readers can't quite articulate what the story is moving toward. So characters move through scenes, events unfold, but there's no unifying question humming beneath it all. There's no central uncertainty that readers are waiting to see resolved. And that missing question is exactly what gives a story its forward pull. Now, just to be super clear, a narrative question isn't a plot summary or a list of events. A narrative question, sometimes called the major dramatic question or your story's core question, this is a question that your story keeps circling, and it's the one that every major choice, complication, and turning point feeds into. So for example, will this character uncover the truth? Or can he rebuild what he destroyed 10 years ago? Or will these two characters make it out alive, right? It's that central question that everything feeds into. And without that pull of that main narrative question, even a well-written story is going to feel aimless. So if you recognize this mistake in your manuscript, then a useful question to ask is what is the one question my story is ultimately working to answer? And if you can't state it clearly in one sentence, then there's a good chance that readers can't feel it either. But once you have identified it, look at your chapter endings and just think about whether you're leaving something unresolved that feeds into that larger question or not. Because ideally, every chapter should give readers a reason to keep going. All right, so that is mistake number three. There's no narrative question to pull readers forward. Mistake number four is that the protagonist doesn't have agency andor want anything specific. Now, when a protagonist doesn't have a clear, specific goal, then readers are going to have nothing to root for. And a story where there's nothing to root for is one that's easy to abandon, right? Because it's kind of like, what is the point of this? And I see this mistake show up in two main ways. So the first is that the protagonist does have a goal, but it's too vague to track. So for example, if you have a protagonist that just wants to be happy or that wants to find their place in the world or figure out who they really are, right? These are examples of goals that are too vague to track. Now, these are deeply human desires, but on their own, they are too abstract and too vague to generate forward momentum. All right, so that's the first way it shows up. Now the second way it shows up is that maybe the protagonist does or doesn't have a goal, but either way, they lack agency and they simply react to whatever is happening around them. So in this scenario, events occur and the protagonist responds. They are reactive, but they're never actively pursuing anything or making things happen. And so the story starts to feel like it's happening to them rather than because of them, which doesn't make for a very fun reading experience. All right, so something important to keep in mind here is that readers experience a story through the protagonist's perspective and through their choices. And when there's no meaningful action being taken or no meaningful choices being made towards something specific, then there's not really a through line to follow. And without a through line, forward momentum is going to stall and readers are going to put down your book. So if you recognize this mistake in your manuscript, a useful question for you to ask is, what does my protagonist want right now in concrete, observable terms? And what would success actually look like on the page? Then once you've identified the goal, make sure every scene connects back to it, either moving your protagonist closer to what they want, pushing them further away, or forcing them to question whether it was the right goal in the first place. All right, so that is mistake number four. The protagonist doesn't have agency and or want anything specific. Mistake number five is that the stakes don't feel personal or urgent. When readers can't clearly see what a protagonist stands to lose, they can't invest in whether they win or lose. And a story without that investment is one that readers will set aside without a second thought. Now, this mistake usually shows up in one of three ways. First, sometimes there are just no stakes at all. And what I mean by that is that the cost of failure is just never clearly established. So maybe the protagonist is working towards something, but it's unclear what happens if they don't get it, or the stakes just kind of remain vague. The second way this shows up is that the stakes are framed purely in internal terms. So for example, if your protagonist is unsuccessful, he'll lose himself, or she's gonna lose her sense of belonging, right? These are internal terms and they're a little vague. And these might feel really meaningful to you, the writer, but on the page, they're often too abstract to grasp or feel. All right, so that's the second way this mistake shows up. And the third way this shows up is that there is something at stake, but the stakes don't match the genre. So for example, if you're writing a thriller where the biggest consequence is emotional rejection or a romance where the external plot overshadows the relationship at the heart of your story, then the stakes don't really match the genre, right? Because in a thriller, you'd have life and death stakes, right? Usually the protagonist is in danger. And in a romance, that central relationship is at stake. All right, so that's the third way it shows up. And in all three cases, the result is actually the same. And that is that readers understand intellectually that something is at risk, but they can't feel it. And stakes that can't be felt can't create tension. So if you recognize this mistake in your manuscript, then a useful question for you to ask is if my protagonist were to fail, what specifically do they lose? And why does that loss matter to them more than anything else right now? And whatever your answer is, it needs to be concrete enough to visualize and personal enough to feel. And if you make the cost of failure clear and escalating, then readers are going to feel the urgency behind every choice that your protagonist makes. All right, so that is mistake number five. The stakes don't feel personal or urgent. Mistake number six is that the antagonist is a weak or absent. When the antagonist is underdeveloped or barely present, tension collapses because there's no real force pushing back against what your protagonist wants. This mistake is super common and it usually shows up in one of two ways. The first way it shows up is that there is an antagonist on the page, but they kind of just feel like a prop. So for example, they only appear when the plot needs conflict, but they don't really have their own goals, motivations, or agency outside of getting in the protagonist's way. Other times this shows up as the opposition being something really abstract, so something like society, fate, or circumstance that can't actively make choices, pursue the protagonist, or escalate the conflict in a meaningful way. Now, no matter how it shows up, in both cases, readers aren't going to feel the threat if your antagonist only exists as a prop, or if the opposition is something abstract that can't actively do things. So readers aren't going to feel a threat, and without a threat, there's nothing for them to worry about or feel invested in. Now, part of the reason this mistake happens is that writers sometimes narrow their definition of what an antagonist can be. So to clarify, an antagonist doesn't have to be a traditional villain. It just needs to be a force with intention, one that pursues its own goal relentlessly enough to collide with your protagonist. So if you recognize this mistake in your manuscript, a useful question to ask is, what does my antagonist want and why does getting it conflict with what my protagonist wants? Essentially, how are they getting in each other's way, pursuing their own goals? And if you can't answer that question independently of your protagonist's story, then your antagonist probably needs more development. Alright, so that is mistake number six, an antagonist that is weak or absent. Mistake number seven is characters that feel flat or inconsistent. When characters feel thin or behave inconsistently, readers lose their emotional connection to the story. And without that connection, nothing else matters. Now, typically I see this mistake show up in one of two ways. Sometimes the protagonist is easy to follow on a plot level, but there's no real sense of who they are beneath the surface. So their personalities, their fears, their contradictions, and their desires never fully come into focus, and readers can track their actions without ever truly understanding them. Other times the character behaves inconsistently, so they kind of just act however the plot needs them to in any given moment, regardless of what's been established about them in an earlier part of the story. So maybe they're brave until the story needs them to hesitate, or maybe they're suspicious until the story needs them to trust. Either way, in both cases, the problem is the same. And the problem is that the characters' choices aren't grounded in a clear internal logic. And I want you to think about why this is important, right? Readers don't just follow characters, they actually live inside them as they experience the story. This is often why you'll hear readers say they liked a character, but they never felt truly invested in what happened to them. It's because that character probably felt thin or unpredictable in the wrong way, and that sense of experiencing the story through your character's eyes or kind of having that character be an avatar for how the reader is experiencing the story, that just breaks down. All right, so an easier way of saying that is the immersion the readers feel breaks down. So if you've recognized this mistake in your manuscript, a useful question for you to ask is what does my protagonist want, fear, and believe about the world? And how do those things shape every choice they make? And here's how I want you to think about this. When behavior is rooted in specific desires and fears, then even surprising choices will feel inevitable. So we don't want readers experiencing something our character does and then thinking, hmm, that's kind of out of character or that's a little bit incongruent with how I knew this character to be, right? Instead, we want them to think, oh, of course they did that. That's exactly who that person is, and look at the trouble or the situation it got them into. All right, so that is mistake number seven, characters that feel flat or inconsistent. Mistake number eight is that the middle loses momentum. When the middle of a story loses momentum, readers feel it before they can name it, and that restless, nothing is happening feeling is one of the most common reasons people put down a book. So let's talk about how this one shows up because it shows up in one of three ways. Sometimes the story breaks down in the middle because the story itself loses focus. So the central conflict kind of just fades into the background as new elements are introduced and readers lose sight of what the story is building towards. Other times the middle loses momentum because the stakes plateau. So the pressure on the protagonist rises and then it stops. Events continue, but nothing feels harder or more consequential than before. And sometimes the protagonist's goal becomes disconnected from their day-to-day actions. So scenes happen, but it's no longer clear how any of them move the protagonist closer to or further from what they ultimately want. There are attempts, but no real costs. Obstacles appear, but nothing truly changes. And in all three cases, the underlying problem is pretty much the same. The story has stopped escalating, and a story that isn't escalating is a story that loses readers. So if you recognize this mistake in your manuscript, then a useful question to ask is in every scene in my story's middle, is my protagonist actively pursuing their goal and failing in ways that raise the stakes or force them to change strategy? And if not, then you'll know exactly where to focus your first round of revisions, because ideally every scene should push them forward, set them back, or force a choice that changes something. If it isn't doing at least one of those things, then it's costing you momentum. Alright, so that is mistake number eight. The middle loses momentum. Mistake number nine is including subplots that don't serve the main story. When subplots feel disconnected from the central story, readers experience them as almost like interruptions. And when subplots feel disconnected from the central story, readers experience them as interruptions, and interruptions break momentum. So how does this mistake show up? Well, sometimes a subplot exists in its own little bubble. So it introduces characters, it raises questions, and resolves conflicts, but none of it meaningfully intersects with what the protagonist is dealing with in the main story. Other times, subplots are inconsistently woven throughout the manuscript, and they take center stage for a few scenes and then disappear for long stretches before resurfacing without warning. Either way, this is not ideal, and in both cases, the subplots just end up feeling like a forced detour rather than a thread that's woven into the bigger story. So they kind of feel like something to just get through instead of something that deepens and enhances the main storyline. And that is essentially the core issue either way. Subplots aren't there just to be decoration for the main plot. Their job is to complicate, deepen, or illuminate the central story by increasing pressure on the protagonist, exploring the theme from a different angle, or revealing something the primary plot can't. So if you recognize this mistake in your manuscript, a useful question to ask is, what would be lost if I remove this subplot entirely? And if the answer is not much, then it probably isn't earning its place. At that point, you have two choices. You can cut it or revise it so that it is meaningful and it does earn its place. And the key thing to remember is that every thread you introduce should pull tighter as the story progresses. It shouldn't feel like that thread is getting looser. Alright, so that is mistake number nine. You've included subplots that don't serve the main story. Mistake number 10 is that there's no meaning beneath the external plot. When a story has no meaning beneath its external plot, readers might finish chapters or even the entire book feeling vaguely empty. So everything happened and they got through it, but nothing really landed. And that hollow feeling is often the quietest reason a reader drifts away. Now, this mistake usually shows up in one of two ways. Sometimes the protagonist achieves or fails at their external goal, but they haven't changed meaningfully along the way. So they're essentially the same person at the end of the story as they were at the beginning. They have the same beliefs, same blind spots, and the same way of moving through the world. Now, a little caveat here, if you are intentionally writing a story where the character has a flat arc, then that is a whole different thing and potentially the topic of a future podcast episode. Alright, so that is the first way it shows up. The protagonist might achieve or fail to achieve their external goal, but they haven't changed meaningfully along the way. Other times the story's events don't really seem to build to any deeper question. So things happen, consequences follow, but there's not really a sense of what it all adds up to. And this gets to the heart of the difference between plot and meaning. Plot is what happens, meaning is why it matters, right? So if you recognize this mistake in your manuscript, a useful question to ask is how is my protagonist different at the end of this story than they were at the beginning? And what did it cost them to get there? That cost, what they had to sacrifice, confront, or let go of, is the seed of your story's meaning. So it doesn't have to be a grand philosophical statement or anything like that. It just has to be something true, specific, and earned. And when it is, readers will close your book feeling like they've lived through something, not just read something. Alright, so that is mistake number 10. There's no meaning beneath the external plot. Now, if you've recognized any of these. Mistakes in your manuscript, I want you to know that this does not mean your story is broken or infixable. It just means your story needs a little more development, and that's exactly what revision is for. I also want to point out that the writers who do go on to finish and publish their novels aren't the ones who got everything right in their first draft. They're the ones who learned how to see their manuscript clearly and tackle the right problems in the right order. And that ability to diagnose what's actually holding a story back and focus on the fixes that matter most is exactly the skill that many writers struggle to develop on their own. And this is why I created the revision accelerator to help you diagnose what's actually holding your story back, prioritize what to fix first, and create a clear revision plan you can actually follow without the overwhelm. So if you're ready to stop guessing what your story needs and start revising with a plan, head over to Savannah Gilbo.com forward slash revision to learn more and to join me inside the revision accelerator. One more time, that's savanna gilbo.com forward slash revision. As always, thanks for tuning in. I hope your writing's going well, and I will talk to you next week.