Rob Parnell's Writing Academy Blog

  Every writer faces the same quiet moment. A blank page. A flicker of an idea. Perhaps a setting. Perhaps a situation. Perhaps just a mood. And then the real question rises. Who is this about? Inventing characters is not about assembling traits like parts in a kit. It is not about choosing hair color, profession, and a quirky habit. That might give you a silhouette, but it will not give you a person. A character becomes alive when they begin to want something, fear something, believe something - and when those internal forces start to shape their behavior. So where do characters come from? They come from observation first. From paying attention. The way someone hesitates before answering. The way someone laughs too loudly. The way someone avoids eye contact when a particular subject arises. Real people are inconsistent, contradictory, vulnerable, proud, tender, stubborn. Fictional characters must feel the same. But observation alone is not invention. It is raw material. The...

  Colleen Hoover is currently the bestselling author on the planet and yet you could walk straight past her in the supermarket without batting an eye. Maybe you just did - wouldn't that be weird? There is a strange fantasy that circulates in our culture - that success must be loud. That if you make it, really make it, you’ll need sunglasses indoors and security guards outside. That fame is a kind of permanent spotlight you can’t step out of. It’s nonsense, of course. But it’s seductive nonsense. Here’s the delicious truth nobody tells you - writing is one of the very few professions where you can have the rewards of success without surrendering your freedom. You can earn well. You can be respected. You can influence millions. And you can still walk to the shops in your scruffiest jumper without a single person turning their head. Writers get the credits, the cash, and the credibility - and they get to keep their anonymity. Look at Stephen King . One of the most successful novel...

There comes a moment in every writer’s life when the words stop. Not forever. Just long enough to make you doubt yourself. You sit down at the desk. You open the document. You stare at the blinking cursor like it owes you money. And suddenly the person who once had a thousand ideas can’t find a single sentence worth keeping. If that’s you right now, let me say this clearly - you’re not broken. You’re not untalented. You’re not finished. You’re just stuck. And stuck is temporary. Here are seven ways to get yourself moving again. 1. Lower the Bar Until It’s Embarrassing One of the biggest reasons writers stall is expectation. You want the next paragraph to be brilliant. You want the chapter to sing. You want to feel that rush you had when you first conceived the idea. So here’s your permission slip - write badly. Deliberately. Shamelessly. Awkwardly. Tell yourself you’re only allowed to write 200 terrible words. Not good words. Not publishable words. Just words. The magi...

  There was a time when outrage was a renewable resource. You could drop a scandal into the morning news cycle, sprinkle it with ominous music, and by lunchtime the public would be foaming nicely. By dinner, we’d be divided, distracted, and arguing with strangers online about things we hadn’t looked up. It was efficient. Elegant, even. A marvel of modern control. That era is ending. Not because people have become apathetic – that’s the lazy diagnosis – but because we’ve become better informed, more pattern-savvy, and frankly harder to manipulate than those in authority seem willing to admit. The future, we are endlessly told, belongs to “the narrative.” Control the narrative and you control the world. This explains why governments, corporations, and various shadowy committees with impressive PowerPoint slideshows are pouring time, mega-millions, and all their  nervous energy into social media dominance. The theory is simple: if you own the message, you own the people. But...

There is a particular kind of political blindness that deserves to be studied. Not the everyday variety – the mild evasions, the half-truths, the press-conference fog – but the kind that looks straight at a crowd and seems genuinely shocked when that crowd reacts like a crowd. Because at some point, you have to ask: what did they think was going to happen? When a government invites the leader of a state widely accused by international bodies, human rights groups, and millions of ordinary people of systematic oppression into the country, this is not a neutral act. It is not administrative. It is symbolic. It sends a message – and symbols are never received politely by those already living with the consequences. This isn’t about abstract geopolitics. It’s about lived moral awareness. Large numbers of people across the world have already denounced mass civilian suffering, displacement, collective punishment, and the erosion of basic human dignity wherever it occurs. They have marched,...

  From “Just Say No” to “Could We Maybe Not Upset Him?” Once upon a time, the solution to a complex social problem was refreshingly simple. Drugs? Just say no. That was the Ronald Reagan era in a nutshell: a firm jaw, a wagging finger, and the confidence that saying no loudly enough would cause reality to fall into line out of sheer respect. Fast-forward a few decades and we appear to have lost the ability to say no to anyone who actually needs to hear it. Children are now encouraged to express their feelings, negotiate boundaries, and explore why they might feel like doing something destructive. Meanwhile, tyrants invade neighbors, flatten cities, threaten nuclear annihilation, and the global response sounds like a polite dinner guest asking whether now might be a good time to discuss boundaries. Why can’t they just say no? Why do politicians fold like deck chairs when confronted by bullies with tanks? Why do world leaders suddenly develop an allergy to clarity? And why ...