The First Draft of Your Book Sucks? Here's How to Fix It
So, your first draft is a hot mess? Good.
Welcome to the club.
I’m currently rounding out the first draft of a Southern gothic supernatural novel set in a shared universe with “Spellbound Under The Spanish Moss” and a prequel and sequel to “Spellbound.”
This is where the real work begins.
Every great book starts as a chaotic pile of scenes and half-baked ideas.
Here’s my no-BS checklist to whip that disaster into shape and turn it into something that’s worth every single page.
My First to Final Draft Book Writing Checklist
1. Cut the Fluff and Tighten Those Subplots
Subplots are the meat on the bone, but only if they’re doing the heavy lifting.
I’m going through each one like a butcher, deciding which subplots add depth, complicate the main story, or lay down those juicy mysteries that keep readers hooked.
If it doesn’t tie back to the main plot or feed the tension, it’s dead weight and it’s gotta go.
Offer specific questions to evaluate each subplot:
Does this subplot reveal something critical about a character?
Does it tie into the main plot by at least three degrees?
Does it raise stakes or tension?
J.K. Rowling is a master of subplots. Her technique was all about layering mysteries within mysteries; every subplot was a ticking time bomb set to explode at just the right moment.
She planted clues like breadcrumbs, with each subplot—from the sinister secrets of the Chamber of Secrets to the dark history of the Horcruxes—intertwining with the main storyline to build tension and deepen character arcs.
Rowling mapped out these subplots before writing a single word, using them to raise the stakes, add complexity, and keep readers guessing until the very last page.
Her genius lay in making sure every twist, every backstory, had a purpose, pulling readers deeper into the magical chaos with every turn.
2. Make Your Characters Bleed
I don’t care if they’re human, a ghost, or some cursed creature crawling out of the bayou—every character needs a pulse, a reason to live (or die), and a story that makes them unforgettable.
Are they pushing the plot forward?
Are they adding fuel to the fire?
I’m gut-checking every character to see if they’re alive enough to haunt the reader long after the book is shut.
If they’re just there to fill space, they’re out.
Include a checklist to test if a character is necessary:
Does this character influence the plot directly?
Do they have a clear goal, conflict, and evolution?
Can they be removed without collapsing the narrative?
These are just a few examples of this in action:
"Always." — Severus Snape
Context: Snape’s single word in response to Dumbledore’s question about whether he still loves Lily Potter, even years after her death, reveals his undying, unrequited love. It’s a moment that shatters perceptions of Snape, showing the depth of his devotion and the pain he carried, bleeding across his entire life.
"I cannot live without my soul!" — Heathcliff
Context: After Catherine’s death, Heathcliff’s anguish is raw and all-consuming. This quote captures the agony of his love—he sees Catherine as his very soul, and without her, he is utterly lost. It’s a cry from the depths of his tormented heart, making him both monstrous and tragic.
"He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life." — Jay Gatsby
Context: Gatsby’s smile is his charm and his mask, but underneath, he’s filled with a desperate longing for Daisy and a life that can never be. This line comes just before Gatsby's world begins to unravel, reflecting his futile hope and the tragedy of his unreachable dreams.
3. Weave It All Together
In a shared universe, everything has to interlock like clockwork.
I’m looking for places where stories can collide, where characters can cross paths, and where seemingly unrelated events tie back to the central narrative in ways that blow the reader’s mind.
If it doesn’t serve to build that web of tension and connection, it’s out.
This isn’t a collection of stories; it’s a world, and everything needs to be woven into the fabric.
Use storyboarding or mind-mapping to visualize connections between different storylines and how they intersect.
My favorite author, Carlos Ruiz Zafón, crafted an entire labyrinthine world where every story, every character, and every dark alley seemed to whisper secrets to each other.
In “The Cemetery of Forgotten Books” series, Zafón built a living, breathing city of intrigue where the past and present collide and where each novel peels back another layer of Barcelona’s shadowy heart.
His universe is a maze where every door opens to another enigma, where seemingly minor details in one book explode into revelations in another.
Zafón’s world stalks your thoughts, pulling you deeper into its twisting corridors long after you’ve put the book down.
4. Make Every Scene Earn Its Keep
Every scene should fight for its right to exist.
If it doesn’t push the plot, build a character, or reveal something crucial, it’s out.
I’m ruthless about this.
Every paragraph, every line of dialogue, every description—if it doesn’t serve a purpose, it’s gone.
In a story where every breath counts, there’s no room for dead weight.
Create a “scene-purpose test”—write down the purpose of each scene.
If you can’t justify its existence in two sentences, it needs revision or removal.
5. Dial Up the Descriptions
This is Southern Gothic — the setting is practically a character.
I’m taking every bland description and cranking it up to 11.
The bayou doesn’t just have mist; it’s got tendrils of fog that choke out the moonlight and shadows that crawl like fingers over the water.
Every word should drag the reader deeper into this world until they can’t tell if the dampness on their skin is sweat or the swamp seeping in.
Use all five senses in your descriptions. What does the setting look, sound, smell, taste, and feel like?
These descriptions achieve that:
“Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Road
“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
“Had the Battle of Franklin ever really ended? Carrie walked her cemetery, and around her the wounds closed up and scarred over, but only in that way that an oak struck by lightning heals itself by twisting and bending around the wound: it is still recognizably a tree, it still lives as a tree, it still puts out its leaves and acorns, but its center, hidden deep within the curtain of green, remains empty and splintered where it hasn't been grotesquely scarred over. We are happy the tree hasn't died, and from the proper angle we can look on it and suppose that it is the same tree as it ever was, but it is not and never will be.”
― Robert Hicks, The Widow of the South
6. Make It Hurt
Emotion is the engine, and if the story doesn’t hurt, it’s not working hard enough.
I’m dissecting every emotional beat, making sure it stabs where it should. Are the relationships raw and real? Are the betrayals, the heartbreaks, the victories felt deep in the bones?
I want the reader to feel every blow, every kiss, every shiver of fear. If it doesn’t make them ache, it’s back to the drawing board.
Write character diaries or letters to uncover hidden emotions or motives. Take the most emotionally charged scene and double its intensity.
For example, “Beloved” by Toni Morrison is an exploration of the trauma and scars left by slavery, centered on Sethe, a woman who is haunted—literally and metaphorically—by the ghost of her dead child.
“Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.”
― Toni Morrison, Beloved
The narrative is soaked in pain, with every emotional beat amplifying the horrors of Sethe's past and her desperate acts to protect her children from a fate worse than death.
Morrison forces the reader to sit in the discomfort, to feel the visceral impact of Sethe’s choices, and to understand the depth of a mother's grief, love, and survival.
7. Double-Check the Facts
Gothic or not, the world has to feel real.
I’m cross-checking every piece of research—whether it’s the history of Louisiana, the biology of the bayou, voodoo practices, the intricacies of Creole society, or Southern mythology and legends.
If I’m using it, it needs to be rock-solid and atmospheric, adding texture to the narrative instead of just sitting there like a Wikipedia entry.
These days, with tools like ChatGPT and other generative search engines, you can conduct more customized searches; however, you also need to fact-check that information as well, given AI’s propensity for “hallucinating” — essentially, making up info.
8. Build Original Mythology
I’m not just recycling old ghost stories—I’m building new ones.
This is where I go deep into the dark corners of my universe and pull out fresh horrors, new legends, and unseen terrors.
What’s the creature lurking just beyond the light? What ancient curse haunts these waters?
Every new element has to feel like it’s been there for centuries, waiting to be uncovered.
Start with one core myth or legend, and build out creatures, laws, and history that shape your world.
Here are five examples of authors who masterfully built original mythology and creatures:
J.R.R. Tolkien: Tolkien created an entire mythological universe with Middle-earth, complete with its own languages, races like Elves, Dwarves, and Orcs, and dark entities like Sauron. He developed rich backstories, intricate histories, and legendary artifacts like the One Ring, crafting a fully-realized world that feels ancient and lived-in.
H.P. Lovecraft: Lovecraft crafted a terrifying mythos centered around cosmic horrors like Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones, beings that defy human comprehension and exist beyond the boundaries of our reality. His universe is filled with forbidden texts like the Necronomicon and ancient cults, creating a chilling, otherworldly mythology that has influenced countless writers.
Neil Gaiman: Gaiman wove together an original mythology in “American Gods,” where old gods from various mythologies battle against new gods of modern society like Technology and Media. He crafted new interpretations and backstories for familiar gods and created entirely new deities, blending folklore with contemporary culture in a unique, imaginative narrative.
George R.R. Martin: In “A Song of Ice and Fire,” Martin built a complex world with its own history, religions, and creatures, such as the White Walkers and direwolves. He created an intricate mythology with the lore of Westeros, including prophecies, ancient legends like Azor Ahai, and the Children of the Forest, adding layers of depth and intrigue to his epic saga.
Rick Riordan: Riordan modernized ancient mythologies with his “Percy Jackson” series and others, bringing Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Norse gods into the contemporary world. He created unique demigod characters, reimagined mythological creatures, and invented new magical elements and artifacts, blending classic myths with modern-day adventure and humor.
9. Keep Them Guessing with Mystery
If the reader isn’t asking questions, they’re not engaged.
I’m making sure there are enough mysteries to keep them hungry—questions that demand answers, shadows that shift and change.
Not everything gets tied up neatly; some mysteries should linger, haunting the reader long after they’ve put the book down.
Start every chapter with an unanswered question or mystery. Plant clues and red herrings to keep readers guessing.
The biggest commercial successes in literature—like “Harry Potter” and “Game of Thrones” — thrive on tapping into the human craving for mystery, for those delicious twists and turns that keep readers up at night, flipping pages.
J.K. Rowling kept millions hooked with the constant unfolding of secrets—from the enigma of Harry's scar to the hidden identities of Snape and Dumbledore’s true intentions.
Similarly, George R.R. Martin’s “Game of Thrones” is a masterclass in keeping readers guessing, with its tangled web of political intrigue, hidden prophecies, and characters whose loyalties and motives remain perpetually unclear.
“Power resides only where men believe it resides. [...] A shadow on the wall, yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
Martin creates a landscape where no one is safe, where shocking betrayals and unforeseen alliances are the norm, and where the question of who will ultimately sit on the Iron Throne is just one of many that keep readers on the edge of their seats.
10. Hook Hard and Hook Fast
Every chapter, every scene, every line needs to hook.
I’m going back to my openings and making sure they grab the reader by the throat and don’t let go.
Tease, foreshadow, hint at something darker, something lurking just out of sight.
The goal is to keep the tension tight and the reader on the edge of their seat.
Read the first lines of your chapters and see if they could work as the opening line of the entire book.
Here are some powerful examples of hooks in literature that grab the reader by the throat from the very start, pulling them into the story with a sense of urgency, mystery, or intrigue:
"All this happened, more or less." — Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
"There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife." — The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice." — One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
“We all have our time machines, don't we. Those that take us back are memories...And those that carry us forward, are dreams.” ― H.G. Wells
11. Play with Perspective and Tense
Who’s telling this story, and how?
I’m not afraid to flip perspectives, play with tense, or shake things up if it serves the narrative.
Maybe first-person makes it more immediate, more visceral. Maybe the present tense gives it an urgency that keeps the reader turning pages.
I’m weighing every option, every angle, to see what drives the story home hardest.
Rewrite a key scene from different perspectives or tenses to find what feels most compelling. Create a list of pros and cons for each tense and point of view.
Authors like Haruki Murakami, Markus Zusak, Gillian Flynn, George R.R. Martin, and Robert Hicks utilized shifting perspectives to drag readers deeper into their worlds and keep them hooked.
In “Kafka on the Shore,” Murakami’s dual narratives blur the line between reality and the surreal, while Zusak's “The Book Thief” has Death itself narrating the horrors of war, mixing a cosmic view with raw, personal pain.
Flynn’s “Gone Girl” plays with conflicting perspectives and unreliable narrators to keep the tension razor-sharp, while Martin’s “A Song of Ice and Fire” uses a kaleidoscope of viewpoints to build a brutal, politically charged world where no one is safe.
Hicks’ “Widow of the South” brings Civil War chaos to life by diving into the minds of multiple characters, making every loss, every choice feel like a punch to the gut.
Final Thoughts
The first draft is supposed to suck—that’s the point.
The magic happens in the rewrite, where you turn that raw, messy draft into something sharp, haunting, and unforgettable.
I’m taking this checklist and going to war with my manuscript, making sure every element earns its place in the story.
This is where you breathe life into your book, where you drag it kicking and screaming into something alive, something that stays with the reader long after they’ve turned the last page.
Your draft is just the beginning. Now, it’s time to carve out the story buried beneath and make it a tale no one will ever forget.
Create your own checklist tailored to your genre or style. Keep refining it with each new draft to sharpen your editing skills.