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Simply the Best Writing Book On the Market!

Mr. Hampton spent years as a well-paid non-fiction writer, all the while researching the techniques practiced by the most successful fiction writers in the industry. The result is Writing Great Stories, probably the most unique book on the art and craft of storytelling ever written.

Part I of the book takes you by the hand and leads you step by step through the process of creating the kind of story that sells best, then testing the story against the work of a variety of great writers. Once your story is created, Part II provides all the craft you need to professionally write the story. Part III offers up several bonus chapters on topics you won’t find anywhere else.

SUSPENSE - The book contains a unique chapter on how any writer can create real page-turner suspense.

The book has been hailed by beginning writers and published authors alike as the best they've ever read. But, don’t take the publisher’s word for it. Have a look for yourself.

The bottom line is in this book, you'll meet and become a fan of the Golden Quill of Storytelling because it can give you all the help you need to write that bestseller hiding inside of you.




Chapter 1 - The Quest for Story

Let me tell you about the Golden Quill of Storytelling. It is a magical, double-ended stylus said to possess the power to transform an ordinary wannabe writer into that most godlike of all beings—a master storyteller.

How is this possible? I’m not certain, but according to legend, one end of the stylus grants the possessor the wisdom to recognize and create a good story, while the other end bestows all the craft skills needed to masterfully write a story, once created.

In this world of modern technology, why is such ancient wisdom so important? Fair question. Listen to the words of Donald Maass, successful author and literary agent. Chapter 13 in his book The Career Novelist opens as follows:

“It is one of the eternal frustrations of publishing: exquisite stylists languish on the shelves while popular novelists like Harold Robbins, Sidney Sheldon, Jackie Collins, and Robert James Waller (The Bridges of Madison County) skyrocket to the top of the best-seller lists.”

Why? He explains a few paragraphs later, declaring:

“What most people want from a novel is not fine writing, but a good story.”

Someone once said that a good story can sell mediocre writing, but even great writing can’t sell a bad story. Someone else once said that bad writing can be edited into good, but a bad story will never have the chance to be edited at all. So, with those two notions in mind, it seems logical first to learn the wisdom of the Golden Quill of Storytelling about how to create good stories, then learn the craft skills needed to write them well. The purpose of this book is to teach both how to create a good story, and then how to write it using the best craft.

Do I believe in the Golden Quill? Well, I must, because I have spent many years of my life in a quest to find it, encountering along the way far too many counterfeit quills, mere pretenders, possessing much glitter, but little power.

Still, I know the Golden Quill exists, because almost daily I read the works of master storytellers who own and use it. I also know it exists, because I’ve finally found it. In fact, I now hold it in my hand and, even as I write, feel myself being transformed.     

Have I really discovered the Golden Quill? For that answer, you’ll have to read on and decide for yourself.

Genesis of a Quest

Years ago I wrote a mystery novel and nervously submitted it for critique to three friends who were successful novelists and members of the Southern California Chapter of the Mystery Writers of America.

A couple of weeks later all three responded from the same song book, “Chuck, your copy’s good. Your dialogue is clever, even amusing. Descriptions are vivid, action exciting, characters credible, but—well, frankly, Guy, your plot is kinda thin.”

“Huh?” I said. “Plot? What are you talking about? I thought—”

“We mean story,” they sang. “Yours is kinda weak. Get a better story and you’ll do fine.”

Smarting, I replied, “Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks. Uh, I really appreciate your help.”

I stumbled away, scratching my head. What the blazes were they talking about anyhow? Story? Better check this out.

Optimistically I went to the dictionary to look up the word story. Among other unsatisfying definitions I found the following:

“Story— the plot or succession of incidents of a novel, poem, drama, etc.”

The dictionary rubbed salt into my wounds by giving an example of using the word story in a sentence. It said:

The characterizations were good, but the story was weak.”

Yeah, thanks! Obviously this was going to be harder than I thought. Still, somewhere there had to be a clear set of specifications or at least a simple recipe for a good story! All I had to do was find it, and when I did, I’d have it made. After all, I was already a pretty decent writer (my friends had said so), and I had enough self-confidence to believe, within reason that, if I could define a thing, I could do that thing. Thus began my quest for the Golden Quill of Storytelling.

Exciting Discovery

“Eureka!” I cried one dark night a few years later. I was reading in The Art of Composition, mentioned in the Author’s Preface of this book. The passage that had flipped my switches said something like:

A story is a narrative in which events are recounted in some sort of temporal sequence.

Not so special. Kind of like the dictionary definition, in fact. But then came the eye opener. Two sentences later it said:

The basic principle of all good storytelling is suspense.

“The basic principle!” I breathed. “The basic principle! Suspense! Of course! Now I’ve got it. A story is just telling what happened, but a good story keeps ‘em in suspense! Yeah!” Excited beyond measure, believing I at last had found the Golden Quill, I grabbed a dictionary and looked up the word suspense. What I found was:

Suspense is a condition or state of uncertainty or excitement induced by being forced to await a decision or an outcome, usually accompanied by a degree of apprehension or anxiety.

“Hee, hee!” I laughed fiendishly. I loved it. Now all I had to do was use all my writing skills and write a book full of suspense, and I could become a truly diabolical, master storyteller. Look out publishing world! Here I come! Yeah!

Pretender to the Quill

It really was a dark and rainy night, unusual for Southern California. Another of my published author friends had just looked up from reading the first 100 or so pages of my latest novel. The book was a science-fiction thriller in which I had used every trick I could think of for creating suspense. I held my breath as my friend took a sip of sauvignon blanc and blinked at me.

“Well, don’t just sit there!” I growled. “What do you think?”

“Well, ah—” Another sip of wine. “Ah, interesting, Chuck. Remarkable, actually. It’s a real page-turner, but—”

“What? What?”

“Well, uh, what’s it about, Chuck?”

“Huh?” Dumbfounded.

“I mean, there seems to be something missing. This is great copy and you really grabbed me and kept me reading, but I still don’t know what it’s about. What’s the story?”

“Are you crazy?” I shouted. “How can it be a page-turner and you don’t know what it’s about? That’s—well, that’s crazy! What about all the suspense I put in it? Huh? Huh? What about that?”

“Yeah, well, it’s got suspense, all right. No question about it. But it doesn’t seem to have any focus. Couldn’t figure out what it’s about.”

I glared at him, struck dumb. Shrugging, my friend calmly rose, placed the manuscript on his chair and gulped the last of his wine.

As I followed him to the front door, he muttered in an embarrassed tone, “Chuck, I’m sure you’ve heard the old saying, ‘No one ever waits in suspense for the suspense to begin?’”

“Yeah, so what? I got lots of suspense here. Said so yourself.”

“Well, just suspense isn’t enough, either, Bud. My suggestion? Get yourself a story. Then you’ll do fine.”

Devastated, I watched him climb in his car and pull away. Bitterly I realized I hadn’t found the Golden Quill after all, merely another pretender.

With a resigned shrug, I turned back inside to begin the quest all over again.

The Golden Quill of Storytelling

August 17, 20__, 10:59 P.M.

After my ill-fated experiment in suspense, time seemed to fly. As always, I continued to do commercial writing during the day to live and research at night to fulfill my dreams. I won’t bore you with the details, but during the next couple of years I discovered many other pretenders after the Golden Quill. They came in many guises: magical plotting formulas, fantastic techniques for characterization, sure-fire methods of structuring scenes, tips about themes, the art of dialogue, even recipes for writing bestsellers. But, in the end they were all the same—mere pretenders, vicious lifters, then dashers, of hope.

Now, though, now on this fated August evening I was sitting alone in my cramped little writing room, staring in awe at my computer screen. There, emblazoned in twelve-point Courier New, was the primary wisdom of the Golden Quill—my long-sought-after definition of good story!

And this time I knew with absolute certainty I had found the real thing. No pretender, this! I was so excited, I had to share it, so I picked up the phone and called Bill, a long-time writer and friend.

“Bill, I’ve got it!” I yelled into the phone when he answered.

“Got what, Chuck? What time is it?”

“The Golden Quill. The perfect definition of a good story!”

“Oh, that again.”

“Damn it, Bill, listen! This is important. I’ll read it to you.”

“Okay, shoot.”

I took a deep breath and started reading. I read slowly and clearly, mainly because Bill sounded like he’d had a couple of whiskeys.

“Okay, Bill, here goes,” I said, beginning to read.

The Golden Quill: Definition of a Good Story

“A good story is a narrative of events that does four things:

 1.  It gives readers a hero with whom they can identify and about whom they can care.

 2.  It gives that hero an important goal with terrible consequences if he/she fails to achieve it.

 3.  It early on plants in the reader’s mind an important story question: Will the hero succeed in his goal or not?

 4.  It creates suspense by causing doubt in the reader about whether there will be a happy answer to the story question.”

I stopped reading. “Well, what do you think?”

“Hmmmmmm. . .yes, that’s pretty clear. But. . .”

“But? Did you say but?”

“Yes, I can understand the need for a likable hero the reader cares about,” he said. “Who wants to read about somebody they don’t like? And, I can understand the need for the hero to have an important goal in the story. If the hero has no goal, he’s just a piece of driftwood. But. . .”

“But again? But what?”

“Well, what’s this stuff about terrible consequences if he fails to achieve his goal? Why is that important?”

“Ah,” I said. “Look, suppose a guy’s goal is to borrow $100,000.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Suppose he tries everywhere he can think of to borrow the money. You know, banks, credit unions, loan sharks, you name it, but no one will lend it to him? He doesn’t have collateral.”

“So what? Let him go to work and save it.”

“Exactly!” I was triumphant. “But what if he needs the money right away for a major operation that can save his wife’s life? What if by failing to get a loan, he condemns the one he loves to a long, painful death? What then?”

“Damn, Chuck, in that case, he has to get the money somehow.”


“I got it,” Bill said. “Without having terrible consequences in case of failure, who cares? On the other hand, by having the reader worry about the story question—will he or won’t he succeed?— the reader stays in suspense ‘til the story is finished, until he either gets the money or doesn’t.”

“Bill, you’re a genius!”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “It would be even more suspense-filled, if the wife was young and beautiful and had once saved his life. Then the reader would care even more. Every time he tries and fails, she moves one step closer to death. Holy smokes, that makes me worry just thinking about it. So how does he do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get the money, you boob. He has to get the money. Did he try the mafia? Or maybe he should rob a bank. How does he solve it?”

“Bill, we just made this up. It’s not real!”

“Oh, yeah, right. Good work, chum. I think you have it this time. I’d better go to bed.”

He hung up, and so did I.

I was too wired by my discovery to go to bed. I looked again at the definition on my computer. It was such a delicious, malicious definition. It told exactly how a writer can torture his readers by keeping them in suspense. I loved it. I tore my gaze from the definition and continued reading the journal entry I had written earlier. It said:

If this is truly the Golden Quill, a true definition of a good story, then a weak story must be a narrative that has a weak goal without consequences for failure and no central story question driving it. Mmmmmmmmmm! Maybe that’s what my novelist friend was trying to tell me about my suspense-packed science-fiction thriller. It had no central story question to tie together my exciting episodic events. No wonder he couldn’t figure out what it was about! (End of journal entry.)

I blinked at the monitor for a few minutes more. I had done it! I was certain I had discovered the The Golden Quill, the perfect definition of good story that could lead to writing a bestseller. Now all I had to do was test the definition to prove my favorite storytellers used it to create their books, too. But that was for another day.

I turned off the computer and went to bed, dreaming of becoming a bestselling master storyteller.

God, I love that dream.