How to PUSH Your Writing Further

One of my most frequent comments during freeshare is telling people to “go further” with their writing.

But what exactly does that mean?

Let’s discuss, chat, and practice some examples of pushing writing to its limits!

During the last stream, we went over how to push your writing further.

Watch the full stream here.

Quite often during freeshare, I tell writers that I want them to push sections of their story further
But what exactly does that mean? And how do you actually push a part of your story further in the first place?
Today let’s go over three ways to push your writing further, then practice on some examples together!

HUGE thanks to viewer defminerva for volunteering as tribute and letting us use sections from one of their stories for examples! Greatly appreciated 🙂

What to push further #1: Push the description further

Remember that when you’re WRITING a story, eventually someone else is going to read those words
They’re not going to watch a movie, play a game, look at pictures, they’re going to READ your words
So be sure that the language you use, the words and sentences, are FUN to read on their own, completely divorced from the plot

Ex:
There was old lady Jane holding a conversation with the wall.

Pushed Further:
Old lady Jane was holding a conversation with the wall, spitting out so much soggy air as she blabbed about “jazz kids” and “political Atkins” that I could hear the flower-pattern wallpaper curling and peeling from her warm mouth moisture.

To find sentences that should be pushed further, look for sentences in your story that just convey information
To push it further, expand upon that sentence by going into more detail/making it more fun to read
You don’t want to just add more to it, you want to carve out more story from it
Think of the sentence you’re pushing like a rock: you want to crack it open and see the sparkling diamonds inside, not just place more rocks around it

What to push further #2: Push the introspection further

Remember that when YOU are writing a story, you are already in the main character’s head, you know what they’re thinking because they’re a character you created
But eventually, when someone else reads it, they’re not going to be in the character’s head, you have to bring them into it
So be sure that whenever your character does something, or something happens to them, we get some introspection from them to give us context for WHY they did it/WHAT they think
And since you’ll be doing that often, you can’t get away with making it boring, push that introspection further!

Ex:
Peter chuckled. He got up and frisked Jane, not finding any smokes but he did find some week old chicken nuggets in her pockets.

Pushed further:
Peter chuckled. Maybe if Jane looked in her spit-stained bathroom mirror for one tenth as long as she stared at the damn wallpaper all day, she could see that she was wearing her jeans inside out, backward, and unzipped. Not that he was complaining — that made it easier to reach into her pocket and slip out a pack of smokes… nope. Just a week old chicken nugget. Enh, a win’s a win. Gotta celebrate the small victories. Pete chomped it down.

What to push further #3: Push the voice further

Remember that when you are WRITING a story, it’s not going to be read at the same speed you’ve written it
You need to make sure that, eventually, when someone else reads it, it sounds like a story that a PERSON would tell, not a bunch of words simply strung together
And you do that by pushing your narrator’s voice further, injecting unique personality into every sentence and paragraph

Ex:
On the other side of the group room, sitting in front of the tube television watching Home Improvement, there was Stanley with the voice that sounds like he ate a bushel’s worth of scorching sawdust.

Pushed further:
My last chance was sitting in front of the TV, melting into the scratchy armchair: Stanley. He was catatonically mimicking the characters on Home Improvement, repeating every single utterance back at them with his voice like he ate a bushel’s worth of scorching sawdust. “Jill I shwear I dunnuh wher th’boy got th’nakey magazinesh heh hehh hehhh!” The idiot even copied the goddamn laugh track, his smoker’s lung scratching every syllable like a cheese grater. I swear I’d reach down his throat, rip out that ashen organ, and smoke what was left of it myself if he didn’t have any cigs.

After that, chat voted on some bland sentences for us to push further together:

#1. The plane flew overhead.

EricaDeel:
I’m trying to record my latest PupperPi video. Unsuccessfully. My desk is up against the front wall of my house, and neighborhood kids are out playing in the street. As my house was apparently made out of tissue paper instead of actual insulation, every word, giggle, and bounce of the ball echoes throughout my little room. I need only two minutes of peace to record this stupid song, but no dice. Finally, FINALLY, they head home when the sun sets. I put on my headphones and record. A perfect rendition, I smile as the final notes come to an end. And then I hear it, cutting in through the walls and my headphones straight into my horrified brain: the sounds of engines roaring overhead as a plane flies by en route to the nearby airport. The evening landings have started, and I am f*cked. Summertime blues, indeed.

MystralianCryatist:
A shadow obscured the sun. Its vast wings seemingly cut of night itself, and its unearthly roar silencing the woods as it asserted its dominance overhead. Moments later, it was gone.

MarchOfTheGreyEyes:
The engines roared as the plane took off into the sky from the unseen airport near me. Even though it was only a few miles away from my cardboard box of a home, it may as well be in a mythological story. Every time I watched one take off, I patted my pocket, and my empty wallet wheezed. My mind screamed to travel, but my wallet gasped out, “Take a walk instead.”

AlyxVixen:
The rumbling of a jet could be heard approaching, its shadow streaking over the ground like a hunting raptor looking for its prey. Us. We cowered amongst the rocks as its lethal silhouette tore over our hiding place and receded into the distance.

Joe_G89:
A big white 747 roared above us, leaving a black smoke trail that streaked across the sky. Orange flames engulfed the engines, which groaned louder as the plane descended toward the high school football field. I looked up in horror and thought, “Safest way to travel my ass.”

#2. Joe wrote one of his typical bit stories.

Me
The bell rang out while I was streaming and my entire body clenched hard like I was trying to do a single crunch during high school gym class. I was conditioned to do so each and every time I heard the stinging chimes, my body and soul flinching instinctively, tensing in preparation for a freshly fermented Joe bit story.

EricaDeel
Writing stream goes on, and on, and on, with no intermission like Broadway shows, so you need to take that little pee break when you think you can. Usually during strawpolls. So tonight I was doing my thing when I heard that all-too-familiar chime ring out from my laptop in the other room: IT’S BIT STORY TIME. I barely wipe my butt in my dash out of the bathroom and make it back to see Scott choke on the water he always drinks at just the wrong time. Joe has done it again. It’s a delightfully disgusting tale of bodily functions mixed with lustful euphemisms, and he crafts his words in such a way that I feel a bit of arousal towards him myself. Time to go masterpiece!

Joe_G89:
The chime alert triggered fear, a Pavlovian response of pain. My lips quivered out, “Here we go again.” From my laptop, a robotic voice slurred out some words better left unsaid. The topic? Ah, didn’t matter. Death of loved ones, suffering, body mutilation, torture, decay, and sometimes incest. Take your pick. It’s Joe. It all hits the same these days, each bit story adding a new layer of crust to my already calloused heart.

DannyuNDos:
Because Joe had so many shiny polished half dollar coins, he had to choose. Believe it or not, each of his coins were an incarnate of a specific story. Hoping Scott will never know it, Joe picked one, and performed a story necromancy.

defminerva13:
Joe wrote one of his bitstories. Yeah, the kind you wouldn’t tell your grandma, but the ones you’d joke around with the fellas, snatching at their nipples for purple nurples. “Hey, listen, did you hear that one he wrote about the stink finger?”

bobicus_:
Joe pecked at the keyboard. His beady eyes stared into the blinding light of the monitor in the darkness of his cave. They would all soon dance to his tune, like puppets. Especially the main puppet, Scott. You ever watch a reaction video on youtube, of someone watching something particularly terrible? Something that sears itself into your memory until you can only relieve the burden by forcing it onto others, seeing them share your pain? Scott would react to that pain. He would absorb it for Joe.

#3. The beginning of defminerva’s story:

Only thing was Peter didn’t have any smog sticks of his own. There was still the papery patch left over on his shoulder. Then there were the other mental cases in the ward. What a joke. This upcoming smoke break, yeah, it would be the last smoke break for the whole labor day weekend. Peter would rather get a paper cut across his eye than go a triplet of days without a smoke. Pete needed that hit whatever it was.

Me
Only thing was Peter didn’t have any cigs of his own. Just a withered papery patch barely clinging to his shoulder, sucked dry of nicotine like the bottom of a fat kid’s Slurpee. It was the best hit he’d gotten in weeks, since none of the other mental cases in the ward were willing to share their goods. What a bunch of cheapskates. Pete never got nothing but a buncha no’s from them, even when he offered to trade his extra scoop of mashed mystery meat on Tuesday’s lunch.

And this upcoming smoke break was it. The big one. The last one for the whole labor day weekend. Three days without a smoke was too much for Pete. He’d rather have a paper cut sliced across his eyelids. He’d rather be on cleaning duty for “Wet Wally’s” private bathroom for a week. He’d rather… it didn’t matter. He’d do anything. He was going to get that hit, no matter what.

MystralianCryatist:
He needed that punch in the throat. Not even a day since he’d last had a smoke, and it already felt like someone had sliced up his eyes. His shoulder itched, the cig faker was still there.

If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.

And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.

Hope to see you next time, friend!

Featured image: Pexels