After editing more than two hundred novels—across genres, styles, and stages—I’ve discovered something both humbling and hopeful: every writer, no matter how experienced, makes the same seven mistakes.

These aren’t simply technical errors. They’re signs of the deeper struggle every author faces on the journey to truth. Fiction writing is a spiritual act—an ongoing conversation between clarity and chaos, intellect and intuition, pride and surrender. The same blind spots that limit your prose often mirror the ones that limit your growth as a storyteller.

Below are the seven mistakes I see most often, why they happen, and how to fix them—on the page and in the creative soul.

1. Over‑Explaining Emotion (The Fear of Not Being Understood)

Many writers don’t realize how much they explain what the reader already feels. It’s easy to distrust silence—to fill the space with “anger,” “frustration,” or “sadness” when the actions already reveal it.

Before: Sarah slammed the door behind her, angry and frustrated.

After: Sarah slammed the door. Three years, three forgotten anniversaries.

The edited line breathes. It trusts the reader to see emotion instead of being told what to think.

Spiritually speaking: Over‑explaining often comes from fear—fear that your truth won’t be recognized. But faith in storytelling means letting mystery do the work words can’t. Leave room for your readers to find themselves between your lines.

2. Perfect Dialogue (The Illusion of Control)

Unnatural dialogue happens when writers try to tidy human chaos. Real conversations stumble, contradict, reveal emotion sideways.

Before: “I’m feeling conflicted about my decision. On one hand….”

After: “I don’t know. The band’s—” James exhaled. “Dad’s already printed our names on the flyers.”

True voice lives in imperfection.

Spiritually: Our instinct to clean up dialogue mirrors our need to control how we’re perceived. But fiction thrives on vulnerability. Let your characters speak as humans—hesitant, impulsive, beautifully flawed.

3. Point‑of‑View Drift (Losing the Thread of Presence)

Switching heads mid‑scene—slipping from one character’s thoughts into another’s—breaks immersion and clarity.

“Marcus watched her leave. He wanted to call after her.

Sarah wished he would stop her.”

In storytelling and in life, we can only live one consciousness at a time.

Fix it by committing fully to one emotional lens per scene. If you must change, create a white‑space break. Honor attention as you would a prayer—single, focused, embodied.

4. Vague Stakes (Empty Conflict, Empty Heart)

If your story claims “everything will be lost,” but we don’t know what or who loses what, the tension collapses.

Before: “If they didn’t reach the vault before midnight, it would all be over.”

After: “If they didn’t reach the vault before midnight, Jake’s brother’s bail would evaporate with the reset. Six months of planning. One ruined life.”

Spiritually: Readers don’t connect to catastrophe—they connect to compassion. Specific loss reminds them of their own humanity. Storytelling becomes an act of empathy, not spectacle.

5. The Pacing Plateau (Forgetting the Music of the Story)

Flat pacing happens when every scene moves at the same rhythm and emotional tone.

Before: “Rachel walked slowly into the house, her footsteps echoing.”

After: “Rachel stepped inside. Creak. She froze. Listened. Nothing—except her pulse.”

How to fix: Vary tempo the way hymns vary volume—slow for awe, quick for danger, silence for revelation.

Spiritually: Rhythm is the sound of life breathing through your prose. The writer’s job isn’t just to entertain; it’s to help the reader feel time again.

6. Starting Too Early (Resisting the Call)

Most manuscripts begin with a character waking up, eating breakfast, or driving to work before the story truly begins. These scenes are fear disguised as warm‑up—the fear of stepping straight into the unknown.

Before: A detective drinking coffee.

After: The file hits his desk: three bodies, same mark, one unsolved case.

Stories, like spiritual awakenings, begin with interruption. Don’t delay the call to adventure. Let your first page shock the soul awake.

7. Overwriting (Mistaking Effort for Art)

The final and most common mistake: trying to prove beauty through excess. Writers flood the page with adjectives or metaphors when all they need is truth.

Before: “The rain fell heavily from dark clouds, drenching the city in sorrow.”

After: “Rain hammered the streetlights.”

Spiritually: Overwriting mirrors pride—the part of us that fears simplicity isn’t enough. But great fiction, like faith, thrives on quiet witness. One honest image can hold more power than a paragraph of ornamentation.

The Writer’s Inner Work

When I edit, I see a shared pattern beneath all seven mistakes: writers trying too hard to be loved.

We over explain because we crave to be understood, overwrite because we fear being ignored, and start too early because we delay the risk of being seen. But revision—true revision—is confession. It says, “Here I am. I’ve stripped away the fillers. This is what I actually meant.”

Art is what remains when ego lets go.

A Practice for the Week

Choose one scene you love and one you secretly avoid. Apply these seven lenses. Ask:

What am I trying to control here?

Where can I let the reader, the character, or God breathe through me?

What’s still unspoken that wants to be heard?

This is the rhythm of craft and spirit working together: effort met by surrender, precision balanced with grace.

The best stories rise from both discipline and reverence. You write the words—but something larger shapes the meaning.

Write bravely, revise humbly, and trust that imperfection is not your enemy. It’s your teacher.