When to Spoil Your Own Writing

Back in the day, when I was an eager Harry Potter fan anticipating the next book, J. K. Rowling’s interviews intrigued me. The authors of the series I’d loved before were all dead; no one could post C. S. Lewis’s answers to fan questions online or ask E. Nesbit what was going to happen in the next Bastables installment. Even if they could have, who cared? Those authors’ works were already complete.

Harry Potter, on the other hand, was ongoing, and it was especially interesting to hear Rowling’s take on her world and characters when you knew it would affect how the next few books would play.

However, occasionally, Rowling would refuse to answer a question with anything but a phrase like “I can’t tell you that.” She did this to hide information about future plot and character developments that she felt would reduce readers’ enjoyment of books she had yet to publish.

I think that’s pretty interesting.

I’m no stranger to keeping information from people to make what I’ve created more entertaining. For instance, I love designing treasure hunts, and as soon as I come up with an idea for a new clue, I want to tell everyone all about it. However, spilling the beans about a puzzle or challenge aspect of the hunt not only spoils the experience but also gives certain players an unfair advantage over others. So I’ve learned to keep some parts to myself.

But lately, I’ve found myself doing the same thing when discussing manuscripts I’m working on.

I have strong ideas about the twists and turns my plot will take, but when asked, I hear myself say something coy like “Well, that will make more sense later on.” or “I have something planned.” Is this the right tack to take as a writer?

I find it happens in three different circumstances:

First and most often, I say things like this in critique group. Someone in the group will ask a question about what happens next in order to assess the writing I’ve shared, or they’ll mention that a particular mystery is intriguing. Instead of explaining what happens or telling them my proposed ending for that plot question, I shrug and say something J.-K.-Rowling-esque, as above.

Second and almost as often, I deliberately couch my writing decisions in vague language when discussing them with friends and potential readers. For example, when debating with myself whether my story needs a sexually explicit scene, I write about themes and plot theory instead of specific characters and their situation.

Finally,  when I summarize my writing for professional reasons — for example, when sending query materials to an agent — I find myself wanting to hold back elements of the plot that are most effective when discovered organically in the story itself. Because the point of a query is to provide the reader with the main hook of the plot, sometimes I can’t. For instance, in my query hook for my novel The Devil You Know, I reveal the major plot twist that comes at the end of the first chapter (spoilers in the link, obviously).

Let’s take a look at each of those situations.

Sometimes, as a writer, I need my critique partners to help me assess the reaction of a reader. Readers don’t know my plot twists when they read my set-up; when I send material to an agent or publisher, I don’t get to stand behind them and say, “But see, I need that slow bit because in the next chapter…” So, at least at the beginning, it’s nice to get a gut reaction to the words on the page instead of the words that might someday come on pages later on.

However, other times, I need more informed critique partners. For instance, when I’m trying to work out scenes in a plot that’s still tentative, I might seek feedback on the idea of the story going a certain way in the middle. For that feedback to be helpful, I sometimes need to explain the context before and after the scene in question.

I asked some readers for feedback of this kind only a few weeks ago, related to the above discussion on whether one of my stories needs a sexually explicit scene. Without knowing what tone I was trying to set up, the friends I asked couldn’t offer informed reactions. When I told them where I saw the story going, they were much better able to give specific advice.

In general, when I’m not asking for feedback that requires particular kinds of knowledge, I’ve decided it’s not up to me to dictate how the reader will most enjoy my work. If a friend or reader wants to know something about the world of the story, I make sure they really want to know even if it’s a spoiler. But if they do, I tell them. Sometimes, spoilers actually help an audience better enjoy a story. If that’s the way somebody feels, who am I to insist they’re entertaining themselves wrong?

Sadly, this doesn’t help me figure out whether or not to “spoil” the first chapter on my novel in my hook. Agents and editors are busy people: they don’t have time to answer emails about what they’d prefer. In this case, I think I’d miss communicating half the key concept of the book by not spoiling the end of that chapter, but at the same time, because the chapter is constructed to build up to the reveal, I worry that I sacrifice the dramatic tension.

But maybe that’s not my real problem at all. I wrote before that a good story with a twist is still a good story whether the reader knows the twist or not. So perhaps my focus on spoilers is misplaced.

Maybe instead I should be wondering how to make my stories so good that they’ll draw a reader along even if the ending is obvious. It’s easier to worry about giving away plot elements than it is to go through the difficult revisions necessary to make secrecy immaterial.

I like the plots of my MSs enough to read them over and over despite knowing what happens next. Now I’ve got to challenge myself to make sure other people feel the same way.