Steps to Writing a Fiction Novel Build Worlds from Simple Ideas

1.
Y’all ever sit down to write a novel, fire up that laptop like it’s a camp stove in February, and then—*silence*? Not the peaceful kind. The *“oh lord I just remembered I left the oven on”* kind?
2.
Step one ain’t “write chapter one”—it’s *claim the damn title*
3.
Idea → Spark → Draft: how to keep the flame from gutterin’ out
4.
The Snowflake Method: big dreams, small starts (no blizzard required)
5.
The 7 Elements of Fiction: not rules—*relationships*
6.
Drafting Day One: how to write 500 words without throwin’ your laptop out the window
7.
Revision ain’t punishment—it’s *sculpting*
8.
Is a $50,000-word book a novel? Let’s talk brass tacks—and bookshelves.
9.
How much does an author make on a $20 book? Let’s follow the money—*slowly*.

steps to writing a fiction novel

Y’all ever sit down to write a novel, fire up that laptop like it’s a camp stove in February, and then—silence? Not the peaceful kind. The “oh lord I just remembered I left the oven on” kind?

We’ve all been there—boots kicked off, coffee gone lukewarm, cursor blinkin’ like a firefly on its last leg. You *know* there’s a story in you—somewhere between that dream about the librarian who speaks only in song lyrics and the time your dog gave you *the look* after you dropped the last slice of pizza. But how do you crack the vault? That’s where the steps to writing a fiction novel come in—not as a rigid syllabus, but as a weathered trail map, ink smudged at the corners, drawn by folks who made it through the woods and back. Let’s walk it together—no fancy degrees, no gatekeepers, just grit, grace, and a willingness to write *badly* on purpose.

Step one ain’t “write chapter one”—it’s claim the damn title

Somewhere along the way, we got sold this fairy tale: *real writers* wear tweed, sip espresso in Paris, and birth flawless first drafts under a full moon. Bull. *Real writers* spill coffee on their keyboards. Cry over character arcs. Name their villain after their ex’s weird cousin. The truth? If you’ve ever scribbled a grocery list with *drama* (“Milk – urgent. Eggs – negotiable.”), you’re playin’ with narrative. So let’s ditch the gatekeepin’ and lean into the messy, joyful truth: the first real step in the steps to writing a fiction novel is whisperin’—*out loud*—*“I’m a writer.”* Even if your voice cracks. *Especially* then.

The Permission Slip Nobody Gave You (But You Can Print It Yourself)

Grab a sticky note. Write: *“I, [Your Name], hereby grant myself full permission to write badly, revise wildly, and occasionally eat cold pizza for breakfast in service of this novel.”* Stick it on your monitor. *That’s* your MFA. That’s your first real tool in the steps to writing a fiction novel toolkit—self-compassion with a side of sass.

Idea → Spark → Draft: how to keep the flame from gutterin’ out

Forget “waiting for inspiration.” Inspiration’s a lazy cousin who shows up three hours late with half a six-pack. *You* gotta dig. Try this: set a timer for 10 minutes. Write *everything*—no filter, no judgment. “Wizard who runs a failing laundromat.” “Teen who hears plants gossip.” “A war fought with *perfume* instead of bullets.” Let it be ridiculous. Let it be raw. The *good* stuff’s buried under the weird—like fossils under shale. One of our fave warm-ups? *“What’s the *opposite* of my favorite trope?”* Suddenly, the Chosen One’s not special—*they’re cursed with being average in a world of geniuses.* Boom. Conflict. That’s the juice in the steps to writing a fiction novel—not polish. *Potential*.

The Snowflake Method: big dreams, small starts (no blizzard required)

Ever heard of the Snowflake Method? Nah, it ain’t about winter sports—it’s Randy Ingermanson’s brilliant *escalation* framework. You start with *one sentence*. Then expand to a paragraph. Then a full-page summary. Then character bios. Then scene lists. Like a snowflake: tiny core, intricate growth. Why it works? It respects your brain’s need for *scaffolding*. Try it:

Sentence: “A retired lighthouse keeper mails unsent letters to the sea—until one comes back, sealed with wax he hasn’t used in 20 years.”
Paragraph: Expand who, why, stakes.
Page: Add subplot (e.g., his estranged daughter shows up—*with a child who hums the same lullaby his wife used to sing*).

This ain’t outlining like a drill sergeant—it’s *discovering* like an explorer. And it’s one of the most humane steps to writing a fiction novel: no overwhelm. Just *one flake at a time*.

The 7 Elements of Fiction: not rules—relationships

Plot, character, setting, point of view, theme, conflict, tone. Textbooks list ‘em like ingredients. But they ain’t a recipe—they’re *dancers*. Change one, and the whole waltz shifts. A quiet theme (“grief is a house with no doors”) reshapes plot. A first-person POV *forces* intimacy—or unreliability. Try this lens: *“What if the* setting *was the antagonist?”* A city that rearranges its streets when you blink. A forest where time moves backward after dusk. Suddenly, *all seven elements* twist together. That’s how the steps to writing a fiction novel become *organic*—not mechanical.

Drafting Day One: how to write 500 words without throwin’ your laptop out the window

Forget “chapter one.” Start *in media res*—middle of the action, middle of the feeling. Your MC mid-argument. Mid-panic. Mid-bite into a suspiciously glowing apple. Give yourself a tiny goal: *“Just 500 words. One scene. One breath.”* No editing. No backspacing. Just *flow*. And if it’s terrible? *Good.* Terrible drafts are honest. They’re fertile ground. We once wrote a whole first chapter where the protagonist had *three names*—we didn’t notice ‘til draft four. (His name’s *still* three names. Turns out he’s got dissociative identity—and a *fantastic* arc.) That’s the heart of the steps to writing a fiction novel: *trust the mess*.

The “Ugly Draft” Pact

Promise yourself: *No rereading. No deleting. No Googling “am I the worst writer alive?”* Just keep goin’. Your first draft’s job ain’t to be good—it’s to *exist*. You can’t edit air. You *can* edit 78,432 words of glorious, chaotic clay.

Revision ain’t punishment—it’s sculpting

Some folks dread revision like a root canal. But what if you saw it as *deepening*? First pass: fix plot holes (Does the train run on Tuesdays? *Check.*). Second: deepen character motivation (Why *this* lie? Why *now*?). Third: rhythm—read it *aloud*. Does the dialogue *sound* like folks talkin’, or like Wikipedia entries flirtin’? One editor told us: *“Cut every adjective that doesn’t pull its weight. Keep the ones that bleed.”* That’s the soul of the steps to writing a fiction novel—not perfection. *Resonance*.

Is a $50,000-word book a novel? Let’s talk brass tacks—and bookshelves.

Technically? Yes—but barely. Industry standards:

Genre	Min Word Count	Ideal Range
Adult Literary/General	50,000	70,000–90,000
Fantasy/Sci-Fi	70,000	90,000–120,000
Romance	40,000 (category)	60,000–80,000 (single-title)
YA	45,000	60,000–80,000

A 50k-word literary novel? Totally publishable. (See: *The Great Gatsby* at 47k.) A 50k-word epic fantasy? Might raise eyebrows. Know your lane—but don’t let word count freeze you. Better a tight, fierce 52k than a bloated 100k with filler. That’s wisdom baked into the steps to writing a fiction novel: *serve the story—not the stats*.

How much does an author make on a $20 book? Let’s follow the money—slowly.

Assume a $19.99 hardcover (let’s call it $20 for math’s sake):

Traditional Royalty (10–15%) = $2.00–$3.00 per copy. Sell 10,000? $20k–$30k *before* agent (15%) and taxes.
Self-Pub (IngramSpark/KDP) = ~$8–$10 profit after print cost & platform fees. Same 10k sales? $80k–$100k—but *you* paid for editing, cover, ISBN, marketing ($2k–$5k upfront).

Real talk? Most debut authors sell 1,000–5,000 copies. Big success? 10k+. Viral? 50k+. But here’s the secret: *career authors* don’t rely on *one* book. They build series, backlists, audiobooks, Patreon, courses. One novel’s a spark. A *body of work*? That’s the bonfire. And every fire starts with the first bold step in the steps to writing a fiction novel. So—where to next? Wander back to Slow Studies, dive into the craft well at Writing, or hear how a wild idea became real with novel effect shark tank pitch win. ‘Cause every book you love? It began with somebody whisperin’—*to themselves, in the dark*—“Let’s see what happens if I try.”

Frequently Asked Questions

Is a $50,000 word book a novel?

Yes—but it’s on the lean side. For literary or romance, 50k is acceptable (e.g., *The Bridges of Madison County* is ~48k). For fantasy or sci-fi, publishers often expect 70k+. What matters most in the steps to writing a fiction novel isn’t hitting an arbitrary number—it’s ensuring every word *pulls its weight*. Tight beats bloated, every time.

What is the snowflake method?

The Snowflake Method is a 10-step novel-planning system by Randy Ingermanson that starts with a *single sentence* and expands outward—like a snowflake—into full synopses, character arcs, and scene lists. It’s ideal for writers who panic at blank pages: each step builds confidence. It’s one of the most structured yet flexible steps to writing a fiction novel, turning overwhelm into momentum.

What are the 7 elements of fiction?

The seven core elements are: Plot, Character, Setting, Point of View, Theme, Conflict, and Tone. But in practice, they’re interwoven—not checklist items. A shift in POV (e.g., from third-limited to first-person unreliable) reshapes *all* the others. Mastering these isn’t about memorization; it’s about listening to how they *converse*—a key insight in the steps to writing a fiction novel.

How much does an author make on a $20 book?

For a $19.99 hardcover: trad-published authors earn ~$2–$3 per copy (10–15% royalty); self-published earn ~$8–$10 after costs. But most debut novels sell 1,000–5,000 copies. Real income comes from *multiple* titles, formats (eBook, audio), and direct reader relationships. That’s why the steps to writing a fiction novel include *long-game thinking*—not just the first draft, but the whole ecosystem around it.