Everybody Has a Story - And That’s Where the Magic Lives

I heard a quote recently that stopped me mid-thought, mid-coffee sip, mid–“why is the dog staring at me like that” moment.

“Everybody has a story. Once you understand that story, their lives will make sense.”

Excuse me while I just sit here and emotionally spiral for a minute.

Because wow. That one line explains so much. So many of those moments where you watch someone do something and think, why on earth would you ever do that? Why that choice? Why that reaction? Why that hill to die on?

And the honest answer is usually this: you don’t know what came before. You don’t know the trigger. You don’t know the quiet history that shaped that decision long before you ever witnessed it.

We see the moment. We don’t see the backstory.

Which, as it turns out, is basically the entire job description of being a writer.

In real life, we’re all walking around as finished scenes with missing chapters. You bump into someone in line at the grocery store who is unreasonably intense about coupons, and you think, okay wow, that escalated quickly. But maybe they grew up in a house where money was terrifyingly tight. Maybe they once lost everything. Maybe this tiny square of paper represents safety, control, or a small win in a very long week.

Suddenly, the behavior shifts from annoying to understandable. Not excusable necessarily. But human.

As a writer—especially a cozy mystery author—this idea is pure gold.

Because the difference between a decent story and a truly unforgettable one is whether the reader ever thinks, why would anyone do that? Or whether instead they think, I wouldn’t do that… but I get it.

That’s the magic spot.

When I’m writing characters, I spend an almost unreasonable amount of time asking myself annoying little questions. What happened to them before the story starts? What scared them once and never really let go? What tiny, seemingly insignificant moment quietly shaped the way they see the world?

And here’s the fun part: those moments don’t need to be dramatic. Not every character needs a thunderclap tragedy or a dark-and-stormy-night trauma. Sometimes it’s small. A betrayal that stung more than expected. A kindness that arrived at exactly the wrong—or right—time. A loss that wasn’t loud, but permanent.

Those are the things that make choices make sense.

In cozy mysteries especially, this matters more than people realize. Yes, there’s a mystery. Yes, there’s a crime. Yes, someone did something very questionable. But what makes readers lean in isn’t just the whodunit—it’s the why. Why this person. Why now. Why this method. Why this secret stayed buried for so long.

When I know my characters’ stories, I don’t have to force their actions. I don’t have to drag the plot along behind me like a reluctant dog on a leash. The characters move on their own, because of course they would react that way. Of course they would hide that truth. Of course they would make that terrible decision that sets everything in motion.

And honestly? It’s made me softer in real life too.

I’m still human. I still have my moments of “wow, that was… a choice.” But now there’s a little writer voice in my head whispering, you don’t know their backstory. You’ve only read one page.

Everybody has a story. And once you understand that story, things start to make sense—not just in books, but everywhere.

Which might be the most magical part of writing after all.

The Encyclopedia Was Our Google — And Dad Was Our Search Engine

You know you’re not a digital native when the word “research” makes you smell paper and hear the satisfying thud of a heavy book landing on a table. Welcome to my childhood, where curiosity was rewarded not with Wi-Fi, but with a stack of alphabetically-organized mystery bricks called encyclopedias . Let me take you back. The year? Somewhere in the analog era. The place? Our living room, where we had the entire Bertelsmann encyclopedia collection proudly displayed like it was the crown jewel of human knowledge. We didn’t just own knowledge—we subscribed to it. One glorious volume arrived each month, like an academic advent calendar for nerdy children. Volume “A” to “Z,” with deep sighs of longing in between. I swear, I still remember the day Volume “P” arrived. I rushed to the mailbox like I was expecting a letter from a secret admirer. Nope. Just got the lowdown on Photosynthesis and Peru. But did that stop me from doing a dramatic reading of it over dinner? No, it did not. M...

The Glamorous Life of a Writer (Or, Mostly Just Staring at a Screen)

There’s a persistent rumor floating around that writers live thrilling, adventure-filled lives. Perhaps it’s all the dramatic author portraits on book jackets—moody, windswept, staring off into the distance as if contemplating the fate of the world. Perhaps it’s the movies, where writers are always dashing off to Paris to write the next great novel in a charming café (suspiciously never interrupted by spotty Wi-Fi or overpriced croissants). I hate to break it to you, but real writing? Not quite so cinematic. In reality, my writing days mostly involve staring intensely at my screen, willing the words to appear through sheer force of will. Occasionally, I engage in deep philosophical debates with myself—such as whether my protagonist should turn left or right down a hallway (the fate of the fictional world depends on it). And let’s not forget the highly intellectual process of naming characters, which can take hours because somehow every single name I think of is either the name of ...

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...

Thinkingdog Publishing

Search This Blog