The narratives I encounter, they really vary. Sometimes, a story, despite all its polish, just doesn’t connect. It leaves you feeling… well, a little let down. As someone who reviews these stories, my job isn’t just to say if it’s “good” or “bad.” It’s about pulling it apart, understanding exactly why it might have missed the mark.
This guide I’ve put together, it’s like a detective manual. It’s for uncovering those subtle — and sometimes not-so-subtle — issues in storytelling. I want to give you the words and the insights to really explain why something didn’t work. We’re going beyond just general complaints; we’re getting into the nitty-gritty, the stuff you can actually act on.
When the Foundation Isn’t Solid: Early Signs and Weaknesses
Before a story even gets a chance to really bloom, some basic problems can just ruin it. Think of them as cracks right in the building’s foundation, making the whole thing shaky.
1. The Missing Hook: No Immediate Pull
A story should grab you right away, ideally in the very first sentence. Often, less-than-stellar storytelling just ignores this, starting off slow, rambling, or dumping a bunch of world details on you all at once.
Like, for instance: Instead of a general description like: “The planet Xylos had orbited the twin suns for millennia, its history a tapestry woven with countless conflicts and technological advancements…”, a strong start would be: “Jax knew the only way off Xylos was through the maw of the Kraken-class freighter, and the air in the landing bay smelled of ozone and fresh blood.” See how that second one immediately introduces a problem, a character who’s doing something, and a hint of danger? It makes you wonder, “What’s going to happen next?”
Here’s what I look for: Is the main character facing an immediate challenge, or is there an interesting mystery right at the beginning? If I can put the book down after the first page and not feel any curiosity at all, that hook just isn’t there.
2. The Invisible Inciting Incident: No Clear Call to Action
The inciting incident isn’t just an event; it’s the turning point. It messes up the main character’s normal life, pushing them into the story’s main conflict. Sometimes, stories just don’t have a clear, impactful inciting incident, or it’s so faint you barely notice it.
For example: A weak inciting incident might be: “Elara received a strange letter.” (Too vague, no real stakes). A strong one, though: “Elara found the cryptic message sewn into her murdered father’s favorite coat, a message that spoke of forbidden magic and a conspiracy reaching the highest echelons of the kingdom.” That one immediately connects to the character, hints at a mystery, has high stakes (murder!), and clearly shows they need to do something (unraveling the conspiracy).
Here’s how I think about it: Can I point to the exact moment the main character’s life completely changes and they’re thrown into the main conflict of the story? If I can’t, the inciting incident is probably weak or just not there.
3. Pacing Problems: Too Fast or Too Slow
Pacing is the story’s rhythm. Bad pacing usually shows up in two ways: it’s either a breathless rush where things happen so fast you can’t keep up, or it’s a slow crawl where nothing important happens for pages and pages.
An example of too fast: “He met her, they fell in love, got married, had kids, and lived happily ever after.” (That’s a whole novel crammed into one sentence, and it doesn’t let you feel anything for the characters).
An example of too slow: Pages dedicated to a character’s detailed morning routine, including the brand of toothpaste and the exact angle of their toothbrush, without actually showing anything new about the character, hinting at future events, or moving the story forward in any meaningful way.
What I look for: Does the story allow for moments of thought and tension, then speed up for important events? Does every scene add to the plot, character, or theme? If not, the pacing is probably off.
4. The World-Building Overload: Too Much, Too Soon
Building a world is super important, but sometimes writers just dump a ton of information on you all at once, especially at the start. This “info-dumping” really slows the story down and rarely feels natural.
Imagine this: A character in a sci-fi novel suddenly stops a tense chase to explain the complete history of intergalactic trade unions, the properties of dilithium crystals, and all 73 different intelligent species in the Andromeda galaxy. That information isn’t woven into what’s happening or what people are saying.
My takeaway: Is the information given to me when and where I actually need it, or is it just presented for the sake of it? Does it feel more like a lecture than a discovery? I keep an eye out for dialogue where characters tell each other things they’d already know, just for my benefit as the reader.
Character Catastrophes: When Protagonists Fall Flat
Characters are the absolute heart of any story. If they’re not well-built or they’re inconsistent, you just stop caring, and the story suffers.
1. The Cardboard Cutout: Flat and Contradictory
Sometimes, characters in weaker stories are just one-dimensional. They embody a single trait (like the “brave hero” or the “evil villain”) without any inner conflict, flaws, or reasons you can relate to. Even worse, their actions can completely go against their established personality without any good explanation.
Think about it: A tough mercenary who, with no prior character development or inner struggle, suddenly breaks down crying over a lost kitten, then immediately goes back to being ruthlessly efficient. That doesn’t feel complex; it feels inconsistent.
What I consider: Can I describe the character using more than one adjective? Do their actions make sense with their stated motivations and personality? Do they change, even a little bit, throughout the story? If not, they might be flat.
2. The Unmotivated Mover: Actions Without Reason
Characters in weak stories often do things that make no logical sense for who they are, what their goals are, or what the world’s rules are. This just pulls you out of the story and makes you wonder if the character is smart or if the author knows what they’re doing.
Picture this: A super smart detective inexplicably walks straight into an obvious trap, even though they had all the information to know it was coming, just because the plot needs them to be captured.
My check: For every major action a character takes, I ask: “Why are they doing this?” Is the reason clear, believable, and consistent with their character? If not, the action might be unmotivated.
3. The Deus Ex Machina Protagonist: Solving Problems Too Easily
This isn’t about being incredibly gifted; it’s about a character suddenly getting skills or solutions exactly when the plot needs them, without any prior setup or struggle. It just feels like cheating.
An example: A character trapped in an inescapable prison suddenly remembers some obscure skill passed down from a forgotten ancestor that perfectly opens the cell’s unique lock, a skill that was never mentioned before.
What I question: Do solutions come from the character’s established abilities, things they’ve learned before, or genuine struggle? Or do problems just disappear because the plot needs them to?
4. The Absent Arc: No Character Growth
A compelling main character usually changes or learns something significant by the end of the story. But in weaker stories, characters often stay exactly the same from beginning to end, even after facing huge challenges.
For instance: A cynical detective who, after solving a case involving immense human suffering, remains just as cynical, having learned nothing new about himself or the world.
My takeaway: Does the character learn, adapt, or change their perspective? Is there a clear journey from their initial state to their final state? If not, the character’s arc is missing.
Plot Pitfalls: When the Story Loses Its Way
Even with great characters, a confused or nonsensical plot can make a story unreadable.
1. The Meandering Maze: Plotlines Without Direction
A strong plot has a clear direction, a problem to solve, and obstacles to overcome. Weaker plots often just wander aimlessly, introducing side stories that go nowhere or conflicts that are too easily resolved with no real consequences.
This is what I mean: The main character sets out to find a magical artifact, but then gets completely sidetracked by a long and ultimately pointless story about organizing a local bake sale, interrupting the main quest for no thematic or plot-advancing reason.
**What I ask: ** Can I clearly explain the story’s main conflict and the main character’s primary goal? Does every scene or side story help move that goal forward or raise the stakes? If not, the plot might be meandering.
2. The Cardboard Conflict: Low Stakes or Easily Solved Problems
Conflict is what drives a story. If there’s nothing really at stake or problems are too easily overcome, you won’t feel any tension or investment. Weaker stories often present superficial conflicts that don’t have real consequences.
An example: The “evil overlord” turns out to be just misunderstood, and a short, heartfelt conversation somehow resolves centuries of tyranny. Or a “deadly virus” is cured by some common over-the-counter medicine.
My assessment: What does the main character stand to lose if they fail? Are the obstacles truly challenging, requiring effort and sacrifice? If the answers are “not much” or “no,” the conflict is likely weak.
3. The Convenient Coincidence: Plot Advancements Without Justification
While coincidences happen in real life, in stories, it often feels artificial when they’re used just to arbitrarily move the plot forward or solve a problem. Weaker stories lean too heavily on contrived coincidences.
Picture this: The main character, randomly searching for a vital clue in a huge city, just happens to bump into the one person who has it – someone they’ve never met before and have no real reason to meet.
What I consider: Does the plot move forward because of character choices, logical results, or things set up earlier? Or does it rely on unbelievable chance encounters or sudden, unexplained discoveries? Too many convenient coincidences usually mean weak plotting.
4. The Unearned Climax/Resolution: No Setup or Too Easy an Ending
A powerful climax is the culmination of everything that came before. A subpar story’s climax feels rushed, unearned, or simply doesn’t deliver on what was promised. Similarly, the resolution might feel too easy, ignoring consequences or true closure.
For instance: After a careful build-up of suspense and increasing threats, the villain is defeated with a single, trivial blow that seems to negate all the previous danger. Or, after facing impossible odds, all character problems are instantly resolved in a neat, overly perfect way, with no messy aftermath.
My ultimate question: Does the climax deliver on the story’s promises? Does it feel like the natural end of the story’s journey? Is the resolution satisfying, acknowledging losses and changes, rather than merely erasing all problems?
Prose Problems: When the Language Itself Undermines the Narrative
Even with a strong plot and compelling characters, bad writing can make a story unreadable or just forgettable.
1. The Cliché Cadaver: Overused Phrases and Tropes
Clichés aren’t just tired; they’re like mental shortcuts that kill originality. Weaker writing is full of them, suggesting a lack of imagination or just relying on common expressions.
Examples that crop up: “Her heart pounded like a drum,” “He was as strong as an ox,” “She felt a chill run down her spine.” These phrases are so common they just blend in, they don’t create vivid images.
My quick check: Does the language feel fresh and original, or does it sound like something I’ve read a thousand times? I make a mental note of any phrase that feels overly familiar.
2. The Purple Prose Plague: Overly Elaborate Language
While rich language is good, “purple prose” sacrifices clarity and impact for unnecessary decoration. It draws attention to itself instead of serving the story.
Compare these: “The cerulean orb of the celestial sun sank beneath the vermilion-tinged horizon, casting elongated, amethystine shadows across the verdant undulations of the bucolic landscape, a symphony of crepuscular tranquility.” (Versus: “The blue sun set, painting the landscape in long, purple shadows.”)
What I look for: Does the language feel natural and clear, or does it seem to be trying too hard to impress? Can I simplify sentences without losing meaning or imagery? I spot excessive adjectives, adverbs, and complicated sentence structures.
3. The Show, Don’t Tell Taboo: Relying on Exposition
This is a really basic principle of good writing. Weaker writing often just “tells” you information about characters, emotions, or events, instead of showing them through actions, dialogue, or sensory details.
Example (Telling): “She was very sad.” (Weak)
Example (Showing): “Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze fixated on the chipped tile floor. A single, silent tear traced a path down her cheek.” (Stronger, because it lets you infer the sadness).
My gauge: Are emotions and character traits explained directly, or are they conveyed through sensory details, body language, and dialogue? I look for phrases like “He felt,” “She was,” instead of actions that illustrate those feelings or states of being.
4. Dialogue Distress: Unnatural, Preachy, or Redundant Conversations
Dialogue should move the plot, reveal character, and feel real. In weaker stories, dialogue often sounds unnatural, contains big information dumps, or is just repetitive.
Example (Unnatural): Characters speaking in overly formal language, explaining things to each other they’d already know, or giving long, preachy speeches that no one would realistically deliver.
Example (Redundant): Characters repeating the same information or feelings multiple times across different scenes, adding no new insight.
My test: I read the dialogue out loud. Does it sound like real people talking? Does every line serve a purpose (plot, character, theme)? Does it reveal more about the speaker or listener?
Thematic Troubles: When the Story Doesn’t Resonate
Beyond the mechanics, a truly impactful story usually has a meaningful theme. Weaker storytelling might lack a clear theme or present a muddy, inconsistent one.
1. The Missing Message: No Underlying Meaning
A story doesn’t need to be overtly preachy, but the best narratives often explore universal truths or make you think. Weaker stories can feel hollow, without any deeper meaning or emotional weight.
Like this: A fantasy adventure where the heroes win, but the story offers no insight into courage, sacrifice, the nature of good versus evil, or how their journey changed them or the world. It’s just a series of events.
What I consider: After reading, do I feel any resonance beyond just the plot? Does the story offer up any ideas or questions to ponder? If it leaves no lingering impression or thought, a theme might be missing.
2. The Muddled Morality: Inconsistent Themes
Even if a theme exists, it can be poorly done if the story’s events or character actions go against the stated message.
For example: A story trying to convey a theme of “forgiveness and redemption,” but then brutally punishes a character who wants to repent all the way to the end, undermining its own message.
My alignment check: Does the story consistently support its implied message through what happens to the characters and how the narrative ends? Are there contradictions between what the story seems to say and what it actually shows?
3. The Pedantic Preacher: Overtly Stated Themes
While a theme should be there, it should ideally emerge naturally. Weaker stories often explicitly state their themes through heavy-handed narration or characters giving awkward philosophical speeches.
Picture this: The main character, in the final act, turns to the camera (or you, the reader) and declares, “And so I learned that true courage lies not in strength, but in empathy.” That just feels forced and unnecessary.
My observation: Does the story let the reader discover its meaning, or does it spell it out for them? Is the theme subtly woven into the story’s fabric, or is it presented like a lecture?
My Reviewer’s Judgment: Putting the Detective Work Together
Having carefully identified these potential weaknesses, my review moves beyond simply saying “good” or “bad.”
My goal as a detective reviewer is to:
- Be Specific: Instead of “The pacing was off,” I’ll say “The first three chapters got bogged down with excessive exposition about the planetary government, delaying the inciting incident until page 50.”
- Explain the Impact: Instead of “The characters were flat,” I’ll explain “Because Liam’s motivations remained vague and his actions arbitrary, I struggled to empathize with his struggles or care about his ultimate fate.”
- Connect to the Cause (When Possible): I link the flaw I observed to its probable origin. “The reliance on convenient coincidences, such as the protagonist literally bumping into the long-lost map, indicates a need for stronger plot device setup.”
- Focus on Improvement, Not Just Criticism: While I’m not strictly giving advice, my findings inherently point toward areas for growth. My review implicitly guides the writer toward understanding how to make their narrative stronger.
By following this detective manual, I transform from a casual reader into someone who can really analyze how a story is built. I can pinpoint exactly where and why it just doesn’t connect. My feedback becomes a super valuable tool, not just for the writer, but for the craft of storytelling itself. I aim to be precise, clear, and a guiding light for better stories.