Should your story have a message?

If you’re a storyteller, you probably know what it’s like to encounter a book that changes your life – the kind of story that takes on a real life of its own. And you probably want to create that kind of meaningful story for your own readers.

Spend any time poking around the writing internet, and you’ll come across a craft topic that seems to be all about creating meaning: writing a story with a message.

So what role does having a message really play in crafting a powerful, living story?

I often see two opposing bits of advice on this, depending on the type of story you’re writing. If you’re working on genre, mainstream, or “popular” writing, you’re probably going to hear this: Your story should have a message, and every single scene or section of your story should reinforce that message.

On the other hand, if you’re writing in a “literary” style, you’ll hear the opposite: You must avoid any kind of overt message and think primarily about the aesthetic shape and value of the story. By defining a clear message, you’ll end up stripping all the nuance out, and that’s where the real meaning is.

But both of these approaches to message and theme in storytelling are... sort of missing the point.

Let’s dig into this a bit, starting with the mainstream storytelling angle. But first, a brief but important sidebar on the topic of types of stories.

For a complete deep-dive on how to use a message in your story (or not), check out the full podcast episode! Or, keep reading for the highlights.

What is the difference between literary fiction and popular fiction?

The distinction between literary writing and other styles is awfully slippery, but just to give some context for this post, I’ll sum it up like this:

Literary writing is more about the words on the page – the style and tone and timbre of the storyteller’s language. Popular writing and genre fiction is more about what happens in the narrative – the who, what, and how.

Put another way: If a literary story has a crap plot, it can still be a successful story if the language is really lovely or moving or unique (it might not be the greatest literary story, but it will still be ticking the most important boxes). If a popular or genre fiction story is packed with clunky sentences, it can still be successful if it’s a real page-turner.

Popular writing also goes by other names like “commercial fiction,” “mainstream,” or “general audience.” Basically, if it’s not literary, but doesn’t fit in a clear genre bucket like mystery, romance, or sci fi, it’s popular fiction.

I prefer to use the term mainstream, since “popular” and “commercial” both have connotations to them that can be misleading. Literary writing can be very popular, when the right book hits at the right time – and no matter what genre you write in, if you’re publishing your stories, you’d probably like them to be commercial!

Okay, sidebar over. Now that our terms are established, let’s get into the question of “should all stories have a message.”

Messages and themes in mainstream fiction

When you’re writing a non-literary story, focusing on a clear, singular theme can be a useful way to make decisions about what should happen in the story and how to convey it – so that you end up with a cohesive, compelling read. The message basically becomes the why to go with the who/what/how.

I often see fellow editors and writing coaches advising something like this:

To write a story readers will really love, you need to write with a specific “takeaway” in mind. Readers want to learn something from your story, and they learn that takeaway through the way the characters change over the course of the plot.

So for example, if you want to craft an impactful fictional love story, you should first come up with a message about love (something like “love is a strength, not a weakness”). Then each scene in the story should somehow tie into how the characters evolve from thinking that love is a weakness to understanding that love is a strength. This creates a satisfying arc and leaves readers with a clear idea of the point of your story.

This approach can and does help writers put together functional stories. I’ve worked on stories for both indie authors and for publishers that were planned out this way, and it can indeed help make a story cohesive and engaging. It’s a very useful tool.

But here’s the thing: I don’t think readers actually love stories because they enjoy learning concise, clear takeaways about the world or the human condition.

A story that somebody loves might have one of those, sure. But that’s not why they have a powerful relationship with that story. When was the last time somebody recommended a story to you by saying “oh it’s my favorite book, it really illustrates the theme that love is a strength and not a weakness”?

A clear, concise message makes it easier to work successfully with all the complex moving parts of a story. And there’s nothing wrong with using a message this way – sometimes you need a really clear conceptual anchor to transform your draft from a pile of maybes into an actually finished draft.

But even though a message makes a story easier to write, I don’t think it’s what makes a story easy to love.

So... what about the stereotypical literary take on messages in storytelling?

Messages and themes in literary fiction

If you’ve studied craft from the literary angle, you’ve probably heard the opposite advice to the mainstream and genre story angle: Predetermined, clear messages may have worked well for some of the classics, but they aren’t done anymore in serious writing.

(Or, if you’re a literary writer, you may have heard nothing about messages in storytelling at all – I mean, what’s next, talking about outlines?? God forbid. Let’s just keep endlessly workshopping this contemporary Dadaist flash fiction.)

In literary writing, the major impact is supposed to come from the overall gestalt of the language – the artistry of the words themselves. So rather than focusing first of all on creating driving or persuasive plots, writers are usually encouraged to focus primarily on developing their style, their artistic point of view as a writer.

Yes, plot does matter in literary fiction. But the deeper meaning and life of the story are described not through things like “messages” or “takeaways,” but through things like “having a fresh voice.”

Just as with the mainstream writing argument, I think the literary approach has its merits, but doesn’t really capture what’s so powerful about reading a story we really love – a story that we form a real relationship with. We don’t enter into relationship with “a fresh voice” any more than we do with “a clear takeaway.”

So if the core question isn’t actually about your story’s message (or lack thereof), then what does make a deeply powerful story, a story that feels alive?

Spoiler alert: There isn’t one straightforward answer to this. To write something really powerful, you have to go beyond the general formulas for your genre. Those formulas can be very effective; if having a message helps you work out your plot, absolutely go for it!

But each writer has to draw their own line between a story that’s just effective and a story that’s truly alive.

There’s good news, though.

Even though the question is complex, finding the answer doesn’t have to be. There’s a very simple practice to uncover the key components to crafting a story you’ll love – and that your readers will love, too.

The best (and most simple) writing tip you’ll ever hear

To discover how to craft your most powerful stories, you just have to start paying close attention to the way you respond to the stories around you. This advice might sound so basic that it’s silly – but how often do you really take note not just of how a story makes you react, but why?

If you’re realizing you almost never do this, it’s not your fault. We’re living in an age when we’re completely surrounded by media and stories. In this internet era, we’re so inundated with storytelling that we’ve learned to consume it, respond, and move on, often without registering what’s really happening.

We’re being trained to erode our own writer superpower: our ability to really see and understand the way stories work.

The first step to honing that power is to take active note of your responses to stories – and I mean that literally, by making notes. This doesn’t have to be elaborate, and it doesn’t have to be comprehensive. Just try making one or two notes a day about a story you interacted with, what kind of story it was, and how you responded.

(And I’m not just talking about actual books or literature here – any media you took particular notice of during the day is fair game.)

Be as brief or as detailed as you like. You just need to gather enough examples to start picking up on patterns. When you have a strong reaction to something, what kind of story is it? And what kind of reaction did you have – was it a deep encounter, or just an effective but quick response?

And here’s the really potent question: What specifically about the way that story is crafted lead to your reaction?

Once you get into the habit of taking active note of your interactions with stories, start doing deeper analytical dives with any story in your own writing genre that you have a strong reaction to – both positive and negative. Identifying what kinds of stories you don’t want to tell is a key part of figuring out what stories you do want to tell.

Learning to always ask yourself why you like or dislike a story, and remembering to keep track of the answers somehow, is the best training for becoming the writer you want to be. But even though it sounds so simple, it’s also so easy to never do it!

(Writing this post has reminded me that I don’t do the “keeping track of the answers” bit often enough myself.)

This kind of habitual and intentional taking note, both literally and figuratively, is the only real way each of us can answer questions like “should my story have a message?” I can’t really answer that for you, any more than I could create your story for you.

Instead, you just have to ask yourself: “What stories do I most love? How do they effect me? And why?”

Hello! I’m Mary Lanham, an editor committed to helping queer, nonbinary, and femme writers fully access their deep creative vision.

If you’re writing speculative fiction that illuminates margins, or if you’re creating nonfiction on radical spirituality and personal development, let’s set your most luminous, mythic, and inspired storytelling loose.