9 Lessons From the Bottom Shelf to the Bookshelf
You don’t forget your first hemorrhoid brief. Mine was three pages of marketing solemnity about “comfort,” “confidence,” and “embracing relief.” The product itself was not something anyone wanted to picture. Yet there I was, tasked with peddling relief to cure a pain in the rear.
It was humbling. And, it turns out, excellent training for writing fiction. Because in selling hope to someone currently unable to sit down, you learn a few things about empathy, clarity, and the art of keeping a straight face.
So, here’s what flogging hemorrhoid cream taught me about storytelling. Put another way, here’s what I learned about how to write fiction and how to make readers care about someone else’s discomfort.
1. Start with a Brief (Even if You Write It Yourself)
In advertising, everything starts with a brief: who you’re talking to, what you’re saying, and why they should care. Without it, you end up writing interpretive poetry about “confidence you can feel.”
When I started my first novel, I missed starting from a brief. Fiction gives you glorious freedom and crippling choice. No client. No constraints. No bullet points. Just the abyss.
So I wrote myself a brief brief:
Audience: someone who might actually finish the book.
Objective: prevent them from regretting it.
Key message: keep turning the page.
It sounds silly, but it worked. Writing for one reader, not everyone, makes your prose sharper, your tone more human, and your jokes land better. It’s classic novel writing advice. Don’t write for the market. Write for a person who gets you.
If you’re wondering how to start writing a book, this is it. Give yourself a brief. Define your purpose before you type a single word.
2. Understand What Your Reader Wants
In ads, the reader’s problem is your opportunity. They’re itchy, anxious, or slightly inflamed. Your job is to promise relief. In fifteen words or fewer.
Fiction works the same way, except the itch is emotional. Your reader isn’t looking to buy something; they’re looking to feel something. Curiosity, tension, affection, disgust. It doesn’t matter which, as long as it’s not boredom.
When you learn how to write a novel, you learn that the first rule: understanding that the reader’s emotional investment is the product. Don’t sell them facts. Sell them feelings. That’s the essence of the creative writing process: empathy disguised as entertainment.
3. Conflict Is the Ointment’s Active Ingredient
Great ad copy solves a problem: dry skin, bad breath, a general creeping meaninglessness. Fiction’s the same. Without conflict, there’s no story. All you have is product placement for human emotions.
When I wrote my first novel, it only came alive once things started going terribly wrong. Characters who fail, lie, and make undignified choices are far more interesting than those who apply their metaphorical ointment responsibly.
Conflict isn’t cruelty. In a strange way, it’s compassion. You’re giving your characters the dignity of struggle. Your readers can choose whether they want to invest emotionally. If your conflict is any good, they get the gift of caring whether they triumph or not.
That’s one of the best tips for new writers: don’t protect your characters. Wound them. Then let them heal in public.
4. Hook Early, Reward Later
Advertising has about three seconds to grab attention before someone scrolls on. Fiction, mercifully, gives you a few more, but not many.
The first sentence of a story is your billboard. The first paragraph, your tagline. Every chapter needs a hook, every page a reason not to wander off. That’s not selling out. That’s good craft.
In advertising, you promise quickly. In fiction, you deliver slowly. Suspense is just delayed satisfaction. Or, if you prefer the marketing term, “customer retention.”
That’s part of how to finish your first book. Keep your reader engaged long enough to reach the payoff. Don’t let them scroll off to somewhere else mid-chapter.
5. Surprise Is the Secret Ingredient
The best campaigns turn on a twist. Maybe it’s a pun, a clever line that reverses on itself, or a payoff that makes you smirk despite yourself. Readers want the same thrill: that gasp when the story veers left.
You don’t need explosions or conspiracies. A character betraying themselves will do it. The trick is to make the inevitable feel unexpected. It’s like a product launch for human frailty.
Surprise is what separates good from great in both ads and fiction. It’s what keeps writing for beginners from sounding like a press release.
6. Drafts Are Just Bad Ads You Haven’t Edited Yet
Copywriting forces on you the joy of editing by committee. Fiction is more terrifying. You’re utterly alone. You’re your own committee.
Your first draft will read like an ad written at 4 a.m. for a product you don’t believe in. That’s fine. Keep going. The delete key is your best client.
Good writing is rewriting. Hemingway said that. Or maybe it was the brand manager for Preparation H. Either way, true.
If you want to publish a book someday, you have to first finish the terrible one sitting on your hard drive. You can’t edit what doesn’t exist.
7. Sell Emotion, Not Information
The best ads don’t just describe the product. They make you feel the promise. Fiction does the same, minus the layers of client approval.
Instead of writing, “She was heartbroken,” show us her deleting his number, retyping it, and deleting it again. Readers don’t want to be told what to feel. They want to feel it themselves.
That’s empathy. Ironically, it’s the same muscle I accidentally built writing about inflamed tissue. It’s also the foundation of how to write a novel people actually finish.
8. Give It a Tagline (Okay, a Theme, if You’re Fancy)
Every campaign has a tagline: “Just Do It.” “Think Different.” These are more than slogan. They’re a promise. A novel needs one too.
Write one line that captures what your story means. It doesn’t need to be clever. It just needs to keep you honest. “A man tries to make peace with his decisions” beats “A 93,000-word exploration of regret.”
When you know your story’s promise, every scene either delivers it or doesn’t. That’s the writer’s version of staying on brand. It’s how to stay consistent across your creative writing process, and how to keep your story’s heart beating through every draft.
9. The Job Is Still the Same: Make People Care
Whether you’re selling ointment or heartbreak, your mission is connection. Make someone feel seen. Make them laugh. Make them stay.
That’s what advertising and fiction share: empathy, rhythm, and ruthless clarity. One sells comfort. The other tells the truth. But both depend on finding the right words in the right order.
And in the end, writing fiction isn’t that different from selling hemorrhoid cream. Either way, your job is to help someone feel a little less uncomfortable. Preferably while sitting down.
This essay is one of a collection of pieces documenting the bedlam involved in writing and self-publishing my ongoing genre fiction series: The Misjudgements of Andy MacKay, available on Amazon.