Eat Your Words: Tips on Incorporating Food Into Your Writing

ID: A wooden spoon with cooked alphabet noodles on it. The spoon rests on a bed of dry alphabet noodles.

Writing about food is fun, whether it’s a travel article, blog post, memoir, or cozy mystery set in a bakery. Food can function in writing in many ways. It can act as a device to help establish a sense of place, reveal background information, advance the plot, and reveal character. Writers in all genres can benefit from seasoning their prose with food details, but incorporating those details requires finesse.

Food can also be front and center, serving as the premise for the story and advancing its plot. Think of the many successful culinary cozy mystery series out there, such as Joanne Fluke’s popular Hannah Swensen books about a small-town baker and her community.

For a more literary read centered around food, check out J. Ryan Stradal’s novels, including Kitchens of the Great Midwest, The Lager Queen of Minnesota, and Saturday Night at the Lakeside Supper Club. As Stradal himself said in a 2015 interview with The Guardian, “A great writer will make us hunger for things we’ve never eaten, conjure a consuming nostalgia from a list of ingredients, and make us feel like we’re dining well as we’re reading well.”

Sometimes food is a more subtle part of a book, but that doesn’t mean it can’t play a major role. A favorite literary restaurant of mine is Olivier’s Bistro in Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series. It’s a warm and comforting gathering spot for the residents of Three Pines, and many key scenes are set here, with food and beverage details added to great effect. In Still Life, the first book in the series, Inspector Gamache arrives at Olivier’s for the first time and is instantly drawn to it, establishing this place as an important part of the Three Pines setting—and Gamache as a beloved character—for all the books to come:

[Gamache] made straight for the Bistro. It was easy to spot with its blue and white awnings and round wooden tables and chairs on the sidewalk. A few people were sipping coffee, all eyes on him as he made his way along the Commons.

… At the back of this room the cash register stood on a long wooden bar. Jars of licorice pipes and twists, cinnamon sticks and bright gummy bears shared the counter with small individual boxes of cereal …

The woods had been chilly and the thought of a café au lait in front of this open fire was too good. And maybe a licorice pipe, or two …

Gamache bit into a grilled chicken and roasted vegetable baguette and decided he was going to enjoy mealtimes in this place. Some of the officers took a beer, but not Gamache, who preferred ginger beer. The pile of sandwiches quickly disappeared.

Readers may be accustomed to the appearance of coffee in writing, but it’s also nice to encounter unusual food details like Penny’s licorice pipes. If only I could visit Olivier’s for some candy and a bit of eavesdropping as Gamache ponders a case.

At times, food can be a multipurpose element in writing, as in the novel Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson. In this story, two adult children receive a family recipe and a mysterious voice recording from their mother after her death. Here they learn about this strange inheritance for the first time:

Byron cuts open the envelope and shakes out its contents, a USB drive and a handwritten note. He reads the note out loud. It’s so typically Ma.

B and B, there’s a small black cake in the freezer for you. Don’t throw it out.

Black cake. Byron catches himself smiling. Ma and Dad used to share a slice of cake every year to mark their anniversary. It wasn’t the original wedding cake, they said, not anymore. Ma would make a new one every five years or so, one layer only, and put it in the freezer. Still, she insisted that any black cake, steeped as it was in rum and port, could have lasted the full length of their marriage.

I want you to sit down together and share the cake when the time is right.

You’ll know when.

Benny covers her mouth with one hand.

Love, Ma.

That scene reveals not only tidbits about the two siblings but important information about their parents. Beyond character, the cake is part of the novel’s premise as the siblings piece together their mother’s history and honor her request.

Aside from food’s importance in the development of the story, it also requires careful copy editing, fact-checking, and proofreading. Writers must consider many factors including spelling, capitalization, punctuation, accuracy of brand names, and geographic differences and preferences. What varieties of foods like cheese, vegetables, and herbs are used in certain parts of the world? What regions prefer wine instead of beer or coffee instead of tea? A writer must know, for example, that their American character can’t order coffee with Coffee-Mate in Switzerland; it’s banned there (and in several other countries) because it contains hydrogenated soybean and cottonseed oils.

Here are a few more interesting examples:

Is it bundt cake or Bundt cake? Bundt is a trademarked name and must be capitalized. What about gouda cheese or Gouda cheese? Actually, it’s just Gouda. Not Gouda cheese or Gouda Cheese.

Spellings of foods and food terms can easily puzzle writers. Is it cardamom or cardamon? Cardamom has been used as a breath freshener for centuries. And which of these spellings would you choose: kebob, kebab, or kabob? Merriam-Webster prefers kebab but lists kebob and kabob as variants, in that order. Writers must always consider their story’s setting and the cultural backgrounds of their characters in order to make spelling choices wisely and respectfully.

And oh, the hyphens! Do you take half and half or half-and-half in your coffee? I take half-and-half, and so does Merriam-Webster. Do you like kiwi? No—I’m afraid of most birds, but I do like kiwifruit (one word, no hyphen). Which of these is correct: black-eye-peas, black eye peas, black-eyed peas, or black-eye peas? Merriam-Webster prefers black-eyed peas and notes that they’re also known as cowpeas (one word, no hyphen). And the band’s name is Black Eyed Peas.

Whether you’re enjoying sprinkling culinary details into your story or developing a headache from proofreading them, food can play an important role in creating memorable people, places, and scenes that will satisfy your readers like a wonderfully rich meal.

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ID: Amy, a white woman with dark hair and glasses smiles at the camera. She wears a magenta sweater and has a streak of silver running through her hair.

Amy Cecil Holm is Allegory Editing’s resident Line Editor, Copy Editor, and Proofreader. She draws upon decades of teaching college English to help authors polish their prose. She holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism and a master’s degree in creative writing and has worked as a journalist, technical writer, and educator. Amy has taught courses in English composition, literature, creative writing, journalistic writing, business writing, and developmental reading, among others. She has a keen understanding of grammar, punctuation, and diction and uses her careful attention to detail to help prepare manuscripts for submission and publication.

Building Tension On or Off the Page

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Conflict and tension are important concepts to help drive a story. Whether it’s showing a physical fight between characters or internal struggles within a character, obstacles make readers turn the page.

One way to create conflict and tension is to determine whether events take place on or off the page.

Psychological suspense, for example, can come from ending a chapter with an expectation of what a character will do, then starting the next chapter the following day. This forces readers to wait to find out what happened “off the page.”

Did they leave the note on the person’s door?

Did they confront the person they thought was following them?

Did they buy the big dog for protection? (Or the handgun?)

By forcing the reader to wait for the answer to that question, tension builds as the reader’s need to know increases over time.

Showing every event as it happens can create tension too, sweeping the reader up in the events in real time.

Step by step, we creep through the house with the person investigating a crime.

Moment by moment, we feel the tension ratchet up as the dialogue goes back and forth, leading toward a character finally saying, “I love you.”

Action by action, as a character scales the mountain, runs the race, or faces their biggest fear, the tension pulls the reader even further into a story.

Balance, however, can be tricky. Waiting too long to answer the question “did they …” can frustrate readers. But showing every single step of an event can include more information than a reader needs.

Balancing those aspects can be an effective way to pull readers through a story because they are compelled to find out what happens next.

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Image ID: Elena, a white woman with a dark blonde pixie cut is wearing a black jacket and looking into the camera. She is smiling with her chin resting on her fist.

Elena Hartwell Taylor is the Senior Editor & Director of Programming at Allegory Editing. In addition to working as a developmental editor and writing coach, Elena is a published author. Her most recent novel, All We Buried, appears under the name Elena Taylor. The Eddie Shoes Mystery Series appears under Elena Hartwell. Prior to writing novels, Elena worked extensively in the theater as a playwright, director, educator, and designer. She has taught writing and theatre courses at the college/university level for more than twenty years. She holds a PhD in dramatic theory and criticism, a Master of Education with an emphasis in teaching theatre, and a BA in Mass Media Communications and Theatre Arts. For more information about Elena, you can visit her website and read her blog about authors, new books, and the writing process. You can contact her at elena@allegoryediting.com.

What Kindergarten Can Teach Us About the Craft of Writing

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A number of years ago, during the height of pandemic lockdown, I spent a fair amount of time eavesdropping on remote kindergarten video meetings happening in the next room. (Shout-out to the amazing Mrs. Campbell!)

It was during that time, while listening in on my son's literacy lessons, that it occurred to me what valuable lessons kindergarten can teach us adults about the craft of writing. 

1. The first draft is for mistakes.

My son is the type of kid who loves to make up stories but hates to write anything down unless he's absolutely confident he knows how to spell it correctly. And because a huge focus of kindergarten is learning how to put letters and sounds together to make words, it was important during that stage that the adults in his life didn't just feed him the spelling of a word every time he asked. On the other hand, we didn’t want him to get so frustrated, fearful, or nervous that he didn’t put anything on paper at all. It was a delicate balance. 

Of course, as adults we have the luxury of spell-check. But we let our perfectionism, fear, or doubt hold us back in many other ways.

Perhaps you're like my son and tend to get in your own way. You do such a good job of convincing yourself you can't write, it won't be good, no one will like it, and your ideas are crap, that you cross out or delete every other sentence and keep rewriting and rewriting. By the time you're done with that day's writing session, not only do you have nothing down on paper, but you're so discouraged you want to give up altogether.

Or maybe you're like me and you want to make sure you accurately describe the tree your protagonist climbs, so you waste an hour googling pictures and reading about the textural nuances of willow tree bark.

The desire to get your details, your word choice, your story, and your plot exactly right is a great instinct. It's just not what a first draft is for.

A first draft is for mistakes.

You'll have plenty of opportunities to perfect it later. That's what rewrites are for. The first draft is for letting your creativity flow free and unencumbered. It's for allowing yourself the permission to get it wrong.

My son's teacher used the concepts of a supported release of control and inventive spelling to help kids avoid getting in their own way during writing time. She taught them, “You can do this, you have the tools, and if you get it wrong, that's okay—there will be time to fix it later.”

For our purposes, I suggest a freewrite exercise. A freewrite is where you set a timer and write without stopping. You can do this with or without a writing prompt (a phrase or picture to jump start your thought process). I like to do 20-30 minutes, but you can always start smaller and work your way up. Begin writing and don't stop until the timer goes off. No crossing out or erasing or hitting the delete button or going back and circling things and making notes in the margins. Just keep writing. If you get stuck, just write "I'm stuck, I don't know what to write" until you get unstuck. You can always make a note in parentheses to yourself to fact check something later, but don't stop or spend time dwelling on it—and absolutely NO GOOGLING!

When the timer goes off, go back and read your work. Fix things, change things, and research things. You may find you're in a groove and want to keep going. If that's the case, do it. There's plenty of time to rewrite later. This brings me to number two.

2. When you're done, you've just begun.

One morning, as I walked by my son's room, I heard his teacher offer this singsongy aphorism with classic kindergarten teacher enthusiasm. The class had just finished an independent activity, drawing a picture and writing a simple sentence to go with it. She reminded them that now it was their job to go back and add more details, check their spelling, and correct any upside down or backwards letters.

If I were only allowed to give a single piece of advice to writers, I would break out my best kindergarten teacher voice and sing them Mrs. Campbell's cheerful reminder: “When you're done, you've just begun.”

One of the most common mistakes I see with newer writers is a lack of understanding of the work required to get something publication ready or query ready. It's not uncommon for authors to complete dozens of rewrites of a single manuscript.

After your initial ideas-on-the-page draft—and after you take a beat to celebrate that huge accomplishment—that's when you gotta really roll up your sleeves and get down to it.

Here are some things to look for as you dig in to rewrites: 

Is your plot well formed?

• Does it have any holes?

• Is it believable within the world of your story?

Are your characters fully developed?

• Do they have clear and strong objectives, obstacles, and stakes?

• Are the character arcs well formed?

• Do the characters change in some way by the end of the story?

• Are the relationships between characters clear?

Then there’s your setting.

• Are your descriptions vivid?

• Do they evoke a sense of place?

• Do you use all five senses in your descriptions?

• Are there enough rich details to allow the reader to picture the setting?

And of course, dialogue.

• Is the speech of each individual character distinct?

• Does the dialogue move the story forward, or is it laden with too much exposition?

• What does the way the characters speak, and what they say, reveal about them—and is this what you intend to show?

We can’t forget mechanics.

• Have you checked for tense errors?

• Is the point of view consistent?

• Have you scanned for errors in spelling, punctuation, and grammar?

Before you freak out, take a deep breath with me. You do not have to tackle this all at once, and you do not have to tackle it alone. Address one element at a time before moving on to the next, and when you’ve polished it as much as you can on your own, bring in an outside eye for feedback.  

The point I want you to take away is not a panic attack. Or that finishing your first draft isn't a huge accomplishment. Because it is! Not many people finish a complete draft of a manuscript. But a whole lot fewer people complete their first draft and persevere, putting in the work to rewrite and polish the manuscript.

What I do want to impress upon you is that it’s a lot of work. This is a marathon, not a sprint. I think knowing and mentally preparing yourself for that can go a long way toward setting yourself up for success.

As Mrs. Campbell might say: Alright class, this concludes today’s lesson. Now get out there and get writing!

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Image ID: Andrea, a white woman with brown, curly hair, stands in front of a tree. She wears a blue dress and is smiling at the camera.

Andrea Karin Nelson is the Founder & Executive Editor at Allegory Editing. In addition to her developmental editing work with published novelists, playwrights, and essayists, Andrea brings a unique set of experiences and skills to her editing craft. Twenty years as a writer and theater maker has developed her keen sense of story structure, plot and character development. Her plays have been commissioned and produced across the United States and performed in both English and American Sign Language. Fifteen years as a Master-Level, Certified Sign Language Interpreter has finely tuned her ear to the subtleties of language and the nuances of human interactions. And with over two decades as an educator, her teacher's heart allows Andrea to personally tailor her work with each writer. Click here to read an interview about Andrea’s journey founding Allegory. You can contact her at andrea@allegoryediting.com.

What is Voice?

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A strong voice allows writers to convey their artistic vision, playing with language, experimenting with style, and creating a work that is truly unique. It’s like a fingerprint, making the author’s work engaging and recognizable.

Consider the flowing, complex opening lines of Toni Morrison’s Beloved, in which the third-person narrator’s voice describes a family’s house as “spiteful” and “full of a baby’s venom,” chasing its inhabitants away:

“For years [they] put up with the spite in [their] own way, but by 1873 Sethe and her daughter Denver were its only victims. The grandmother, Baby Suggs, was dead, and the sons, Howard and Buglar, had run away by the time they were thirteen years old—as soon as merely looking in a mirror shattered it (that was the signal for Buglar); as soon as two tiny hand prints appeared in the cake (that was it for Howard). Neither boy waited to see more; another kettleful of chickpeas smoking in a heap on the floor; soda crackers crumbled and strewn in a line next to the door-sill. Nor did they wait for one of the relief periods: the weeks, months even, when nothing was disturbed. No. Each one fled at once—the moment the house committed what was for him the one insult not to be borne or witnessed a second time.”

In contrast, take a look at how Ernest Hemingway begins “Hills Like White Elephants,” using a straightforward, terse voice (with minimal punctuation) to set the scene for a short story that consists mostly of dialogue after the first paragraph:

“The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building.”

A strong and compelling authorial voice captivates readers, drawing them into the narrative, providing consistency throughout a manuscript whether an author is writing fiction or nonfiction. Author voice is at the heart of how we write; it allows for expression and creativity, going beyond the mere transmission of information and adding a layer of emotion, tone, and style that can enrich the experience of both writer and reader.

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Amy Cecil Holm is Allegory Editing’s resident Copy Editor and Proofreader. As a copy editor and proofreader, Amy draws upon more than three decades of teaching college English to help authors polish their prose. She holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism and a master’s degree in creative writing and has worked as a journalist, technical writer, and educator. Amy has taught courses in English composition, literature, creative writing, journalistic writing, business writing, and developmental reading, among others. She has a keen understanding of grammar, punctuation, and diction and uses her careful attention to detail to help prepare manuscripts for submission and publication.

Getting Curious About Sensory Details

A black-and-white line drawing of a brain, surrounded by line drawings of an ear, mouth, hand, nose, and eye with arrows pointing from the body parts toward the brain.

Close your eyes. Describe the place where you are right now. This is not a test of your short-term memory, but rather a way to focus on all the information you have at your disposal to write that description. How do you know where you are and what is around you? Most of us pay more attention to what we see than the other information coming in through our senses. What do you hear, feel, smell, touch, and taste? Is there anything else you can “sense”?

Try writing a description using only this nonvisual sensory information. Then, write a paragraph using only the details you can see. Which engages you more? Using powerful and relevant sensory details helps us pull readers in, making them feel like they're inside our stories, and it focuses their attention on what we want them to pay attention to. Master the use of sensory details and you have your readers in your power.

There are more ways to use this information in your writing than just showing what a character sees, feels, hears, touches, and smells. Consider that when you use a metaphor, you're tapping into sensory information. If you describe something as smooth as silk, your readers’ hands, on some level, feel the sensation of sliding over silk. In the same way, describing sharp edges, knives, and broken glass can cause a subconscious sensation of pulling away from danger.

As writers, we are often so engrossed in presenting our plot that we forget to use sensory details to our advantage. As I've surveyed writing over the last few months looking for how writers use sensory information, I’ve seen some great examples. Many are  about what things smell like, and that makes sense, because smell is so connected to memory. But as I close my eyes right now, I don't smell anything particularly interesting to write about. I feel the pressure of my chair against the back of my thighs. I hear the fan in the laundry room where I'm drying a sweater. I hear my dog shift on the pillow next to me. I feel the tightness of my fingers and the crick in my neck. There is a little bit of warmth on the side of my face coming from the window, and I taste a dryness in my mouth that tells me I should go get a glass of water. None of this means anything, though, unless I can connect it to something I want to tell you about.

That's the challenge. Once we know to pay attention to all the details available, and have gathered up relevant details to use, how do we connect the information to what we want to tell our readers? It could be as simple as those sharp edges and knives in the description of a scene where we want our readers to feel the danger the character is in. And it can always be more complex. Consider the other senses we have, like the odd sense that someone is watching us, or our ability to sense gravity. Could an odd sense of pressure in the head, as if someone is upside down, signal that even though the room looks right, it isn’t?

I invite you to get curious about how your favorite authors use sensory details. Set an imaginary alarm in your head to go off whenever you see sensory information in what you’re reading. Pause for a moment and reread the passages. Pay attention to which senses are being referred to, what information they're giving you, and how that's connected to the rest of the story.

Consider why the author added those particular details, and why they put them in at that place. In the same way, become curious in your own work about the choices you make unconsciously, and think about additional conscious choices that support your story’s aims. Sensory information is the ultimate “show, don’t tell.” Use it to your advantage.

If you're curious about using sensory details and want to consider more examples, please join me on November 14, 9:00-10:30 am (PST) for Engage the Senses, Engage the Reader: Mastering Sensory Details.

Happy writing!

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Christine Pinto is a Developmental Editor with Allegory Editing. As a developmental editor, Christine draws on her experience as a fiction writer and writing instructor. She holds a Certificate in Writing for Children and a Certificate in Editing from the University of Washington. Over a decade of experience teaching writing to children and adults, she has gained a deep understanding of the craft of writing and strong communication skills for sharing that knowledge with writers. Christine’s own journey as a writer informs her editing work with deep empathy for writers preparing a manuscript for publication. Her interests include historical and contemporary fiction, memoir, romance, fantasy, non-fiction, technical, business writing and writing for children. You can reach Christine at christine@allegoryediting.com.

The Art of Feedback

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Feedback is an essential part of the writing process. It’s also one that many writers dread.

I have an extensive background as a theater artist—an inherently collaborative art that cannot function properly without feedback. As an actor, director, and playwright, I crave and rely on feedback. I’ve come to see it as an essential part of my creative process in all mediums that I work in.

But that doesn’t mean I never struggle with it. Poorly given feedback or feedback on a piece I feel especially raw about can still sting. My task in these instances is to wade through my feelings or get past a less-than-ideal delivery to find the heart of the feedback—that nugget of truth I can use.

Why is feedback so scary for writers?

Neuroscience teaches us that our brains are hardwired to operate on a “minimize danger, maximize reward” principle. This mechanism is designed to keep us safe from anything we perceive as a threat. When delivered ineffectively, feedback can feel threatening, causing us to shut down.

At this point, you’re probably saying to yourself, “But feedback isn’t threatening. What is this lady on about?”

But something doesn’t have to actually be threatening to cause this reaction in our brains. It only has to be perceived as threatening. And that perception has a lot to do with two things: How the feedback is given and how our brains filter the information when we receive it.

Perhaps the person giving me feedback focuses only on what’s wrong with my manuscript without providing any ideas for how I can improve.  Or perhaps the feedback is given in a brilliantly constructive manner, but I’m particularly insecure about my writing and therefore I filter it through a lens of self-doubt, coloring how I receive it.

Therefore, how feedback is delivered and how it is received must both be considered when setting up a constructive critique relationship.

How to give and receive feedback

Imagine a feedback relationship, whether it be with a critique partner, a beta reader, or a professional editor, that feels collaborative, constructive, and mutually respectful. It’s entirely possible. But it requires both parties to be invested in making the experience work.

Here are some suggestions for how to create a constructive feedback relationship:

Tips for receiving writing feedback

Be specific about what you need. Even when you’re working with a professional editor, it’s helpful to let the other person know what questions you have about your piece and what areas you’re struggling with. It’s also a good idea to give them a sense of your vision for the project so they can align their feedback to support that vision.

Ditch the ego. I’ve heard Lin Manuel Miranda’s directing style described as “creating an egoless room,” and I’ve been in love with that concept ever since. As much as possible, let go of wanting or needing to be right. Remain open to the possibility that the other person may have an idea that’s better than yours. It’s not about being right; it’s about making the work the best it can be.

Be mindful of your filters. “Filters” are experiences, biases, memories, and values that shape how we see and interpret the world. These filters influence how we understand and contextualize the things other people say and do. Take stock of your own filters so you can recognize when they may be skewing your perception of the feedback you receive.

Ask clarifying questions. If you’re unsure about a piece of feedback, ask for more information. This is especially important if you disagree with that feedback or if it brings up strong feelings for you. Take time to get yourself calm, and then politely ask the person giving you feedback for further explanation. You may still disagree with their point, but hopefully you will at least understand where they’re coming from.

Check your defensiveness. It’s natural to want to defend our artistic vision. But if we let go of our egos, and if everyone involved in the process is working toward a mutual goal of making the writing the best it can be, we can see there’s nothing to defend against. Believe me, I know this is easier said than done—defensiveness is my personal fatal flaw. But if you’re like me and know this is your default stance, your job is to work extra hard against that instinct when receiving feedback.

Budget time to sit with the feedback. When setting your writing deadlines, add in a minimum of a few days (ideally a week or two) between getting feedback on a piece and starting your rewrites. This breathing room allows you the space to properly digest the feedback and integrate it into your vision for the work.

Tips for giving writing feedback

Start with positives. Opening your feedback with what you liked about the piece helps set a supportive tone. It reduces the chances the writer will immediately put their guard up and go into a defensive mode and increases the chances they will remain open to your feedback.

Consider what will be most constructive for the receiver. Is this an early draft and the writer wants to know if the structure and plot are working? It’s usually more productive at this stage to focus on the bigger picture rather than getting bogged down in the minutiae of every sentence. Did your critique partner come to you with three very specific questions and ask you to focus only on those for the time being? Do your best to stick to that. If you have feedback beyond what they asked for, you can always check in with them to see if they would like it now or later.  

Ask questions. Before giving feedback, ask the writer what they hope to get out of the interaction, what they’re struggling with, and what questions they have about the piece. It can also be useful to find out about their prior experiences receiving feedback—what’s worked and what hasn’t—so you can tailor your approach to match their style.

Remember that it’s not your story. Give feedback that supports the writer’s vision. If your critique partner is writing a cozy mystery but you think a high-stakes shootout would really spice up the plot, well . . . perhaps you need to write your own action story instead.

Allow for follow-up questions. Misunderstandings happen and we’re not always as clear as we think we are. Make yourself available for follow-up questions so the writer can get the most out of your feedback.

Understand that if big feelings do arise, it’s (probably) not personal. If a writer gets defensive or angry or hurt after you give them feedback, remember that receiving feedback is scary for many people. It’s worth examining if there was anything in your delivery that could be improved upon, but it may have more to do with their filters than anything else.

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Image ID: Andrea, a white woman with brown, curly hair, stands in front of a tree. She wears a blue dress and is smiling at the camera.

Andrea Karin Nelson is the Founder & Executive Editor at Allegory Editing. In addition to her developmental editing work with published novelists, playwrights, and essayists, Andrea brings a unique set of experiences and skills to her editing craft. Twenty years as a writer and theater maker has developed her keen sense of story structure, plot and character development. Her plays have been commissioned and produced across the United States and performed in both English and American Sign Language. Fifteen years as a Master-Level, Certified Sign Language Interpreter has finely tuned her ear to the subtleties of language and the nuances of human interactions. And with over two decades as an educator, her teacher's heart allows Andrea to personally tailor her work with each writer. Click here to read an interview about Andrea’s journey founding Allegory. You can contact her at andrea@allegoryediting.com.