Harriet Tyce: One Last Throw

Have you ever felt tempted to throw in the towel when it comes to your writing? If so, you’re not alone. This is a pretty universal stage in the writing process, often shaped by moments of self-doubt where your confidence starts to crumble, and you almost begin to turn traitor on your own ambition to be an author.

If anyone can speak to the importance of powering through and staying faithful to the writing dream, it’s Sunday Times bestselling author Harriet Tyce. After graduating from Oxford University and spending nearly ten years as a criminal barrister, Harriet turned to crime fiction and the study of creative writing. She has now published four highly acclaimed novels—Blood Orange, The Lies You Told, It Ends at Midnight, and A Lesson in Cruelty—and her latest novel, Witch Trial, will be published in February 2026 in the U.K.

In this blog post, Harriet tells us how close she came to giving up on her writing career, and how glad she is that she didn’t. If your motivation is waning, this one’s for you.

I wrote for years before becoming a published crime writer

Blood Orange was my first published novel. It was not, however, my first completed manuscript.

I started writing back in 2009, beginning with a short story about a man who deliberately killed the tree that he and his wife had planted in memory of their dead son. Its hold on her was too great, so he gouged at its roots and poured in salt.

Thinking about it now, it wasn’t a bad story, although I had no idea how to present it on the page. Despite years of reading and a degree in English Literature from Oxford University, I couldn’t work out how to present the dialogue. And at barely 2,000 words, it gave me no confidence that I could complete a longer narrative.

Blood Orange was my first published novel. It was not, however, my first completed manuscript.
—Harriet Tyce

My next (and last) short story gave me a little more encouragement. I was very proud of the first line:

It was the twelfth of August, and the grouse were preparing to die.

Sadly, no one else appreciated that genius, nor did the rest of the story live up to it in any way. But at 5,000 words, this piece of work showed I could go on for longer (even if the story didn’t warrant it).

You can develop resilience in the face of rejection

By this stage I had applied for a well-known writing course and had been rejected. It was my first taste of rejection, and I didn’t like it. That was game over, as far as I was concerned.

Until I spoke to a friend who made the observation that other creative writing courses were also available. It might sound like obvious advice, but at the time it struck me as an epiphany. I’d been very blinkered in my thinking, convinced that there was only one route for me, for which the way was now barred. So, I did some more research and applied to an evening course at City University.

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This course was well taught. We learned about the mechanics of how to present the text, about characterization, about story arc, about how to outline an idea from the start.

At the end of the course, we had a showcase, which gave us the opportunity to read a short extract of our work to an audience which included some literary agents.

The manuscript on which I embarked was called Motherland (yes, I got there first). It was a feminist dystopia that looked at ways of controlling pregnancy and it involved an incestuous relationship (very tastefully done). It wasn’t very good. Not in its entirety. But the beginning was strong, and some agents were briefly interested.

This was my first taste of the dopamine hit that comes from receiving positive feedback from an agent.

It was also my first taste of waiting for replies: the first few weeks so fraught with promise, when nothing is yet impossible, and the veering from fraught optimism to abject despair as I refreshed my inbox over and over again. Finally, by the end of that summer, it was my first proper experience of sustained agent rejection. “Loved the premise, but not for me” was a common refrain.

The potential possibilities kept me going

I had the hunger now, though. A bit like gambling. That beautiful moment when you throw the dice, when you buy the lottery ticket and hope for the prize money.

But instead of planning my fantasy home and the purchase of my own private jet, I wanted to hit send on a submission and dream about what my life might be like as a writer represented by a literary agent. That wasn’t going to happen via Motherland, though. So I rolled up my sleeves and started again.

The next manuscript I wrote was called Three for a Girl. The title bore no relation to the text, but as this was now 2013, titular “Girls” were beginning to make their presence felt, and I didn’t want my psychological thriller to fall at this first hurdle.

I worked on this novel with a mentor, producing some 10,000 words a month until it was complete—or as complete as I could make it. It had two timelines, a then and a now, and I merrily juxtaposed them at will, making full use of the functions provided by the writing program Scrivener to move blocks of text around with gay abandon. I thought this approach would add tension and suspense. Sadly, agents didn’t agree.

But I got my dopamine hits again. I got the anticipatory buzz from sending the manuscript out, dreaming of my future as a writer with an agent, and the thrill of refreshing my inbox, each click on Get New Mail redolent with future promise.

Sure, there were downs—rejections first numbered in the tens, then the twenties, the thirties—but there were also flashes of joy which made the process worthwhile, with requests for the full manuscript arriving at unexpected moments.

And sure, in the end, these requests all ended up as rejections. But the rejections were getting better every time. They were not just standard responses, but personalized, complimentary. Helpful, too, with feedback on which I could act.

I got the anticipatory buzz from sending the manuscript out, dreaming of my future as a writer with an agent, and the thrill of refreshing my inbox, each click on Get New Mail redolent with future promise.
—Harriet Tyce

There was no getting around it, though. Three for a Girl was a busted flush, as unwanted as Motherland. I needed to start again. So I signed up for another course.

Surround yourself with the right people

It was 2014. We went around the room saying our ideas for our novels.

I said that I had an idea about a psychological thriller involving a barrister whose life was very complicated. The teacher looked unimpressed, as did the rest of the room. I parked the idea there and then, instead starting a manuscript about climate change and cannibalism. Literary in conceit, it was as depressing as it sounds, though it did touch on some of my perennial themes of motherhood and coercive relationships.

The teacher didn’t like me or my work, and the whole process was very depressing. Here, there were no dopamine hits at all... (I am glad to hear The Novelry is averse to peer-based review of work at first draft.)

It felt like it was over.

I hated what I was writing, and the course had descended into the type of chaos that can only come from other people’s behaviour: some students were on the cusp of revolt against the course provider, while others were fixated on the psychodrama that was playing out as one student dumped their spouse unceremoniously, pledging undying love for another student in our cohort who was somewhat nonplussed by the whole thing.

There was a lot of rage and angst, not all of it mine, and I think it will make a fine novel one day. But at the time, it felt like I’d come to the end of my ambitions.

There is a method of story structure outlined in a screenwriting book called Save the Cat! (an approach included in these recommendations from writing coach Emylia Hall). Very near the end of a movie, there should be two scenes—the first is All Is Lost, and the second is The Long Dark Night of the Soul.

I lay awake one night until dawn. This was meant to be my last chance to get an agent, but my final throw of the dice had failed. This latest course I had taken was a shambles, and I wanted nothing to do with what I was writing. Should I just give up?

But the draw was too great. I’d come too far. Shouldn’t I give it one more go?

I found a better environment for my writing

I looked at the website for the University of East Anglia. They had a new MA in Creative Writing on offer, one specializing in crime fiction. I put my application in there and then, dropping out of the other disastrous course with a huge sense of relief.

I started the MA at East Anglia in the autumn of 2015. My idea about a barrister who was a hot mess was met with approbation. The teachers liked my work, smiled at me, and gave me encouragement. My confidence returned as the words built up in the manuscript.

I put aside thoughts of all the words I’d written before that had led to nothing—it was all practice, none of it wasted, even if it hadn’t led to publication. I wasn’t going to be put off.

“What’s the book about?” a friend asked. I told him.

“What’s it called?” Long Shadows, I said. The way the past casts a pall over the future.

He looked at me blankly. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Blood Orange.” 

I put aside thoughts of all the words I’d written before that had led to nothing—it was all practice, none of it wasted, even if it hadn’t led to publication. I wasn’t going to be put off.
—Harriet Tyce

Writers sometimes need to think like gamblers

It was the mentality of a gambler that drove me on. The lure of the dopamine hit from receiving positive feedback for a piece of work, a request from an agent for a full manuscript.

After each rejection, I’d swear off writing, say I wouldn’t bother anymore. But every time, I’d get back to it the next day, nursing the hangover that inevitably accompanied the disappointment. But where it would be wiser to walk away from the roulette wheel, suspecting that one last throw would be a one-way route to ruin, in this enterprise, there is no last chance.

It was the mentality of a gambler that drove me on. The lure of the dopamine hit from receiving positive feedback for a piece of work, a request from an agent for a full manuscript.
—Harriet Tyce

Halfway through the MA, I received the final agent rejection. But there was an opportunity for a scholarship—anyone on the course who was unrepresented could submit the first 10,000 words of their work-in-progress to the agency David Higham Associates. And I thought I might win. For weeks after submitting my application, it was Schrödinger’s Scholarship; mine and not mine.

As the day of the announcement approached, tensions grew, the whole cohort more and more fevered in their anticipation. By now I’d spent the scholarship money mentally a thousand times over, and perfected my acceptance speech.

Hubris is a dangerous thing. I did not win the scholarship. I downed a bottle of wine and kicked several trees, swearing that I wouldn’t write again, that it was all over. Even when I got back to it, deciding to change everything I’d written so far from third person into first, my heart wasn’t in it. I’d been so sure, but it was another failure. Perhaps I really should give up.

But over time, I started to feel better. I reminded myself there would be other chances, different agencies. I just had to finish the damn book.

I just had to finish the damn book.
—Harriet Tyce

Success can come when you don’t expect it

Three weeks later, I received an email from an agent at DHA—Veronique Baxter. She’d read what I’d sent and loved it. Would I like to meet? I was pretty much straight out of the bath and over to the offices within seconds of reading it. But I restrained myself. “That would be great,” I replied.

By this stage, I had been trying to get an agent for about seven years. The week before I met her dragged for what felt like as long, but finally, we did meet. And within two hours, I had an agent.

I had spent so long focused on getting representation that I hadn’t thought at all about what would happen next. Being able to say I had the agent, that my writing had a level of validation—that had been the sole end.

So it came as rather a shock when Veronique said that the manuscript was ready to be sent out to publishers. It had taken me nearly seven years to get representation, and it took a further seven months to finish the final draft of Blood Orange. It took ten days for Wildfire, an imprint at Headline, to make a pre-emptive offer.

It didn’t take long at all for me to say yes.

Within two years, Blood Orange was published, in February 2019. It’s done a lot better than I ever hoped it might. My second novel, The Lies You Told, was published the following year. I still can’t believe it’s all happened (and nearly didn’t, but The Difficult Second Novel is a blog post all of its own).

The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that each new manuscript is a speculative punt, rich with possibility. It’s only over if you stop writing.

I’m glad I didn’t. It’s always worth staying faithful to your dreams and having another go.

Witch Trial by Harriet Tyce

When 18-year-old Christian Shaw is found dead in an Edinburgh park, the city reels—and the shock only deepens when police charge her best friends, Eliza Lawson and Isobel Smyth, with her murder. As social media explodes and headlines scream for justice, rumors of bullying spiral into something darker: whispers of rituals, obsession, and a teenage pact gone wrong.

Matthew Phillips, a respected heart surgeon, is reluctantly called for jury duty on the case. But as the trial unfolds—and the girls reveal a chilling defence no one saw coming—he begins to question everything: the motives, the evidence, and even his own judgment.

Who’s telling the truth? Who can be trusted? And what really happened to Christian Shaw?

You can preorder Witch Trial now in the U.S. and in the U.K.! And if you’re a member of The Novelry, you can enjoy a recorded live workshop with advice from Harriet in your Catch Up TV library now.

Wherever you are on your journey as a writer, our novel writing program offers the complete pathway from the idea to “The End.” With personal coaching, live classes, community support, and step-by-step lessons to fit your schedule and inspire you daily, we’ll help you complete your book using our unique one-hour-a-day method. For mentorship from published authors and publishing editors to live—and love—the writer’s life, sign up and start today. The Novelry is the famous fiction writing school that is open to all!