Let me take you on a journey into the mind of a writer.
Let me tell you some secrets, share some truths. Some will be shocking, others resonant.
I will warn you, nothing here is easy or easily won, but then nothing worth having ever was, was it?
Foreshadowing is a literary device that hints at future plot developments
Foreshadowing—the art of setting up a future event and teasing the reader with it—is one of the greatest skills a writer can hone.
It creates an immediate feeling of being in the hands of a master storyteller. An author who knows this setting and their characters intimately and is going to share them with you in an accomplished, entertaining and satisfying way.
So how do we best employ foreshadowing in our writing, and when can it be used to greatest effect?
Foreshadowing is not a spoiler, but rather a subtle hint
Like most devices in a writer’s toolkit, foreshadowing must be respected and not overused to optimize the impact. Clumsy signposting will detract rather than enhance from reveals and fail to engage the reader’s attention.
Indeed, the reader may feel they know too much, so what is the point of reading on? (Like the movie trailer that leaves you with the feeling you’ve watched the whole thing and heard every good joke and plot spoiler!)
Our job as storytellers is to entice but never confuse or annoy. Direct foreshadowing, when used correctly, provides explicit hints about future events without giving away too much, maintaining a balance that keeps readers intrigued.
Why writers should use foreshadowing to build suspense
It’s a delicate tightrope act, so let me and my fellow author coaches give you some pointers—and before we do, I should also ‘foreshadow’ that this is a skill that transcends genre.
It is not only the province of crime writers, although its roots are clear to see in classic thrillers, but firstly, what do we mean by foreshadowing?
Examples of foreshadowing
The example often used to define foreshadowing is known as ‘Chekhov’s gun.’
This well-known piece of wisdom was recorded in several letters penned by the playwright Anton Chekhov and broadly states that one must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn’t going to go off.
It’s a promise to the reader that any hints, however subtle, will later become important. Placed there with purpose by the writer. A memorable ‘clue’ that we ask our readers to observe, note, and then move along from... For now.
Readers will rightly feel they are clever for noticing these partially hidden or vaguely referenced visual or spoken clues, and will remain alert to their recurrence and therefore be keen to read on to find out if their ‘Spidey sense’ is right.
As a published author I’ve learned that a reader’s interpretation can often be somewhat different from my author’s intent, but that is as it should be. Clever foreshadowing should respect and embrace that. If the clues are spotted, great. If they guess ahead, also great.
The key is not to give everything away.
How to use foreshadowing
As with most things in writing, a great watchword to bear in mind is purpose.
If we introduce a significant ‘clue,’ then it should earn its place, or else why bother?
The glance between two characters in a love story that signifies a later tryst. A sealed letter, opened early on but the contents as yet to be revealed, that will of course contain a great secret. A seemingly small moment that will turn out to be pivotal to the whole plot, and of course, anything but a coincidence. (They happen all the time in life but we rarely get away with them in fiction.)
If a reader gets to the end of a book and these foreshadowed moments are not revisited, then they might fairly ask why they were mentioned at all. What was the purpose?
But clumsy payoffs will disappoint our sophisticated readers who have likely moved beyond the Bond-esque parade of gadgets and gizmos and are acutely aware of the game we play in dropping those artful hints.
The art is to foreshadow with a lightness of touch, enough but not too much, to give those subtle but memorable insinuations along the way with real purpose and meaning coming later in the story.
Foreshadowing in different fiction genres
Foreshadowing in crime and suspense
In crime and suspense, foreshadowing sets up two important elements of the genre: the inciting incident and the breadcrumb trail of clues. The inciting incident is the premise on which the story hangs, and that moment of change should come right at the start.
If we look at classic crime fiction, such as Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, the foreshadowing of a murder is right there in the title. Couldn’t get any earlier than that. This entices us to read on, to know WHO is killed, and then by whom and WHY and HOW.
Foreshadowing is as much about what we give away as what we keep back. That generosity of the author allows the reader in and keeps them involved as they turn detective, picking up the clues with their fictitious companions. That’s the breadcrumb trail. Each crumb a foreshadow of the dénouement. Each shadow of the truth a glimpse into the future.
But foreshadowing can do so much more than dropping clues. In its most subtle form it is a thing of beauty.
Foreshadowing in children’s fiction
David Solomons, one of our children’s and YA author coaches, says:
Foreshadowing can also be about setting the mood or echoing deeper themes. Recurring images or motifs like decayed buildings or withered plants can foreshadow themes of decline or deterioration, setting the tone without directly pointing to specific plot points.
I’m thinking of something like The Secret Garden, where the motif of the locked, overgrown garden is used to symbolize neglect and isolation but also the potential for rejuvenation. As the garden transforms from a neglected wasteland to a blossoming haven, it mirrors the characters’ emotional growth and healing, particularly that of Mary and Colin, foreshadowing their transformation alongside the revival of the garden itself.
—David Solomons
And Melanie Conklin, another of our children’s and YA coaches, says:
‘I am a huge fan of subtle foreshadowing, when one small detail dropped early on comes back to play a key part in the plot. I try to do this with physical objects but also with key thoughts, emotions, and connections that give the reader an A-ha! moment when they see the payoff. That’s my favorite kind of foreshadowing, that’s very subtle and innocuous on its face but turns out to be momentous later on. In When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead, a Newbery Medal winner and my favorite middle-grade title, she several times mentions a naked man running on the streets of NYC, which the eleven-year-old main character writes off as a typical NYC experience. It turns out to mean something incredibly significant later, and changes the reader’s entire perception of the story. It’s so brilliantly done.’
So foreshadowing can do more for us than drop clues in a neat breadcrumb trail—it can create a mood, a moment, a subtle reminder, a tone that is part of the whole experience of the book.
Foreshadowing can transport us into another world, a fictional one, with a tingle down the spine of anticipation of what is yet to come, and what we fear, or hope for.
By leaning into genre expectations and using those notes of setting, motif or character traits, we can evoke a foreboding, or hope, or maybe both.
Foreshadowing in Young Adult fiction
Alice Kuipers, a memoir and YA coach here at The Novelry, cites that moment in The Hunger Games which sets the tone for an epic quest.
When Katniss steps forward to save her sister at The Reaping, we see a glimpse of how much she will have to sacrifice for her whole District and then for everyone in Panem. I think it’s a terrific foreshadowing of what she’s willing to do at her own expense for others.
—Alice Kuipers
Foreshadowing in historical fiction
Kate Riordan, one of the author coaches at The Novelry who writes both historical fiction and suspense, cites the mistress of classic suspense, Daphne du Maurier, whose early use of foreshadowing in many ways paved the way for all psychological thriller writers to come. Her works often begin with early portents of death and destruction, which pull the reader in fast, only to fling us back to the origin story as we play catch-up. Kate says:
In Rebecca, the dream of Manderley is great for foreshadowing the mood of the book, and similarly the opening line of My Cousin Rachel—‘They used to hang men at Four Turnings in the old days’—foreshadows the death of ‘men.’
—Kate Riordan
These are subtle, tonal hints but they also imply future events, albeit obliquely in their opening lines, which are so important.
Foreshadowing in literary fiction
Tara Conklin, who writes and coaches literary and contemporary fiction, says:
I think more in terms of strengthening theme or a central idea within the book with foreshadow. And it only happens in later drafts—like inserting lines of dialogue or language early in the novel that take on greater resonance later, but not in a plot way, more idea-wise. In Less (by Andrew Sean Greer), you’re unsure of the narrator’s identity but as the book goes on, you get clues that the narrator is an actual person. ‘The narrator must be trusted to report that Arthur Less is—technically—not a skilled lover.’
—Tara Conklin
Foreshadowing in romance and Up Lit
Libby Page, who coaches Up Lit and romance, says that in her writing, foreshadowing helps her establish intrigue as well as her characters.
In The Vintage Shop I start the book with a scene showing two women opening a shop together but keep the details intentionally vague. It foreshadows a scene that comes right at the end of the book and is intended to spark the reader’s interest, keeping them turning the pages to work out the significance of that scene. The emotion in that scene hints at emotion that will come later in the book.
—Libby Page
Foreshadowing examples: Gone Girl
And of course, foreshadowing can plant the seeds for a massive twist! A great example of this is provided by L.R. Lam, one of our science fiction and fantasy coaches, who explains: ‘I know it’s often cited, but Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn really is a masterclass at foreshadowing with Amy’s diary entries.’
These confessional first-person diary entries are esoteric in that we cannot know the Amy of Now, only the Amy in the diary, and yet we find ourselves raking her words for meaning, for thoughts and indicators to the mystery of her being our Gone Girl.
This kind of foreshadowed and ultimately shocking rug-pull only works if the reader is given a shot at guessing. The holy grail is to foreshadow enough that the truth becomes inevitable and authentic, but only clear at the point it is shared with the reader. Thus creating a feeling of ‘I should have guessed, but I didn’t!’ That is the aim. A shadow play that darts the truth in front of the reader then snatches it back. An authenticity to it created by the peeks behind the curtain, fleeting then gone, which make perfect sense in the context of the reveal itself.
I love a foreshadow that feels like it must have cheated me, but when I go back I see that it spoke only the truth, hidden in plain sight.
When to use foreshadowing hints
So, how much should you reveal?
I think a good way to look at it is in terms of non-fiction. What is it about a story in the news, or a true crime documentary, or a memoir, that makes us curious, even when we already know much of what happened in this well-documented life or event? What is it in the story that’s yet to be shared?
What whets your appetite to know more detail, more depth? We read historical fiction where we know the events and the endings—think of the endless fascination with the Titanic—so what do we read on to find out? Maybe the spaces in between, where the foreshadowing is supplied by not only the author, but also the reader’s imagination. Those details that give context, emotional resonance, understanding—empathy, even.
Much of our online news consumption is now led by the clickbait of a headline, a hook pulling us in. All these hooks are doing is foreshadowing. ‘Want to know more? Then read on!’ If curiosity killed the cat, it certainly didn’t kill our interest!
We read on to find out more about the people, the circumstance, to learn the backstory in more depth and, of course, any mysteries left unsolved.
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This is much more about the WHY—which also applies to true crime dramas, where we are getting under the skin of stories we know the bones of to try to make sense of the extraordinary actions of the protagonists and antagonists.
Emotional connection is just as important here, and foreshadowing of a character’s motivations is critical in drawing in a reader and keeping them curious about why they behave in the appalling way they do. Was it something in their past? Why do they react atypically? Where do they derive their purpose? What will they do next? Are they evil?
In my latest thriller, Her Husband’s Lie, I set out the situation and the problem right from the opening line, without specifying exactly what it is.
There comes a point in every relationship when one partner calls upon the other to make a sacrifice so profound, and so unreasonable, it will test the fabric of their love.
—Amanda Reynolds, Her Husband’s Lie
We know from this opener that something bad will happen, but not all the specifics. Not yet.
Foreshadowing is not a flash-forward, but rather a suggestion of what’s to come
Can a full-on, word-for-word, repeated-later-on prologue count as a foreshadow?
A literal flash-forward is perhaps less of a foreshadow as it will come to pass exactly as written, or close to, no hint or echo, but it does tease what’s to come, often in a less than full or specific way.
I’m personally a big fan of a well-placed prologue, something which often features in my writing genre of psychological thrillers, but I would add one caveat, or maybe two.
There must be a point we get to later in the story that returns to that prologue, and it must be significant to the story and there must still be more to come after that.
Even darker places to go. A crafted prologue, short and snappy and meaningful, does a lot of heavy lifting in terms of setting the tone and that creeping sense of dread—but it’s not a shortcut. We still have to imbue every page that follows with continued threat.
Every scene, every action and reaction, must count. Each one must build on the next until that callback to the prologue comes when we have almost forgotten that is where we began. Otherwise, why not just cut to the chase and save the reader 300 pages? We certainly don’t want our readers to feel that way.
We have to earn their time with a journey that is worth the trouble, as rewarding or hopefully even more so than the promise of that prologue.
For me, enticing openings are great fun to write but crafting them well is often a second or third draft job. It’s impossible to know, when beginning to write, exactly how it will all unfold, however much we plot and plan. And neither should we know everything; that’s part of the joy of writing.
A plan is flexible, malleable to our needs and the opportunities that arise as we write, so the start of a book is often the most challenging and changeable part.
I find that writing a foreshadowed start, knowing it will change a lot, is a great way to get into the mood of a story and find out more about my narrator and their world. It’s part of tricking myself as the author into making the place I am creating feel real, skin-slipping into character and edging into the voice, even hearing it.
Knowing that something bad will happen and teasing that, even if I don’t know the detail of that event quite yet, is scary but rewarding. If nothing else, I need to write on to find out myself!
In my fifth book, The Assistant, I began a diary strand not entirely sure of its function or the voice, I just knew that person would reveal themselves to me and the reader in a surprising way, probably as a midpoint twist.
The foreshadowing of who that diary keeper might be was then reverse-engineered into the next draft, so when the author was unmasked, it made sense. It takes a certain leap of faith, or maybe foolhardiness, to go in with such blind faith that it will work somehow, but it always seems to pay off, however much I doubt the process along the way! Writing is often about that kind of faith, and trusting in the process.
Whatever devices you deploy for your foreshadowing—a prologue, a startling first line, repeated motifs and echoes to invoke tone, emotion, connections, or reveals seeded as breadcrumb trails—make sure they are inclusive for your readers, left with generosity of spirit without giving everything away. We have made a promise to our readers to deliver on those hints, to make every connection count.
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