THE STORY ISN'T FINISHED UNTIL YOU READ IT
Do you read the acknowledgments at the end of novels? I always do—sometimes before anything else. They’re like the literary equivalent of eavesdropping on a conversation you were almost invited to. Sometimes they’re a roll call of agents, editors, and long-suffering spouses. Other times, they read like an author’s diary entry, full of heartfelt gratitude and inside jokes that make you wonder what exactly did happen at that writer’s retreat . . .
I recently finished Promise Me Sunshine by Cara Bastone—my first book by her (more on the book in the Reading News section below)—and a few sentences in the acknowledgments really stuck with me:
That made me pause. Because she’s right. Reading is a deeply personal act, and it’s also a creative one.
Authors provide the blueprint—the words, the plot, the carefully crafted metaphors we hope land the way we intended—but the reader brings the story to life. We might tell you that a character’s eyes are brown and her hair nearly reaches her waist, but you decide if she looks more like your childhood best friend or that actress from the Netflix show you just binged.
And it’s not just about what we picture—it’s who we become while we’re reading.
As I’ve said many times, fiction isn’t just entertainment. It’s a test drive for emotions, relationships, and possibilities we might never experience in real life—or that we hope to experience one day. When we slip into a character’s shoes, we’re not just watching a story unfold; we’re feeling it, living it, absorbing bits and pieces of their journey into our own understanding of the world.
Cognitive scientists, psychologists, and neuroscientists have written extensively on how reading fiction is an act of simulation—our brains don’t just passively absorb stories, they experience them. When we read, our neural pathways light up in the same way they would if we were actually living the events on the page. That’s why you physically tense up when the protagonist is running from danger, why your heart flutters during a slow-burn romance, and why you might shed a tear in a coffee shop over fictional characters who aren’t technically real—but feel like they are.
Want to explore bravery? Read about a character who takes a risk you’ve always been afraid of. Curious about reinvention? Step into the mind of someone rebuilding their life from scratch. Wondering what it would be like to travel solo, move to a new city, or fall in love with your best friend? Fiction lets you try on those experiences in a safe, low-stakes way.
And what this means is that every reader gets a slightly different version of the same book. If I tell you a scene takes place in a cozy bookshop, you’ll conjure up your own version—maybe it smells like vanilla candles, or maybe it has a cranky cat glaring at customers. If I describe an old Victorian house, you might imagine creaky wooden floors, while someone else pictures peeling wallpaper and ghostly whispers. But beyond what we see, we also bring who we are to the book—our hopes, our fears, our lived experiences.
And that’s the magic of storytelling.
Writers start stories. Readers finish them, filling in the gaps with their own emotions, lessons, and longings. It’s a collaboration, even if we never meet.
So, the next time you lose yourself in a book, remember: you’re not just consuming a story—you’re also actively creating it. And maybe, just maybe, that story is shaping you right back.
Who knew two sentences in the acknowledgments could send me down this rabbit hole? You’re welcome. 😉
If you love happy endings and feel-good fiction and haven't yet read the complete Storyhill series, I invite you to do so! Check out the series HERE.