I always start with the quiet pulse of the moment, letting the first line breathe, then I lean into the pause before the next beat. I’ll linger on a detail long enough that the reader can taste it, and then let it unravel just as the tension begins to knot. It’s like planting a seed, watching it sprout, and timing the harvest—if the story blooms too early it feels rushed, too late it feels cold. I map the highs and lows, but I keep the map loose, so the readers can trace their own way through the narrative. That’s how the framing pulls them in and the timing keeps them glued.