Everyone, they say, has a book in them. But where do you start? With the Melbourne Writers Festival about to open, we asked leading authors to give their tips on how to create a literary triumph.

Fiction: C.S. Pacat

Write the book that you want to read. This is a cliche, but few people actually do it. Imagine that you are walking into a bookshop or a library. There is a book you are looking for but never find. The reason you never find it is that this book doesn’t exist on the shelves. This book exists only within you.

This is the book you must write. You will know some things about it instinctively. Imagine yourself searching for it seriously. Close your eyes. You know what genre it is. You know how you want it to make you feel. Write those things down. Do you know anything more? The type of characters it might have? The setting? The type of journey it takes you on?

Write down any glimpses that you have of it. Once you have written those things down, you will have a blurry outline. It might be no more than a wisp. But it is your starting point. Now you must fill in the rest.

Here, it is easy to be seduced by what you think you should be writing. Ignore those temptations. Write what you love, and others will love it, too.

C.S. Pacat is the author of the New York Times and USA Today bestseller Dark Rise; the Captive Prince trilogy; and the GLAAD-nominated graphic novel series, Fence.

Crime fiction: Dinuka McKenzie

What makes a great crime novel? For some, it’s the atmospheric setting: evocative, unsettling and often downright menacing, a character in itself. For others, it’s the insider’s view of the investigative process, the cliffhanger twists, or a glimpse into the darker side of humanity – the ability to experience danger and explore the bounds of human morality one step removed.

For me, good crime fiction is all of the above, but also very much about the characters. It’s the people – relatable, flawed, three-dimensional – that hold a narrative together, knitting every other element into a coherent and compelling whole. As a reader, no matter how blown away I am by a plot twist at the time, I know that 12 months down the line, I will have forgotten the specific plot machinations, and largely remember a book through the strength of its characters.

As a writer, that’s ultimately what I want to create: get-under-your-skin characters that readers feel compelled to read and can’t wait to get back to. When writing, I’m always asking myself – does this feel true to my characters, to their motivations, conflicts and internal voice? The best plot points in crime fiction are those that the reader never sees coming but also feel entirely in character and believable.

Dinuka McKenzie won the Banjo Prize for her first novel, The Torrent.

Romance: Sarah Ayoub

I think the key to a great romance is lots of tension. I don’t think there’s a thing as a flawless budding relationship and there’s a reason why the most enduring romances take place in situations that might be strained or complex or confusing for the characters at their centre.

The genre loves a trope, so whether they’re enemies to lovers, or in forced proximity to one another, or harbouring some secret (or whatever else), our characters need to be bound by very strong feelings and the stakes need to be high. That said, I also believe that characters are the heart of every story, and I encourage all aspiring writers to really attune themselves to people’s mannerisms and idiosyncrasies in order to create multi-dimensional characters who ring true to the world around us, but who also experience those high stakes in a way that makes for compelling reading.

I remember reading advice from Hemingway on watching the different way people get out of taxis – I thought that was an interesting lesson in paying attention to the breadth of human expression, both physical and emotional. It’s a reminder that you can develop skills like showing not telling, but that the foundation of a good story is an aptitude for characters that stir your reader.

In the end, the characters have to be their own distinct person – so real that running into them at a bus stop (or wherever relevant) seems a likelihood rather than a fiction.

Sarah Ayoub is a lecturer in journalism and creative writing and the author of The Cult of Romance.

Biography: Bernadette Brennan

For a biography to sing, it needs to be written with energy and passion. The biographer, driven by curiosity and the desire to understand what makes their subject tick, or in Helen Vendler’s words, “the inner dynamic of the life”, must be open to all sorts of discoveries and challenge.

My most recent subject, Gillian Mears, led an unconventional, risky, and increasingly difficult life. She loved recklessly, suffered cruelly, and died too young. She was also a brilliant writer. The building blocks of a great biography were all there. So, too, an extensive, intensely personal archive of diaries and correspondence.

After months of immersive solitary reading – mostly wonderful, sometimes overwhelming – I travelled to the often-unfamiliar places and spaces of Gillian’s life. One of the great privileges of writing a biography is meeting fascinating people one would otherwise never have known.

Having interviewed Gillian’s family, friends, past lovers and peers, I had to work out how to bring all the joy and pain of the research to the writing. A great biography must be a captivating story. I wrote Leaping into Waterfalls wanting to take readers into celebratory, discomforting, even harrowing territory in the hope they would find not only new and deeper ways of appreciating Gillian’s life and writing, but also the complexities and contradictions that, to varying degrees, are part of all our lives.

Bernadette Brennan is the author of Leaping into Waterfalls: the Enigmatic Gillian Mears and the award-winning A Writing Life: Helen Garner and Her Work.

Children’s: Andrew McDonald

The No.1 rule for writing children’s books is to always include a pigeon. This has worked well for me, at least, with the Real Pigeons series following a squad of funny, crime-fighting pigeons.

But the Real Pigeons books are also about traditionally overlooked individuals finding a way to be awesome, powerful and worthy of their own narrative. Kids can relate to that. They see themselves in the Real Pigeons. I suspect the bigger principle at play here is to reach for characters whom kids can empathise with, laugh with and barrack for.

I also use bucketloads of humour, to ensure we’re hooking kids – and keeping them engaged. Real Pigeons is full of jokes, wordplay and super coo puns, while Ben Wood’s dynamic illustrations deliver visual punchlines too.

And every children’s book must have a truth at its heart. Even if that truth isn’t overtly stated. Real Pigeons is about some birds who secretly protect a city from crime. But that’s just my way of saying: there’s more to the natural world than what meets the eye. Animals lead dynamic, emotional, three-dimensional lives, just like humans do. Kids get that. They know these truths are important. As Neil Gaiman says: “Fiction is the lie that tells the truth.” And that doesn’t change just because you’re writing for younger readers.

Andrew McDonald is the author of the Real Pigeons series.

Picture book: Randa Abdel-Fattah

While children’s books are a commercial genre, children aren’t a universal, one-size-fits-all audience. My own children taught me to respect children as unique and diverse readers – one will only read a book if it has farts, bums and baddies, while another wants fantastical world-building.

When you honour children as individuals, not a category, you’re more likely to create real characters, not hollow archetypes.

Be honest with yourself. Are you writing a children’s book for children, or writing it for the adult who may be reading it aloud for a child? Adult puns and jokes might work well in movies (Shrek, Despicable Me etc), but really don’t belong in children’s books. You either genuinely believe in the worth of a child’s perspective, or you don’t.

My eight-year-old son taught me that when I read one of my own stories to him, and he didn’t laugh at the parts I found funny. That’s when I realised I’d written those lines for me, not him. A brutal reminder that a children’s story does not need an adult chaperone.

Every children’s book is magical, even if there’s no wizard or spell in sight. It’s hard work, but if you’re not having fun and enchanted by the magic of childhood, consider adult fiction or biographies.

Randa Abdel-Fattah is author of 11 Words for Love.

Songwriting: Sally Seltmann

Before I start playing with melodies I like to know what I’m going to write about. This often means searching for some inspiration. For example, I wrote my song Real Born Tragic after reading about the birth of the Greek tragedy.

If I’m feeling inspired by a film or another song I try to analyse why I’m so captivated by that piece of work. Is it the secret being withheld? The way in which the confession is shared? The clever wordplay in the first verse? A complex character?

All this thinking brings many ideas, and it’s my job as the songwriter to curb this creative carnival, choose a theme and work out what I want to say. I recommend that every songwriter keeps a notebook in which they write down ideas for lyrics, or song titles, or conversations overheard in crowded cafes.

When I’m ready, I sit at the piano and work on the lyrics as I’m composing the melody.

I try to get into a state of flow, drawing very much from my subconscious self. I’m a songwriter who is guided by my emotions and moods and feelings, and that seems to work well for me.

My advice for other songwriters? Never judge yourself too harshly. A bad idea can lead you down a path where greatness lies. Just stay true to yourself.

Sally Seltmann is a singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist. Her latest album, Early Moon, is out now.

Investigative journalism: Louise Milligan

Great investigative journalism, just like great fiction, is all about the story. You can write like a dream, but if you don’t have the tools to forensically dig up the information, you don’t have the story. For me, the most important skill for an investigative journalist is making and maintaining human connections so sources, often taking risks, feel safe to trust you with a story that should, in the public interest, be exposed.

While the cliche of the investigative journalist is a hard-nosed and cynical character, we must also be empathetic and kind, particularly when our sources have endured great injustice or trauma.

When writing an investigative journalism non-fiction book, it helps to read good literary fiction to inspire a less formulaic style. Avoid writing in a way that is pretentious or inauthentic but, equally, with a book, you are asking so much more of your reader than in a news story.

The best advice I have ever been given is to keep it spare and concentrate on the verbs – they make prose sing. Write with heart, write with courage, but, crucially, check your facts. Cultivate trusted colleagues who ask tough questions. You can’t break a great yarn if you become unstuck on the facts.

Louise Milligan is an investigative journalist for ABC’s Four Corners and the author of two books, Witness and Cardinal.

Long-form journalism: Paddy Manning

Before you can even begin a good long-form piece on any subject, you have to do the work – hit up the extra source, read that report, get out of your office and into the field – so you can get to the bottom of your story and emerge with something balanced and nuanced and rich to write about.

I’ve been reading a lot of American journalism and came across a pithy quote on the importance of magazines that stuck with me, although it was hardly from someone I admired.* Back in the day, the writer said in the introduction to a collection of his old articles: “To produce a decent magazine piece, you had to go places, meet people, see unusual things. It was an adventure every time.” A fine sentiment – forcing the writer out of their comfort zone – which is an antidote to the ubiquitous churn-alism and hot takes.

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In my own area of specialisation, covering business and politics, the subject matter can be dry, and the individuals involved are powerful, media-trained and often litigious. That forces the journalist to do their research, but also be imaginative about ways to liven up the story. I have often found that bringing a story back to the ordinary people who are impacted by the subject in question – from the victims of financial scams to the victims of climate change – is the best way to bring colour and humanity to a piece of long-form journalism.

* To be revealed at MWF!

Paddy Manning is a contributing editor for The Monthly and is author of the forthcoming The Successor: the High-Stakes Life of Lachlan Murdoch.

The Melbourne Writers Festival opens on September 8. The Age is a festival partner and is pleased to offer a 20 per cent discount on tickets for Age subscribers.

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