Literary Devices: The Fancy Little Tricks That Make Writing Less Boring (And More Addictive)

By Paige Sutton February 24, 2025

Here’s the thing about writing: it’s a con, a sleight-of-hand trick where you use words to make people feel things they otherwise wouldn’t. You take 26 letters, rearrange them in a way that looks natural, and suddenly—bam—someone is sobbing over a character who doesn’t exist, or gripping a book at 2 a.m. because they need to know what happens next.

But how does that work? How do some sentences hit like a gut punch while others feel like wet cardboard?

Literary devices.

They’re the magic spells of storytelling, the little tricks that turn words into emotions, sentences into sensations, and plots into something that actually sticks. And once you recognize them, you’ll never be able to unsee them. Every novel, every poem, every pretentious think piece—suddenly, you’ll know exactly what they’re doing. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll start using them yourself.

1. Alliteration: The Sound of Satisfaction

Alliteration is when you stack similar sounds at the start of consecutive words. It’s fun, it’s catchy, and it makes lines feel good rolling off the tongue. It’s why tongue twisters exist and why brand names like Coca-Cola, Dunkin’ Donuts, and Best Buy just sound better than their non-alliterative alternatives.

Example:

“The wind whispered wicked warnings.”
“Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” (Which—let’s be real—nobody actually says, but we all know it.)
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” (Thanks, Dickens, for proving that alliteration works even in existential despair.)

Why It Works:
It’s musical. It grabs attention. It adds rhythm and flow to a sentence. And, let’s be honest, sometimes alliteration just sounds cool.

2. Onomatopoeia: Words That Slap (Or Bang, or Boom, or Crash)

Onomatopoeia is when a word sounds like what it means. It’s language trying its best to be sensory, to make you hear something through mere text.

Example:

A snake doesn’t just move—it hisses.
A car doesn’t just drive—it vrooms.
Batman doesn’t just punch—his fist whams into the villain’s face.

Why It Works:
Because words should be felt. When a character thuds to the ground instead of just falling, or when a door creaks open instead of just moving, it adds texture to the scene. Suddenly, it’s not just words—it’s sound, sensation, presence.

(Also, if you ever need to write a fight scene? Use every onomatopoeic word you can think of. It makes everything 1000% more satisfying.)

3. Foreshadowing: When Writers Become Fortune Tellers

Foreshadowing is the subtle little breadcrumb trail authors leave behind—hints that something big is coming. If you’ve ever read a book where a character casually mentions their dream of moving to the countryside, only to be brutally murdered in Chapter 10, congrats, you’ve been foreshadowed.

Example:
In Of Mice and Men, Steinbeck has Lennie constantly talk about how soft things calm him down. Then he accidentally kills a puppy. Then, oops, he kills Curley’s wife. By the time George puts Lennie down (sob), you realize it was inevitable. Steinbeck told you it was coming—he just let you sit there, blissfully unaware, until it was too late.

Why It Works:
Because humans love patterns. Our brains need to make connections. Good foreshadowing makes the reader feel like they knew something was coming, even if they didn’t consciously notice the clues. Bad foreshadowing? That’s when a character gets hit by a bus out of nowhere and you’re left thinking, uh…okay, I guess?

4. Dramatic Irony: When The Audience Knows More Than The Characters

Dramatic irony is pure, sadistic joy. It’s when the reader knows something the characters don’t, and you get to sit there screaming at the page, watching them make terrible decisions.

Example:
Every Shakespeare play. Ever.

In Romeo and Juliet, we know Juliet isn’t actually dead, but Romeo doesn’t.
In Othello, we know Iago is manipulating everyone, but Othello is walking straight into disaster.
In Macbeth, we know trusting witches is a terrible idea, but Macbeth’s out here committing regicide like it’s a casual weekend hobby.

Why It Works:
It builds tension. The moment you realize you have information that the characters don’t, your emotional investment spikes. You’re gripping the book, willing them to realize their mistake before it’s too late. It’s cruel. It’s beautiful. It’s why Greek tragedies and soap operas are basically the same thing.

5. Metaphor & Simile: The OG “Show, Don’t Tell”

Metaphors and similes are how we take boring descriptions and make them art.

Metaphor: “Her heart was a battlefield.” (ouch)
Simile: “Her heart was like a battlefield.” (same idea, just with a comparison word)

Example:

“Hope is the thing with feathers.” (Emily Dickinson) → A metaphor because hope doesn’t literally have feathers, but now you’re picturing something fragile, fluttering, alive.
“Life is like a box of chocolates.” (Forrest Gump) → A simile, but also an excuse for Tom Hanks to do that accent.

Why It Works:
Because our brains think in images. You could say “he was angry,” but that’s flat. Instead, you say, “He was a storm brewing, all rolling thunder and suppressed lightning.” Suddenly, we’re in it. We’re feeling it.

Final Thoughts: Why Literary Devices Matter

Here’s the thing—you already use literary devices. Everyone does. Even if you’ve never studied them, they’re embedded in language, in the way we tell stories, in the way we shape meaning. The best writers don’t just use them accidentally, though. They wield them like weapons.

Think of literary devices like seasoning. Too little, and your writing is bland. Too much, and it’s overwhelming (looking at you, overly flowery metaphors). But just the right amount? That’s where the magic happens. That’s where words stop being just words and start hitting you in the gut.

So next time you’re reading—or writing—pay attention to the tricks being played. Notice the foreshadowing. Feel the weight of repetition. Spot the allusions. And remember: writing isn’t just about what you say, it’s about how you say it.

And if all else fails, just throw in a dramatic irony moment and make your reader suffer. Works every time.