autumnsweepingwillow

[autumnsweepingwillow]

Get these ai writing assistants out of my face!!!! I don't care if my writing is bad at least it is mine!!!!

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if it's good enough for you, then it deserves to be made. don't let anyone else decide if your story is worth it or not.

[autumnsweepingwillow]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[autumnsweepingwillow]

How to Make Your Characters Almost Cry

Tears are powerful, but do you know what's more impactful? The struggle to hold them back. This post is for all your hard-hearted stoic characters who'd never shed a tear before another, and aims to help you make them breakdown realistically.

The Physical Signs of Holding Back Tears

Heavy Eyelids, Heavy Heart Your character's eyelids feel weighted, as if the tears themselves are dragging them down. Their vision blurs—not quite enough to spill over, but enough to remind them of the dam threatening to break.

The Involuntary Sniffle They sniffle, not because their nose is running, but because their body is desperately trying to regulate itself, to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to take over.

Burning Eyes Their eyes sting from the effort of restraint, from the battle between pride and vulnerability. If they try too hard to hold back, the whites of their eyes start turning red, a telltale sign of the tears they've refused to let go.

The Trembling Lips Like a child struggling not to cry, their lips quiver. The shame of it fuels their determination to stay composed, leading them to clench their fists, grip their sleeves, or dig their nails into the nearest surface—anything to regain control.

The Fear of Blinking Closing their eyes means surrender. The second their lashes meet, the memories, the pain, the heartbreak will surge forward, and the tears will follow. So they force themselves to keep staring—at the floor, at a blank wall, at anything that won’t remind them of why they’re breaking.

The Coping Mechanisms: Pretending It’s Fine

A Steady Gaze & A Deep Breath To mask the turmoil, they focus on a neutral object, inhale slowly, and steel themselves. If they can get through this one breath, they can get through the next.

Turning Away to Swipe at Their Eyes When they do need to wipe their eyes, they do it quickly, casually, as if brushing off a speck of dust rather than wiping away the proof of their emotions.

Masking the Pain with a Different Emotion Anger, sarcasm, even laughter—any strong emotion can serve as a shield. A snappy response, a bitter chuckle, a sharp inhale—each is a carefully chosen defence against vulnerability.

Why This Matters

Letting your character fight their tears instead of immediately breaking down makes the scene hit harder. It shows their internal struggle, their resistance, and their need to stay composed even when they’re crumbling.

This is written based off of personal experience as someone who goes through this cycle a lot (emotional vulnerability who?) and some inspo from other books/articles

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Tips from a Beta Reading Writer

This one's for the scenes with multiple characters, and you're not sure how to keep everyone involved.

Writing group scenes is chaos. Someone’s talking, someone’s interrupting, someone’s zoning out thinking about breadsticks. And if you’re not careful, half your cast fades into the background like NPCs in a video game. I used to struggle with this so much—my characters would just exist in the scene without actually affecting it. But here’s what I've learned and have started implementing:

✨ Give everyone a job in the scene ✨

Not their literal job—like, not everyone needs to be solving a crime or casting spells. I mean: Why are they in this moment? What’s their role in the conversation?

My favourite examples are:

The Driver: Moves the convo forward. They have an agenda, they’re pushing the action.

The Instigator: Pokes the bear. Asks the messy questions. Stirring the pot like a chef on a mission.

The Voice of Reason: "Guys, maybe we don’t commit arson today?"

The Distracted One: Completely in their own world. Tuning out, doodling on a napkin, thinking about their ex.

The Observer: Not saying much, but noticing everything. (Quiet characters still have presence!)

The Wild Card: Who knows what they’ll do? Certainly not them. Probably about to make things worse.

If a character has no function, they’ll disappear. Give them something—even if it’s just a side comment, a reaction, or stealing fries off someone’s plate. Keep them interesting, and your readers will stay interested too.

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[autumnsweepingwillow]

Perhaps it’s unhealthy, the way I’d wait for you like a dog.

But I can’t stop when your laugh feels like the first day of sunshine on my skin after winter.

When your wit runs circles around mine and you make me laugh so often.

When the sincerity in your tone sends shivers down my spine.

How could I ever be a strong-willed man? When all it takes to bring me to my knees is your voice.

I’d follow you to my demise if you had the heart to do so.

My world shifted and you became the star I revolve around.

Northern lights I’d dreamed my entire life to see seem dim in comparison to you my love.

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Your vision gets blurry in between tears you can’t stop.

Your skin feels fuzzy and the world around you feels out of focus.

There’s a ringing in your ear, as hostile voices scream out through your head.

You don’t belong here, and this world isn’t for you. Every measure of trying just alienates you further.

Maybe there’s really nothing for you here. It can’t be that anyone would actually care for your absence; if they were to notice.

It’s hard not to feel like a fool and a plaything isn’t it?

When you’re told such sweet promises, just to be lied to without mercy.

When they tell you they love you, and then take it back. Either with their words or actions,

They take your fragile heart and soul, cradle it in their hands and whisper soft love and affection.

Just to crush it.

How many times is that your fate?

To be lied to over and over again.

To not be considered, when you consider so much.

To not be given the grace you so freely give out.

To be punished for your faith in the authenticity of others.

Your mistake is being too trusting. Will you ever learn?

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It starts slowly.

That’s what’s insidious about it. There’s no time to catch what you’ve lost.

There’s no concrete moment where you realize. Until it’s too late.

Until you cry out for help and it hits you; no one’s coming. No one even heard you.

There’s no one here. No one you can call.

But…Maybe..that’s a good thing, you think.

You don’t want to be bothered, on second thought, it’s not really that bad. It’s not worth bothering others over anyways.

If…you knew others. You used to know people…right? You had to.

But..where were they?

You shake your head.

It doesn’t matter really. If you had people to care about they’d be around. You take in the quiet, it’s soft and heavy.

You almost lose yourself in it.

You could, no one’s here to stop you.

Yeah, sounds nice.

It’s been a rough day, and maybe just maybe, if you allow yourself this, the tons of weight on your chest could subside.

You don’t have to bother anyone anymore. And no one will ever bother you again.

You don’t know how but you know it to be true. You let out a small sigh at the thought.

No longer a burden. Where the anxiety of interaction doesn’t exist, and your mistakes can no longer be made.

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The memories have faded, And his words enter my focus less now.

I can see the name of the show about 10 times before I start crying.

I can scroll past the emojis with only the whisper of his voice behind it.

But it adds up. as it always does, and suddenly I’m drowning in it.

His voice, the show, the pleading.

His or mine? I’m not sure.

But I’m 15 again, and so so scared.

I want to say no for the 10th time but I don’t think he’ll care, he’ll just keep asking.

And asking, and asking Until I break.

Until he has full reign and I feel like I can’t ask for it to stop.

But..I’m not 15 anymore, and he’s not in my life.

And the show isn’t playing in the back. And he’s not asking over and over again until I break.

I’m 22.

I’m 22 and at home and I’m safe.

I’m 22 and hopefully he’s dead.

[autumnsweepingwillow]

It’s the feeling of needing to rip every inch of skin off of yourself, to shed this disgusting suit.

It can also be the ache of utter despair, A yearning so deep, to not even try and achieve it would drown you.

Or it’s the crushing weight of hopes and dreams as you compare yourself to every man walking by as the jealousy that fills you feels like a hot iron in your chest.

It’s all consuming. Every step is riddled with corrections of your behavior and fear that you’re doing it wrong, that you aren’t being believable.

Your born reality remains your nightmare.

Terrifying and incomprehensible.

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Rose colored glasses and butterflies fluttering can only get me so far, until inevitably the glasses crack and the butterflies get far too tired.

It’s not something you did that broke the glasses, and you definitely aren’t at fault for the butterflies lack of stamina.

“No it wasn’t you, it was me.”

God what an awful line to use.

But it still holds true every single time I have to use it.

It’s not you. It’s never you or someone. Or them. It’s always been me.

Maybe the butterflies have some sort of asthma, or genetic issue.

And I keep replacing the glasses so maybe it’s the manufacturer, but I can’t seem to find another.

And every time I open up, the butterflies swarm out of my chest and the glasses glow a hot pink.

And then the gorgeous insects are gone, and my glasses couldn’t withstand the pressure.

Every confession lays right where I put it.

Every word was meant so passionately and yet today I can’t say I feel the same.

[autumnsweepingwillow]

The issue is, I will love you delicately. I can. But I can also love you harshly. Corruptingly. I’ll peel the skin off your bones and wear it over mine just so I can be reminded of the warmth once carried in your fingertips. I’ll drink the spite off your lips to taste the words in your mouth. I’ll cut out your gums and string your teeth and hang em around my neck so your pretty smile won’t fade away. I’ll peel back your heart like an orange, your blood staining my nails like a hot July afternoon. I’ll tell you every rotten thing I’ve done, watch it fester in your brain, in hopes you’ll love me any way.

- I’m a mess of good intentions whose

touch turns even the brightest stars to

ruin. I’m sorry a rotten thing like me fell

so hard for someone as soft as you. I

promise I’d love you if I could.

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I can almost perfectly see a life with you.

I can see hard days just as well as the easy.

I can see myself finding more and more reasons to fall in love with you.

I can feel your sincerity in the promises you make.

But I can’t find you next to me.

Every time I try and picture our life together, I can see everything but you right there with me.

Promise me that won’t be forever.

Swear one day soon I’ll see you next to me in these promises as easily as I can feel your soul in them?

Promise one day soon I’ll be able to picture you next to me and in my bed?

Just like you’ve promised you’ll be next to me so soon.

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If I throw myself into you without hesitation like I want to,

Promise you won’t break me?

Promise you’ll be gentle with me?

I’m frail and easy to scare and hurt.

You have called me your deer for a reason I fear.

But please understand, I’m trusting you already so much more than I think you realize.

My fear and anxiety come from needing you more than I need air.

Every move and thought is centered around what it would feel like to lose you.

And sometimes it consumes me, a loss that hasn’t happened yet sinks its way into my soul, and I feel like the air is being taken from my lungs.

Please be gentle, please be honest, please be kind, please be mine.

I’ve told you before that I couldn’t recover from Us.

I don’t think I could.

I’d look at someone new and think of you.

My world has shifted and every first and last thought is you.

Your laugh, your voice, your hands, the things you love. The man that you are. The man that you see me as.

I’m forever yours, undoubtedly devoted to you. All I ask is that you give me your honesty.

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You hear it right?

The soft laughter that mocks me consistently.

Or maybe you hear sharp jabs of the past that worm their way into what we have.

Can I be honest? I know you can’t hear them.

But imagine you do, and that at every “I love you” they snarl and laugh at me.

They can’t believe it, they think it’s a joke.

How could anyone really love me like you say?

When has anyone ever done that.

With every promise you make they scoff at me.

“Who’d actually want to see you? Who’d actually want to spend their energy on You?”

it makes me incapable of trusting you until proven otherwise, I don’t mean to project or call you a liar.

But that’s exactly what I’m doing isn't it? I'm sorry.

I can't get my hopes up when I know if I did; I'd crash and burn if I'm proven right.

I can’t do that.

I can’t do it again. I can’t hope and crave and want so badly just to be mercilessly ripped apart.

[autumnsweepingwillow]

Soft Whispers of love I’ve craved since I was little poke through when I’m with you.

One that feels all consuming and terrifying but electrifying all the same.

Where I feel insane and incapable of living a life without you.

Do you feel it too?

Every time I say ‘I love you’ does it warm your soul?

Does my presence feel like a home you’ve been missing since forever?

Does your heart ache when we’ve spent too long apart?

Does my laugh make you feel alive like yours does for me?

Is it easy to sit in silence and appreciate the space we’ve made for each other?