draftinglettersss

[draftinglettersss]

so soft it hurts

[draftinglettersss]

masterlist

snippets

the scene after ~ bitter revenge

[draftinglettersss]

ultimate character development template

basics

name: meaning of name: nicknames/titles: age: gender: location: birthday: strengths + example where it's shown: weaknesses + example where it's shown: how it affects others:

emotional depth

attachment style + how it manifests in the story: physical fear: emotional/abstract fear: happy memory: sad memory: object of significance: philosophical outlook/belief: what characters are ignorant about themselves: how confident are they: goal: long-term dreams: what they're embarrassed/ashamed to tell others about: regrets: source of pride: source of misery: what they admire above all else: do they believe in fate:

personality

mbti: enneagram: big five: character archetype: star sign: who they pretend to be on the outside: who they actually are/how they feel towards the mask: mental health conditions: how it manifests for them: iq: eq: humour: reputation:

habits

bad habits: mannerisms when stressed: mannerisms when content: mannerisms when scared: mannerisms normally: verbal mannerisms/distinctive speaking style: how do they move across a room: what do they say and what remains unsaid: how they express love: hobbies:

appearance

defining features: eye shape + colour: hair texture + colour: skin texture + tone: vibe: height: build: clothing: any bodily disfigurement (scars, etc.): overall attractiveness: their opinion on their appearance: appeals to:

relationships

who they trust most: what they wish they could do for them: what's holding them back: who they hate most: what they wish they could do to them: what's holding them back: relationship with the protagonist: relationship with the antagonist: siblings: relationship with them: parents/step-parents: relationship with them: previous broken relationships: why did it break: what others expect of them: who believes in them: their mentor character/who they look up to: political/religious/other affiliations: what makes them different from every other character: non-human relationships + why: romantic "type" + why: relationship dynamics:

backstory/background

primary emotion towards their past: primary feelings while in their past: where did they grow up: defining incidents: earliest childhood memory: saddest memory: happiest memory: major accomplishments: their opinion on it: notable people in their backstory: effect on them today: trauma: what have they already lost: financial circumstance:

progression

why are they important (eg. why're they the only one able to do something?): what do they learn about themselves throughout the story: what do they learn about the world: how do they feel towards their newfound knowledge: character arc (positive, negative, neutral): how relationships change because of their actions: what mistakes do they make: what scene is their character highlighted: do they get what they want: why or why not: what happens to them after the story ends:

[draftinglettersss]

Weirdly Healing Things to Do When You’re Feeling Creatively Burned Out...

Write a fake 5-star Goodreads review of your WIP—as if you didn’t write it. Go ahead. Pretend you're a giddy reader who just discovered this masterpiece. Bonus: add emojis, chaotic metaphors, and all-caps screaming. It’s self-indulgent. It’s delusional. It’s delicious.

Give your main character a Pinterest board titled “Mentally Unstable but Aesthetic.” Include outfits, quotes, memes, cursed objects, and that one painting that haunts their dreams. This is not about logic. This is about ✨vibes.✨

Make a “deleted scenes” folder and write something that would never make it into the book. A crackfic. A “what if they were roommates” AU. The group chat from hell. This is your WIP’s blooper reel. Let it be silly, chaotic, or wildly off-brand.

Interview your villain like you’re Oprah. Ask the hard-hitting questions. “When did you know you were the drama?” “Do you regret the murder, or just the way you did it?” Bonus points if they lie to your face.

Host a fake awards show for your characters. Categories like “Most Likely to Die for Vibes,” “Worst Emotional Regulation,” “Himbo Energy Supreme,” or “Best Use of a Dramatic Exit.” Write their acceptance speeches. Yes, this counts as writing.

Write a breakup letter… to your inner critic. Be petty. Be dramatic. “Dear Self-Doubt, this isn’t working for me anymore. You bring nothing to the table but anxiety and bad vibes.” Rip it up. Burn it. Tape it to your mirror. Your call.

Create a “writing comfort kit” like you’re a cozy witch. A candle that smells like your WIP. A tea that your characters would drink. A playlist labeled “for writing when I’m one rejection email away from giving up.” This is a ritual now.

Design a fake movie poster or book cover like your story is already famous. Add star ratings, critic quotes, and some pretentious tagline like “One soul. One destiny. No chill.”

Write a scene you’re not ready to write—but just a rough, messy outline version. Not the polished thing. Just the raw emotion. The shape of it. Like sketching the bones of a future punch to the gut. You don’t have to make it perfect. Just open the door.

Let your story be bad on purpose for a day. Like, aggressively bad. Give everyone ridiculous names. Add an evil talking cat. Write a fight scene with laser swords and emotional damage. Just remind yourself that stories are meant to be played with, not feared.

[draftinglettersss]

You don't actually write creative enough

Read your work again. You see: does, goes, places, etc. Red, blue, ugly, smelly. Authors often take shortcuts when writing and while it gets the job done, it doesn't give the power that it should. Sometimes, the word count is sacrificed for the greater good.

He ran to get her He lunged to steal her, or He charged to catch her

Once you have that, maybe you're still not writing creative. You can use synonyms, it's the easiest path to do. Yet, you can rephrase for a more unique sentence. Walk =/ strut. Do =/ act.

It smelled of decaying bodies Your smell soured of death's traces, or The air soured of death's traces

Describing things doesn't need to be flat either. It's a struggle to describe certain things—hair, eyes, height, posture, rooms, walls, etc.

The room was extremely red The room drowns her with fever-inducing red, or Every surface imaginable bleeds my eyes with red

This can easily become an overbearing way to attempt to reach the word count. However, it does help in situations where the writing has been too flat for too long and the narrator needs to show that this thing holds significance.

[draftinglettersss]

the scene after ~ bitter revenge

a scene about rage, guilt, grief, and the one person who stays

a lil background:

the fmc—avina—is a troubled, orphaned teen bent on avenging for her parents. when she seemingly finds the one responsible, she takes action.

the mmc—nathaniel—is not-so-secretly in love with her. he wants to show her it’s okay to be vulnerable and be the one beside her when the world comes crashing down.

word count: 1.3k

TW: violence, blood, trauma, implied murder, emotional breakdown, cursing, knife, threats (I hope there’s not more😭)

I stumble back. Bright red blood pours out in pulses from his neck. His shirt and blazer soak it up like a sponge. It spreads fast. Too fast.

He makes a sound and my breathing stops. I feel my insides tighten and I suddenly feel sick.

I—I—

I can't look at him.

I somehow find my way out of the horror room. I don't think about professor Vassilis still standing there. Not about the dagger I'm still clutching, soaked in blood. Only about the blood and the air that can't get to my lungs.

I stumble and raise a steadying hand to the wall. My legs shake. They'll give out any moment.

But I can't breathe.

I have to get out of here.

So I force my legs to move. My heavy steps echo in the empty dark halls. The corridor seems longer and tighter than before. I try not to sway but I'm getting dizzy with sickness.

I pass the rest of the team but I don't care—not even when they enter the hallway, confused. As long as I walk fast enough they might not see what I've done.

I see the exit. I need to—

Footsteps. Firm clink of boots.

“Avina.” Nathaniel’s soft voice calls.

Why? Why is he here? He can't see this. I don't want him to. He shouldn’t.

Not him. Not now. Not this.

“Go away.” My voice sounds distant. It cuts like steel through the cool air. I force my legs to move faster.

I push open the door and don't turn to look back. Instead I walk. I don't want to acknowledge what happened. I don't want to go back there. I can’t go back. I—

The door shuts with a careful thud. I turn around and clearly make out his silhouette even in the moonlight.

“Go back.” I shout and point to the warehouse. My hand shakes but my voice doesn’t. I turn around so I don't have to look at him. Cross my arms, as if that’d protect me from falling apart in front of him. My fingers somehow still hold the murder tool.

I don't want him to see me like this.

“Go!” The two syllables rumble out of me like a roar. My tone is sharp, cutting, final.

And yet.

Nothing.

I hear nothing.

No retreating steps. No defeated sigh. No nothing.

“For God’s sake, Nathaniel, LEAVE!” The scream ripped out of me with force enough to leave me shaking. I bellowed, turning to shove the words at him. My shoulders were stiff with tension. Nails digging and leaving halfmoons on my plams. Hair, whipping the air with my sudden movement.

“No.” Just that. Quiet, firm and impossibly irritating.

He’s so stubborn. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. I settle for the first option and huff a bitter chuckle, taking a few steps towards him.

I’m inches away from him. My head tilts back slightly to look up at his face. Him and his stupid height. I look at him with what I want to be hatred. With what I know would scare someone off.

I raise the dagger. My eyes don’t move from his. His don’t even flinch.

“Do you see this?” I speak low. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the weapon. My teeth grind together so hard it ached. I make a small move, closer to his face. “Do you know what this is?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. He is holding back. But I don't want him to hold back. I want him to turn around and realise, once and for all, that I'm not worth it.

I throw the dagger straight to the ground but I don't care anymore. Irritation simmers under my skin like a pressure cooker on the verge of bursting. I am shaking with it.

I look at him like I want to hurt him when I know I don’t. I’m trembling with the urge to push him away, to make him forget. But he just has to be so Goddamn stubborn.

His eyes sharpen. Good.

“It’s blood.” I spat, closely observing his reaction. So close that we were breathing the same air. “Real—still warm—human blood.”

I watch him. But he makes no reaction. Again.

I take a step back. “Is this what you want next to you?” My arms spread and I actually laugh. “Is this what you imagined?” Two feet distance sat between us like a threat, a line I dared him to cross. “A mess. A disgrace. A murderer…bloodthirsty for revenge.” I pause to watch him. Then slowly move to close the distance again. “A sad, bitter girl ready for anything in the name of her parents.”

I'm so close that he has to look down to meet my gaze. So close that I can feel the warmth radiating off him. So close that I have this fleeting treacherous urge to lean in.

“Is this what you want?” I ask softly, almost nicely.

His eyes are warm. He looks at me like he sees the good parts of me that he believes are there. But that makes me even more irritated. Because that girl is gone. Non-existent. Dead.

I push him. “Answer me!” My shout pierces through the dead of night and echoes off the sky. He stumbles back but quickly regains his balance. His eyes find me again almost just as fast.

And now my breathing is heavy again. The furious tremble has returned to my limbs. My eyes are wild and my hair is probably a mess. But I don't care. I corner him.

“I just sliced a man’s fucking throat, Nathaniel. I watched him bleed out in the rhythm of a heartbeat, staining his suit in dark bright red. And I enjoyed it.” I watched him like I believed it. “Because it was coming for him. Long. Time. Overdue.” I glare at him, hating the still look in his eyes and that damn softness there that hasn’t faltered when I have to force myself to stay upright because I can feel my knees wanting to give in to gravity.

Yet, I step even closer.

Because I want to be dangerous and I want him to see that I am. My voice lowers. “Do you think I can’t do that the same to you? Do you believe I’ll be merciful?” I say, “Do you even realise what exactly I’m capable of?” I stare straight into the depths of his unflinching gaze, daring him to oppose me, begging for him to leave.

“You once said my eyes were haunting blue.” He rasps and my shield shatters. “If you want them to haunt you—go ahead.” His calm broke me.

Stop.

Stop. I said to the tremble in my limbs.

Don't be weak. Don't be weak. Don’t—

But I can't look at him anymore.

My face turns ugly now that I'm not facing him. Lower lip trembling, teeth sinking in to make it stop. Eyes burning and lids falling to block the tears from spilling. But I can’t make it stop.

Blood.

So much blood.

My knees can't stand the weight of it and I fall to the ground. An ugly sob breaks away from me and I want to dissappear from the face of the Earth. I want the ground to swallow me up. I want it to end—this grief, this pain, this guilt—

A hand shyly touches my back. He is right next to me. His arm slowly, hesitantly snakes around my shoulders. And it's probably because of the blur of the tears or the piece of me that broke but I bury myself in his chest holding onto the cotton of his shirt like a lifeline. Clutching onto the only piece of safety I’ve known.

His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer to him and I break even more. I'm a mess of sobs and tears and I loathe it. Because if he pulled away I wouldn't survive it.

likes, comments or reposts would be greatly appreciated. I’d love to know what you guys think!

I am aware it might need work. just don’t be too harsh when giving feedback. please 🤍

[draftinglettersss]

introduction

hi, this is maria (or mia, ari, mars, mims, etc. take your pick).

i’m 19 (born in ’06) and an “aspiring writer” (quotes included for safety).

this blog is where i’ll share pieces of my writing and get inspiration from others.

i might not post often, but writing has become a quiet passion—not something i can just swallow like a pill and move on from.

english isn’t my first language, but it’s the one i feel most at home writing in.

so… yeah. hi.

m.list