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if the vibes are off, close your document. stare at the wall. think about your protagonist’s childhood trauma. return stronger.

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Solarpunk, realism, dystopia: a rant

Hopefully this is helpful to someone out there 🌸

You can find the Prompts podcast here, I drew some of the covers :D Also check out this digital library full of Creative Commons Solarpunk art (neither of these are sponsored).

🦗Somewhat shameful plug🦗

I would highly appreciate if you threw me a couple bucks on Buy Me a Coffee or bought a commission, my money number is only getting smaller these days 😔🤙

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The fact that I’m in the historic preservation field and still everyone I know is celebrating the Nottoway plantation burning down because we have standards

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When a Character is Falling in Love but Doesn’t Trust It

Love is terrifying. Especially for characters who’ve been hurt, shut down, or raised to believe vulnerability is weakness. So when they start falling? It doesn’t look like a Disney montage. It looks like panic in slow motion.

✧ They start noticing everything and it unsettles them. The way their voice cracks when they laugh. The way their fingers tap when they’re thinking. These little details burrow in and refuse to leave. And that awareness makes the character feel exposed.

✧ They become hyperaware of their own body. Where their hands are. How close they’re standing. If they’re blushing. It’s like being inside a body that’s betraying them constantly.

✧ They act a little mean. Not because they are mean. But because being cold is safer than being real. Sarcasm, distance, teasing, they use it like armor.

✧ They hate how much they want to share things. They’ll see a funny meme and instinctively want to send it. Then stop. No. Don’t get attached. They want to tell them about a childhood memory, then bite it back. Too personal.

✧ They become inconsistent. Warm one moment, distant the next. Showing up, then pulling away. They’re testing how much of themselves they can reveal before it feels like too much.

✧ They assume the worst. They know it won’t last. That this person will leave. That they’re misreading everything. Love doesn’t feel safe, it feels like a countdown to pain.

✧ They self-sabotage. Pick fights. Flake on plans. Pull away emotionally just to “protect themselves” before it goes wrong. It’s tragic and messy and real.

✧ They notice silence more. What wasn’t said. A delayed reply. A joke that didn’t land. Everything becomes a sign that maybe this love thing was a mistake.

✧ They want to run, but never do. The desire to bolt is constant. But they don’t. Because something about this person is pulling them back, despite every warning bell going off in their head.

✧ They don’t trust the feeling, but they keep falling anyway. And that’s what makes it beautiful. And heartbreaking. Because they don’t want to fall. But they do. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the bravest thing they’ve ever done.

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Something I'm fond of saying is "The villain drives the plot but the hero sets the tone." Something that's very important about this is that the resolution to the conflicts presented need to match the hero's tone. If your story doesn't believe problems can be solved the way the hero wants to solve them... why is this the hero?

If you want your problems to be solved with brutal catharsis, then your hero should be someone who believes in brutal catharsis.

If you want your problems to be solved with forgiveness and reconciliation, then your hero should be someone who believes in forgiveness and reconciliation.

They don't have to begin there. This can be something they come around to over the course of the story, as they grow and change per their character arc. But by the time of their ultimate encounter with the villain, their values should be the values that drive the story forward.

There's this thing in D&D that some DMs do. Where, when you roll enough damage to deplete the monster's hit points, they'll turn to you and say, "That's a kill. Describe for the group how you take the monster down." And you're allowed to come up with some cool maneuver or something that your character did in order to deliver the finishing blow.

The hero's ultimate triumph over the villain is a lot like this. More than any other part of the story, this moment is their apotheosis. It should be a celebration of everything they are and everything they stand for.

You have defeated the villain; Now describe for the group what form that victory takes.

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Writing Worksheets & Templates

will update this every few weeks/months. alternatively, here are all my tagged Writing Worksheets & Templates

Chapter Outline ⚜ Character- or Plot-Driven Story

Death & Sacrifice ⚜ Magic & Rituals ⚜ Plot-Planning

Editing: Sentence Check ⚜ Writing Your Novel: 20 Questions

Tension ⚜ Thought Distortions ⚜ What's at Stake

Character Development

50 Questions ⚜ Backstory ⚜ Character Creation

Antagonist; Villain; Fighting ⚜ Protagonist & Antagonist

Character: Change; Adding Action; Conflict

Character: Creator; Name; Quirks; Flaws; Motivation

Character Profile (by Rick Riordan) ⚜ Character Sheet Template

Character Sketch & Bible ⚜ Interview your Character

Story-Worthy Hero ⚜ "Well-Rounded" Character Worksheet

Worldbuilding

20 Questions ⚜ Decisions & Categories ⚜ Worksheet

Setting ⚜ Dystopian World ⚜ Magic System (AALC Method)

Templates: Geography; World History; City; Fictional Plant

Writing References: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character

all posts are queued. send questions/requests here.

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When someone walks in while I'm writing THAT scene:

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It's been ages, but there's finally a new hamster in that dusty ol wheel in my head. So here is a gratuitous moodboard for the still unnamed WIP currently dragging me around and keeping me up too late:

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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.

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i feel so completely directionless

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do you ever think about dead versions of yourself that are fossilized in someone else's mind

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writers be like; anyone gonna write this story? and then not wait for an answer. and then not write it either

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not sure when or why but a couple years ago I developed the habit of writing the last chapter/epilogue first after finishing the outline. this has actually proven to be a surprisingly efficient and helpful strategy for me. having a fully fleshed out conclusion to work towards just makes getting there easier.

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What Writing Taught Me About Dealing With Grief

Grief isn’t poetic. It doesn’t arrive in neat metaphors or with a sorrowful violin humming in the background. It crashes in like an avalanche, sudden and all-consuming, stripping everything bare, leaving behind a silence so loud it drowns out the rest of the world.

For a long time, I avoided confronting my grief. I buried it beneath distractions, hoping that by creating a distance between myself and the weight of my emotions, I could suffocate it beneath the noise. However, grief doesn’t remain buried; it waits, lingering in the pause between breaths and the hollow feeling of a familiar place missing a familiar presence. It transforms absence into something alive, something with teeth. Writing didn’t exactly "rescue me;" it didn't dissolve that ache or provide closure in some revelatory conclusion...

It simply offered me a means to confront my grief on my own terms, allowing me to express all the words I had suppressed and lay them out openly. Writing enabled me to say, “Not today,” and on some days, that was enough.

Grief Demands to Be Heard

Now if you don't know, grief isn’t a patient process. It doesn’t fade away like some old wound; it shatters your world, breaks you down, and intrudes abruptly into the midst of our 'carefully constructed' lives. It never cares about the timing or whether you have things to attend, responsibilities to fulfill, or if you believe you’ve already found peace with it.

I spent years trying to drown out the pain by filling my days with the usual suspects; trying to numb the edges with distractions, hoping that if I kept moving fast enough, it wouldn’t catch up. However, writing forced me to come to a halt. People often talk about “processing” grief as if it’s a tidy, linear process, like filing paperwork in a system designed to manage emotions effectively. But writing grief is not like that. It’s not some elegant unraveling of pain that leads to understanding. Instead, it’s more like sitting across from it at a table, staring into something vast and untamed, and asking, “What do you want from me?”

Writing doesn’t diminish grief or soften its sharpness. However, it provides it with a tangible form—something I can grasp, scrutinize, and illuminate. And occasionally, making it visible becomes sufficient to prevent it from consuming me entirely.

You Can’t Control Grief—Or the Words

Grief is a spectrum of unpredictable, unstructured emotions that forgo common simplifications. This isn't about refining chaos; it’s about giving it a space to exist beyond your own mind. If you don’t allow it to do so, it will continue to grow and consume you. And the worst part? Grief does these things in a way that mirror your own; it's when I put those words on the page, I regain some of my power. I can see grief for what it really is—distorted reflections of my pain, not my reality.

Which is why through my characters, I hope to challenge this idea. I wanna write individuals who have been shattered yet rise above their struggles. I want to portray people who grieve, rage, and fall apart, yet they endure and don’t succumb to the overwhelming weight of their sorrow. By writing about their survival, I hope to find solace in remembering my own resilience.

Writing about your grief is an act of defiance. It's standing in the aftermath of something intended to shatter you and asserting, “I am still here.” Serving as a testament that grief does not have the final say in the narrative’s conclusion.

Grief lies, but writing tells my truth.

There’s No Moving On—Only Moving Forward

No one ever tells you that closure is a myth. It’s a comforting notion people utter to make grief appear manageable, a concept with a clear beginning and end. However, grief doesn’t simply fade away. It doesn’t transform into a faint echo in the distance. Instead, it undergoes transformations, adopting new forms, yet it never truly vanishes. This realization has taught me that the objective isn’t to “move on.” Instead, it’s to keep moving forward.

Grief isn’t a temporary phase; it’s a lasting chapter that shapes the rest of your life. You don’t simply leave it behind; you learn to carry it with you. And that’s not a sign of failure; it’s a testament to survival. Writing gives the weight of my grief a purpose. It transforms what would otherwise feel heavy, directionless, and overwhelming into something tangible. It doesn’t erase the loss, but it transforms it into something that doesn’t merely hold me back; it propels me forward.

A Letter to Grief

If you’ve never done it, try writing a letter to your grief. Not the polite kind, but the raw and unfiltered one. Express your anger, your exhaustion, and your sorrow. Even acknowledge the reluctant gratitude, even though you don’t want to. Because here’s the truth: grief doesn’t get to dictate the outcome. You do.

Writing Is Defiance

Grief is relentless. It seeps into the spaces left behind, into the places where something once was, and it dares you to believe there is nothing left worth salvaging. But every time you write, you push back. You reclaim a part of yourself from the silence. Writing about grief isn’t about solving it.

It’s about revealing what’s real—that grief will be quite unbearable, yet within that, it's still survivable. That it's something you carry, not something that defines you. Writing itself didn’t heal me, no, but it gave me clarity. It reminded me that even in thosr moments when your grief is the loudest thing in the room; there is impact amongst our encounters as human and we're left to express what our predecessors couldn't say.

So write your grief. Let it be raw, untamed, unfiltered. Spill it onto the page without worrying about making it neat. And when you’re done, step back and remember this: You are still here. You are still standing. Grief doesn’t get to take over you.