#TumblrWritingCommunity

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

✏️ Writing Dialogue That Sounds Like Real People, Not Theater Kids on Red Bull

(a crash course in vibes, verbal economy, and making your characters shut up already)

Okay. We need to talk about dialogue. Specifically: why everyone in your draft sounds like they’re in a high school improv group doing a dramatic reading of Riverdale fanfiction.

Before you panic, this is normal. Early dialogue is almost always too much. Too polished. Too "scripted." So if yours feels off? You’re not failing. You’re just doing Draft Zero Dialogue, and it’s time to revise it like a boss.

Here’s how to fix it.

─────── ✦ ───────

🎭 STEP ONE: DETOX THEATER ENERGY I say this with love: your characters are not all quippy geniuses. They do not need to deliver emotional monologues at every plot beat. They can just say things. Weird, half-finished, awkward things.

Real people:

interrupt each other

trail off mid-thought

dodge questions

contradict themselves

repeat stuff

change the subject randomly

Let your characters sound messy. Not every line needs to sparkle. In fact, the more effort you put into making dialogue ✨perfect✨, the more fake it sounds. Cut 30% of your clever lines and see what happens.

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🎤 STEP TWO: GIVE EACH CHARACTER A VERBAL FINGERPRINT The fastest way to make dialogue feel alive? Make everyone speak differently. Think rhythm, grammar, vocabulary, tone.

Some dials you can twist:

Long-winded vs. clipped

Formal vs. casual

Emojis of speech: sarcasm, filler words, expletives, slang

Sentence structure: do they talk in fragments? Run-ons? Spirals?

Emotion control: are they blunt, diplomatic, avoidant, performative?

Here’s a shortcut: imagine what your character sounds like over text. Are they the “lol okay” type or the “okie dokie artichokie 🌈✨” one? Now translate that into speech.

─────── ✦ ───────

🧠 STEP THREE: FUNCTION > FILLER Every line of dialogue should do something. Reveal something. Move something. Change something.

Ask:

Does this line push the plot forward?

Does it show character motivation/conflict/dynamic?

Does it create tension, add context, or raise a question?

If it’s just noise? It’s dead air. Cut it. Replace it with a glance. A gesture. A silence that says more.

TIP: look at a dialogue scene and remove every third line. Does the scene still work? Probably better.

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💥 STEP FOUR: REACTIVITY IS THE GOLD STANDARD Characters don’t talk into a void. They respond. And how they respond = the real juice.

Don’t just write back-and-forth ping pong. Write conflict, dodge, misunderstanding. If one character says something vulnerable, the other might joke. Or ignore it. Or say something cruel. That’s tension.

Dialogue is not just information exchange. It’s emotional strategy.

Try this exercise: A says something revealing. B lies. A notices, but pretends they don’t. B changes the subject. Now you’ve got a real scene.

─────── ✦ ───────

🔍 STEP FIVE: PAY ATTENTION TO POWER Every convo has a power dynamic, even if it’s tiny. Who’s steering? Who’s withholding? Who’s deflecting, chasing, challenging?

Power can shift line to line. That shift = tension. And tension = narrative fuel.

Write conversations like chess matches, not ping pong.

─────── ✦ ───────

✂️ STEP SIX: SCISSORS ARE YOUR BEST FRIEND The best dialogue is often the second draft. Or third. Or fourth. First drafts are just you figuring out what everyone wants to say. Later drafts figure out what they actually would say.

Things to cut:

Greetings/closings ("Hi!" "Bye!"--skip it unless it serves tone)

Exposition disguised as chat

Obvious thoughts spoken aloud

Explaining jokes

Repeating what we already know

Readers are smart. Let them fill in blanks.

─────── ✦ ───────

🎧 STEP SEVEN: READ IT OUT LOUD (YES, REALLY) If you hate this step: too bad. It works. Read it. Mumbling is fine. Cringe is part of the ritual.

Ask yourself:

Would someone actually say this?

Does this sound like one person speaking, or a puppet show with one hand?

Where does the rhythm trip? Where’s the breath?

If you can’t say it out loud without wincing, the reader won’t make it either. Respect the vibe.

─────── ✦ ───────

🏁 TL;DR: If you want your dialogue to sound like real people, let your characters be real. Messy. Annoying. Human. Let them interrupt and lie and joke badly and say the wrong thing at the worst time.

Cut the improv class energy. Kill the urge to be ✨brilliant✨. And listen to how people talk when they’re scared, tired, pissed off, in love, or trying not to say what they mean.

That’s where the good stuff is.

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // official advocate of awkward silences and one-word replies

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[blog-de-nats]

Writetober Day 2: Retro

Palabras: 1247.

Formato: Short story.

Género: Sci-fi ligero, comedia.

Advertencias: ¿Caos adolescente y mucho sarcasmo se consideran advertencias?

-Llegas tarde, Andjela. 

La chica apareció al lado del hombre de traje en apenas un pestañeo, haciendo parecer que se teletransportaba de un lado a otro ante el ojo del ser humano. 

-No seas aguafiestas, jefe.- comentó, sacando el cassette de su lector y quitándose los cascos.- Esta vez no ha sido para tanto, ¿quince? ¿veinte minutos?

El adulto suspiró, cerrando los ojos durante un instante y contando hasta diez mentalmente. eso era cosa mala, Vasile sólo lo hacía cuando Andjela lo sacaba de quicio, que era todo el rato.

-Andjela, quedamos hace tres horas en el Congreso para que nos dieras las fotografías que habías conseguido. Hace justamente dos horas y treinta y siete minutos me llamaste desde una cabina en Nueva Jersey, que está a la distancia de un océano, para decirme que ibas a estar en la feria y me las darías allí. 

-Oh, claro. -La chica le cortó, rebuscando en los bolsillos de su chaqueta de cuero.- Y las he metido justo aquí... En alguna parte, estoy segura. 

-No las has perdido, ¿verdad? -Vasile entrecerró los ojos, mirando fijamente a la chica de esa forma que él sabía que la ponía de los nervios o, por lo menos, cargo de conciencia.- Llevas tres horas para entregármelas, Andjela. 

La chica pasó a rebuscar en su mochila de cuerdas y estampado de flores. Mientras tanto no se atrevió a mirar a la cara al adulto.

-Oh, ya sabes. -divagó, intentando entretenerle.- Tengo una vida muy ocupada y me pillabas entrenando, ¿sabes?

-¿Entrenando?- Vasile alzó una ceja. 

-Oh, sí. -terció la chica, pasando a buscar en los bolsillos de su pantalón- Ir a la velocidad de la luz no se aprende por gracia divina. Aunque todavía no he llegado a tales velocidades, la verdad. ¡Pero hace una semana descubrí que voy lo suficientemente rápido como para andar por encima del agua!

-¿Y es por eso que acabaste en Nueva Jersey?

-Exacto, así que aproveché a visitar un centro comercial que habían abierto hace poco y me fui a pintar las uñas. ¿Te gustan?

Andjela le enseñó las manos, sacándolas de sus bolsillos.

-Son muy... rosas. -Vasile comentó, ajustándose la corbata distraídamente. 

-Lo sé, son maravillosas. -La chica sonrió, metiéndose las manos en los bolsillos de su chaqueta- Oh, mira, estaban aquí.

La chica sacó unas fotografías instantáneas de su mano, dobladas y arrugadas. Pero su imagen dejaba ver con total claridad todas las muestras que necesitaba el Congreso y, por ende, Vasile.

El hombre se las quitó de las manos y las desdobló, permitiéndose unos minutos para analizarlas.

Andjela se balanceó sobre sus pies, pasando su peso de las puntas a los talones y de los talones a las puntas todo el rato. Miró distraídamente los carteles de luces de colores de la feria mientras tarareaba para sí, intentando rellenar el silencio entre los dos. 

-¿Por qué las has hecho en una cámara instantánea? -el adulto preguntó, mirando de reojo a la chica un instante.- Te dimos una Nikon último modelo para que nos dieras la memoria de la cámara. Y, según el papel de la fotografía, has usado una polaroid de hace por lo menos una década.

-Ah, es que no quería malgastar el potencial de una cámara tan buena en algo tan aburrido como una misión secreta de espionaje a un grupo terrorista. -Andjela se encogió de hombros.- Si te sirve de consuelo, la voy a dar una mejor vida que la que tú planeabas. 

-¿Y lo de la mancha de salsa en una de las fotos?- preguntó, pasando a otra instantánea.

-Es que me he comido un perrito caliente en Nueva Jersey mientras me cercioraba de que las fotos no habían salido borrosas. -la chica comentó mientras se asomaba sobre el papel para ver la mancha de la que hablaban.- Creo que eso es mayonesa o mostaza, no estoy segura. Pero estaba riquísimo. ¿Quieres probarlos? Dame un momento, ahora vuelvo.

Y la chica desapareció de en medio de la nada para la vista de Vasile. Hace unos meses él habría sido capaz de divisar una estela de movimiento cuando aparecía o desaparecía, pero ahora era demasiado rápida como para reconocerla. Por fin se estaba tomando el entrenamiento en serio. 

Por otro lado, seguía siendo la misma chica que había reclutado.

Vasile negó con la cabeza para sí, guardándose las fotos en el bolsillo interior de su traje. Miró el ambiente colorido y animado de la feria. ¿Por qué no le sorprendía que lo hubiera citado allí?

-No sabes lo desesperante que puedes llega...

-Ya he llegado.- la imagen de la chica con unas gafas de aviación puestas y con un perrito caliente en cada mano apareció ante los ojos del adulto.- ¿Decías algo? Cuando me he acercado parecías tener la boca súper abierta y estabas haciendo un sonido como el de un osos susurrando. 

Vasile volvió a contar hasta diez en su interior antes de responder.

-No es de tu incumbencia, señorita. 

-Bueno, allá tú. -Andjela cedió, dándole un bocado a uno de los perritos mientras ofrecía el otro al adulto. 

Él sacó un pañuelo de tela y cogió la comida sin llegar a tocarla. Andjela no supo cómo, pero el hombre también se las arregló para darle un buen bocado sin que se le escurriera salsa por algún lado.

La chica se quitó de los ojos las gafas de aviación que solía usar cuando corría a velocidad sónica, dejándoselas superpuestas sobre la frente, y volvió a rebuscar en los bolsillos de su chaqueta.

-Antes de que se me olvide. -hablo una vez que hubo tragado todo el bocado.- Has sido tú el que ha invitado a los perritos. 

Sacó la cartera de Vasile y se la tendió mientras empezaban a andar alrededor de la feria. 

El adulto se la quitó de un golpe seco y se la guardó, esta vez en el bolsillo interior junto a las fotografías.

-¿Cuánto te ha costado?

-Treinta dólares.

El adulto tuvo que pestañear un par de veces antes de poder responder.

-¿Cómo es que has...?

-Sí, ya lo sé. No hace falta que me lo digas. -Andjela cortó al hombre- Es un rollo eso del cambio de moneda, pero es algo necesario. Pero no es para tanto.

-Andjela. -advirtió Vasile.- Un perrito no vale sólo quince dólares.

-Bueno, también he aprovechado para pagar lo del pintauñas y me he comprado un cassette nuevo. Lo del perrito han sido sólo ocho dólares. Pero tranquilo, todavía tienes un montón de pasta dentro de la cartera. Para dar y prestar, de hecho.

-Eres increíble.- farfulló antes de darle un bocado increíblemente elegante al perrito.

-Lo sé, no hace falta que me lo digas. -Sonrió la chica- Tú también eres muy amable, pero me tengo que ir. Prometí a mi madre que volvería a casa antes de las nueve y ya son las nueve y media. A la próxima tendremos que quedar más pronto. 

-Pero si hemos quedad...

La chica desapareció antes de que Vasile pudiera terminar la frase, dejándole tirado en una feria con un perrito de la mano. Miró su mano izquierda y cogió una entrada a la noria que había aparecido entre sus dedos justo cuando la chica desapareció.

Una vez analizado el anverso, dio la vuelta al papelito y se encontró con una letra emborronada y apretada que conocía de sobra.

"Diviértete o algo por el estilo"

Vasile negó con la cabeza y contó hasta diez. 

Esa chica iba a ser su perdición. 

[sifnoireletters]

Letter II: I Won’t Say a Word

My love, You’re an idiot. You know that, right?

The moment you touched me, I became yours. Not because you deserved it— But because I did. Because my body knew what my pride wouldn’t admit.

And that haunts me. The hunger. The memory. It won’t stop until you claim me. Take me. Force me, if that’s what you need. I won’t say a word. I’ll only open.

And when that day comes—

I’ll start with your feet. Not out of submission, but reverence. You’ve walked the world like a king, So I’ll kiss your soles like I worship the ground you conquer. Then higher— Your calves. Your thighs. Until my lips are against the tender inside of you, the place that makes you tense… but I won’t give in. Not yet. You’ll ache before you receive.

I want your hands on my hips—tight, selfish. I want your eyes dark with the need to break me open. And when you finally do, when our mouths meet— I’ll kiss you like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do right.

I’ll make love to you until you beg me to stop. I’ll be your goddess, your punisher, your confessional sin and your redemption.

Come ruin me. Or let me ruin you.

—Yours, still.

[wheninkbleeds]

Slide Made of Razors

You asked how I felt. You really don’t want the answer.

I’d just as soon glide down a slide made of razors into a pool of alcohol than have anything to do with you ever again.

Inspired by a prompt asking how to say "I hate you" without the words.

[masato0308-blog1]

Keeping the Warmth, Right Here

Introduction

When I pause for a moment, small scenes gently shimmer deep within my heart. The things that matter most are quietly present here. I've woven these little stories together. May their warmth softly reach someone's heart.

Chapter 1: Spring and New Beginnings

Walking Through a Big Spring with My Little One

On a leisurely morning, I woke up late, having dozed off again. As I sat in a daze, Haru-chan stared at me intently. The moment our eyes met, she slipped into her backpack. —Ah, today is a "let's go out a lot" day. That's how our gentle morning began.

Bathed in spring light, we headed to a park by the mountains, a bit farther than usual. Haru-chan, full of energy from staying home, trotted ahead with her tiny feet. The river sparkled, and the mountain greenery was vividly refreshing. Dandelions swayed in the roadside breeze, and even frogs peeked out leisurely. —Small lives quietly breathe today as well. That ordinary miracle gently warmed my heart.

Cool Tiles and Relaxed Time

On the way back, Haru-chan stopped on the cool tiles near her favorite supermarket. Cars, people, and wind passed by quietly, and she simply watched the flow of the world. When I crouched down beside her and looked up, the sky was endlessly gentle and clear.

A Small Encounter

When she met the eyes of a stranger, Haru-chan dashed over and was happily petted. "She can warm up to strangers so quickly," I thought, watching her. Then Haru-chan tapped me with her paw. —You should talk too. It felt like she was saying that.

Thoughts of Acchan

Watching a small child toddle along, I suddenly thought: —If Acchan and I had a child, would we have walked like this? Seeing the sparkling river, I wished Acchan could see it too. Each time the wind caressed my cheek, I hoped Acchan could feel this breeze. But today, strangely, no tears came. Surely, Acchan is somewhere, gently riding a different wind. Today, too, it's okay.

A Quiet Day

Nothing special happened—a quiet day. Yet, every day, Haru-chan softly delivers messages: "It's okay." "Let's walk together today too." Tomorrow again, we'll walk through the big world with small steps. —Gathering little lights along the way.

Chapter 2: In the Quiet Light

Just a Morning Like That

One morning, I woke up slightly earlier than usual. Soft light gently streamed through the window. In the distance, little birds chirped softly. Beside me, Haru-chan slept soundly. As I gently rose, a small "brrr" sound came. That gentle, trembling, beloved sound. The futon shifted, and Haru-chan peeked out. "Are you getting up? Or a bit more?" Without words, her round eyes quietly asked. I smiled softly and gently asked back, "What shall we do today?" Haru-chan flopped back onto the futon, pressing her warm back against me. Just that. But the morning's stillness and small warmth quietly filled my heart. Light, wind, sounds, and scents—all gently and quietly breathed. I closed my eyes once more. The world breathed softly and quietly.

Returning to Gentle Days

When I opened the door, the two-hour train ride melted away. Unzipping the carrier bag, Haru-chan eagerly jumped out. She walked straight, as if remembering the way. When the front door opened, my mother greeted us with a smile. "Welcome, Haru-sama." Haru-chan licked her face, and my mother, smiling shyly, said, "Thank you, thank you, it's okay," and gently hugged her. I could feel the tension easing from her small body.

The First Step

After exploring the house, Haru-chan dashed into the garden like it was a dog run. Soft sunlight, the warm scent of soil. Haru-chan sniffed the flowers in the flowerbed. Playing tag with me, her fluffy tail bounced, bringing smiles. Embracing the scent of spring, a small adventure began.

Running Through the Light

While playing in the garden, Haru-chan repeatedly returned indoors. She checked on my mother's presence and then dashed outside again. Her small back, bathed in light, expanded in my heart. She ran through the sparkling garden with her tiny feet.

Relaxation Time

After playing to her heart's content, Haru-chan sank into her favorite cushion and began to sleep quietly. My mother and I listened to her breathing, simply watching over her. Warm afternoon light quietly and slowly filled the room.

Little Adventurer

Suddenly, I saw Haru-chan skillfully moving a bag with her nose, quietly climbing the stairs. "Haru-chan, where did you go?" When I called out with a laugh, she turned back with a face that seemed to say, "You found me." My mother and I looked at each other and burst into laughter.

Before Saying Goodbye

In the evening, even when it was time to leave, Haru-chan didn't want to get into the bag. Dozing on the sofa, her eyes said, "I want to stay here longer." Enticed with a treat, she finally entered the carrier, and my mother quietly murmured, "It's like a confessional." Her voice was as quiet as a prayer. My mother offered a small prayer. We gently returned to our gentle days.

Chapter 3: The Warmth of That Day

Memories of Running in the Night Park

At night, in an empty park, Acchan, Haru-chan, and I walked together. "Masato-san, watch me," Acchan said happily. Haru-chan started running in a big circle. Round and round, her small body danced in the night air. Acchan, holding the leash, spun around at the center. Both of them laughed joyfully. Watching them, my heart gently warmed. The night wind was a bit chilly, but their laughter softly warmed the air. That night's laughter still quietly echoes somewhere in my heart.

Bicycle Adventure and Getting Lost

Acchan and I rode bicycles home after work. "This way is shorter," Acchan said, entering a narrow residential street. "What a big house," "This road is narrow, be careful!" Laughing, Acchan pedaled forward, looking only ahead. Due to the aftereffects of illness, Acchan's field of vision was slightly narrow, so I rode slightly behind, protecting her. The winding, narrow road gradually darkened, and before we knew it, we were lost in an unfamiliar town. "Where are we?" Laughing together, we kept pedaling. It felt like a childhood adventure. An odd adventure of an uncle and aunt. When we finally reached a familiar road, blurred stars twinkled in the night sky. "It's still Tuesday," we laughed

[jadorupabosblog]

the journey of the child

is a miracle

one wonders

at the moment of birth

whether to think of arrival...

as the normal one we know

someone waiting to take one home...

at a station

I think in the nine months prior

it lived thesame life in a pram as a baby

but then the pram's metaphor for a mother

I think what most we don't know in a dream

is when seeing thro' the eyes of your Mommy

because there's a repeat of thesame theme

once in while...all through ones life

there's a search for the familiar, on ghost roads,

no remembrance of an address...a frantic search

for the vague familiar... propelled somewhere

by an invisible authority

as if fallen unto your own TV

into a chaotic,

turbulent,

unedited,

situation...

nothing like a lift

to heaven and back.

#poetry#tumblrwritingcommunity

poem

[jadorupabosblog]

#remh_oldsoullikemine#poetry#tumblrwritingcommunity

who's life is it anyway?

Who's life is it anyway?" #poetry #poem #books #writer #writing #healing...

[poetrywoetry]

[theptwelve]

It Is Not Fire

The fire in me,

derived from stones,

will dance

and sway,

as them blow me away,

will still

be still

for the paper

and quill

like a lampstand

on the table

on a needy dark night,

will melt

your fears

as long as you're near,

will swallow

the waters

'til they turn crystal white

The fire in me

derived from stones

will warp in your eyes

all the bluish frosts

into

a midnight nothingness,

will not be there

when the moon disappears,

can't forever hold

the ashes and coals

and the smoke flying to the atmosphere

with nothing left

but the woods too wet to consume;

and the eddying air,

my only empty hearts' perfume

When my eyes drift from the pitch black night,

I put on my clothes on my dewy skin

for my body is of flesh

weaker than the strongest walls

built on shoreline sands

Just a little armor

from the shame of the playful heat

Just a little covering to survive the mist

I turn from left to right and see

the blots of reds on skins,

the marshmallow leftovers

of the party hours ago

from my glitching memories

Every move is a gap bridged on

Every ache is a victory

Long live the pain that comes from the bites of the fire's apostasy

You see,

It is not fire that burns us

nor that keeps us alive

It is everything

that we desire to touch

more than too much

than nothing

— theptwelve

December 2019

[maameblue]

felt like

Wilting over poetry we read on the sofa

Eyes sharing glassy looks of old tears.

And that fire, sand laden and new

We didn't build it but we worshipped there

Gospel music and freshwater

We were so pure.

What do drums do to our hearts

That we might throw ourselves together in rhythmic freedom?

Bonding and breaking apart at the same time

The dance floor our church

No additives or preservatives

Just the mood and the vibe and the laughter.

How you can know a time is short

And still enjoy it as if it were years long

Sweet moments of food and hip hop

And tinder dates

So many tinder dates.

New ideas and new selves

Breaking old habits, picking up new ones

Better ones.

Leave the boys alone

Until they come begging

Then make a little time but not too much

Not too much

We didn't have too much time

But it felt like enough.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧪 Character Arcs 101: what they are, what they aren’t, and how to make them hurt

by rin t. (resident chaos scribe of thewriteadviceforwriters)

Okay so here’s the thing. You can give me all the pretty pinterest moodboards and soft trauma playlists in the world, but if your character doesn’t change, I will send them back to the factory.

Let’s talk about character arcs. Not vibes. Not tragic backstory flavoring. Actual. Arcs. (It hurts but we’ll get through it together.)

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💡 what a character arc IS:

a transformational journey (keyword: transformation)

the internal response to external pressure (aka plot consequences)

a shift in worldview, behavior, belief, self-concept

the emotional architecture of your story

the reason we care

💥 what a character arc is NOT:

a sad monologue halfway through act 2

a single cool scene where they yell or cry

a moral they magically learn by the end

a “development” label slapped on a flatline

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✨ THE 3 BASIC FLAVORS OF ARC (and how to emotionally damage your characters accordingly):

Positive Arc They start with a flaw, false belief, or fear that limits them. Through the events of the story (and many Ls), they confront that internal lie, grow, and emerge changed. Hurt factor: Drag them through the mud. Make them fight to believe in themselves. Break their trust, make them doubt. Let them earn their ending.

Negative Arc They begin whole(ish) and devolve. They fail to overcome their flaw or false belief. This arc ends in ruin, corruption, or defeat. Hurt factor: Let them almost have a chance. Build hope. Then show how they sabotage it, or how the world takes it anyway. Twist the knife.

Flat/Static Arc They don’t change, but the world around them does. They hold onto a core truth, and it’s their constancy that drives change in others. Think: mentor, revolutionary, or truth-teller type. Hurt factor: Make the world push back. Make their values cost them something. The tension comes from holding steady in chaos.

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🎯 how to build an arc that actually HITS (no ✨soft lessons✨, just internal structure):

Lie they believe: What false thing do they think about themselves or the world? (“I’m unlovable.” “Power = safety.” “I’m only valuable if I’m useful.”)

Want vs. need: What do they think they want? What do they actually need to grow?

Wound/backstory scar: What made them like this? You don’t need a tragic past™ but you do need cause and effect.

Turning point: What moment forces them to question their worldview? What event cracks the surface?

Moment of choice: Do they change? Or not? What decision seals their arc?

🧪 Pro tip: this is not a worksheet. This is scaffolding. The arc lives in the story, not just your doc notes. The lie isn’t revealed in a monologue, it’s felt through consequences, relationships, mistakes.

─────── ✦ ───────

🛠️ things to actually do with this:

Write scenes where the character’s flaw messes things up. Like, they lose something. A person. A plan. Their cool. Make the flaw hurt.

Track their beliefs like a timeline. How do they start? What chips away at it? When does the shift stick?

Use relationships as arc mirrors. Who challenges them? Enables them? Forces reflection? Internal change is almost never solo.

Revisit the lie. Circle back to it at least three times in escalating intensity. Reminder > confrontation > transformation.

─────── ✦ ───────

🌊 bonus pain level: REVERSE THE ARC

Wanna make it really hurt? Set them up for one arc, and give them the opposite. They think they’re growing into a better person. But actually, they’re losing themselves. They think they’re spiraling. But they’re really healing. Let them be surprised. Let the reader be surprised.

─────── ✦ ───────

TL;DR: If your plot is a skeleton, your character arc is the nervous system.

The change is the thing. Don’t just dress it up in trauma. Don’t let your character learn nothing. Make them face themselves. And yeah. Make it hurt a little. (Or a lot. I won’t stop you.)

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // plotting pain professionally since forever

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[jadorupabosblog]

#poetry#tumblrwritingcommunity

poem

[fromabelarditcame]

Crunching cool concrete against my small smooth fleeting feet. Run little girl. Run.

[maameblue]

Why

Why you're a guest in the places you've been told to call home.

Why men make you laugh and break your heart with simple sentences that don't mean anything.

Why when your mother smiles at you you wonder what she's plotting.

Why trust is an imaginary friend that even you can't see.

Why family doesn't feel like family unless you've seen the beginning, middle and end of them.

Why your kindness fills you with a senseless dread, as you wait for some kind of violence to follow you.

Why no one should follow you.

Why spending time together feels like water torture.

Why you look in the mirror to forget who you are now.

Why being grateful feels like penance for a crime you had nothing to do with.

Why loving is hard.

Why being loved is harder.

Why believing in love is a fairy tale woven by liars.

And why sleep never comes easy.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🕳️ What to Write When You Have No Idea What Happens Next

aka: you’re staring into the creative abyss and the abyss is not only staring back, it’s asking for a rough draft

hi writer. welcome to that fun little liminal space in your project where ✨absolutely nothing✨ makes sense. you wrote the last scene. you know you’re not at the end. but suddenly your characters are just standing there like NPCs waiting for a quest marker and your brain is doing the spinning beachball of death.

so. what now?

let’s break down some actually useful strategies for when you hit That Point™️. not vibes. not ✨manifest your way out✨ energy. not the “just keep writing” slog. here’s what to do when your story is refusing to tell you what happens next:

———————————————

zoom out: do a “scene audit” ———————————————

you don’t need a full outline to do this. take five minutes and sketch a bullet list of every scene that’s happened so far. not just what happened, but why it mattered.

like this:

MC lied to their boss (sets up stakes re: trust/power)

antagonist shows up at cafe (establishes tension + location crossover)

best friend gets suspicious (emotional complication, adds pressure)

this gives you a birds-eye view of what you’ve set in motion. often you’re stuck because you’ve lost sight of the threads you were pulling, your own story has momentum, you just need to feel it again.

—————————————————————

try “ghost drafting” (aka fake writing) —————————————————————

open a doc. start typing what would happen, if you were writing. super casual. something like:

“okay i think the next scene is maybe them at the train station?? or wait--maybe we need to see the fallout of the argument. i don’t really know what x character wants rn but i think y might be planning something…”

this trick works bc it removes pressure. no fancy prose, no perfect structure. it’s literally you telling yourself what might happen. and weirdly? your brain will often finish the scene for you without asking. (the number of times I’ve ghost drafted myself into 800 usable words… witchcraft.)

——————————————————————————

pin your characters to a corkboard and interrogate them ——————————————————————————

not literally. (unless you're into that. i don’t judge.)

but seriously: when you’re stuck, it’s often because your character has no immediate goal or emotion. pause and ask:

what does this character want right now? like, in this moment?

what are they trying to avoid?

what’s keeping them from getting either?

character-driven scenes are rarely static. even if it’s just an awkward dinner or walking to the store, someone’s always trying to do or hide something. if everyone in the scene is just reacting or waiting, you’ve got fog. bring in the fire.

—————————————————

don’t skip the “boring” stuff--weaponize it —————————————————

sometimes we’re stuck because we think the next scene is dull. like “ugh i guess they just… travel to the manor” or “they regroup at the safe house.” but these slow beats are GOLD if you embed purpose.

try giving the “boring” scene:

a time limit or interruption (they’re hiding but someone knocks)

a secret (someone is lying about something small but important)

a reversal (what they expected is the opposite of what happens)

even if it’s a quiet scene, layer it. conflict isn’t just yelling or action. it’s discomfort. it’s misalignment. tension between what’s said and unsaid.

—————————————————————

when all else fails: write the next emotional beat —————————————————————

strip it back. forget plot. forget pacing. ask yourself:

then write that. a monologue. a journal entry. an outburst. a line of whispered dialogue.

sometimes it’s not that you don’t know what happens next. it’s that your character hasn’t processed what just happened, and until they do, the story can’t move forward.

✨✨✨

the void is normal. getting stuck doesn’t mean you failed or picked the wrong idea or that the muse packed up and left for a better writer’s house. it just means your brain needs space to regroup.

writing isn’t linear. stories aren’t built in perfect lines. they loop. they stall. they circle back. and that’s okay.

if you’re in the middle of nowhere, here’s your sign to sit on the side of the metaphorical road, open your weird little notebook, and write anyway. write wrong. write messy. write ghost drafts. the path shows up when you start walking.

🕳️ you got this, writer.

tag me if you end up crawling out of your stuck scene with a little victory paragraph. i’ll bring snacks for the next one 🧃✨

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[jadorupabosblog]

if there must be complain

how unprofitable it is

to live

on the constrained

patch of the earth

the best way

to have a result

as good as a flower

with importunity

and constancy

to do so covertly;

not shy

here and here

not the ones

with pedigree.

wild,

but in places

in our world

protected...

it's a life uncommon

full of hazardous trials

I have seen a few

by street corners

after the long trek...

away from their damaged homeland,

from the Sahel,

struck down

by climate change...

and insurgency,

to face the open sun

and the passerby

close by

one can here

the traffic

attimes, the lawnmower

as does political authority

doing work

to control and tidy up

If there must be complain

how unprofitable it is to live ...

the best way,is a hard way

to have a result as same as,

the lilies of the field ...

#writing #tumblrwritingcommunity

poetry