Corner Crickett

Start in motion, not explanation. Something is already happening, going wrong, or about to change.

Anchor us in a character immediately. Give us a voice, an attitude, or a reaction we can latch onto.

Create a question the reader needs answered. Who is in danger? What went wrong? Why does this matter?

Ground the scene with one sharp detail. Not a full setting dump—just enough to make it feel real.

Let tension exist right away. Even quiet openings should carry unease, expectation, or desire.

Show stakes early, even if they’re small. What does the character stand to lose in this moment?

Avoid backstory on page one. Trust that context can come later—curiosity comes first.

Hint at the bigger problem. Foreshadow conflict without explaining it.

End the first page with momentum. A decision, discovery, threat, or emotional shift that makes stopping feel wrong.

Make the reader feel something. Confusion, intrigue, fear, empathy—emotion is the real hook.

Prompts for Writing Gestures

✧ Hands trembling just slightly when they pour tea, though they pretend they don’t notice.

✧ Fingers brushing the edge of a book spine like they’re greeting an old friend.

✧ A smile that starts in one corner of the mouth, shy but persistent, as if trying to convince the rest of their face.

✧ Shoulders relaxing only when someone familiar enters the room.

✧ The way they tuck a stray curl behind their ear with the precision of someone trying not to feel anything at all.

✧ A hand drifting to the collarbone every time a secret threatens to slip out.

✧ The soft, unconscious sway they fall into when they hum along to something they’re not aware they’re humming to.

✧ A laugh caught halfway, buried in the palm of their hand like it’s too tender for the air.

✧ The way their gaze flickers to the ground before they say something honest.

Body language is one of the most powerful tools you can use in your writing, especially when it comes to dialogue.

It reveals emotion without needing long explanations, and it gives your characters presence long before they speak.

Here are some physical cues you can use to bring your scenes to life:

Crossed arms / defensive stance → guarded, annoyed, uncertain

Fidgeting with sleeves / tapping fingers → nervous, impatient

Lingering touches / brushing hands → affection, tension, desire

Tightened jaw / clenched fists → anger, restraint, frustration

Averted eyes / looking at the floor → guilt, fear, embarrassment

Stepping back / leaning away → distrust or discomfort

Tilting head / raised eyebrows → curiosity, challenge

Shoulders relaxing / exhaling slowly → relief, vulnerability

When should you rely on body language?

When you want to show an emotion instead of naming it

When dialogue alone feels flat

When you need subtext (what they won’t say out loud)

When two characters feel differently than the words they’re speaking

When you want to make a scene more sensory and grounded

Are they really calm, or is their foot tapping like a warning signal? Are they truly angry, or is it just the way their jaw tightens when they’re hurt? Are they saying “I’m fine,” but refusing to meet anyone’s eyes?

Body language adds layers. It tells the truth when your characters won’t. It can add to the rage bubbling on their lips, letting the reader know when they're just about to blow up.

Readers don't tend to notice 'said', while it's there in the sentence, it doesn't give the sentence any life. It gets the job done, mostly...

Here are some options to try!

whispered / muttered / mumbled → soft or secretive

shouted / yelled / barked → anger, urgency

growled / hissed → danger, teasing, frustration

murmured / breathed → intimacy, vulnerability

snapped / barked / snapped back → irritation, defensiveness

laughed / chuckled / giggled → laughing, fun, playful or flirty

asked / questioned / queried / inquired → curiosity, questioning

demanded / insisted → authority or control

sighed / groaned → fatigue, exasperation, longing

When you're looking to replace said, think about why. You'll generally want to do this when you need the following:

when the tone of the line needs more context.

when you want to show emotion instead of telling it.

when your character’s body language, action, or expression can do the talking instead.

Take a look at the scene you're writing, is the character saying their line? Or are they yelling it? Screaming it? Are they enraged, or perhaps is their voice a broken whisper from grief?

locking fingers without even thinking about it as soon as their hands accidentally brush

pulling them in by their tie/scarf

leaning in for a kiss but hovering just out of reach with a tiny, smug smile

kneeling before them to help put their shoes on or take them off

grabbing them by their chin when they're mouthing off

sitting on their lap facing them, putting arms over their shoulders and leaning in with a small grin

slowly approaching as the other walks backwards until their back hits the wall

realizing the other is watching and making just the tiniest head tilt and smirk, but it's enough to frazzle their partner

resting their hand on the other's knee, absentmindendly rubbing their hand up their thigh

"I didn't know where else to go… so I came here."

"Can I stay? Just for tonight?"

"You make me feel like I'm not too much."

"I'm scared you'll stop loving me if I show you everything."

"I don't need you to fix it. Just… be here."

"You remembered. No one ever remembers."

"I didn't know love could feel like this."

"I didn't know how much I needed this until now."

"You always were my home."

"I don't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden."

"I'm trying so hard not to cry right now."

"You're the only person who makes me feel safe."

"I didn't think anyone would notice I was hurting."

"Everyone needs someone to lean on sometimes."

"You can always lean on me. I will hold you up."

"I'm just so tired of it all. But never of you."

"We are not there yet, but I know eventually we will be."

"I wish I could be the version of me you see."

"I don't know how to be okay without pretending."

"With me, you will never have to pretend."

"I'm scared of what happens if I let you love me."

Liars make stories twist, characters clash, and readers question everything. But not all liars are created equal. If you're writing one, ask yourself: what kind of liar are they? Because there’s more than one way to deceive…

Many types of liars

the one where you know they are lying

the one where you never know that they are lying

the one who lies about everything

the one who lies to themself

Writing Tips:

Know why they lie

Every liar has a reason. Is it survival, manipulation, shame, love, power, or habit? Understanding their motive helps you shape their behavior and emotional responses.

Use subtext and contradictions

Liars rarely say "I'm lying." Instead, they contradict themselves, dodge questions, or over-explain. Let their words and actions subtly clash.

Let the lie shape the plot

A good lie should ripple through the story. It creates misunderstandings, false alliances, and dramatic irony. Use it to mislead characters and readers.

Use silence

Sometimes the most powerful lie is omission. What a character doesn’t say can be just as revealing as what they do.

Play with perspective

Use unreliable narrators or shifting POVs to blur the line between truth and fiction. This keeps readers guessing and deepens the mystery.

Show consequences

How are characters reacting to someone lying to them? What happens if people find out a character lied?

(A.K.A. Before You Even Touch That Shiny Blank Page)

↳ What You’re Actually Obsessed With Stop trying to write what’s trendy. What do you spiral about at 2 a.m.? What ideas make you grin like a gremlin and mutter, “Ohhh, that’s juicy”? That’s your story. Chase that weird, niche, can’t-let-it-go stuff. Your obsession will be the fuel that drags you through chapter 27 when everything sucks and you kind of want to fake your own death.

↳ Your Story’s “Why the Hell Should Anyone Care?” Not in a mean way. But genuinely—why should a stranger give up sleep to read this? What itch does it scratch? What feeling does it deliver? Figure that out early and let it guide you like a tiny emotional compass. If you can’t answer it yet, cool. But keep poking at it until you can.

↳ A Character With Big, Messy Feelings Don’t start with a plot. Start with a person. A disaster with a wound and a want. Someone who wants something so badly it makes them do unwise things. Get to know them like a nosy therapist. Let them tell you what kind of story they want to be in.

↳ Conflict That Isn’t Just Vibes Mood boards are fun. But conflict is what makes a story move. Make sure you’ve got some stakes, emotional, relational, existential, literal. If your idea doesn’t have anything to push against, it’s not a story yet. It’s an inspiration board.

↳ A Rough Emotional Shape Not an outline. Not yet. Just… the feeling. Where does it start (lonely)? Where does it go (rage)? Where does it end (hopeful)? Think of your book like a rollercoaster. You need the high points, low points, and those slow creaky climbs that make people scream. If it’s all flat? Snoozefest.

↳ The One Vibe You Want to Nail Every great book has a thing. An atmosphere. A flavor. Your job during brainstorming is to catch the scent of it. Is it spooky and tender? Funny and tragic? Cozy but secretly brutal? Whatever it is, write it down. Tattoo it on your brain. Let it infect every scene.

Make a fake conspiracy board connecting every character like you're solving a murder. Use string, post-its, color-coded chaos. Even if your book isn’t a thriller, this helps you spot secret relationships, hidden motivations, and “oh crap, this character actually caused that moment three chapters later” reveals.

Write a therapy session transcript for your protagonist. What would they say to a stranger? What wouldn’t they say? What does the therapist pick up on that they don’t? (Also: gives you instant internal conflict fuel.)

Record a fake podcast episode where your villain is a guest. The topic? “Why I Was Right and Everyone Else Is Just Soft.” Let them monologue. Let them get unhinged. You’ll learn so much about their worldview and how they justify their chaos.

Assign zodiac signs to all your main characters and write how they’d react to a haunted house. Not because astrology is the answer—but because forcing your brain to imagine characters in weird situations unlocks surprising truths. (Your Scorpio would definitely flirt with the ghost. Your Virgo brought sage.)

Write the worst possible ending to your story on purpose. Like, make it hilariously bad. Deus ex machina, everyone dies, aliens show up—it doesn’t matter. Sometimes mocking your plot actually helps you figure out what doesn’t work so you can reverse-engineer what does.

Do a “what if this happened instead?” daydream session in the shower or on a walk. No pressure. Just free-thinking. Let your brain go off-road. You might stumble into a better twist, or a softer moment, or a scene that guts you in the best way.

Write the one scene you’re most excited about—now. Even if you “haven’t earned it” yet in the draft. Screw linear order. Give yourself a jolt of joy. That scene might be the key to unlocking everything else.

Make your characters write Yelp reviews about each other. “One star. Always steals my fries. Would still die for him.” This is ridiculous, yes. But it will reveal interpersonal tension you didn’t know was there.

Tell your plot to someone who knows nothing about it—and see where they get confused. Your roommate. Your cat. Your reflection. If you can’t explain it out loud in 2 minutes, it’s probably too complicated. Simplify the heart of the story. Get clear again.

Writer’s block isn’t a myth. It’s real. It’s rude. And it shows up exactly when you don’t want it to—like an ex at your book launch. Here’s how to yeet it into the void:

1. stop trying to write “good”

Seriously. Lower the bar. Bury the bar. Let the bar rot in the forest. Write badly on purpose. Be cringe. Be free. You can’t fix a blank page, but you can edit a disaster.

2. change the medium

Tired: typing in the same doc for hours. Wired: scribbling in a notebook like a Victorian ghost. Inspired: recording a voice memo like a sleep-deprived cryptid explaining your plot to future you.

3. skip the part that’s blocking you

Stuck on Chapter 5? Write Chapter 9. Write the ending. Write that one scene with the knife and the rain and the betrayal. You can stitch it all together later like Frankenstein’s monster.

4. give your brain new input

Go outside. Touch grass. Watch a movie. Read a book not in your genre. Eavesdrop at a coffee shop. Ideas in = ideas out.

5. bribe yourself

“Write 100 words and you get a cookie.” “Finish this scene and you can scroll Pinterest for aesthetics.” Become your own treat-dispensing machine.

6. embrace ✨trash drafts✨

Your first draft is not the final product. It’s the mess you make before the magic. Let it be wild. Let it be ugly. Let it live.

7. stop declaring war on your creativity

Sometimes writer’s block is just burnout in a trench coat. Maybe what you need isn’t to write harder—it’s to rest, to dream, to let the well refill.

tl;dr: writer’s block can’t survive if you trick it into thinking you're just vibing. So vibe. Write weird stuff. Take breaks. Make art like no one’s watching (because no one is yet).

There’s nothing worse than a forgettable villain. You know the type: cartoonishly evil for no reason, monologuing their master plan to no one in particular, and vanishing from memory the second you finish the book. A great villain, though? They haunt your thoughts, challenge your hero, and—sometimes—you catch yourself *agreeing with them*. If you want to level up your storytelling, here’s how to craft villains that stick.

1. Give them a reason to be bad (and make it make sense)

Nobody wakes up one day and just decides to be evil (unless they’re in a Saturday morning cartoon). Real people are shaped by their pasts, fears, and desires—and your villains should be, too. Maybe they believe they’re saving the world, just in a way that costs too much. Maybe they were betrayed and now trust no one. Whatever the case, give them a *why*. Even better? Make your readers *understand* that why, even if they don’t agree with it.

2. Avoid the evil-for-evil’s-sake trope  

Mustache twirling is out. Complexity is in. A villain who kicks puppies just to prove they’re the bad guy is boring. But a villain who feeds stray dogs while orchestrating a political coup? *That’s* compelling. The best antagonists aren’t evil—they’re driven. And when their goals put them in direct conflict with the hero, *that’s* where the tension comes from. Let them think they’re the hero of their own story.

3. Let your villain challenge the protagonist in meaningful ways  

Your villain shouldn’t just be a physical threat—they should challenge your hero’s beliefs, force them to make hard choices, and maybe even make them question themselves. When the antagonist represents a deeper, thematic opposite to the protagonist, you’ve got literary gold. Think of how The Joker unravels Batman’s moral code, or how Killmonger forces T’Challa to reconsider Wakanda’s isolationism. Conflict isn’t just punches—it’s philosophy.

4. Make them unforgettable

Whether it’s a chilling line of dialogue, an eerie calmness, or a twisted sense of humor, give your villain something *distinct*. Personality matters. A unique voice, a specific mannerism, or an unexpected vulnerability can elevate your villain from “meh” to “iconic.” Think about what makes them tick—and what makes them *memorable*.

5. Don’t be afraid to make them right

The scariest villains are the ones who are *almost* right. When a reader can see where they’re coming from—or even agree with some of their points—that’s powerful. It creates tension not just in the story, but in the reader’s own mind. And that’s exactly what a good villain should do: make you question, make you uncomfortable, and make the story impossible to forget.

Writing toxic characters can be challenging because we often avoid these personality types in real life—they’re socially draining and cause harm wherever they go. However, toxic characters can serve an important purpose in storytelling, adding depth, conflict, and drama to a narrative.

This post was inspired by a personal experience of being falsely accused of creating fake accounts to contact someone who pretended to be a friend. While the accusations are completely untrue and unfounded, I wanted to turn this negativity into positivity by sharing writing tips for creating compelling toxic characters.

Toxic Character Traits

Here are some common traits of toxic people that you can incorporate into your characters:

- Playing the Victim: They act as if they’ve done nothing wrong, blaming others for their problems while refusing to take accountability.

- Accusing Others: They enjoy accusing others of things, whether those accusations are true, fabricated, or even projections of their own actions.

- Talking Behind People’s Backs: Gossip and spreading lies are their forte—they share secrets or fabricate stories about others to create drama.

- Telling Lies: They thrive on creating falsehoods to draw people to their side and control the narrative.

- Playing a Fake Version of Themselves: They avoid authenticity, crafting a persona to alienate others and boost their fragile sense of self-worth.

- Turning People Against Each Other: They manipulate conversations, taking words out of context to sow discord between friends or allies.

- Twisting the Truth: They distort reality to craft harmful narratives that suit their agenda.

- Making Themselves Look Better: Toxic characters fabricate achievements or victim stories to elevate themselves and deceive those around them.

- Refusing Responsibility and Accountability: They refuse to accept their wrongdoings, often shifting blame to maintain their self-image.

Conclusion

Toxic characters can play crucial roles in storytelling, serving as instigators of conflict or catalysts for growth in other characters. While they can be exhausting to write, they offer valuable lessons about the consequences of toxic behavior and its impact on those around them.

However, I recommend using these characters sparingly, unless your story revolves around the specific theme of toxicity and its repercussions. When approached thoughtfully, toxic characters can add depth and complexity to your narrative.

Actual story quote from my 11-year-old self: