As I Live And Breathe

(aka: I crave you in silence, and if you notice, I’ll die and also be thrilled)

・❥・Letting their hand hover near yours but never quite touching. Every atom screaming: please reach back.

・❥・ Saving the last bite of something, “just in case you wanted it.” (They always do. You always remember.)

・❥・ Fixing their backpack strap, even when it’s not falling.

・❥・ Offering your umbrella wordlessly. Standing a little closer than needed.

・❥・ Sitting beside them at a group thing before your brain catches up. Like it’s instinct.

・❥・ Casually mentioning something they said weeks ago. Something small. Something they didn’t think you’d remember.

・❥・ Carrying an extra pen, just in case they forget.

・❥・ Letting them rant. Letting them ramble. Letting them be.

・❥・ Your eyes finding theirs in a crowd before your brain says, look away.

(Because how someone dresses says so much about who they are.)

(Emotional meltdowns that don’t look like meltdowns, but absolutely are)

 The “Smiling Too Much” Grief Your character’s entire world is on fire, and they’re asking if anyone wants more wine. That’s not denial, it’s an effort to hold the damn pieces together. Smile like a glue gun. Watch them crack.

The “Not Crying At the Funeral” Breakdown They don't shed a tear. They organize everything. Perfect speech. Perfect outfit. But a week later, they scream into the laundry basket over a missing sock. That’s the moment. That’s the eulogy.

 The “Silent Dinner Table” Fight No yelling. No slamming doors. Just chewing. Clinking silverware. The kind of silence that tastes like metal. Let the reader feel the air shrink.

 The “Polite but Dead Inside” Apology They say “Sorry” because it’s expected, not because they’re ready. Their voice doesn’t crack. Their eyes don’t meet yours. This isn’t healing. This is a peace treaty with no peace.

The “I Don’t Want to Talk About It” Detour The one where they ask about your day mid-sob. Redirect. Deflect. “Let’s not talk about me.” That’s rage choked by shame. Write it like it’s shoving itself into a smaller box.

 The “Obsessively Productive” Meltdown New projects. New hobbies. Suddenly they’re running marathons, baking sourdough, fixing the garage door. Because if they sit still for one second, they’ll break. Keep the camera on them when they finally sit.

The “Unsent Letters” Grief They write it all down. Every damn emotion. Then burn it. Or delete it. Or hide it in a shoebox under their bed. It’s not for closure. It’s to let the ghosts know they were seen.

The “I’m Fine” That Echoes Delivered too fast. Too sharp. You could bounce a quarter off it. “I’m fine” isn’t fine. It’s the dam cracking. Listen to the echo. Let another character hear the hollowness.

The “Hyper-Logical Rant” Rage They argue with spreadsheets. With perfect bullet points. Cold rage—like ice, not fire. “I’m not mad, I’m just saying…” But that’s a lie. They’re volcanic under that clipboard.

╰ Make their unpredictability a feature, not a bug

A dangerous character isn’t just the guy with the gun. It’s the one you can’t quite predict. Maybe they’re chaotic-good. Maybe they’re lawful-evil. Maybe they’re smiling while they’re plotting the next five ways to ruin your day. If the reader can’t tell exactly what they’ll do next — congrats, you’ve made them dangerous.

╰ Give them a weapon that's personal

Anyone can have a sword. Yawn. Give your character a weapon that says something about them. A violin bow turned garrote. A candy tin full of arsenic. Their own charisma as a leash. The weapon isn’t just what they fight with, it’s how they are.

╰ Let them choose not to strike and make that scarier

Sometimes not acting is the biggest flex. A truly dangerous character doesn’t need to explode to be terrifying. They can sit back, cross their legs, sip their coffee, and say, “Not yet.” Instant chills.

╰ Layer their menace with something else, humor, kindness, sadness

One-note villains (or heroes!) are boring. A dangerous character should make you like them right up until you realize you shouldn’t have. Let them charm. Let them save the kitten. Let them do something that makes the eventual threat feel like betrayal.

╰ Show how other characters react to them

If every character treats them like a nuclear bomb in the room, your reader will, too. Even if your dangerous character is polite and quiet, the dog that won’t go near them or the boss who flinches when they smile will sell the danger harder than a blood-soaked axe.

╰ Make their danger internal as well as external

It’s not just what they can do to others. It’s what they’re fighting inside themselves. The anger. The boredom. The itch for chaos. Make them a little bit scary even to themselves, and suddenly they’re alive in ways pure external "baddies" never are.

╰ Don't make them immune to consequences

Even the most dangerous characters should get hit—physically, emotionally, socially. Otherwise, they turn into invincible cartoons. Let them lose sometimes. Let them bleed. It’ll make every moment they win feel twice as earned (and twice as scary).

╰ Tie their danger to what they love

Real threats aren't powered by anger; they're powered by love. Protectiveness can be feral. Loyalty can turn into violence. A character who's dangerous because they care about something? That's a nuclear reactor in a leather jacket.

╰ Remember: danger is a vibe, not a body count

REAL fights aren’t about the dishes in the sink. They’re about what the dishes represent. Neglect. Disrespect. One more little way you made me feel like I don’t matter.

When characters explode, make sure it’s a culmination, not a random Tuesday outburst. Sow those seeds way earlier. Every ignored text. Every moment one character flinched but didn’t speak. Let it simmer like a pot left on the stove too long — and then blow the lid off.

“You left your socks on the floor again!” Translation: You stopped caring about making me feel wanted.

╰ The “Fight Like Yourself” Principle Your shy, conflict-avoidant character isn’t going to suddenly monologue like a Shakespeare villain. They’re going to stutter. Misfire. Maybe say something stupid and instantly regret it. Your cocky, snarky character? They’ll joke until they’re cornered — and then bite. HARD.

Write fights in a way that honors your characters’ personalities even when they’re falling apart. Actually, especially when they’re falling apart.

The sarcastic one cracks a joke that lands wrong. And when the other person flinches, really flinches, the jokester looks like they just slapped themselves in the face.

╰ The "Weaponized Vulnerability" Strike Want a fight that stings? Let one character use something the other trusted them with, something private, something raw as a weapon. It’s dirty. It’s low. It feels like betrayal because it is.

“You know why nobody sticks around, right? Even your mom didn’t.” (The one thing they confessed one night, drunk and shaking. Now thrown back like a grenade.)

╰ The “No Winner, Only Wreckage” Outcome A good fight doesn’t end clean. Nobody walks away feeling like they "won." They walk away wrecked. Lonely. Furious. Guilty. Sometimes victorious in the worst possible way. If both characters don’t feel like they lost something by the end of it, time to dig deeper.

One character storms out thinking, I showed them. But on the way home, they realize their hands won’t stop shaking. And the empty seat beside them has never felt so heavy.

╰ The “Body Language Screams Louder Than Words” Method Fights aren’t just yelling. It’s clenching fists that don’t throw punches. It’s pacing like a caged animal. It’s backing into a corner you don’t even realize you’re in. Describe the tension bleeding out of their bodies.

The vein in his temple throbs. She’s standing stiff as a lamppost, arms folded so tight she might snap her own bones. The air between them buzzes with too many things left unsaid.

╰ Some Types of Fights to Play With...

The Blow-Up Over Nothing: Petty argument becomes nuclear meltdown because of all the built-up resentment.

The Long-Slow Death: Cold silences. Sharp comments. No shouting — just a slow suffocation.

The Misfire: They’re mad at someone else, but they unleash it on the wrong person. (And regret it instantly.)

The Final Straw: One wrong move, one broken promise too many, and snap — years of loyalty gone in a second.

A good fight scene shouldn’t just bruise skin. It should bruise souls.

Edit: Some posts may be deleted

Character writing/development:

Character Arcs

Making Character Profiles

Character Development

Comic Relief Arc

Internal Conflict

Character Voices

Creating Distinct Characters

Creating Likeable Characters

Writing Strong Female Characters

Writing POC Characters

Building Tension

Writing Grumpy x Sunshine Tropes

Writing Sexuality & Gender

Writing Manipulative Characters

Writing Mature Young Characters

Plot devices/development:

Intrigue in Storytelling

Enemies to Lovers

Alternatives to Killing Characters

Worldbuilding

Misdirection

Things to Consider Before Killing Characters

Foreshadowing

Narrative (+ how to write):

Emphasising the Stakes

Avoid Info-Dumping

Writing Without Dialogue

1st vs. 2nd vs. 3rd Perspective

Fight Scenes (+ More)

Transitions

Pacing

Writing Prologues

Dialogue Tips

Writing War

Writing Cheating

Writing Miscommunication

Writing Unrequited Love

Writing a Slow Burn Btwn Introverts

Writing Smut

Writing Admiration Without Attraction

Writing Dual POVs

Worldbuilding:

Worldbuilding: Questions to Consider

Creating Laws/Rules in Fantasy Worlds

Book writing:

Connected vs. Stand-Alone Series

A & B Stories

Writer resources:

Writing YouTube Channels, Podcasts, & Blogs

Online Writing Resources

Outlining/Writing/Editing Software

Translation Software for Writing

Writer help:

Losing Passion/Burnout

Overcoming Writer's Block

Fantasy terms:

How To Name Fantasy Races (Step-by-Step)

Naming Elemental Races

Naming Fire-Related Races

How To Name Fantasy Places

Ask games:

Character Ask Game #1

Character Ask Game #2

Character Ask Game #3

Miscellaneous:

Writing Tips

Writing Fantasy

Miscommunication Prompts

Character development is an ongoing journey, with endless opportunities to create realistic and authentic characters that bring your story to life. In this post, I’ll share ways to help you deepen your characters and make them stand out.

Ways to Make Your Characters Stand Out

- Realistic Reactions: Ensure your characters react authentically to the events around them. For example, when something makes them happy, show it through smiles, laughter, or gestures of joy. When faced with sadness, anger, or disgust, portray those emotions believably to immerse readers in their experiences.

- Social Outings: Let your characters interact with others to reveal their personality. Consider scenes where they hang out with friends or family at parties, movie theaters, or other settings relevant to your story.

- Hobbies & Interests: Real people have hobbies that shape their identity. Give your characters hobbies or interests and let them share their passions with others. This adds layers of realism and connection.

Examples of Emotions

Here’s a variety of emotions to consider when writing your characters:

- Sadness, Happiness, Anger, Disgust, Fear, Surprise

- Shame, Panic, Jealousy, Frustration, Envy

- Pride, Love, Amusement, Gratitude, Grief

- Kindness, Pleased, Unhappy, Anticipation

- Awe, Calmness, Enjoyment, Guilt, Pity, Wonder

Use these emotions to showcase your characters' depth and adaptability as they face challenges or triumphs.

Examples of Places to Go

Need ideas for where your characters can interact with others? Here are some examples:

- Park

- Restaurant

- Movie Theater

- Library

- Museum

- Amusement Park

- Zoo or Aquarium

- Sports Game

- Mall

These settings can help your characters showcase their personalities while advancing the plot.

Examples of Hobbies

Incorporating hobbies adds realism to your characters. Here’s a list to inspire you:

- Painting or Drawing

- Yoga

- Pottery

- Playing an Instrument

- Creating Models

- Bird Watching

- Hiking

- Reading

- Watching Movies or TV Shows

- Collecting

- Photography

- Dancing

- Video Gaming

- Writing

- Gardening

- Cooking

- Sports (Basketball, Baseball, Football, Soccer, Tennis)

- Jigsaw Puzzles

- Exercise

Feel free to pick hobbies that align with your characters' personalities or storyline.

Conclusion

By incorporating realistic emotions, hobbies, and interactions into your characters, you can create layered personalities that resonate with your readers. Taking the time to add depth ensures your characters connect and leave a lasting impact.

Let’s talk romance—specifically the kind that makes readers scream into pillows, clutch their chests, and whisper “just kiss already” at the page. Whether you're a seasoned romance author or just dipping your toes into the love pool, there's one golden truth to remember: good romance is about *tension*. And tension lives in the delicious space between lust and love.

First Comes Lust…

Lust is that electric charge between characters. It’s the stolen glances, the way one of them notices the other's hands or voice or the way they lean in a little too close when they talk. Lust is immediate. It’s instinctual. And let’s be honest, it’s fun as hell to write.

But if you stop there—if all your characters do is pine and make out and pine some more—you risk making it all surface-level. Lust is the spark, but it’s not the whole fire.

Then Comes Love (Eventually)

Love, real love, is slower. It’s about trust, vulnerability, and seeing the other person fully—flaws, baggage, weird hobbies and all—and still leaning in. It happens in the quiet moments: making tea for someone who's had a bad day, remembering how they take their coffee, watching them geek out about something they care about. That’s where readers fall with your characters.

The magic is in the shift—when your characters go from “I want to kiss you until my brain falls out” to “I’d burn the world down if it meant keeping you safe.” It doesn’t happen all at once. And that’s where the slow burn comes in.

Ah, the Slow Burn: Delicious Torture

Slow burn romance is a masterclass in delayed gratification. It's all about restraint. You’re letting readers live in the tension—the almost-touches, the lingering stares, the confessions that never quite happen. And every time the characters get this close to admitting their feelings or acting on them and then don’t? Readers get more hooked.

But here’s the key: something has to be progressing. Slow burn doesn’t mean nothing happens. It means everything matters. 

Every moment builds the foundation. Every emotional beat gets us one step closer to that glorious payoff.

Think of it like cooking over a low flame. You’re letting the flavors deepen. So when the first kiss finally lands? It’s earned. It’s fireworks. It matters.

Tips for Writing a Killer Slow Burn

- Give them obstacles. Emotional baggage, clashing goals, external threats—give your characters legit reasons not to jump into bed right away.

- Let them see each other. Intimacy isn’t just physical. Let your characters learn each other’s fears, dreams, scars.

- Build micro-tension. Hands grazing. One of them patching the other up after a fight. A joke that turns into a confession. Let every small moment do work.

- Make the payoff worth it. When they finally get together—make it satisfying. Let it feel like the culmination of everything they’ve been through.

Don’t Just Make Them Hot—Make Them Real

It’s easy to write about two people who are attracted to each other. What’s harder—and infinitely more rewarding—is writing two people who choose each other. Who grow, change, fight, make up, and fall deeper the whole time.

Part I

"You had one job, and you still managed to mess it up!"

"I trusted you, and this is how you repay me?"

"Are you happy now that you ruined it all?"

"Don't you dare walk away while I'm talking to you!"

"Is this all just a joke to you?"

"Great, this is just great, so perfect."

"Do you actually believe the bullshit you're saying?"

"It's so frustrating trying to talk to you!"

"Oh, so now it's my fault? How convenient!"

"I can't believe I ever trusted you!"

"You think a simple 'sorry' will fix this?"

"How could you do this to me?"

"Do you even care how much you are hurting me?"

"This is absolutely not what I signed up for!"

"Stop blaming me for your mistakes!"

"You never listen—ever!"

"I can't believe you thought I wouldn't find out."

"Are you seriously trying to justify this?"

"Oh, you want to fight me? You're so immature!"

"Nothing you say can make this right!"

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.

↳ If your character’s arc isn’t making you slightly emotional or existential, it’s probably not finished. If they start and end the story the same person, that’s not a character arc—it’s a flatline. Make them squirm, learn, lose, grow. Bonus points if they make you question your own moral compass in the process.

↳ Worldbuilding is not a license to drown your reader in lore like it’s Game of Thrones on steroids. If you have to write a wiki page to understand your own plot, fine...but that doesn’t mean your reader has to read it. Give us breadcrumbs, not a 12-course feast on page one.

↳ If the theme of your story can’t be summed up in one slightly aggressive sticky note, you’re probably overcomplicating it. (“This book is about choosing yourself even when no one else does”—boom, theme. Now go make your characters suffer for it.)

↳ You will hate your manuscript somewhere between 30k and 50k words. That’s your cue to keep going, not quit. It’s like the literary version of hitting mile 18 in a marathon. Everything hurts, but that means you're doing it right.

↳ That “genius idea” you had at 2 a.m.? Save it. Write it down. But don’t drop everything for it. New ideas are seductive chaos demons. Your current project deserves monogamy… at least until the second draft.

↳ A character’s greatest fear is a shortcut to their heart. Forget favorite color or coffee order...what keeps them up at night? What would destroy them if it came true?

↳ If you don’t know how to end your story, figure out what question it’s been asking the whole time. Once you know the question, the ending becomes the answer. Maybe not a happy answer, but a satisfying one.

↳ No one’s going to write your weird little story the way you will. That’s your superpower. So go ahead and write the morally gray necromancer love triangle in space. Your people are out there. And they’re hungry for it.

↳ You are allowed to be a slow writer. You are allowed to be a fast writer. You are not allowed to be a cruel writer—to yourself. The world will criticize your art for free. Don’t do their job for them inside your own head.

When someone starts to fall, it shows up everywhere—not in the love confession (that’s the easy part), but in the twitch of a smile, in the silence that suddenly feels charged, in the way someone’s hand almost reaches out before pulling back.

╰ They start listening… with their whole damn body

Suddenly, they’re turned toward this person all the time. Full body facing them. Chin tilted slightly in. They lean forward during small talk like it’s breaking news. They notice things, like the rhythm of their voice, the way their lips move when they think too hard. They stop fiddling with their phone. Their knee bounces until the other person speaks, and then, stillness. They’re so present, it hurts.

╰ Their eye contact gets… weird

Sometimes they can’t stop looking. Sometimes they can’t look at all... There’s that moment—the pause, the flicker—where their eyes land on the other person’s mouth for just a second too long. Or they track their hands. Or notice how their hair falls into their face. It’s not about lust. It’s yearning, and it’s quiet and stupid and full of panic. And when the person catches them looking? Immediate eye dart. Back to their drink. To the sky. To anywhere else. Guilty. Flushed. Terrified.

╰ Their hands get stupid

They’re suddenly very aware of what their hands are doing. They fidget more. Or freeze. They keep their arms close to their body, like they’re worried they’ll accidentally reach out. If they touch the other person, even casually, it lingers. Not long enough to be noticed, but long enough to matter. Sometimes they adjust the other person’s collar or brush something off their sleeve and then have a tiny meltdown inside. That kind of touch feels too intimate. It’s not flirtation. It’s reverence.

╰ Their silence means more than their words

They trail off mid-sentence. Laugh at things they don’t usually laugh at. Start saying something and stop themselves. It’s because their brain is trying to do too many things at once—act normal, sound chill, don’t make it weird, try not to look like you’re in love. Meanwhile, the body is over here sweating, shifting, subtly turning toward the other person like a sunflower in denial.

╰ Their whole vibe gets softer

There’s a gentleness that creeps in. Even if they’re a sharp, snarky character, there’s a moment where they look at the person like they’re a planet they’ve just discovered. It’s brief. It’s devastating. It’s involuntary. And they might pretend it didn’t happen. But the reader saw it. The love interest definitely saw it. And suddenly, everything is different.

╰ Bonus: They mirror the other person without meaning to

This one’s for the emotional masochists writing the slowest of burns, where your readers are screaming “just kiss already!” by chapter twenty... I Love and Hate you... ♥

They compare everyone else to the person… and everyone else comes up short. Even when they’re not consciously doing it. No one’s laugh is as warm. No one’s eyes crinkle that way.

They remember the weirdest little things about them. Birthdays? Whatever. But that time they snorted laughing at a dumb joke? Locked and loaded.

They feel weirdly guilty when flirting with someone else. Like they’re cheating… except they’re not even dating. Or are they? Or—ugh, feelings are the worst.

They notice every damn detail when the other person isn’t around. "They’d like this song." "This smells like their shampoo." "I wonder what they'd say about this weird squirrel."

They use weird, overly specific compliments. Not “You look good,” but “That color makes your eyes look like a storm in a novel I’d cry over.”

They get weirdly intense about that person being hurt or in danger. Like, irrationally intense. "He’s just a friend," they say while planning to murder anyone who makes them cry.