Throw aesthetic choices out the window. Pick random colors out of a hat when they’re needed. There are only four shades of eye colors anyway. Besides, does it really matter if your OC is tall or short when they’re always on the ground? Does their weight matter if they’re always being carried around? No, no it does not. Don’t give continuity a greater reason to weep.
Use your favorite character for description in a pinch. No, no one will notice that all your OCs look alike. Well, don’t call attention to it.
Pick out a name. No, you’ve used that name ten times already. That one too. That was the villain in the last story. Stop picking names that all start with A. There are 26 goddamn letters in the alphabet. No - you know what, we’ll come back to this. I mean, they don’t really need a name, do they?
Onto the fun stuff. Create a whump scene. Imagine them in pain, imagine them screaming and crying and shuddering. Blood stains a dark shirt, a razor-sharp knife gleams in the light, electricity crackles, eyes slowly slide shut.
Find their core. You may need more than one whump scene to reach this, if they’re particularly stubborn. Find out what matters to them, when all else is stripped away. Find out how they wear fear and pain. Find out their deepest regrets and their worst nightmares. Reduce them to a sobbing, curled up ball.
Cover it up. Give them a tattered cloak of dignity. Give them sharp words and stubbornness and blank faces and smirks and carefree laughter. Build their armor and make careful note of where the chinks are.
Break. Them. Down. You know where the weak spots are, where the holes in their pride lie. You know exactly where to strike. Do it. Again. And again. And again.
Alright, perhaps it’s time for a name. The use of she/he/they is getting confusing with too many characters in the scene. Besides, you need a name for a menacing hiss or a frantic shout. Open a name generator. Close it in disgust. Open a baby names app and close it in frantic bewilderment of the number of options. You need a name quick. You don’t have nine months to pick one out. Cast a glance around the room. Pick an object and add a vowel to the end. Scramble some letters. Change the spelling of your favorite name. There are 26 letters in the alphabet. Get creative.
Imagine their screams. Imagine them breaking, over and over again. Imagine their face when they’re betrayed, imagine the trail of tears that curve down their face. Imagine them after they break. Imagine building them back up, piece by careful piece, making sure your hands don’t slip.
Write? What do you mean, write?
