Untitled

(Found on Pinterest ages ago)

Laughing at their own jokes

Don't finish/say complete sentences

Interrupt a line of thought with a sudden new one

Say 'uh/uhm' between words when unsure

Accidentally blending words - may restart the sentence

Begin/end sentences with 'eh?' or 'you know?' etc, may be turned into an actual question for others to respond to

Repeat words such as 'like/literally/really/anyways/I think'

Repeat words or phrases when excited

Words fizzle out when they realise no one is listening

Repeat themselves when others don't understand them, or to get their point across

congrats. you’ve unlocked the most ✨ cursed ✨ form of storytelling: knowing the destination but having zero map, no snacks, and one emotionally unstable protagonist riding shotgun.

aka: you know how your book ends. maybe even the Last Line™. but the middle? the plot? the scenes required to get there?

🦗🦗🦗

welcome to liminal writing hell. here’s what to do about it:

🚨 STEP 1: Write the ending anyway.

yes. even if you’re only on chapter three. write the ending now. not perfectly. not canon. just get it down while it’s burning in your brain.

this does 2 things:

gets you emotionally invested in where you’re headed

gives you a north star to align your scenes to

future-you will thank you when you're knee-deep in act 2, spiraling, and you need to remember what this mess was for.

🧩 STEP 2: Backwards logic it like a feral detective.

ask: what has to happen right before this ending can exist? then ask that question again. and again. until you’ve accidentally built a whole reverse-outline.

like:

✨ final scene: heroine stabs the love interest to save the world → she needs to know he’s the villain → she needs to see him do something unforgivable → she needs a reason to be in the same room as him when it happens → she needs to go to the city where he’s hiding → she needs to choose betrayal over loyalty

now reverse those like breadcrumbs through the forest of chaos.

🎯 STEP 3: Identify your mid-point emotional switch.

the best middles aren’t just “stuff happening.” they’re a turning point. a reversal. a Big Choice. often it’s the opposite of the ending.

ending = character sacrifices love midpoint = character believes love will fix everything

this sets up contrast + emotional stakes. the midpoint shows how wrong they are. the ending proves how far they’ve come.

no midpoint? no tension. build the middle to break them, then rebuild toward the finale.

🧱 STEP 4: Stack up your themes like Jenga blocks.

what are you actually saying with this ending?

if the ending is: “freedom comes at a price” then the story needs to explore:

what freedom means

who pays that price

how people deny the cost

how your protagonist learns to accept it

if your middle scenes aren’t touching these ideas? they’re just filler. start weaving the theme early, subtly, and repeatedly. make it hurt a little.

📦 STEP 5: Write “junk scenes” in the blank spaces.

not sure how they get from castle to climax? write a fake scene. not canon. no pressure. just vibes. let the characters mess around in the setting. argue. kiss. kill. eat soup. whatever.

you’ll learn what they want, what secrets they’re hiding, what tensions spark.

some of these junk scenes will turn out to be real. others will guide you to what needs to happen next. use them as scaffolding.

🧃 STEP 6: Accept that messy = forward.

you won’t always see the whole road. write the next landmark. write the next mistake. write the next bad scene and figure out why it doesn’t work.

knowing your ending is a gift. the rest? that’s the part where you dig.

you don’t need a perfect bridge. you just need enough planks to get across without falling into the river of I’ll-Fix-It-Later.

now go. write the scene where everything breaks.

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:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

Every time he travelled to a new location, he’d find some wood that grew there and make it into a staff to defend himself from any bandits or ne'er-do-wells who attacked him.

He was convinced that the staff, being more in tune with his surroundings, would serve him better in a fight. One day, he explained this to a scholarly friend, who decided to do some investigating.

The scholar started swapping the monk’s staves while he was asleep. Some days, the monk would be using a staff he thought was from where he was, but wasn’t; some days he’d believe it was from elsewhere, when in fact it was the correct staff for where he was; and some days belief and truth would match.

Interestingly, the scholar discovered that it was the monk's belief that mattered - whichever staff he was using, if he thought it matched his surroundings he’d do a little better, and if he thought it didn’t he’d do a little worse.

A human face reveals a lot about a person.

In creative writing, describing a character’s face can uncover information about who they are and how they feel.

Writers can zoom in on individual features, like the eyes or mouth, or describe a face in its entirety to paint a picture of a character.

Develop a character through their most telling attribute—their face.

Tips for Describing Faces in Your Writing

Use figurative language when describing a character’s face. When you’re introducing a character for the first time and want the reader to create an image in their mind, use figurative language to describe the character’s face instead of just stating the obvious qualities. For example, you can use similes and metaphors. It’s okay to simply say, “She has blonde hair,” but you could also use a simile: “Her hair was golden like the sun.” In Great Expectations Charles Dickens uses a unique metaphor to describe a feature of a character’s face: “His mouth was such a post-office of a mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling.”

Create facial expressions that reveal emotions. How a character’s eyes, eyebrows, nose, forehead, mouth, and chin move in unison can let a reader in on their emotions. A character can have a facial tic when they get nervous. Whether it’s raised eyebrows and a mouth curved into a smile or a furrowed brow and an upper lip curled into a scowl, you can use a character’s expressions instead of dialogue to reveal their feelings about a situation.

Frame your character’s face with a hairstyle that reflects their story. A crewcut might signify a military soldier or someone who likes to be in control. A ponytail or pigtails might indicate a young character. Describe a character’s hair color—black hair, dark hair, brunette, redhead, blonde, gray, or white—in interesting ways instead of just stating the shade. It makes a difference whether your character dyes their hair or keeps it its natural shade. Describe the length of their hair. A confident businesswoman might have short or shoulder-length hair. A musician might have longer hair. Match your character’s hairstyle with their personality.

Make facial hair an element of a character’s style. How a male character keeps his facial hair is telling. If he’s constantly clean-shaven, he might go to a regular corporate job. A bit of stubble can signify a more casual career. From a beard to sideburns to a goatee, facial hair helps paint a picture of a male character and can help represent their life and what they do.

Realize that eyes are windows to the soul. There are endless ways to depict eyes. Describe obvious characteristics like eye color—green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, gray eyes, or black eyes. Highlight their shape—round, almond, narrow. Think about the entire orbital structure, from eyelids to eyelashes. Illustrate how the eyes are placed in relation to the character’s face—deep-set, wide-set, or close-set. Give eyes their own movements to tap into a character’s feelings. Let a character’s eyes twinkle, squint, gaze, or glare.

Describe your character’s skin. The tone and texture of a character’s skin can provide insights into a character’s life. A child’s face might be freckled. A sickly character might look pasty. An old cowboy might be good looking and rugged with craggy skin.

Give your character unique facial features. Set a character apart with distinguishing facial features. Give them dimples, freckles, or unique markings on their face. Give them poor vision so they need to wear eyeglasses. Maybe they wear heavy makeup or have piercings. Think of different ways you can create unique facial features that help define a character.

You’ve met her before. The girl with “flowing ebony hair,” “emerald eyes,” and “lips like rose petals.” Or him, with “chiseled jawlines,” “stormy gray eyes,” and “shoulders like a Greek statue.”

We don’t know them.

We’ve just met their tropes.

Describing physical appearance is one of the trickiest — and most overdone — parts of character writing. It’s tempting to reach for shorthand: hair color, eye color, maybe a quick body scan. But if we want a reader to see someone — to feel the charge in the air when they enter a room — we need to stop writing mannequins and start writing people.

So let’s get granular. Here’s how to write physical appearance in a way that’s textured, meaningful, and deeply character-driven.

1. Hair: It’s About Story, Texture, and Care

Hair says a lot — not just about genetics, but about choices. Does your character tame it? Let it run wild? Is it dyed, greying, braided, buzzed, or piled on top of her head in a hurry?

Good hair description considers:

Texture (fine, coiled, wiry, limp, soft)

Context (windblown, sweat-damp, scorched by bleach)

Emotion (does she twist it when nervous? Is he ashamed of losing it?)

Flat: “Her long brown hair framed her face.”

Better: “Her ponytail was too tight, the kind that whispered of control issues and caffeine-fueled 4 a.m. library shifts.”

You don’t need to romanticise it. You need to make it feel real.

2. Eyes: Less Color, More Connection

We get it: her eyes are violet. Cool. But that doesn’t tell us much.

Instead of focusing solely on eye color, think about:

What the eyes do (do they dart, linger, harden?)

What others feel under them (seen, judged, safe?)

The surrounding features (dark circles, crow’s feet, smudged mascara)

Flat: “His piercing blue eyes locked on hers.”

Better: “His gaze was the kind that looked through you — like it had already weighed your worth and moved on.”

You’re not describing a passport photo. You’re describing what it feels like to be seen by them.

3. Facial Features: Use Contrast and Texture

Faces are not symmetrical ovals with random features. They’re full of tension, softness, age, emotion, and life.

Things to look for:

Asymmetry and character (a crooked nose, a scar)

Expression patterns (smiling without the eyes, habitual frowns)

Evidence of lifestyle (laugh lines, sun spots, stress acne)

Flat: “She had a delicate face.”

Better: “There was something unfinished about her face — as if her cheekbones hadn’t quite agreed on where to settle, and her mouth always seemed on the verge of disagreement.”

Let the face be a map of experience.

4. Bodies: Movement > Measurement

Forget dress sizes and six packs. Think about how bodies occupy space. How do they move? What are they hiding or showing? How do they wear their clothes — or how do the clothes wear them?

Ask:

What do others notice first? (a presence, a posture, a sound?)

How does their body express emotion? (do they go rigid, fold inwards, puff up?)

Flat: “He was tall and muscular.”

Better: “He had the kind of height that made ceilings nervous — but he moved like he was trying not to take up too much space.”

Describing someone’s body isn’t about cataloguing. It’s about showing how they exist in the world.

5. Let Emotion Tint the Lens

Who’s doing the describing? A lover? An enemy? A tired narrator? The emotional lens will shape what’s noticed and how it’s described.

In love: The chipped tooth becomes charming.

In rivalry: The smirk becomes smug.

In mourning: The face becomes blurred with memory.

Same person. Different lens. Different description.

6. Specificity is Your Superpower

Generic description = generic character. One well-chosen detail creates intimacy. Let us feel the scratch of their scarf, the clink of her earrings, the smudge of ink on their fingertips.

Examples:

“He had a habit of adjusting his collar when he lied — always clockwise, always twice.”

“Her nail polish was always chipped, but never accidentally.”

Make the reader feel like they’re the only one close enough to notice.

Describing appearance isn’t just about what your character looks like. It’s about what their appearance says — about how they move through the world, how others see them, and how they see themselves.

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: