#advice: drafting

Cadence

Characters don’t just speak. They project their standing in the world. Pre-Nibelheim Sephiroth has a voice rooted in professional and a bit of his traumatic past. It’s calm, authoritative, but still grounded in a human connection. Post-Nibelheim, Jenova’s influence creates a grandiose and cryptic quality.

The more his god complex grows, the more he speaks in abstracts and riddles. When he tells Bianca, "I am the key. And you, my love, you are the lock," in The Dream that Never Dies, he isn't just talking. He’s orating. He uses metaphors because, in his mind, he has transcended literal, mortal speech. This is my direct analysis of his character based on his Japanese pronoun switching from 'ore' to 'watashi' and then back to 'ore' at the end of Remake.

To apply this to your OCs, ask yourself:

Does this character feel superior, inferior, or equal to the person they are talking to?

A character with a high status or a complex ego will use longer, more flowery sentences or rarely interrupt themselves.

Conversely, a character who is grounded or lower in status might use clipped sentences or more informal slang. Notice how Bianca, despite being a goddess in the FWC universe, often speaks with a raw, 1990s-informed directness compared to Sephiroth’s ethereal droning. This contrast was chosen deliberately to make their personalities pop.

Era Markers

Voice is often a product of the time and place the character originates from. Since I write Bianca as someone who lived through the 1990s, her internal and external dialogue carries that specific flavor—even when she's in a fantasy setting. It’s subtle, but it grounds her.

In Lanterns over Rinnos, her interactions are warm and modern, focusing on emotional intimacy. Contrast that with an OC like Mordecai, my ancient incubus. If a character is ancient, their sentence structure should feel heavy. I accomplish this with Mordecai by using more formal, Latinate vocabulary to reflect his Roman roots.

If your OCs all sound the same, try giving them Forbidden Words or Signature Syntax. Maybe one character never uses contractions (like "do not" instead of "don't") because they are formal or non-human. Maybe another uses specific slang that feels unique to their background.

When Bianca tells Sephiroth, "You’ll freeze before you admit you’re cold," it’s a very human, grounded way of speaking that emphasizes her role as his emotional anchor in the Redemption!AU.

Let Silence and Action Speak

Dialogue isn't just the words in quotes. Ut’s the way the character breathes between the lines. Sephiroth’s voice is defined as much by his unreadable silences as it is by his words.

In Lanterns over Rinnos, his response to a snowball isn't a witty quip. It’s a slow, deliberate turn and a faint, awkward smile. This tells the reader everything they need to know about his internal struggle to reconnect with his humanity without him having to say a single word.

For your characters, think about their body language and quirks. Does your OC fidget while they talk? Do they stare intensely like a predator, or do they look away? Those are questions I always ask when I write post-Fall Bianca.

In Fragments of a Broken Man, Bianca uses her wings and her physical presence to manipulate the Remnants. When she calls Loz baby and cradles his jaw, that action reinforces her motherly (albeit manipulative) dialogue, so she can help lead the Remnants towards the Second Reunion, securing the return of Sephiroth.

If you describe the way they deliver the line—the sneer, the hesitation, etc—the personality will shine through even if the words themselves are simple.

Differentiate Through Motivation (Why is my character doing this)

Every character wants something from a conversation. Sephiroth speaks to Cloud to provoke hatred. He speaks to Bianca with gentleness and reverence, mimicking how he spoke to Jenova and stroke her tank during the Nibelheim Incident.

In The Dream that Never Dies, his dialogue is described as a vise tightening. It’s predatory and possessive. He isn't just sharing information. He’s trying to reclaim his Queen and turn her into what he needs her to be to survive what is coming: growth through pain is very much his thing at this point in Sephiroth's story. Every line he speaks is designed to break her resolve.

When you write, ask yourself: "What is this character trying to do to the other person with this sentence?"

If your OCs feel identical, it’s likely because they all have the same goal in the scene. Try giving them conflicting motivations. One character might want to de-escalate with humor, while another wants to maintain control through intimidation.

For example, in Fragments of a Broken Man, Kadaj’s voice is sharp and defensive because he’s protecting, while Bianca is warm because she’s playing a role to gain their loyalty. Those different whys naturally create different hows in their speech.

The "Read Aloud" Technique

This is my holy grail. I always read my work out loud during the editing phase. If I’m writing Sephiroth, I’m listening for that specific cadence I’ve memorized from the games. If a line feels too fast or too chatty, I know it’s not him.

Use resources like WikiQuote to study the literal sentence structures of canon characters. Do they use a lot of commas? Do they end on high notes or low notes? For example, Post-Nibelheim Sephiroth often uses "very good" or "I see": short, patronizing affirmations that reinforce his position as a master over a puppet.

When you read your OCs' dialogue out loud, try to give them different vocal placements.

If you can’t hear the difference when you speak their lines, your readers won't be able to hear it when they read. Practicing the cadence of characters like the Remnants—Loz’s childlike simplicity versus Kadaj’s desperate fury—will help you develop the ear for your own original cast.

Keep at it. I like to think writing is a muscle that only gets stronger with training.

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The Inciting Incident

The beginning of your story exists to move the protagonist from their normal life into the conflict. As a plotter, I find it helpful to identify the specific event that makes it impossible for the character to go back to how things were.

In a fan fiction context, this might be the moment a SOLDIER receives a corrupted file or a Turk finds themselves in a sector they were forbidden to enter. This event needs to happen early so the reader understands the stakes and the direction of the narrative.

For those who prefer a discovery writing or pantsing approach, focusing on the character's internal reaction to this event is key. You might not know the ending yet, but you should know how the character feels about the disruption. The opening paragraphs should establish a clear voice and a specific problem.

Even if the larger plot is still a mystery to you, giving the character a concrete, immediate goal will provide the momentum needed to carry the story through the first act.

Strategic setting and canon compliance

Deciding how to handle the setting is a major part of the planning process, especially in fandom. If you are writing a canon-compliant piece, the beginning needs to ground the reader in familiar territory while offering a fresh perspective. You should focus on sensory details that evoke the atmosphere of Midgar or the surrounding Gaia (FF7) without wasting time on descriptions the audience already knows. The setting should feel like a living participant in the story rather than a static backdrop.

If you are transforming the setting or building an original world, the beginning must establish the rules of the environment quickly. You have to show the reader how the world works through the character's daily struggles.

Instead of explaining the political system or the mechanics of magic, show a character interacting with those elements. This allows the reader to learn the lore naturally as the plot moves forward, preventing the narrative from stalling due to heavy exposition.

Dynamic character voice and moral shifts

Maintaining a canon character's voice requires a deep understanding of their linguistic habits and core values, but it is a mistake to treat them as static icons.

To keep a character like Cloud or Sephiroth feeling authentic, you must start with their established baseline—their vocabulary, personality, their level of stoicism, or their specific dry wit—and then allow the plot to apply pressure. Character development is the process of that voice changing over time as the character is forced to adapt to new circumstances and interpersonal influences.

I remember ten years ago when I stumbled upon a Dungeons and Dragons article, which really resonated with me as an author. Real growth often happens through the friction of conflicting worldviews, such as a disciplined, Lawful Good paladin traveling alongside a morally Neutral thief. The paladin might start the journey with an unyielding sense of justice, but through constant exposure to the thief’s pragmatism, their rigid lines may begin to blur.

Conversely, the neutral character might start to internalize the paladin’s code, finding themselves acting altruistically for the first time. If the characters do not influence one another’s perspectives, they are not truly interacting. They are just standing next to each other.

Trope integration and reader expectations

The tropes you choose will dictate the tone of your opening. If you are writing a slow-burn romance or a hurt/comfort fic, the beginning should focus on the emotional distance or the specific vulnerability of the characters.

These genres require a different kind of tension than a high-stakes action plot. You are setting the emotional stakes, showing the reader exactly what is missing from the character's life so they will be invested in seeing that void filled.

In original fiction or more plot-driven fan works, tropes act as shorthand to help the reader orient themselves. Using a familiar framework allows you to spend more time on character development and unique plot twists.

You should be mindful of how you introduce these elements. They should feel like an organic part of the character's journey rather than a checklist of genre requirements. By understanding the expectations of your specific sub-genre, you can craft an opening that feels both satisfying and unpredictable.

Mapping the narrative arc for consistency

Planning the start of the story requires looking ahead to the middle and the end. As a plotter, I ensure that the first chapter contains the seeds of the eventual resolution. This might be a subtle character flaw that needs to be overcome or a minor detail that becomes vital later on. This level of preparation ensures that the beginning feels intentional and that every scene is pulling its weight toward the larger goal.

If you lean more toward pantsing, use the beginning to explore the boundaries of your concept. Write several versions of the first scene to see which one has the most energy. You can always go back and refine the opening once you have finished the first draft and understand where the story ended up.

The most important thing is to get the character moving and the conflict started, as the momentum you build in the first few pages will sustain you through the difficult middle sections of the writing process.

Thank you for sending in this question, my friend. I hope this helps you find the right footing for your story and gives you the confidence to start writing.

If explicit anatomical terms or action-by-action descriptions are making you cringe, zoom in on the sensory details instead. What does the room sound like? (Heavy breathing, a rainstorm outside, sheets rustling?) What does the other person smell like?

Focus entirely on touch—a hand tracing a spine, the heat of skin, or the feeling of a racing pulse. Writing the anticipation and the sensory atmosphere is incredibly hot and usually feels much more natural to write.

You don’t have to jump straight into the deep end. Try writing a scene that builds up incredible tension—heavy kissing, intense dialogue, lingering glances—and then let it fade to black right as things cross the line. Once you get comfortable writing the high-intensity buildup, you might find your comfort zone naturally expanding a few sentences further next time.

When you get to a part that makes you blush or feel silly, don't let it stop your momentum. Literally write [insert sexy thing here] or [they do the deed] and just keep writing the emotional aftermath or the cuddling. Separating the plot/emotion from the mechanics can take the pressure off. You can always go back and fill in the blanks later!

Sometimes a change of scenery tricks your brain into letting go of inhibition. Write it in a hidden note on your phone while sitting somewhere mundane, or change your document font to something ridiculous like Comic Sans. It sounds silly, but it makes the text feel less permanent and less serious, which helps silence the inner critic. I write my sex scenes in Lara's Letters (which is a loopy script font) before I change it back to Sitka in Scrivener.

Every writer's first pass at a spicy scene sounds a little mechanical or awkward. It's just a byproduct of trying to coordinate body parts in text! Give yourself permission to write the absolute worst, most ridiculous version of it first. No one ever has to see it but you.

An alien might not look at a person's face to see if they are lying. She might listen to the rhythm of their pulse or notice how the air displacement around them shifts. Because your OC is benevolent and gentle, her alien nature can come across as a kind of detached, heavy grace. She isn't being rude. She just perceives things on a scale humans cannot grasp.

When writing Bianca, I often use her bird-like and reptilian instincts to pull her away from being too human. She does not just sit in a chair. She perches. She doesn't just look around. She freezes in jarring bursts of stillness that feel unnatural to anyone watching. You can do the same with your character. For example, maybe she stands too still, or her eyes track movement in a way that suggests she is seeing the heat coming off a body rather than the clothes they are wearing, since she is an alien.

Since she is immortal and willing to sacrifice herself, her view on death is probably very different from ours. To a human, dying is the end. To her, it might just be a temporary inconvenience or a change in state. You can show her alien nature by having her treat her own safety with a casualness that is actually disturbing to her loved ones.

Don't feel like she has to explain everything with words. You mentioned she is mature and gentle, so her alienness can manifest in a quiet, observant way. Use her body language to show her internal state.

I hope this helps you get into her headspace! It sounds like you have a really beautiful character concept, and finding those small, non-human details will really make her shine.

Thank you for the question, and I hope you have a great day.

🌒 — Nicole

Write What You Feel. Start there. Start with the gut. Writing from raw emotion doesn’t require a PhD or a memoir-worthy life. You don’t need to have lived the exact experience to write grief, longing, love rage, or euphoria.

Emotions are universal even when circumstances aren’t, and stories that pulse with feeling resonate deeper than technical accuracy ever will. Let the ache shape the prose. Let the joy make it relatable to your readers.

Write What You Can Understand. Empathy is a muscle, and storytelling is one of the best ways to flex it. You may not share someone’s identity or history, but if you can listen deeply, research respectfully, and enter that imaginative space with humility, you can write it. Not everything needs to be autobiographical to be authentic, but you do owe your characters your effort to understand their reality.

Write What You're Curious About. Chase obsessions. Follow the weird little facts that keep you up at night or the aesthetics that haunt your dreams. Writing is permission to explore and to become temporarily possessed by an idea or world or character.

Curiosity is the root of every great “what if?” So, if you don’t know something yet, perfect. Write to find out.

Write From Your Lived Voice. No one else thinks or phrases things quite like you do. That’s both beauty and power. Your syntax, your rhythm, your lens on the world? All of that is part of your voice, shaped by your culture, location, neurotype, class, language, and every invisible filter through which you perceive.

Even if you’re writing dragons or deep-space rebels or a 6'7" foot god aspirant with great hair and a long sword, your voice is the thread that makes it yours.

Write What You’ve Survived (but If and When You’re Ready). Some stories feel radioactive. That’s okay. There’s no moral obligation to mine your pain for art, but when the time comes, and only when you choose, it can be healing, enraging, clarifying, even liberating to write what tried to break you.

Survival carries a voice of authority. You can write it messy, write it angry, write it tender, but only if you want to.

Write As If You Know It Intimately. Here’s the secret that I found out by talking to some best-selling authors when I was marketing my own self-published novellas. Most writers are winging it. We invent, embellish, and dramatize constantly. So, write your castles, your magical cults, your interdimensional wars with the confidence of a delusional god.