#writing exercises

Editors note - There's a lot of boring writers drivel. So, to spare you from the headache if you're not interested, your characters individual voices and personalities are important for engaging stories and interesting plots. You can skip down to the end for the exercises.

🗡️ Stab it: Write 23 words (or 23 sentences if you're playing on hard)

🗡️Settle a debt: Finish an old unfinished work

🗡️Become a dictator: Outline a version of your narrative world where your protagonist has complete control. What would they want the world to look like?

Cos we all deserved some fluff and floof in life heheheehe

Yes, you can! I hope you enjoy this and it makes up for the sad one!

Here be fluff, a different first meeting, and some laughs:

Donut Day was sacred.

This fact had been drilled into Tommy from his very first shift at Harbor. If it was your turn in the rotation, you came to work, donuts in hand. Or else.

Tommy was no fool. He'd never let himself find out what 'or else' was.

When it was his turn for Donut Day, he left two hours early so he could hit Pete's Donuts—arguably the best donut shop in all of L.A.—grab a selection of everyone's favorites, which he had memorized, thank you very much, and still make it to work on time.

Tommy was the king of Donut Day.

Except today—

Today, some guy—some punk kid—was going to cost him his crown.

To be fair, it wasn't entirely the kid's fault. Working an afternoon shift meant stopping by Pete's after the morning rush, but before the lunchtime restock was complete. Tommy thought he'd arrived early enough, but the shelves were looking pretty sad.

Which would have been fine if this guy hadn't made it through the door before him, securing a place in line ahead of Tommy, and seemed intent on buying out the place.

Nevermind, it was all this guy's fault.

Him and his...legs...that seemed to go on for days.

"I'll take that last Oreo one, please," the guy said and Tommy huffed under his breath.

Sorry about your luck, Jenkins. You're going to have to live with your second favorite—

"And that last strawberry shortcake one, too."

"Seriously?" Tommy whispered to himself, cursing his bad luck.

"Ooh, and that last triple chocolate one—"

"Oh, come on!" Tommy exclaimed, the words bursting out before he could stop them. Because really? Even the triple chocolate?

His favorite?

"Dude, what is your problem?" The guy whirled around to glare at him and Tommy felt it like a punch to the chest.

Because the donut thief was gorgeous.

Forget the legs for days and the muscled back and the equally muscled chest and arms—good god, the arms—how could Tommy focus on any of that when he was faced with the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen.

And pouty lips on a mouth that had dropped open ever so slightly as the Donut Day interloper stared back at him.

"My problem?" Tommy asked, tearing his eyes away from the pouty lips back to the beautiful blue eyes that had gone wider when he took a little step closer. "My problem is you're going to get me fired if you keep buying up all the donuts. Or at least have a whole crew of hungry firefighters calling for my head."

He sent the donut thief a rueful smile. "Think you can help a guy out?"

"Y-you're a firefighter?" The guy said and if Tommy thought he was gorgeous before, he'd clearly misunderstood the meaning of the word. The grin that stretched across his face lit it up so brightly, Tommy suddenly understood why moths made such poor life choices.

He took another step closer. Drawn in by the light.

"I'm a firefighter too," the guy exclaimed. His face fell suddenly as he looked between Tommy and the display case of donuts. "It's my turn to bring the donuts too and if I don't bring the right ones, I'll never hear the end of it. Chim really likes those Oreo ones and Hen loves the strawberry shortcake—"

"Wait." Tommy laughed, shaking his head. "Are you at the 118?"

Of all the coincidences...

"Y-yeah, how did you know?" Blue Eyes grinned and this time he took a step closer.

"I used to work there, with Howie and Hen and everyone," Tommy said. He stuck a hand out. "Tommy Kinard."

"B—uh, Evan," Blue Eyes—Evan said. "Evan Buckley."

"Well, Evan Buckley, let's see if we can figure out a donut arrangement that works for everyone, yeah?"

The next ten minutes were spent playfully haggling over their choices—even going so far as to ask the very patient counter employee to cut a few in half. Tommy was pretty sure she'd been Instagramming most of their exchange so he didn't feel too bad about it.

Finally, donut boxes in hand, he and Evan left the shop, both lingering for a moment out on the sidewalk.

Tommy didn't miss the way Evan's eyes lingered over him at the same time. Zeroing in on his chin for some reason.

"That was some pretty good trouble-shooting in there," Tommy began, shaking Evan out of his chin-centric thoughts.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Evan said, shaking his head with a little laugh. "I'm going to get roasted over those donut halves though."

"You won't be the only one," Tommy said. He could already hear Jenkins' voice ranting at him over it.

But more importantly, he could feel the seconds ticking away before he and Evan would be going their separate ways and Tommy—for some reason—really didn't want to let that happen.

"You should give me your number," he heard himself saying. "So we can commiserate later."

"O-okay," Evan said, already digging his phone out of his pocket. "A-and you should give me yours. Tell me how you like the lime and jalapeno donut."

The one he'd talked Tommy into trying even though Tommy had zero tolerance for spice.

He was somehow already a complete pushover for this man.

They entered their numbers into each other's phones and handed them back with little grins.

"I should get going," Tommy said reluctantly, not able to put off the inevitable any longer. "It was really nice to meet you, Evan."

"You too," Evan said. "Tommy."

With one last smile, one last look, Tommy headed down the sidewalk to his truck, Evan leaving in the opposite direction.

Tommy turned back for one last last look and almost blushed at getting caught by Evan as he did it—before he realized Evan caught him because he was doing the exact same thing.

And Evan was definitely blushing.

Well.

How about that?

Despite his little donut thief adventure, Tommy still made it to work in plenty of time. He dropped the donuts off in the kitchen and stepped back as the hungry masses fell upon the boxes.

"Kinard!" Jenkins yelled out a few seconds later. He emerged from the huddle holding up half of an Oreo donut. "What the hell, man?"

"It was for a good cause," Tommy said. "Trust me."

Jenkins kept cranking at him, but Tommy was already tuning him out, attention caught by a new text on his phone.

A message from Evan.

Tommy opened it, chuckling over the picture of a very disgruntled looking Howie and Hen.

They're questioning our choices, the text read.

We'll just have to do better next time, Tommy wrote back.

He chewed on his lip, watching as three bubbles blinked in and out on his screen until finally—

Same time next week?

Can't wait, Tommy replied quickly.

He was going to be doing some heavy editing of the donut rotation for the foreseeable future and everyone was just going to have to deal with it...

Because Tommy had a donut thief to woo.

Write a scene that clearly centres on a powerful emotion, but never use the word that names it. Instead, rely on actions, physical sensations, internal monologue, and dialogue to convey that emotion.

Ever feel like your characters are just… cardboard cutouts? You’re writing the dialogue, but it feels flat, like you’re just reading a script instead of living the moment. Sometimes, the problem isn't your plot: it's your proximity to the character.

David Bowie knew this struggle better than anyone. His personas; Ziggy Stardust, The Thin White Duke, weren't just flashy costumes: they were creative filters. They were tools he used to bypass his own inhibitions. He understood that if you want to write something truly evocative, you have to stop "writing" and start "becoming."

If you’re stuck on a character’s voice, don’t just sit at the keyboard and think about them. Adopt a "persona." Treat your writing session like a costume change. When you step into that headspace, your vocabulary shifts, your sentence structure tightens, and suddenly, you’re not choosing words, you’re speaking from a perspective.

Putting on the Mask: A Harry Potter Example

Let’s take Regulus Black. He’s a minor character with a massive, tragic arc. If you’re trying to write him, don't just aim for "sad" or "scared." That’s too broad.

1. Build the Persona (The Filter): Before you type, ask yourself: What is his specific "voice"?

The Filter: Regulus is defined by the suffocating pressure of an ancient, aristocratic lineage and the cold, crushing realization that his "hero" (Voldemort) is a monster.

The Persona: Imagine yourself as a boy who is physically freezing, trapped in a house that hates him, speaking in hushed tones because he’s terrified of being overheard by the portraits on the walls.

2. The Drafting Session: When you sit down to write, don't just think "Regulus feels guilty." Instead, adopt the mask of that cold, observant, disillusioned boy.

Instead of: "Regulus felt bad about the Death Eaters."

Try (The Mask): "The air in the drawing-room always tasted of dust and rot. He traced the silver embroidery on his robes—a uniform for a war he’d already lost. It wasn't about regret; it was about the sickening realization that the 'purity' he’d been promised was just another word for decay."

See the difference? By "wearing" the persona of the cold, trapped heir, your word choices (rot, decay, uniform, silver) shift to match his specific worldview.

I need yall to smash that heart button

And i'll write something dedicated to you