#writingcommunity

(a crash course in vibes, verbal economy, and making your characters shut up already)

Okay. We need to talk about dialogue. Specifically: why everyone in your draft sounds like they’re in a high school improv group doing a dramatic reading of Riverdale fanfiction.

Before you panic, this is normal. Early dialogue is almost always too much. Too polished. Too "scripted." So if yours feels off? You’re not failing. You’re just doing Draft Zero Dialogue, and it’s time to revise it like a boss.

Here’s how to fix it.

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🎭 STEP ONE: DETOX THEATER ENERGY I say this with love: your characters are not all quippy geniuses. They do not need to deliver emotional monologues at every plot beat. They can just say things. Weird, half-finished, awkward things.

Real people:

interrupt each other

trail off mid-thought

dodge questions

contradict themselves

repeat stuff

change the subject randomly

Let your characters sound messy. Not every line needs to sparkle. In fact, the more effort you put into making dialogue ✨perfect✨, the more fake it sounds. Cut 30% of your clever lines and see what happens.

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🎤 STEP TWO: GIVE EACH CHARACTER A VERBAL FINGERPRINT The fastest way to make dialogue feel alive? Make everyone speak differently. Think rhythm, grammar, vocabulary, tone.

Some dials you can twist:

Long-winded vs. clipped

Formal vs. casual

Emojis of speech: sarcasm, filler words, expletives, slang

Sentence structure: do they talk in fragments? Run-ons? Spirals?

Emotion control: are they blunt, diplomatic, avoidant, performative?

Here’s a shortcut: imagine what your character sounds like over text. Are they the “lol okay” type or the “okie dokie artichokie 🌈✨” one? Now translate that into speech.

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🧠 STEP THREE: FUNCTION > FILLER Every line of dialogue should do something. Reveal something. Move something. Change something.

Ask:

Does this line push the plot forward?

Does it show character motivation/conflict/dynamic?

Does it create tension, add context, or raise a question?

If it’s just noise? It’s dead air. Cut it. Replace it with a glance. A gesture. A silence that says more.

TIP: look at a dialogue scene and remove every third line. Does the scene still work? Probably better.

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💥 STEP FOUR: REACTIVITY IS THE GOLD STANDARD Characters don’t talk into a void. They respond. And how they respond = the real juice.

Don’t just write back-and-forth ping pong. Write conflict, dodge, misunderstanding. If one character says something vulnerable, the other might joke. Or ignore it. Or say something cruel. That’s tension.

Dialogue is not just information exchange. It’s emotional strategy.

Try this exercise: A says something revealing. B lies. A notices, but pretends they don’t. B changes the subject. Now you’ve got a real scene.

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🔍 STEP FIVE: PAY ATTENTION TO POWER Every convo has a power dynamic, even if it’s tiny. Who’s steering? Who’s withholding? Who’s deflecting, chasing, challenging?

Power can shift line to line. That shift = tension. And tension = narrative fuel.

Write conversations like chess matches, not ping pong.

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✂️ STEP SIX: SCISSORS ARE YOUR BEST FRIEND The best dialogue is often the second draft. Or third. Or fourth. First drafts are just you figuring out what everyone wants to say. Later drafts figure out what they actually would say.

Things to cut:

Greetings/closings ("Hi!" "Bye!"--skip it unless it serves tone)

Exposition disguised as chat

Obvious thoughts spoken aloud

Explaining jokes

Repeating what we already know

Readers are smart. Let them fill in blanks.

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🎧 STEP SEVEN: READ IT OUT LOUD (YES, REALLY) If you hate this step: too bad. It works. Read it. Mumbling is fine. Cringe is part of the ritual.

Ask yourself:

Would someone actually say this?

Does this sound like one person speaking, or a puppet show with one hand?

Where does the rhythm trip? Where’s the breath?

If you can’t say it out loud without wincing, the reader won’t make it either. Respect the vibe.

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🏁 TL;DR: If you want your dialogue to sound like real people, let your characters be real. Messy. Annoying. Human. Let them interrupt and lie and joke badly and say the wrong thing at the worst time.

Cut the improv class energy. Kill the urge to be ✨brilliant✨. And listen to how people talk when they’re scared, tired, pissed off, in love, or trying not to say what they mean.

That’s where the good stuff is.

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // official advocate of awkward silences and one-word replies

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:

⟢ Please support me by reposting, liking, following, and commenting on this post. If it doesn't resonate with you, please remember that a birth chart must be read as a whole.

If your Mercury is in Capricorn, in the 10th house, or tied to Saturn, writing can feel slow and deliberate. You don’t just say things, you go over them, question them, and reshape them until they feel right. There’s a constant pressure to be clear and precise. At first, it can feel like you’re holding yourself back but later, it becomes your strength. You choose your words carefully, and for that reason, they carry weight.

Genres: literary fiction, essays, long-form narratives

Examples: Joan Didion, "The Year of Magical Thinking" (2005); Wallace Stegner, Crossing to Safety (1987)

If your Moon is in Gemini, in the 3rd house, or tied to Mercury, you tend to run your feelings through words. You’re not just feeling something, you’re already thinking about it at the same time. Your mind keeps talking, even when you’re alone. That shows in how you write. It sounds like someone speaking, like thoughts happening in real time, sometimes going around the point before getting there. It feels natural, like you’re working it out as you go.

Genres: contemporary fiction, dialogue-driven narratives, essays

Examples: Nora Ephron, "Heartburn" (1983); Zadie Smith, "White Teeth" (2000)

If Mercury is in Scorpio, in the 8th house, or tightly aspected by Pluto, you don’t trust what’s visible. You write what sits underneath. Tension, control, unspoken motives. Your stories don’t explain everything, they imply it. There’s intensity in your voice because you don’t look away.

Genres: psychological fiction, noir, introspective prose

Examples: Donna Tartt, "The Secret History" (1992); Bret Easton Ellis, "American Psycho" (1991)

If your Sun or Mercury connects to Uranus, or sits in Aquarius or the 11th house, your writing may be observant, not immersive. You notice patterns, contradictions, and the way people function inside systems. Even personal stories expand into something collective. Structure may not be linear, but the perspective is sharp.

Genres: dystopia, social commentary, speculative fiction

Examples: Aldous Huxley, "Brave New World" (1932); Kazuo Ishiguro, "Never Let Me Go" (2005)

If your Moon is in Taurus, in the 2nd house, or connected to Venus, you don’t write emotions directly. You translate them into texture, space, atmosphere. Things are felt before they’re understood. Your writing slows down time instead of pushing it forward.

Genres: slice of life, descriptive fiction, slow narratives

Examples: Banana Yoshimoto, "Moshi moshi" (2014); Peter Mayle, "A Year in Provence" (1989)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Credits to @ariaiscursed and @academiaatitsfinest (images) and to @saradika-graphics (divider)

1. Your protagonist is reactive instead of proactive for the first 8 chapters 2. The stakes are “I might be sad” instead of “I might lose everything.” 3. The middle sags because you’re scared to make things worse for your characters.

I see these in almost every other manuscript I read.

Which one are you guilty of right now? Be honest. 👀

Best Friend Satoru Gojo x Bratty Reader

part 2/2 (part one here) 𑣲

“I’m nowhere near finished with you. Don’t expect to be walking tomorrow.

NSFW, explicit sexual content (p in v), cursing, fluff

︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵︵ ⊹ ︵⏜︵ ⊹ ︵ ⊹ ︵

He had you pinned to his mattress — folded damn near in half, your toes curling in pleasure. 

There was no build-up. No easing into it. One minute you were on your knees in the mill and the next you were being split in half by the honored ones, stupidly beautiful, and stupidly big dick. 

“You’re so damn mouthy,” Satoru pants, white hair falling in front of his piercing eyes as he rams into you.

“Someone needed to humble you,” you say, trying to ignore the way your voice shakes.

“Bold of you to volunteer,” he sneers. 

His hands grab your hips, angling them upwards. He leans down, running his tongue along the divet of your collarbone before sucking hard. 

You can't help but throw your head back in pleasure, your legs locking around his waist. A sound escapes your throat that is somewhere between a moan and a plea.

“Satoru…” you sob. 

“Gotta mark you up. Make sure you don’t mouth off at anyone else,” he husks, biting down behind your ear.

You unashamedly cry out at his word, shoving your hips further together. 

He looks down at you, making intense eye-contact with that shitting-eating grin on his face. 

It's all too much. His smile. Those eyes. They way his cock is rearranging your guts —

You don’t mean to, but before you know it, you’re chanting his name like a prayer. The way you would call out to…a lover.

Satoru freezes for a fraction of a second. He senses the vulnerability in your words — an unusual softness. 

His smirk falters and is replaced by a small smile. It's dark in his room but you swear you see a blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

He drops his head to yours, his voice barely audible.

“Say my name like that again.”

He cups your lower jaw, his pace slowing. His thrusts become deep and intentional. 

“You're always acting so tough, huh baby? But look at you,” he pants. “You’re letting me see you.”

You can't help the way you clench around him desperately. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say breathlessly, staring up at him.

"Like what?" he rasps between deep thrusts — the tip of his dick hitting that just right spot inside you. He looks at you. Like really looks at you. For once, there's no hint of teasing his voice. He’s dead serious. “Like I care?”

“Too late,” he breathes. 

You're brain short circuits. 

All the stolen glances. The gazes that lingered a little too long. The way you found yourself crawling into his arms after especially taxing missions. The undeniable desire? The yearning? The pining? Had he always felt it too? 

“I like it when we’re together,” Satoru admits, caressing your cheek. 

“Toru,” your voice cracks, your hard exterior cracking. 

You feel his cock twitch at your words. Satoru keeps his pace, running his fingers lightly over your palm.

“You tease me like you want distance. Find every way to get under my skin, but every time…” His thumb brushes their lower lip. “…you come right back to me.”

“Maybe I’m not as good at staying away as I like to pretend,” you admit.

“And maybe I never want you to stay away,” he says, placing a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his. “I’m not stopping tonight,” he says — like it's a promise, a declaration.

In that moment it's like you have the six eyes — you can sense everything. Satoru's hot breath on your neck.

Languid, affectionate, sensual energy crackles between you, thicker than the humid Tokyo summer air. Satoru's thumbs trace circles on your cheekbones, his eyes never leaving yours, a possessive fire burning in their depths.

"Mine," he breathes against your lips, the word a brand searing into your soul. His voice sends waves of pleasure straight to your cunt. 

He marks you. 

He dips his head, nipping at your lower lip, a promise of more to come.

"This is what you wanted?" he whispers, the question laced with both vulnerability and challenge. 

His rhythmic, deep thrusts continue.

Satoru's growl vibrates against your skin. 

"God, you're gonna be the death of me," he admits, the words raw and laced with an untamed desire. 

He pushes even deeper, eliciting a moan from you that he immediately swallows.

His hand shoots up, fingers tangling in your hair, tilting your head back as he devours your mouth. 

Every thrust is a punctuation. A silent declaration of ownership. 

You taste his hunger. His animalistic desperation. 

You arch back, offering him more access, every nerve ending alive and begging. 

The pleasure is excruciating. Exquisite. Amazing. Painfully good.

A strangled noise tears from your throat, muffled by his mouth, a desperate plea for release. 

He breaks the kiss, but only to trail kisses down your throat, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"Say it," he commands, his voice a husky whisper. "Tell me what you want."

"You," you manage, the word a ragged breath against his skin. "I want you, Toru."

He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

His pace quickens, pushing you closer to the edge, the world narrowing to the feel of his body against yours, the taste of his skin, the sound of his ragged breathing. 

You come together in a shattering release. It's like nothing you've ever felt. Splintering. Pulsing. Electric. 

He collapses onto you, breathless, skin flushed, but somehow still wearing that smug grin. 

“Don’t look at me like you’re done,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek. “I’m nowhere near finished with you. Don’t expect to be walking tomorrow.”

And goddamn… he keeps that promise, and then some.

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