The Struggle Is Real You’ve probably heard the phrase “Show, don’t tell!”  so many times that it haunts your dreams. Writing advice blogs throw it around like it’s the "golden rule" of storytelling—but let’s be real: nobody actually explains how  to do it. So here’s the truth: You need both showing and telling. One makes your reader feel  the story; the other helps move it along.  The trick is knowing when to show, when to tell, (read my blog post here on the importance of both Showing AND Telling ) and how to master the art of showing in a way that makes your prose immersive without turning into a purple-prose nightmare. Read my other article here on what it means to be a " Purple Prose Writer ." In this post, we’re diving deep into how to write vivid, immersive prose by mastering: The five senses and why they’re your best writing tool How to get into your body so your characters feel  real Using deep POV to make your reader experience the story firsthand Writing exercises to help you sharpen your skills By the end, you’ll know exactly how to bring your writing to life—and your readers? They won’t just read your story. They’ll live it . Table Of Contents Why Your Writing Feels Flat Why Showing Is Essential What Are The 5 Senses? Utilizing The 5 Senses Getting Into Your Body The Body Scan Technique Becoming Deep POV Literate When Vivid Writing Becomes Too Much Writing Exercises Concluding Thoughts If Your Writing Feels Flat, This Might Be Why If your writing feels lifeless, and your scenes lack depth, emotion, or engagement, you might be relying too much on telling instead of showing. Rather than stating “she was nervous,” let the reader see her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. Instead of saying “the city was in ruins,” immerse them in the crumbling walls, the air thick with the scent of smoke and ash. The goal isn’t to eliminate telling altogether—it’s about knowing when to let the reader experience the world through the character’s senses. By mastering this balance, you transform passive descriptions into vivid, unforgettable storytelling. Why Showing Is Essential to Strong Writing Showing isn’t just about painting a pretty picture—it's about pulling readers into a story. It 's about making them feel, see, and experience what your characters do. When you show instead of tell, emotions become visceral, settings come alive, and actions carry weight. Instead of saying a character is heartbroken, showing lets the reader feel their grief through trembling hands, hollowed eyes, and the way they can’t bring themselves to step into the room where a loved one once stood. Strong writing isn’t about dumping information—it’s about crafting an experience that lingers in the reader’s mind long after they’ve turned the page. Think about some of your favorite books. The ones that pulled you in, the ones that made you forget where you were, and made your heart race like you’ve just sprinted up a flight of stairs. Go pry those dusty books open and analyze them. Reread your favorite passages and ask yourself why it felt so immersive. Was it because the author was telling you what was happening? Or was it because the author made you feel and experience the story, not just read it. Telling vs. Showing (Side-by-Side Example) Let’s say your character is terrified: ❌ Telling: She was scared. ✅ Showing: Her breath hitched. Her fingers clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. The shadows stretched longer, darker, closing in. One is a statement. The other is an experience. Readers don’t want to be informed that a character is scared. They want to feel the tightness in their chest, hear the pounding of their pulse, and taste the bile in their throat. That’s why showing is so powerful—it makes readers feel the character’s world. The Five Senses: The Secret Weapon for Immersive Writing Engaging your readers isn’t just about telling them what happens—it’s about making them experience it. By tapping into the five senses, you transform your prose from a flat narrative into a vibrant, living scene. Whether it’s the glimmer of sunlight through a window, the subtle hum of a busy street, the comforting aroma of fresh bread, the cool touch of a gentle breeze, or even the bittersweet taste of regret, each sense adds a layer of authenticity and emotion. Use these sensory details to draw your readers deep into your world, making every moment feel tangible and unforgettable. How to Actually Write Vivid Prose Using the Five Senses Vivid prose isn’t just about describing what a character sees—it’s about crafting an experience that feels real. Instead of saying “The room was cold,” let the reader feel the chill— “Goosebumps prickled her arms as the draft curled around her, slipping beneath her collar like icy fingers.” Each sense adds texture, grounding the reader in the scene. By layering sensory details naturally into your writing, you create an immersive world where readers don’t just observe the story—they live in it. But don't get confused—or overzealous. Showing isn’t just about adding adjectives. It’s about choosing the right details to create a full experience without overloading the prose. If you want to pull readers into your world, your best tool isn’t a massive vocabulary or the overuse of poetic metaphors. It’s the five senses. When you engage sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch, you don’t just describe a scene—you transport your reader into the story. Breaking Down the Five Senses in Writing 👁️ Sight  – The most used sense in writing. But don’t just say “The sky was blue.”   What kind of blue? Was it a deep indigo, a washed-out gray-blue, or so blinding it felt like staring into a god’s eye?* 👂 Sound  – Think beyond dialogue. Footsteps on gravel. The distant howl of wind through cracked windows. The sticky silence between two people who should be talking. 👃 Smell  – The strongest trigger for memory and emotion. A whiff of burnt sugar can bring back childhood. The stench of iron can signal danger. Use smell to anchor scenes emotionally. 👅 Taste  – Often overlooked but powerful. Blood tastes like pennies on the tongue. Fear is bitter, thick, clinging. A lover’s kiss might be sweet, tinged with the sharpness of wine. 🖐 Touch  – Temperature, texture, weight. The heat of sunburned skin, the damp chill of fog, the gritty bite of sand in someone’s boots. Readers should feel  what your characters feel. PRO-TIP: Because scent is so closely tied to memory, I personally love weaving in a character’s past through the smells they encounter. It’s a subtle yet powerful way to reveal backstory, deepen characterization, and evoke emotion without resorting to an info-dump. A whiff of freshly baked bread might transport a hardened warrior back to childhood mornings in their mother’s kitchen. The scent of burning wood could trigger a painful memory of a home lost to fire. Smell isn’t just sensory—it’s storytelling. Use it to layer subtext, nostalgia, or even trauma into your scenes. Example of Layering the Senses ❌ Flat Description (Telling): The alley was dark and smelled bad. ✅ Immersive (Showing): The alley reeked of rotting fish and urine, the kind of stench that sticks to the back of your throat. A single streetlamp flickered overhead, casting warped shadows along the damp brick walls. Notice how layering sensory details creates a visceral image? It’s not just dark—it’s claustrophobic. It doesn’t just smell bad—it’s gut-churning. Getting Into Your Body: The Key to Writing Immersively If you don’t feel the scene, how can your readers? To write scenes that feel real, you need to feel them first. One of the biggest reasons writers struggle with showing is that they don’t fully engage with their own senses  while writing. Pay attention to how emotions manifest physically—where do you carry stress? How does fear tighten your chest? What does exhaustion actually feel like beyond just “being tired”? The more aware you are of your own body’s reactions, the more authentically you can translate them onto the page. Instead of simply saying a character is anxious, describe the tension in their shoulders, the restless bounce of their knee, the way their breath hitches before they speak. By grounding your writing in tangible, bodily sensations, you pull readers deep into the moment, making your story a full-body experience rather than just words on a page. The Body Scan Technique for Writing One of the best ways to strengthen sensory writing is to get into your body. Close your eyes. Where do you feel tension? What does the air smell like? Is your skin warm, cool, clammy? The Body Scan Technique is a mindfulness exercise that helps you tune into physical sensations—an invaluable tool for writing immersive prose. Instead of defaulting to generic emotions like “she was scared,” consider where that fear manifests. A clenched jaw? A twisting gut? Wobbly knees? By first paying attention to your own body, you can better translate sensory experiences onto the page. Before writing a scene, try this: Close your eyes. Take a breath. Notice your body. Are your shoulders tense? Are you warm or cold? Focus on textures and sensations. How do your clothes feel against your skin? What background sounds are filling the room? Now , write as if your character is experiencing it firsthand. This practice builds sensory awareness, making it easier to write scenes that feel alive. Understanding Your Character’s Perspective: How Their Worldview Shapes Their Deep POV Deep POV (Point of View) isn’t just about removing filter words ( “he saw,”   “she thought” )—it’s about fully embodying your character’s unique worldview. Every character steps into a scene with a lifetime of experiences that shape how they think, act, and interpret the world. Their upbringing, past hardships, and personal beliefs all influence how they perceive and react to situations. A character raised in comfort might see a bustling marketplace as lively and full of opportunity, while one who’s struggled with poverty might see it as overwhelming and dangerous. Consider their outlook on life—are they an optimist who believes things will work out, or a cynic who expects disappointment? Do they see the world through a lens of nostalgia, regret, hope, or apathy? A young character who has already endured immense hardship may view love as conditional, while an older character who has lived a sheltered life may still carry a childlike naivety about the world. These factors don’t just inform their internal monologue but also shape the very details they notice. A pessimist might walk into a room and immediately register the cracks in the walls, the frayed edges of a rug, and the way the air smells stale, while an idealist might focus on the golden glow of sunlight streaming through dusty curtains. By weaving in these personal filters, you ensure that your prose doesn’t just describe —it immerses . Readers don’t just see what’s happening; they feel it through the lens of a character who is fully alive on the page. Deep POV isn’t just about telling a story—it’s about making readers feel it. By removing narrative distance, it pulls readers directly into your character’s mind, making emotions immediate, intimate, and authentic. Instead of simply stating how a character feels, Deep POV immerses readers in their raw, unfiltered experience. Instead of: ❌ She was tired but forced herself to keep running. Try: ✅ Her legs screamed with every step, muscles trembling. The air burned her lungs, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. But stopping wasn’t an option. See the difference? Deep POV eliminates emotion labels ( tired, scared, sad ) and replaces them with visceral sensations, internal reactions, and physical cues. It doesn’t just tell the reader what’s happening—it makes them feel it. Example 1: Mira pushed her way to the front of the crowd, eyes wide, heart pounding in anticipation. The scent of spiced honey pastries and fresh-cut flowers hung thick in the air, blending with the warmth of hundreds of bodies packed together. Trumpets blared, and the first shimmer of gold caught the sunlight—robes embroidered with intricate sigils, gemstones twinkling like captured starlight. She gasped, pressing her hands to her chest as the queen’s procession drew closer. So close! She thought. The silk banners unfurled in the breeze, each thread a symbol of power, of legacy, of something greater than her simple life in the weaving district. To see them in the flesh! Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, grounding her in this impossible, dreamlike moment. The nobles passed, resplendent and radiant, their horses adorned in silver filigree. One day, she thought, one day, maybe my hands will weave the very silk that drapes their shoulders. Example 2: Edrik stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The cheers around him rang hollow, each voice grating against his ears. The scent of honeyed pastries twisted his stomach—not with hunger, but with the memory of the last time he had stood on these streets, his mother begging for scraps while the nobles feasted inside gilded halls. The fanfare blasted through the square, and there they were, parading through the city as if their every step wasn’t bought with stolen coin and broken backs. The banners rippled, each sigil a mockery of justice, each gemstone winking in the sunlight like a taunt. His fingers curled into fists. Look at them, high and mighty, smiling down at the very people they trample. The queen’s carriage rolled by, her serene face untouched by grief, untouched by the suffering her taxes had wrought. Edrik turned away before rage could turn to something worse—before the grief clawing at his throat could make him do something reckless. See how the same event feels completely different depending on who’s experiencing it? Mira and Edrik are watching the same parade, but their pasts, beliefs, and emotions shape how they interpret it. One sees splendor, a dream made real—while the other sees corruption, a reminder of loss. This is the power of Deep POV. By fully inhabiting your character’s mindset, you don’t just describe a scene—you filter it through their lived experiences, biases, and emotions, making every moment richer and more personal. When Vivid Becom e s Purple: Don't Over-Describe Now, there’s a fine line between immersive, vivid prose and overindulgent, purple writing. If your descriptions feel like they belong in a poetic fever dream rather than serving the story, you might be leaning too hard into the thesaurus. Watch out for excessive metaphors, adjectives that suffocate rather than enhance, and imagery so dense that it slows pacing to a crawl. Vivid prose should create clarity, not confusion. If you’re unsure whether your writing has crossed into purple territory, read your passage aloud—if it takes longer to describe a door opening than it would for someone to walk through it, you might have a problem. (And if you need a deep dive on how to fix it, read here .) Read my blog post " Sometimes You Just Need to Get to the Point: When Telling Is the Right Move "  here to get a more in-depth explanation how to effectively "tell" in your writing. Writing Exercises: Strengthening Your Showing Skills Now that we’ve explored the power of sensory details, let’s put it into practice. Writing is like fine-tuning a radio—sometimes, you need to adjust the frequency to hear the full depth of a scene. The following exercises will help you refine your ability to show rather than tell , heighten sensory immersion, and strengthen your deep POV. Grab your pen (or keyboard), and let’s dive in! Exercise 1: Sensory Expansion Take a bland sentence and expand it using all five senses (without overloading). Basic Sentence: The coffee was strong. Challenge: Describe the coffee using sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound. Exercise 2: Body Awareness Freewrite Write a paragraph where a character is experiencing a strong emotion. Instead of naming the emotion, show it through body sensations. Exercise 3: Deep POV Rewrite Challenge Rewrite these sentences using deep POV: She was terrified. He felt embarrassed. The forest was eerie. Concluding Thoughts Mastering the art of showing through vivid, immersive prose isn’t just about painting a pretty picture—it’s about making readers feel every moment as if they’re living it themselves. By tapping into the five senses, embodying Deep POV, and understanding how life experiences shape perception, you can transform flat descriptions into storytelling that lingers. Whether it’s the scent of a lost childhood, the burn of exhaustion, or the weight of unspoken grief, every detail has the power to pull readers deeper into your world. “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” – Anton Chekhov What’s a moment in your writing that could be more immersive? Try rewriting it with sensory details and drop your favorite lines in the comments! Good luck with your writing! —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date on get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? 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Writing Advice’s Most Misunderstood Rule: Show, Don’t Tell (& When to Ignore It) The Show vs. Tell Debate You’ve probably heard it before—maybe from a critique partner, a writing teacher, or that one friend who suddenly became an expert on storytelling after watching one MasterClass : “Show, don’t tell!” It’s one of the most common pieces of writing advice, but like most oversimplified rules, it’s often misunderstood. The truth? Both showing and telling have their place in storytelling. Sure, showing can make your reader feel like they’re in the moment, experiencing the rain splatter against their skin, their pulse racing as they stand on the edge of a battlefield. But sometimes, you just need to move things along, and telling is the best way to do that. The key isn’t choosing one over the other—it’s knowing when to use which to craft an immersive and well-paced story. Let’s break it down. Table Of Contents The Power of Showing The Efficiency of Telling Why Telling Gets Hate How To Use Both For Stronger Storytelling Writing Exercises Concluding Thoughts The Power of Showing: When & Why to Use It Showing pulls the reader into the story, making them experience the scene firsthand rather than being told what’s happening. Instead of stating that a character is angry, you reveal it through their clenched fists, clipped words, and stormy expression. Showing allows for subtext, emotion, and immersion, letting readers interpret feelings and actions rather than having everything spelled out for them. It’s what makes a story feel alive, cinematic, and deeply engaging. However, like all tools, it works best when used with intention—not every moment needs a deep-dive into sensory details. When Should You Show? Showing is at its best when: You want to immerse readers in a scene. You need to highlight emotions, tension, or atmosphere. You’re writing key moments like action scenes, emotional confessions, or climactic battles. Example: Telling vs. Showing ❌ Telling: She was nervous before her speech. ✅ Showing: Her fingers clutched the paper so tightly that the ink smudged, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears. See the difference? One informs, the other immerses. Read my blog post " Bringing Your Story to Life: The Art of Writing Vivid, Immersive Prose (How To Show Not Tell) " here on how to actually write "showing" language in your writing. The Efficiency of Telling: When It’s the Better Choice Telling gets a bad rap, but let’s be real—sometimes, you just need to get to the point. Not every moment in your book needs deep immersion. Pacing matters . When Should You Tell? Telling is most effective when: You need to summarize events quickly without dragging the narrative. You’re covering travel, transitions, or mundane details that don’t need a deep dive. The information is important but doesn’t require emotional weight or action. Example: When Telling Works Better Imagine you’re writing a fantasy novel and your characters need to get from Point A to Point B . Do you really need five pages describing every rock they step on? ❌ Showing Overload: The road stretched endlessly ahead, its pebbled surface shifting beneath the horse’s hooves. Each gust of wind carried the scent of damp earth as the travelers pressed forward, muscles aching from the relentless ride… ✅ Telling (Efficient & Effective): The journey took three days, cold and miserable, but uneventful. One is a deep dive; the other is straight to the point. Neither is wrong—it depends on what the moment needs. (However, should you feel a desire to make the time feel like it's pulling on the characters and readers, you may want to go into "showing overload" to give a certain kind of effect. Use wisely, however.) Read my blog post " Sometimes You Just Need to Get to the Point: When Telling Is the Right Move "   here to get a more in-depth explanation how to effectively "tell" in your writing. Why Does Telling Get a Bad Rap? Telling is often villainized in writing advice because, when misused, it flattens emotions, distances the reader, and drains tension from a scene. Instead of experiencing the moment, the reader is simply informed about it. Example: Weak Telling vs. Effective Showing ❌ Telling: She was scared. ✅ Showing: Her hands trembled as she backed away, her breath catching in her throat. One states the fact; the other makes you feel it. This is why telling is often dismissed as lazy or weak—it summarizesinstead of immerses. But before you grab your pitchfork and declare “Death to all telling!”, let’s be clear: Telling isn’t bad. Overusing it is. Why Telling Gets Criticized It Can Feel Distant – If everything is told instead of shown, readers might struggle to connect emotionally. “She felt sad” doesn’t pull you in the way tears burned at the edges of her vision does. It Can Be Boring – Readers don’t want to be given a bullet-point summary of what’s happening. They want to experience the world and characters. Too much telling saps engagement and makes the prose feel lifeless. It Can Kill Tension & Pacing – Imagine a thriller where the author simply states, “The hero felt tense.” vs. building tension through atmosphere, body language, and dialogue. Telling in the wrong places can deflate what should be a gripping moment. But Telling Isn’t Always Bad! Despite its reputation, telling has its place. Not every moment in a story needs deep immersion. Pacing, clarity, and narrative flow all rely on well-placed telling. When Telling Works Best: Summarizing mundane details (e.g., The journey took three days, cold and uneventful. ) Transitioning between major scenes without unnecessary fluff. Prioritizing key information when the action or event matters more than emotional immersion. The key isn’t to avoid telling altogether—it’s knowing when to show and when to tell. Striking the Balance: How to Use Both for Stronger Storytelling Great storytelling isn’t about choosing between showing or telling—it’s about knowing when to use each. Think of showing as zooming in with a cinematic close-up, letting readers feel every pulse-pounding moment, while telling is pulling back for a wide shot, giving just enough context to keep the story moving. A well-paced novel flows seamlessly between both, immersing readers in key emotional beats while efficiently guiding them through transitions. Mastering this balance is what turns a good story into one readers can’t put down. Example: Blending Show & Tell Let’s say your protagonist just witnessed a murder: ❌ Only Telling: She was horrified by what she saw. ❌ Only Showing: Her breath hitched. Her knees wobbled. She stared at the blood pooling around the man’s lifeless body, bile rising in her throat. ✅ Balanced Approach: She wanted to run, but her legs refused to move. Her breath hitched, her heart a frantic drumbeat. She had seen death before, but never like this. See how the final version combines immersion with efficiency? Show & Tell Writing Exercises Now that we’ve broken down the when, why, and how of showing vs. telling, it’s time to put that knowledge into action. The best way to sharpen your instincts for balancing the two is through practice—learning to spot where showing enhances a scene and where telling keeps the pace tight. Below are some writing exercises designed to help you refine your storytelling choices and strengthen your ability to switch between showing and telling with purpose. Now get to it! Writing Exercise #1: Show, Don’t Tell—But Do It with Layers Rewrite these telling sentences as showing, but take it further—use body language, setting, sensory details, or dialogue to add depth. Basic Sentences (Telling): He was furious. She felt cold. The city was in ruins. Challenge Mode: Write two versions of each sentence—one with subtle showing and one with over-the-top, immersive details. Experiment with POV and style. How would this scene look in deep first-person vs. third-person limited? Use setting to reflect emotion. Can the weather, surroundings, or even small background details enhance the mood? Writing Exercise #2: Mastering Effective Summaries Take a long-winded, overly detailed scene (from your WIP or a book you’ve read) and rewrite it into a concise but effective summary. Guidelines: Keep only what matters—what moves the story forward. Maintain tone and voice without bogging down the pacing. Find one small but vivid detail to anchor the summary—just enough to keep it engaging. Challenge Mode: Rewrite it three ways: One-line summary. (Example: Their journey took three days—miserable, cold, and uneventful. ) Two to three sentences with slight showing. Full paragraph with a balance of show & tell—brief, yet immersive. Compare & contrast: Which version feels strongest? Writing Exercise #3: Finding the Balance Write a short scene (150-300 words) that naturally blends showing and telling. Guidelines: Start with deep showing (immersive detail, emotions, movement). Transition into a brief telling moment to move the pacing along. Return to showing for emotional impact in the final sentence. Challenge Mode: Swap with a critique partner (read my blog post " 5 Benefits of a Writing Buddy " here on writing buddies and critique partners) and see if they can spot the balance—do they feel it’s too slow? Too rushed? Rewrite the same scene in pure showing, then again in pure telling—how do they read differently? Try different genres. How would this exercise change in a thriller vs. literary fiction vs. fantasy? Concluding Thoughts At the end of the day, showing and telling aren’t enemies—they’re tools. Knowing when to immerse and when to summarize is what separates good writing from great storytelling. Your job as a writer isn’t to avoid telling—it’s to use it wisely. Give the big moments depth. Move through the small moments efficiently. Keep your reader engaged, not exhausted. I'd like to end this blog post with my most favorite writing quote by E.L. Doctorow:  Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader—not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon .   Now, tell me—do you find yourself over-showing or over-telling? For me, I'm an over-writer and believe every detail is important and so I tend to over-write and over-show. But which do you struggle with most? Drop a comment below! See you in the next blog! —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date on get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board !

What Your Character Thinks They Want vs. What They Actually Need Ever notice that your protagonist thinks they want something… but that thing is actually ruining their life. Welcome to the magic of character development! Every great story boils down to this: Your protagonist is wrong about what they want. They’ll fight tooth and nail for it—until your plot slaps them in the face with what they actually need. So if your character immediately gets what they want, your story is over. If they get what they need too soon, your story is boring. Your job? Make them suffer until they figure it out. If that sounds mean, well… welcome to storytelling. Great characters don’t get what they want right away—because what they want  is usually a distraction, an emotional crutch, or a full-on terrible idea. They have to struggle, suffer, and grow before they can recognize what they actually need. That’s where conflict, tension, and emotional depth come from. So let’s break it down: What your character thinks  they want. What they actually  need. How internal vs. external conflict  makes them suffer (for our entertainment). Writing exercises to help you apply this to your own characters. Table Of Contents What Your Character Thinks They Want What Your Character Actually Needs Internal V.S. External Conflict Understanding External Conflict Understanding Internal Conflict Writing Exercises Concluding Thoughts Step 1: What Your Character Thinks They Want (AKA, The Lie They Tell Themselves) Your protagonist is absolutely convinced they need [insert questionable goal here] to be happy. It doesn’t matter if that goal is revenge, validation, money, romance, power, freedom, control, or even just being left alone ( ehem , Shrek ). Whatever it is, they believe it wholeheartedly. The catch? This goal is a distraction from their real issue. Whether it’s a trauma response, an unhealthy obsession, or just plain stubbornness, they believe this external thing will solve their problems. Spoiler: It won’t. But that’s part of the fun—watching them chase the wrong dream while their actual need looms in the background, waiting to be realized (usually after significant suffering). Why Do Characters Cling to the Wrong Goal? It ’s easier. ( Why work on emotional healing when you can just overthrow a kingdom instead? ) It ’s what they’ve been conditioned to believe. ( Maybe society, their parents, or their past trauma have convinced them this is the only way. ) It ’s a defense mechanism. ( If they admit they need love, they risk getting hurt. If they admit they need to change, they risk failure. ) Examples of Characters Who Want the Wrong Thing: Ariel (The Little Mermaid): Wants legs so she can be with Prince Eric. ( Totally ignores the small detail of giving up her voice and entire identity. ) Jay Gatsby (The Great Gatsby): Wants Daisy, convinced she’ll complete him. ( Bro, no. You want self-worth. ) Elsa ( Frozen ): Wants isolation because she thinks it’s the only way to feel safe. ( It’s actually making her miserable. ) Walter White ( Breaking Bad ): Wants money for his family. ( Thinks it’s about security, but actually just craves power and control. ) Katniss Everdeen ( The Hunger Games ): Wants to survive and protect her family. ( But survival alone doesn’t fix the broken system. ) Step 2: What Your Character Actually Needs (AKA, Their Emotional Growth Arc) What they want is external, but what they need is internal—self-worth, healing, purpose, connection, acceptance. This realization doesn’t come easily; it’s usually forced upon them through conflict, failure, or loss. The moment they realize that their original goal was a coping mechanism, not a solution, is the moment their true arc begins . Whether they embrace this need (hello, satisfying character growth) or reject it (cue tragic downfall) is what makes stories so compelling. What your protagonist wants is external. What they need is internal. At some point (preferably after suffering), they realize their goal was shallow, toxic, impossible, or entirely missing the point. The true emotional resolution comes from getting what they need instead. Common “Wants” vs. “Needs” in Character Arcs: What They Think They Want What They Actually Need Revenge Closure & healing Love from the wrong person Self-worth & self-love Power Connection & trust Money/success A sense of purpose Isolation True safety & belonging Control Acceptance of uncertainty Examples of Characters Who Finally Get It: Ariel ( The Little Mermaid ): Learns her voice is more valuable than her legs. Gatsby ( The Great Gatsby ): Well… he doesn’t actually learn. He dies clinging to the illusion. But that’s why it’s a tragedy! Elsa ( Frozen ): Learns that love and connection, not isolation, give her control over her powers. Walter White ( Breaking Bad ): Learns… nothing. His refusal to change is what makes his downfall so compelling. Katniss Everdeen ( The Hunger Games ): Learns that survival alone isn’t enough—she must fight for something bigger. See this blog post here to get more ideas for internal & external conflicts. Step 3: The Role of Internal vs. External Conflict (AKA, Why Writers Are ✨Evil✨) A great story doesn’t just hand the protagonist what they need—it makes them fight for it. External conflict throws obstacles in their path, stopping them from reaching their goal, while internal conflict forces them to confront their own flaws and fears. Maybe they want love but push people away. Maybe they want revenge but struggle with guilt. The best stories make them wrestle with both—because the world isn’t just against them, they’re against themselves, too. Now that we know what they want vs. what they need, how do we make them suffer properly? External Conflict (The World Says “No”) External conflict is everything outside of the character that stands in their way—antagonists, society, nature, or even fate itself. It’s the physical, visible challenges they must overcome to get what they want. Whether it’s a ruthless villain, an oppressive system, or an impending apocalypse, external conflict keeps the plot moving. But the best stories weave internal and external conflicts together—forcing characters to confront not just the world, but themselves. Internal Conflict (The Character Gets in Their Own Way) Internal conflict is the battle happening inside your protagonist—the emotional turmoil, doubts, fears, and contradictions that shape their decisions. It’s driven by their wants vs. needs, unresolved trauma, or deeply held beliefs that the story will challenge. A hero might want revenge but secretly crave peace. A loner might insist they don’t need anyone, yet fear being truly alone. This inner struggle creates depth, making characters feel real, flawed, and human. This is the emotional struggle—their flaws, fears, and deep-seated issues that make achieving their goal impossible until they change. Why Both Conflicts Matter: External conflict keeps the story moving. Internal conflict makes it meaningful. The best stories force characters to confront both. Writing Exercises Now that we’ve explored how internal and external conflicts shape a character’s journey, let’s put this into practice. Understanding the difference between what your protagonist wants and what they actually need is one thing—applying it to your story is another. The best way to internalize these concepts? Get your hands dirty and start writing. Below are some exercises to help you craft deeper, more compelling character arcs. Writing Exercise 1: The False Goal Write down your protagonist’s main goal at the start of the story. Now ask yourself: Is this goal external (money, revenge, love, power) or internal (self-worth, acceptance, purpose, healing)? What happens if they get this goal immediately? ( Does it actually make them happy, or does it lead to a hollow victory? ) What flaw, belief, or fear is making them chase the wrong thing? Writing Exercise 2: The Need They’re Avoiding What lie does your character believe about themselves or the world? What lesson must they learn before they can grow? What moment in the story forces them to confront this truth? Do they accept the truth and change—or reject it and face consequences? Writing Exercise 3: Conflict Breakdown What external force is actively stopping your protagonist from getting what they want? What internal fear or flaw is making them sabotage their own success? What’s a moment in your story where these two conflicts collide? Concluding Thoughts At its core, every great character arc is a battle between what they want and what they truly need. The tension between these two forces drives the story forward, deepens emotional stakes, and makes the resolution satisfying—whether it’s triumphant or tragic. The key is to let your protagonist struggle, fail, and learn (or refuse to). The harder they fight for the wrong thing, the more impactful it is when they finally see the truth. So go forth, make them suffer, and craft arcs that hit your readers where it hurts—in the best way possible. Ask Yourself: What does my protagonist think will solve their problem? What deeper emotional truth are they avoiding ? How does external conflict challenge their want? How does internal conflict force them to change? Your Turn! Drop a comment below: What’s a great example of a character who wanted the wrong thing? Or better yet, tell me how your own protagonist is currently ruining their life. Let’s talk about it! “The greatest conflicts are not between two people but between one person and himself.” – Garth Brooks Now get to writing, I believe in you! —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date on get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board !

Do you struggle breaking up your writing. Want to improve your pacing and flow of your novel while improving its clarity and make it easier to read? Paragraph breaks are non-negotiable  when it comes to good writing. They serve multiple purposes, such as: ✔ Providing clarity ✔ Preventing reader fatigue ✔ Making stories easier to digest I was inspired to write this post after a recent class discussion where several classmates asked when they should use paragraph breaks. It got me thinking— many writers don’t realize just how crucial they are  for storytelling. So, to keep this blog short, sweet, and simple, let’s dive in! Table Of Contents Common Mistakes To Avoid The TIP-TOP Method Writing Exercises Concluding Thoughts Mastering Paragraph Breaks: When to Use Them, Why They Matter, and Common Mistakes to Avoid Even the best writers make mistakes when it comes to paragraphing. Sometimes, we overuse paragraph breaks, making our writing feel choppy. Other times, we underuse them, creating dense, unreadable blocks of text. The good news? These mistakes are easy to fix once you know what to look for! Below are some of the most common paragraphing pitfalls—and how to avoid them like a pro. 🚨 Mistake #1: Giant Walls of Text (AKA the “Text Brick”) Have you ever clicked on a fanfic or novel and been met with a massive, never-ending paragraph? It’s exhausting to read. ❌ Example (Incorrect): The sun was setting over the city, casting long shadows down the narrow streets. Elena walked quickly, glancing over her shoulder as she heard footsteps behind her. The market ahead was still lively, but she had no time to stop. She ducked into an alley, heart pounding. The footsteps quickened. She gripped the knife hidden in her cloak, breath shallow, waiting. The figure emerged from the shadows, face obscured by the dim light. (If you're reading this on a computer or iPad, it may not be so bad to read, but on a phone it will look clunky.) How to Fix: Break it up where the pacing shifts and when a new action happens. ✅ Example (Corrected): The sun was setting over the city, casting long shadows down the narrow streets. Elena walked quickly, glancing over her shoulder as she heard footsteps behind her. The market ahead was still lively, but she had no time to stop. She ducked into an alley, heart pounding. The footsteps quickened. She gripped the knife hidden in her cloak, breath shallow, waiting. The figure emerged from the shadows, face obscured by the dim light. Why This Works: Each paragraph focuses on one clear idea. The pacing speeds up as the scene builds tension. Shorter paragraphs in suspenseful moments make the reader feel the anxiety. Rule of Thumb: If a paragraph looks too dense, chances are it needs a break. 🚨 Mistake #2: Forgetting to Break Dialogue This is one of the biggest readability issues new writers struggle with—never let two characters’ dialogue share the same paragraph. ❌ Example (Incorrect): “I don’t think we should go,” Mark said, shifting uncomfortably. “Why not?” Sarah crossed her arms. “Because it’s dangerous,” he muttered. This is a mess because it shoves multiple speakers into one paragraph. The reader has to slow down just to figure out who is saying what. ✅ Example (Corrected): “I don’t think we should go,” Mark said, shifting uncomfortably. “Why not?” Sarah crossed her arms. He hesitated. “Because it’s dangerous.” Why This Works: Each speaker gets their own paragraph. It makes the conversation flow naturally and is easy to follow. The hesitation in the last line feels more pronounced because it’s isolated. Rule of Thumb: 👉 New person speaking = New paragraph. Always . No exceptions. 🚨 Mistake #3: Too Many Short Paragraphs (AKA “Choppy Writing”) While paragraph breaks help pacing , breaking too often can make the writing feel disjointed and choppy.  If the same character  is speaking or acting in the same setting, keep it together. (I'm really guilty of this one.) ❌ Example (Incorrect): The sky darkened. The wind howled. She ran. Her breath caught in her throat. A shadow loomed behind her. While this could work for dramatic effect in an intense moment, using it constantly makes the writing feel like a shopping list. Or like an early draft of writing one's novel... ✅ Example (Corrected): The sky darkened as the wind howled through the trees. She ran, her breath catching in her throat. A shadow loomed behind her. Why This Works: The first paragraph keeps related actions together while still building tension. The second paragraph isolates the dramatic moment without making the scene feel choppy. Rule of Thumb: Use short paragraphs sparingly —they hit harder when they stand out. 🚨 Mistake #4: Cramming Multiple Ideas into One Paragraph A paragraph should focus on one idea at a time. Too many shifting ideas in one block of text can overwhelm the reader. ❌ Example (Incorrect): The library was silent except for the scratching of pens against paper. Emma tapped her fingers against her book, trying to focus. She had always loved libraries, but today, she couldn’t concentrate. Across the room, a boy with dark eyes kept glancing her way. The scent of old parchment mixed with the fresh ink of handwritten notes. Why did he keep looking at her? She forced herself to return to her book, but her mind wandered. ✅ Example (Corrected): The library was silent except for the scratching of pens against paper. Emma tapped her fingers against her book, trying to focus. She had always loved libraries, but today, she couldn’t concentrate. Across the room, a boy with dark eyes kept glancing her way. The scent of old parchment mixed with the fresh ink of handwritten notes. Why did he keep looking at her? She forced herself to return to her book, but her mind wandered. Why This Works: The first paragraph grounds us in the setting. The second introduces the distraction (the boy). The third adds a sensory detail that enhances the scene. The fourth isolates Emma’s internal thoughts, making them feel more personal. Rule of Thumb: If a paragraph jumps between different ideas, it’s time to split it up. 🚨 Mistake #5: Ignoring Mood or Perspective Shifts Mood shifts, like going from joyful to tense, or switching between character perspectives, need paragraph breaks for clarity. ❌ Example (Incorrect): The festival was alive with color—lanterns glowing, children laughing, the air thick with the scent of roasting meats. But in the shadows, a figure watched, hand resting on the hilt of a knife. ✅ Example (Corrected): The festival was alive with color—lanterns glowing, children laughing, the air thick with the scent of roasting meats. But in the shadows, a figure watched, hand resting on the hilt of a knife. Why This Works: The paragraph break separates the joy of the festival from the lurking danger, giving each mood its space. Rule of Thumb: When the tone or mood changes significantly, start a new paragraph. Quick Recap of Common Mistakes to Avoid: ❌ Giant text bricks (Break up big blocks!) ❌ Merging multiple speakers into one paragraph (New speaker = new paragraph.) ❌ Choppy writing (Too many short paragraphs disrupt flow.) ❌ Cramming too many ideas into one paragraph (One idea per paragraph!) ❌ Ignoring mood or perspective shifts (Separate different tones & viewpoints.) Now that we’ve covered the most common mistakes, let’s talk about how to structure paragraphs correctly . The TIP-TOP Method A simple way to remember when to start a new paragraph is the TIP-TOP method—which stands for: T ime P lace T opic P erson By following these four rules, you’ll naturally create paragraphs that are clear, engaging, and easy to read. Let’s break it down further! 1.) Time ⏳ This is pretty self explanatory. Whenever time jumps forward or backward significantly—whether through a flashback, a sudden time skip, or even just the next morning—you should start a new paragraph. Example 1: The candle flickered as she pressed the letter to her chest. She had read it a dozen times already, the inked words carving themselves into her memory. Maybe, just maybe, he would come back. Two weeks later , the letter was gone. The ink had faded, the parchment torn at the edges. She had stopped waiting. In this example, the paragraph break helps separate the past from the present , signaling a clear time shift without confusing the reader. Or, if you want a flashback example: Example 2: He traced his fingers along the scar, the jagged ridge of skin a reminder of that terrible night. Five years ago, the flames had spread faster than anyone expected. The entire village had been swallowed in smoke and chaos, his mother’s voice lost in the roar of the inferno. Now, standing in the ruins, he let the memories burn all over again. This break makes the transition into the past smoother and keeps the reader grounded when shifting back to the present. But sometimes, the tone  or mood  of a scene changes so drastically that a paragraph break is needed even if the setting and characters stay the same. ❌ Example (Without a Break – Incorrect): The tavern was warm and filled with laughter, the scent of roasted lamb thick in the air. Alric grinned as he raised his mug, joining in the revelry. But then the door slammed open, and the laughter died. A hooded figure stepped inside, rain dripping from his cloak. The room fell into silence, the tension palpable. Why Is This Wrong? The first part is lighthearted and cheerful, while the second part is tense and ominous. Keeping them together makes the shift too abrupt, almost jarring. ✅ Example (With a Proper Break – Correct): The tavern was warm and filled with laughter, the scent of roasted lamb thick in the air. Alric grinned as he raised his mug, joining in the revelry. Then the door slammed open, and the laughter died. A hooded figure stepped inside, rain dripping from his cloak. The room fell into silence, the tension palpable. Why This Works: The paragraph break gives the reader a moment to breathe before the mood changes. It visually separates the joyful moment from the ominous one. The dramatic entrance feels more impactful when it’s isolated. Other Examples of Mood Shifts 👉 From Happy to Unsettling The festival lights flickered in the night, and music echoed through the streets. Children ran past, laughing. Somewhere in the crowd, someone was watching her. 👉 From Calm to Tense He walked through the empty hallway, the only sound his footsteps against the stone floor. He exhaled slowly, calming his nerves. Then, a whisper. 👉 From Tense to Relief The beast lunged. She braced herself, heart hammering— Then the arrow struck, dropping it mid-leap. So while tone and mood-shifts fall under “Topic” since they introduce a new emotional subject they’re a bit special because they don’t change time, place, or person—only the feeling of the scene. 📌 Rule of Thumb: If the tone  of a paragraph changes drastically, break it up! Mood-based paragraph breaks make your writing more immersive and help readers emotionally process shifts in tone.Whether it’s a sudden moment of dread, a jarring surprise, or a moment of relief, the right paragraph break can heighten the emotional impact of your writing. 2.) Place 📍 Also a bit self-explanatory, a new setting calls for a new paragraph! If your characters move locations or a new setting gets introduced , break it up. Break it up like when you broke up with your toxic ex. Example: The market was alive with movement, merchants shouting over one another, the scent of spiced lamb and baked bread filling the air. She weaved through the crowd, clutching her coin purse tightly. Somewhere ahead, the docks waited. The smell of saltwater hit her first. The shouting of merchants faded, replaced by the rhythmic creak of wooden ships and the squawk of seagulls. She slowed her steps, taking in the rows of vessels bobbing in the harbor, their sails slapping in the wind. But why break there? The first paragraph grounds the reader in the bustling market, and the second introduces the new location—the docks. A paragraph break visually separates the two spaces, helping the reader feel the transition rather than making it feel like the market and docks are part of the same scene. 3.) Topic 🎭 A paragraph should focus on one main idea at a time. When a new thought, mood, or camera-like perspective shift happens, that’s a good time to break it up. Example: She loved the way he smiled. It made her feel safe, like nothing in the world could touch her. Maybe, if she was lucky, he felt the same way. But then he turned away, and a cold dread settled in her stomach. He hadn’t texted her back last night. He hadn’t even looked at her when he walked into the café this morning. The first paragraph establishes a warm, hopeful emotion, but the second shifts the mood entirely. The paragraph break signals this shift, preventing emotional whiplash and allowing the reader to process the change naturally. When writing, imagine your scene as a movie. If the perspective shifts to a different object, character, or viewpoint, a paragraph break helps guide the reader. Example: The assassin watched from the rooftop, blade in hand. Below, the guards patrolled in pairs, oblivious. Inside the castle, the prince sipped his wine, unaware that tonight would be his last. The shift from outside (assassin) to inside (prince) justifies the paragraph break. 4.) Person 👥 When a new or established character is introduced, when there is dialogue being spoken. When multiple characters are speaking is when you should use paragraph breaks Here is the golden rule of dialogue: Every time a new person speaks, start a new paragraph. If each character gets their own paragraph, the reader will be able to clearly distinguish who is speaking. If we crammed everything into one paragraph, it would be harder to follow. Now, let’s see a mistake and how to fix it: ❌ Example (Incorrect): “I don’t think we should go,” Mark said, shifting uncomfortably. “Why not?” Sarah crossed her arms. He hesitated. “Because it’s dangerous.” Why Is This Wrong? The dialogue from two different characters is stuffed into the same paragraph, making it confusing. Who’s talking? Who’s reacting? Breaking it up solves this issue instantly. ✅ Example (Correct): “I don’t think we should go,” Mark said. “Why not?” Sarah crossed her arms. “Because it’s dangerous,” he muttered. Bonus Tip: Using Paragraph Breaks for Dramatic Effect 😱 Sometimes, breaking a paragraph isn’t about time, place, topic, or person—it’s about impact.  If you want to emphasize a shocking revelation, a powerful emotion, or a cliffhanger, a single-line paragraph can work wonders. Example: The tunnel was pitch black, the air thick with the scent of damp stone. She pressed forward, one hand trailing along the rough wall, the other clutching her dagger. A drop of water echoed somewhere in the distance. Then, beneath her fingers, the wall disappeared. Empty space. Why Break Here? The paragraph break before “Empty space.” forces the reader to pause and feel the tension. If this had been left in the same paragraph, the moment wouldn’t hit as hard. By isolating it, the sense of danger is heightened, making it more suspenseful and dramatic. More Uses of Paragraph Breaks for Impact 👉 For Emotional Punch: She thought she had more time. She was wrong. 👉 For a Cliffhanger: The door creaked open. And something looked back. 👉 For a Shocking Revelation: He smiled, soft and reassuring. She almost believed it. Until she saw the blood on his hands. Why Break Here? The pause before the revelation adds weight to the moment, making it land harder for the reader. Put Your Knowledge To The Test!📝 Now that you know when and why to break paragraphs, let’s put your skills to the test! The best way to master paragraphing is through practice—so here’s a quick exercise to help you spot where breaks should go and strengthen your instincts as a writer. Read the following block of text and decide where you would add paragraph breaks to improve clarity, pacing, and readability. Ready? Let’s go! 🚀 💡 Exercise 1: Here’s a block of unformatted text—where would you insert paragraph breaks? Drop your answers in the comments below. How did you decide where to break the paragraphs? The forest was eerily quiet as Elara moved through the underbrush. Every step sent leaves crunching beneath her boots, the only sound in the oppressive silence. She glanced behind her. Nothing. Yet the feeling of being watched refused to leave. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger. A twig snapped to her right. She froze, breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned her head. A pair of glowing yellow eyes stared back at her from the darkness. Her heart pounded. Then, without warning, the creature lunged. Task: 👉 Break this into paragraphs where it makes the most sense. 👉 Think about pacing—where do shorter paragraphs increase tension? 👉 Where does a break help shift mood or action? 💡 Exercise 2: Here’s a passage where multiple characters’ dialogue is crammed together in a single paragraph. Your challenge: Fix it by breaking up the dialogue properly! “I can’t believe you did that,” Mira snapped. Kian rolled his eyes. “Relax, it wasn’t that bad.” “Not that bad?” she echoed. “You literally set the table on fire.” “Okay, first of all, it was an accident,” he said. “Second, it was only a small fire.” “Small? The curtains caught!” Mira threw up her hands. Task: 👉 Separate the dialogue so each speaker has their own paragraph. 👉 Make sure the flow of the conversation is clear. Concluding Thoughts Paragraphing isn’t just about making text look nice—it’s a powerful storytelling tool that shapes pacing, clarity, and emotional impact. Whether you’re shifting time, place, topic, or person, or using breaks for dramatic effect, knowing when to hit Enter can make or break your writing. By avoiding common mistakes, following the TIP-TOP method, and practicing with exercises, you’ll develop stronger instincts for paragraphing. Your Next Step: Practice & Apply! ✍ Try out the exercises above! 💬 Share your biggest takeaways in the comments! 📖 The next time you read a book, pay attention to how the author uses paragraph breaks—what effect do they create? Mastering paragraphing is one of those skills that gets easier the more you do it. So keep writing, keep experimenting, and most importantly—have fun with it! What do you struggle with most when it comes to writing? Drop a comment below if this blog post helped—I’d love to hear your thoughts! Happy writing :) —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date on get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM   | LINKEDIN   | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board !

This is long overdue, but I'd like to introduce The Tired Writers Podcast! The Tired Writers Podcast is a writing podcast that I created back in the summer of 2020 with my best friend Kimberly D. Herbstritt during the midst of the pandemic when we had nothing better to do. Read here to learn more about our story and our fateful meeting during a rainy October day in 2019.  Linked above is our debut episode where we tell you what the show is all about! Much of the first season is us goofing around trying to figure out what we wanted get out of the podcast but the second season is much more put together and cohesive. But before a I ramble further, here's the podcast's pitch: The Tired Writers Podcast is an inspirational and motivational show geared towards fiction writers, authors, and creatives to help you unleash your inner storyteller. Here we challenge the listeners to write for twenty minutes in our Write Alongs (writing sprints), where after we encourage you to send in writing prompts for the Write-Alongs or submit your flash fiction for a chance to win a shoutout on our social media, or to be featured on our website. Each episode will be dedicated to various elements and steps of the writing process. Listen for writing tips, tricks, and tools to help you take your creative writing to the next level. Listen on your favorite podcast app to get tip and tricks for you writing. Check out our website to sign-up to our newsletter to get notified when we upload a new podcast episode and to get podcast update. Let me know your thoughts on the podcast in the comments below! Happy writing! —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date on get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board !

This blog post was inspired by—and is a response to—a comment I received on my “ De-Westernizing Creative Worldbuilding ”  blog post. To the commenter: thank you so, so, so  much for such an insightful, inspired, and deeply thoughtful response. Your comment was the kind of comment a blogger can only hope for—one rooted in curiosity, challenge, and a genuine desire to understand. I appreciate your questions, your openness, and your willingness to dig into the murky, complicated places. In the spirit of that conversation, I wanted to reflect—honestly and expansively—on the questions you raised. Not as a rulebook, but as a living meditation. A continuation. Because the longer I do this work, the more I believe: fiction isn’t freedom from responsibility—it’s an invitation to hold it more carefully. Here were the questions that sparked this post: What counts as cultural appropriation in fantasy? Can we borrow from ancient traditions ethically? How deeply do we need to understand a culture before drawing inspiration from it? And how much of ourselves must we confront along the way? So with that, let’s get into it :) Table Of Contents Question #1: Can a fantasy culture ever be “immune” to cultural appropriation? Question #2: Is it “yours to emulate”? Do we have that right? Question #3: Would using a Hula-like dance in a warlike, slave-owning culture be objectionable? Question #4: So how do we learn about cultures authentically, without living there? Question #5: Is it worth the time to do all this learning when I just want to write a book? Is It Possible To Culturally Appropriate A Dead Civilization? Symbols Don’t Exist in Isolation Curiosity As A Worldbuilder’s Compass Philosophy As A Tool for Worldbuilders A Note on Nuance Beyond Binary: Escaping the “One True Way” When In Doubt, Hire Sensitivity Readers Concluding Thoughts Question #1: Can a fantasy culture ever be “immune” to cultural appropriation? Short answer? No. A fictional culture doesn’t automatically exempt us from real-world ethics.   Longer answer: The intention behind a worldbuilding choice does matter, but it doesn’t erase impact. If a story or invented culture borrows from real-life traditions—especially ones that have historically been exoticized, erased, colonized, or commodified—then you’re entering sacred terrain. And with that comes responsibility.   Borrowing becomes appropriation when: It detaches an element from its context, purpose, or meaning. It reinforces stereotypes or power imbalances. It reduces the element to aesthetic, plot device, or “vibe” while erasing the people it came from.   Even if you’re not trying to be accurate or directly represent a culture, readers can still recognize influences. That means your work doesn’t exist in a vacuum—it enters a cultural conversation. So the real question isn’t just, can I do this? but why am I doing this, and who might it affect?   Question #2: Is it “yours to emulate”? Do we have that right?  We don’t “own” anything as creators. We are part of a long, generational ecosystem of stories, influences, rituals, and relationships. Some elements of that ecosystem are meant to be shared. Others are not. So when you ask, "Do I have the right?" My answer is, you have the opportunity . But with opportunity comes ethical weight. If a tradition, symbol, or practice is sacred or deeply rooted in the survival and identity of a culture, then you must: Learn its meaning before transforming it. Ask yourself if your story deepens or distorts. Consider if your voice is the right one to tell that story—or if you should step back and amplify someone else’s instead.   I've often ask myself: Is this my story to tell?  For example, I want to better understand the horrors of oppression and slavery—how systems of dehumanization shape identity, culture, and legacy. But as a white-presenting woman living in a relatively liberal state, I’ve never feared for my life because of my skin color. I’ve never been systemically targeted or brutalized because of my gender. So no, that legacy isn’t mine. And I don’t pretend that it is. That doesn’t mean I’m not fascinated by history—especially the darkest parts we’d rather not look at. I believe deeply that history should not be forgotten or repeated. And as a writer, I learn best through empathy: by stepping into other people’s lives, perspectives, and emotional realities. Writing is one of the few ways I know how to do that. But I don’t take that lightly. If I choose to engage with these themes in my work, I do so with reverence. With humility. With the understanding that my lens will always be incomplete. Which is why I will always— always —seek out sensitivity readers , beta readers, and critical feedback from people with lived experience. Not to get a stamp of approval. But to be held accountable. Because writing beyond yourself isn’t inherently wrong. But doing it without care, without collaboration, without listening? That’s where the damage happens.   Question #3: Would using a Hula-like dance in a warlike slave-owning culture be objectionable? Yes, absolutely. Here’s why: Hula is not just a movement or performance. It is sacred and deeply connected to the Hawaiian culture. It holds history, prayer, genealogy, spiritual lineage, among many other things. To transplant it—to strip it of that important meaning—into a context that mirrors systems of oppression and inequality, especially if that culture is coded as “savage,” “other,” or “barbaric,” can easily become a form of narrative violence. Expansion on the Hula Example Expanding on the commenters example of using a dance based on Hula in a fictional culture that’s warlike, individualistic, and oppressive. They proposed that if they gave the dance “new roots” in their story—if they explained how it evolved in their fictional world and changed its symbolism—then it would no longer be Hula, and therefore wouldn’t be appropriation. That’s an understandable instinct. But here’s the nuance: Changing the context doesn’t change the visual language. Even if you invent a new origin story for the dance, the audience will still see  Hula —especially if the movements, rhythm, or aesthetic are visibly similar. The deeper cultural meaning may be gone, but the association  remains. And that association can’t be so easily erased or rewritten just because it’s in a new narrative. You’re right in saying that the dance would no longer be  Hula, in the literal sense. But that’s also kind of the problem. It becomes a hollow mimicry —something that looks like Hula, but has been stripped of its original spirit and transplanted into a context that may directly contradict or disrespect the values it was born from. Hula is   sacred.  Again, it holds ancestral memory, oral tradition, spiritual meaning. It’s not just “a dance” to borrow and bend—it is a living, breathing aspect of cultural identity. When you change its roots, especially without honoring or acknowledging its real-world counterpart, you risk erasure. And if the new fictional culture is oppressive, warlike, or violent—then you also risk associating that sacred cultural practice with values it never represented. This isn’t just about “bad optics.” It’s about whether we’re reinforcing narratives of dominance, misunderstanding, or flattening real traditions into fantasy set pieces. So, What Does It Mean to Truly Give Something New Roots? Giving something new roots in worldbuilding doesn't mean just tweaking its origin story. It means: Reimagining it from the inside-out , not the outside-in. Drawing inspiration from the function  and emotional resonance , rather than the form  or aesthetic. Asking, “How does this element make sense in this  culture’s worldview?” not “How can I make this look familiar to readers?” If you’re drawing from Hula, you might instead ask: What is this culture’s relationship to rhythm, movement, and storytelling? Do they believe dancing is sacred? Communal? Reserved for rituals? What values are embedded in their performance practices? The result might feel spiritually resonant  with Hula—but it will be born from within your world’s logic, instead of imitating the surface of someone else’s. If you want a dance to carry weight in your fictional culture, it must come with new roots and new meaning—ones that are internally coherent, emotionally resonant, and crafted from the inside-out. It can’t be a reskinned version of a real-world sacred act just because it “looks cool” or adds flavor. That’s surface-level writing at best—and extractive at worst.   Question #4: So how do we learn about cultures authentically, without living there? Mmmm , this might be my favorite question—both to be asked and to explore. Because this is where we, as creatives, get to be inventive and let our imaginations run wild. It’s where we try to step out of our own shoes, approach the world with as blank a canvas as possible, and open our eyes to new perspectives and lenses. For me, this is the heart of worldbuilding. The challenge isn’t just to invent —it’s to understand . To stretch beyond our defaults. To approach each fictional culture not as a reshuffled version of our own, but as a distinct worldview shaped by its own logic, values, and lived experiences. So how do I begin that process? Here’s how I approach it…   1. Multiple Points of Contact Primary Voices: Seek out writers, artists, and scholars from that culture. Preferably multiple perspectives. Folklore & Philosophy: These reflect worldview, moral values, and how a culture defines beauty, truth, and justice. Spiritual & Historical Texts: What does this culture hold sacred? What has it survived? Contemporary Media: Not just what the culture used to be, but what it is becoming.   2. Personal Curiosity with Communal Humility No single person speaks for an entire culture. But people do speak from lived experience. Approach conversations with care. Ask questions not to confirm what you think you know, but to listen to what you don’t.   3. Study Your Own Lens Perhaps most importantly: study your own culture and assumptions. That includes your philosophical inheritance—Western metaphysics, Christian morality, Enlightenment rationalism—as well as your narrative defaults: the hero’s journey, individualism, good vs. evil binaries. These often go unquestioned because they’re invisible to us because we've grown up with them. We inherit them as if they are truth , when they’re really just perspective . The commenter that left an essay in my comments section mentioned something that stuck with me—that even our desire to understand everything through logic is itself a cultural lens, not a universal truth. To be frank, I know very little about Nietzsche. But I do know a bit about Apollo and Dionysus and their symbolic dualities. I hadn’t consciously considered that the impulse to rationalize, define, and categorize could be a Western  trait rather than a human one. Their commentary intrigued me—especially what they said about how Western thought tends to overvalue logic and restraint. That really resonates with me, particularly when it comes to creativity and storytelling. Our Western, modern culture teaches us to distrust the wild, emotional, unexplainable parts of life. But in my experience, that’s where the most meaningful stories are born. And while I haven’t studied Nietzsche deeply, the Dionysus vs. Apollo framing—the tension between the chaotic and the ordered—has always rung deeply true to me. Dionysus’s wildness, that surrender to mystery, has always felt right  in a way I can’t fully explain. Some truths, I believe, are meant to be sought. Others are meant to be wondered at . Not solved, not tamed, not put into neat boxes. Just felt . That’s something I’ve come to accept in both life and storytelling: that not everything is meant to be understood. That some questions in my novels can be left unanswered to leave my readers wondering. That some of the richest experiences—the most meaningful, the most transformational—are the ones we can’t  name. They don’t hand us answers. They leave us with questions. And those questions shape us. One of my favorite quotes on this comes from Patrick Rothfuss in The Wise Man’s Fear : It's the questions we can't answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he'll look for his own answers... That way, when he finds the answers, they'll be precious to him. The harder the question, the harder we hunt. The harder we hunt, the more we learn. I, personally, have made peace with the fact that I am mortal, that I will never know everything, that I will never understand everything, and I don’t need to. That not everything will resolve. And that’s okay. That’s good , even.There’s beauty in mystery. There’s reverence in not-knowing. On a more personal note—especially as I’ve leaned into what some call the “feminine” qualities of instinct, emotion, and intuition (not because they’re inherently feminine, but because our society often labels them that way)—my stories have grown richer. My characters feel more alive. And I’ve felt more at home in myself. I want to write more about that—about Yin and Yang , about balance, about how surrender and softness can be just as powerful as structure and striving. But for now, just know this: I don’t believe stories are only born from logic. Some stories live in the wild places. And I’m learning to listen for them there.   Question #5: Is it worth the time to do all this learning when I just want to write a book? Yes! Because worldbuilding isn’t just set dressing—it’s a worldview. And when you build a culture in your story, you’re also inviting readers to imagine what’s possible. In Brandon Sanderson’s online creative writing class on YouTube, he explains that when it comes to the worldbuilding iceberg, it’s all about creating the illusion  that your world is fully fleshed out. You don’t need to live abroad for two years to write a culture authentically. You just need to know what specific elements you're pulling from —and understand them deeply enough not to accidentally fall into racist or reductive portrayals. (This is where the two-layer method of worldbuilding comes in—a technique I explore more in this blog post . In short, every cultural or magical element you include in your world should have both a surface explanation (what the reader sees) and a deeper, internal explanation (what that element means within the logic and worldview of your culture). This layered approach creates the illusion of infinite depth—you don’t need to answer every possible question, but offering just one extra layer of “why” is often enough to make your world feel coherent, emotionally resonant, and alive.) Not to mention: this kind of research doesn’t just improve your writing—it sharpens your mind. You become more informed, more reflective, and yes, you’ll probably surprise people with unexpected facts and niche insights. You might even trick them into thinking you’re smarter than you are (which, honestly, is a power move). No, you don’t have to be an anthropologist. But you do have to be willing to do the uncomfortable work : to slow down, to challenge your own assumptions, to read more deeply than a Wikipedia summary. And I promise: what you gain in narrative richness, in emotional authenticity, in unexpected complexity—it’s so  worth it. If you build with care, your story becomes an act of respect, even restoration. Is It Possible to Culturally Appropriate a Dead Civilization? In writing this responsive blog post, it led me to ask the question: Is it possible to culturally appropriate a long-dead civilization and culture, like the ancient Romans or Greeks? Even the Aztecs? My findings were as followed: Technically speaking, the answer is usually no—not in the traditional sense of cultural appropriation. Cultural appropriation, as most people understand it, requires a living culture to be taken from—often by someone from a dominant group who profits from, misrepresents, or exploits elements of that culture. When there’s no living community to be directly harmed, the dynamics change. Ancient Rome, Greece, and the Aztecs were imperial powers in their own right. They were colonizers, not colonized. Borrowing from them doesn’t carry the same punch-down power dynamic that appropriation often involves. And their imagery, philosophies, and myths have been so thoroughly woven into the fabric of Western history and media that they now exist more as public intellectual property than as culturally “owned” systems. But that doesn’t mean anything goes. There are  cases where it still gets ethically murky: Some ancient civilizations still have cultural descendants, like the Nahua peoples of Mexico (descended from the Aztecs), or modern Greeks with deep historical continuity. It becomes ethically fraught when a writer uses sacred or symbolic elements irresponsibly—especially if the portrayal exoticizes, flattens, or romanticizes violence (like conquest, slavery, or human sacrifice) without proper context. And we must be cautious of turning ancient peoples into fantasy caricatures for aesthetic purposes without depth. Treating “the ancients” as if they were one-note, mystical, or savage can reinforce colonial worldviews even without intent. So it’s not cultural appropriation in the classic sense, but there is still responsibility involved. When drawing from ancient civilizations we must be transparent about our inspirations, do the research—not just into what they wore, but what they believed —and acknowledge that parts of these cultures may still live on in the traditions, spiritualities, and languages of modern descendants. All of this is incredibly important for me because I am drawing inspiration from several ancient cultures and peoples in my novel The Glass Dagger that have been gone for thousands of years, like the Romans and Greeks. (So, to my dear commenter, thanks again for inspiring this post because I wouldn't have considered this more deeply if you hadn’t given me an essay in my comment section.)   Symbols Don’t Exist in Isolation We often think of symbols—dances, garments, rituals, songs—as aesthetic choices. As if we can pluck them from one culture, reskin them, and plant them into our fantasy worlds without consequences. But symbols aren’t decorative. They’re cultural shorthand for deeper systems : of belief, of value, of memory. They live within cosmologies , spiritual frameworks, social structures, and histories of resilience or trauma. A ritual dance isn’t just movement. It might be a prayer, a protest, a mourning, or a celebration tied to ancestral survival. A particular garment might not just be “pretty”—it might signal age or coming-of-age, spiritual protection, status, gender, protection, or class hierarchy. A myth isn’t just a story—it’s a coded system of values. When we borrow the surface without understanding the root, we reduce symbols into “vibes” and risk erasing the real-world richness that made them meaningful in the first place. This doesn’t mean you can’t be inspired or borrow. But it means you have to do the digging , to go deeper . Where did this symbol come from? What role did it play in its original context? If you’re reinventing it—are you honoring its spirit or simply using its shape? If I’m going to transform this, am I honoring what it was while building something that feels alive within my  world? Symbols are powerful. Use them with reverence. Curiosity as a Worldbuilder’s Compass Let’s be real: worldbuilding can be overwhelming. There’s always more to learn, more to question, more to refine. It’s tempting to stick to what you know or stay shallow because the depth seems endless. You may even start researching burial rites in 10th century Persia and somehow end up reading a thesis on precolonial water symbolism in Southeast Asia. And the deeper you go, the more you realize how much you don’t  know. But the truth is, curiosity is the compass  that gets you through. Not mastery. Not authority. Just curiosity. You don’t need a PhD in anthropology to write respectfully and richly. What you need is the willingness to ask better questions. To listen. To ponder. To slow down when something feels “off.” To wonder why a custom exists, not just what it looks like. And to let yourself be changed by what you find. The best worldbuilding doesn’t come from rigid rules—it comes from fascination. When you approach worldbuilding from a place of curiosity—not perfectionism—you start building cultures from the inside out, not just the top down. From the moment you realize you’re not just inventing a culture… you’re discovering it. The result? Worlds that feel lived in. Cultures that feel coherent. Characters shaped by something deeper than backstory—they’re shaped by belief too. Philosophy as a Tool for Worldbuilders Philosophy isn’t just for professors or pretentious dinner parties. For worldbuilders, it’s a goldmine. Every culture you create—real or fictional—is built on assumptions. About justice. About truth. About power, community, gender, morality, beauty, death. Philosophy helps you see those assumptions  and decide whether to recreate them, question them, flip them, or remove entirely. Studying even basic philosophical questions—What is the good life? What makes a person “free”? Is justice objective or collective?—can radically change how you construct a fictional society. Again, you don’t have to be an expert. My commenter suggested listening to podcasts like Philosophize This!  as a great starting point as a way to help others start noticing their own assumptions… and building characters who wrestle with theirs. Philosophy doesn’t give easy answers. But it’s not supposed to. It’s a toolkit for complexity. And great worldbuilding thrives  in complexity. So l et your cultures have contradictions. Let your characters grapple with what’s “right.” Let your gods be flawed. Let your truths be uneasy. The point of philosophy in storytelling isn’t to sound smart. It’s to ask what your world, and the people in it, believe . A Note On Nuance When it comes to nuance in your own writing, yes—some of it will inevitably be lost. But often, it’s implied  nuance. That’s where the balance lies: part of our job as writers is to offer nuance intentionally, but the rest is about trusting the reader. Leaving space for interpretation. Letting them bring their own context, experiences, and emotional insights to the work. Not every nuance needs to be spelled out. Some of the most powerful moments live in what’s unsaid —in the silences, in the ambiguity, in the spaces where the reader gets to participate in meaning-making. Again, it comes back to leaving your readers with questions unanswered, so that they may carry your work with them—thinking, feeling, and pondering something deeper long after the final page. Beyond Binary: Escaping the “One True Way” Much of Western storytelling leans heavily on binaries: good vs. evil, logic vs. emotion, body vs. soul, now vs. forever, chosen vs. forgotten, sacred vs. profane, etc etc etc . And often embedded in those binaries is the idea that there’s a singular truth , a perfect world, a divine blueprint we should strive toward. Everything else? Flawed. Broken. Temporary. This belief—the "true world" theory—shows up everywhere. In chosen one narratives. In post-apocalyptic redemptions. In magical systems that define “purity.” And in heroes who ascend to become something “higher.” But I’ve grown wary of this thinking. I’ve written stories that push against it. Because what if… that wasn't the point? In The Glass Dagger , the pursuit of immortality and divinity is deeply flawed. And how once immortality is reached and "accomplished," it becomes not liberation, but burdensome—a personal hell you can never escape once acquired. In The Song of the Crows , the past isn’t something to be restored—it’s something fractured, uncertain, yet still whispering through the trees. Both stories push back against the idea that there’s a single, clean answer. They live in multiplicity. In fractured timelines. In personal mythologies. Sometimes, the only truth worth chasing is the messy one that lives in the moment. Because the truth is: not everything needs to be fixed. Not every world needs a savior. Some stories ache not for perfection—but for presence, connection, and honest complexity. Escaping binary thinking in worldbuilding opens space for nuance. And in that space, we might find the kinds of truths that can’t be spoken—but can still be felt. We build stories where mystery, presence, and multiplicity are not flaws. They’re freedom. When In Doubt, Hire Sensitivity Readers Now… No matter how much research one does, we’re all still going to have blind spots. That’s where sensitivity readers come in. What are sensitivity readers? Sensitivity readers are individuals—often writers themselves—who read your work through the lens of their lived experience or cultural background. They offer feedback on potentially harmful, inaccurate, or stereotypical representations related to race, gender, disability, religion, or other identities. They’re not censors. They’re collaborators. Their goal isn’t to shame you but to help you write with integrity and awareness. Hiring a sensitivity reader shows that: You care about the people you’re representing. You’re willing to do the work to get it right. You understand that good intentions aren’t enough—impact matters. Remember: Impact always outweighs intention. Even if your intentions were good, the effect your words or choices have on someone else can still be harmful—and that harm is real, whether you meant it or not If your story includes marginalized characters or draws from cultures outside your own, a sensitivity reader is one of the best investments you can make. Not only will your writing be more authentic and respectful, it will resonate more deeply with readers across the board. Don’t let fear of “getting it wrong” keep you from telling meaningful stories. Let that fear become a reason to slow down, listen, and get support. Concluding Thoughts Thanks again to the commenter who left an essay in the comments section of my " De-Westernize Creative Worldbuilding " blog post—it genuinely meant a lot. I hope this response blog offered meaningful insight, clarified lingering questions, and maybe even sparked some new ones. What stood out most to me in your message was the desire to understand. That, to me, is what makes a great worldbuilder: curiosity without entitlement, reverence without rigidity, creativity rooted in awareness. That’s the kind of storytelling I believe in. And if you’re here, reading this, I imagine it might be the kind you believe in too. Let’s keep building better worlds, enriching both the world at large, and our own small worlds within ourselves :) Happy worldbuilding~ —Bair✍︎ Where epic fantasy meets philosophical ponderings of the self. 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Aloha world~ This post isn’t about writing craft in the traditional sense, it's more me rambling about some things that have been on my mind lately that I felt compelled to share. That said, it is still for the writers, the dreamers, the overachievers, and the sensitive souls who feel too much and give too often. It’s a piece I wrote because the weight of the world has been heavy lately, and I know I’m not alone in feeling it. By no means am I an expert, or a therapist, but I wanted to come on here and speak my thoughts. It's a topic so prevalent in our world right now, I couldn't keep this locked away in a notes app. So here we are… How to begin…? Perhaps this: In a world that demands so much of our attention—where algorithms hijack our dopamine, where hustle is glorified, where success is measured in output—it’s no wonder so many of us feel like we’re running on empty. Especially if you're a younger Millennial, Gen Z-er, or even Gen Alpha, trying to grow up in a world that feels both on fire and falling apart. How do you keep going when the sky feels too heavy? How do you hold onto hope without collapsing into naïveté or nihilism? How do you keep creating when you have nothing left to give? Nothing left to offer, not even a scrap. These are questions I find myself surrounded by. The burden of a dying world weighing heavy on our collective shoulders. With my dear friends around me particularly impacted by such questions, such uncertainty and existential dread sends them spiraling.  And these questions, and the answers they seek, cannot be always found in therapy. Because no matter how much you “unpack your trauma,” or even heal from your trauma, the world outside keeps spinning—faster, louder, crueler. How can a person improve their mental health when they can’t even be sure there will be a world around to live in within the next decade? That question doesn’t have an easy answer—and maybe it never will. How can a person improve their mental health when they can’t even be sure the world will still be here in ten years? That fear haunts many of us—quietly, constantly. It sits behind our goals, our grief, our grinding. And yet… we still wake up. Still breathe. Still try. So maybe the point isn’t to have certainty. Maybe the point is to live anyway. In a world that may not last, the act of caring, for ourselves, for each other, is defiance. And in the face of so much unknown, I want to share a simple—but often overlooked—truth:  we are not meant to grind endlessly . We were built for rhythm. For rest. For renewal. The Weight Of Our Dreams Some of us dream so big that we feel crushed by our own ambitions. We set our sights on galaxies and then blame ourselves for not reaching them fast enough. We become burdened by our vision. Swallowed by the very stars we were meant to shine among. We forget that goals are meant to guide us—not grind us into dust. We forget that we are allowed to pivot. To rest. To say, “This matters, but not at the cost of myself.” Your dreams should lift you, not bury you. The pursuit of a life shouldn’t cost you your living. If you’ve ever felt paralyzed by your ambition… this post is for you. If you’ve ever lost the joy of creating because the  task  became more important than the  self , this is your reminder: you are allowed to exist outside of your work. You are allowed to be more than your momentum. The Myth of Endless Productivity Western culture has trained us to believe that our value is directly tied to our productivity (thanks capitalism…). That unless we are producing, optimizing, or improving, we are somehow falling short. Rest is labeled laziness. Softness is mistaken for weakness. And ambition—once a noble spark—becomes a relentless, consuming flame that won’t let us pause. We’re told that if we just hustle harder, sleep less, sacrifice more, we’ll eventually earn the right to stop. But that stop never comes. Because we’re not just chasing goals, we’re being  chased  by them. Haunted by ambition. Trapped in a loop of " more, more, more ," until we lose sight of what we're even working toward. The joy of the craft dissolves. The reason we started creating and striving toward our ambitions in the first place is buried beneath expectations and performance. We end up living with this quiet desperation. Dreaming of rest we don’t know how to claim. Feeling like frauds if we slow down. And eventually, we start asking the terrifying question:  What if this is just how life is now? But it’s not. It doesn’t have to be. This is the paradox of dreaming big: we carry ambitions like constellations in our chests—bright, beautiful, impossible not to follow—but we forget to make space for the  softness  required to live. The softness required to  enjoy  what we’ve built, to nourish the soul that carried the dream. We were never meant to live in permanent output mode. Even the sun sets. Even rivers slow. Even the most powerful beings in nature have cycles—of action, and of rest. “The mountain is climbed with fire in your chest—but the summit is savored in stillness.” You need both. You  deserve  both. The drive and the dreamer. The fire and the water. The structure and the surrender. The yin and the yang. True power comes not from endless force, but from knowing when to push and when to  receive. Yin & Yang Energies: A Balancing Act In Eastern philosophy, a framework for understanding balance is found in the concept of  yin and yang —concepts from ancient Chinese cosmology that describe the dual forces present in all of existence.  Yin  is associated with the feminine: soft, receptive, intuitive, fluid, still, and inward.  Yang  is associated with the masculine: active, structured, assertive, expansive, focused, and outward. It’s important to note and understand that yin and yang are not tied to gender identity—they’re not “male” and “female” in the human sense. Rather, they are  energetic principles  that exist in everyone, regardless of sex or gender. They are not in opposition—they are in  relationship . Day needs night. Fire needs water. Drive needs rest. When yin and yang are balanced, there is harmony. When one dominates, we feel out of sync. And in our modern world, most of us have been taught to over-identify with yang—to act, to build, to push. But we’ve lost touch with yin—the part of us that knows how to rest, feel, receive, and simply be. Again, this isn’t about gender—it’s about energetic archetypes that live in all of us: Masculine energy  is ambition, output, structure, and pursuit. Feminine energy  is receptivity, flow, softness, celebration, and surrender. Our society exalts the masculine and diminishes the feminine. We’re praised for being driven, efficient, self-disciplined. But we’re judged for being soft, slow, cyclical, emotional. And yet both are essential. This deep discomfort with softness isn’t accidental—it’s cultural. Patriarchy has long villainized and diminished feminine energy, even as it demands and depends on it. It elevates traditional masculine traits while mocking the very femininity it exploits—celebrating women for nurturing and caregiving, while punishing them for softness, emotion, or rest. But we must not forget that one builds the bridge. The other invites you to walk across it, barefoot, feeling every breeze. (Funny, isn’t it? That in this context we call the masculine the energy of creation, when it is women—those associated with the feminine—who literally  create life  within their bodies. It just goes to show how deeply language, culture, and power structures have distorted our perceptions.) Without yin, the feminine, we accomplish and accomplish and accomplish… without ever feeling fulfilled. Without yang, the masculine, we float and dream without ever being grounded in reality. This is why burnout feels so spiritually devastating. Because it’s not just exhaustion of the body—it’s imbalance of the soul. It's what happens when we've spent too long pushing and striving, and not nearly enough time receiving, replenishing, and rejoicing. Ambition without receptivity becomes suffering. Achievement without softness becomes burnout. To thrive, we must balance striving with surrender. And that balance takes practice. Tapping into Yin & Yang: Utilizing Masculine & Feminine Energies You don’t have to meditate on a mountain or overhaul your entire life to feel your yin and yang. You just need awareness and intention. When you need to be in your Masculine: Set clear, actionable goals (with timelines that inspire you, not paralyze you). Create a schedule, set boundaries, and honor your commitments. Move forward on your dreams with courage—even when you're scared. Speak your truth. Claim your space. Assert your needs. Take up the responsibility of becoming who you want to be. Masculine energy helps you initiate, helps build momentum. It moves the dream from vision to form. When you need to be in your Feminine: Allow space for rest—not as a reward, but as a right. Connect with your body: stretch, walk, cry, laugh, dance. Sink into the moment: light a candle, make tea, savor the quiet. Celebrate what you’ve already done—pause and bask. Surround yourself with beauty and wonder. Let it move through you. Receive—support, love, compliments, inspiration—without deflection. Feminine energy doesn’t force. It welcomes. It doesn’t rush. It unfolds. And it’s often the thing we’re most starved for. After a long push in your masculine, you must return to your feminine. You can’t stay in drive forever. You’re not a machine. Your soul was built for rhythm—not a straight line. Let yourself enjoy the fruit of your labor. Soften into your own becoming. Celebrate your small wins along with your big wins. Celebrating Your Becoming Our culture tells us to keep moving. Hit one goal? On to the next. Check off the milestone? Cool—don’t get complacent. But this mindset keeps us perpetually chasing and rarely receiving. It erodes joy. And more dangerously, it teaches us that our progress only matters if it's big, fast, or publicly impressive. But growth happens in micro-movements. In quiet decisions. In the hard, invisible work of showing up for yourself. And that deserves to be  honored . So celebrate the small wins: getting out of bed when it’s hard. Drinking water. Sending the email. Writing one paragraph. Choosing rest when your body asked for it. Celebrate the medium wins: following through on a project. Setting boundaries. Practicing consistency. Saying no. Saying yes. And yes—celebrate the big wins too. Launching the thing. Healing the pattern. Making the leap. Finishing what you started. But don’t wait for those to be the  only  reason you throw yourself a little joy party. You don’t have to earn your right to be proud. Ways To Celebrate Your Wins Small Wins — For the quiet triumphs, the invisible victories, the days you simply showed up. Examples:  Got out of bed. Wrote a sentence. Drank water. Resisted a spiral. Set a tiny boundary. Make your favorite warm drink and savor it slowly Add whimsy to your world: fairy lights, stickers, sparkles Let yourself relax without guilt Play your favorite video game or cozy mobile game Have a mini treat: a pastry, candy, tea, coffee, or a walk Play a board game with friends or family Sing and let your voice out, don't hold it back Romanticize your life: light a candle, burn incense, practice gratitude, notice beauty Medium Wins — For moments of forward motion, courage, and care that deserve more than a passing nod. Examples: Finished a task. Said no. Set a boundary. Started therapy. Showed up. Take yourself on a solo artist date (go somewhere inspiring!) Take yourself out on a dedicated solo coffee date Order your favorite takeout and eat it like a ritual Gift yourself something guilt-free Take a no-work day and protect it like gold Make art just for fun Enjoy a movie or comfort show Create a collage or vision board Buy a small luxury (notebook, blanket, candle) that reminds you: I did that Big Wins — For the milestone moments. The accomplishment of big goals. Examples:  Finished a novel. Left a job. Launched something. Ended a toxic cycle. Moved forward after healing. Host a small gathering with your favorite people Take yourself out to a fancy (or your favorite) restaurant Go on a trip—solo or with someone you love Create or commission something to symbolize the milestone (jewelry, art, tattoo) Write a letter to your future self, praising who you’ve become Invest in your next phase (class, tool, mentorship, coaching, retreat) Let yourself cry, laugh, scream, sleep. Whatever you need to feel  it. You are becoming. You are blooming. You are not standing still. Let that be enough today. Let your celebrations be sacred—not performative. They are how you witness yourself growing. How you remind your inner child, your soul, your weary adult self:  We’re doing it. We’re still here. And while your journey inward matters, remember you don’t have to do it alone. Humans are social creatures for a reason. We're meant to be in communities. So find your people. The ones who remind you of who you are when you forget. The ones who celebrate your small wins and hold space for your messy becoming. Healing doesn’t happen in isolation—it happens in community. In laughter. In late-night texts. In coffee dates and hang outs. Despite our technology bringing us closer together, there is an loneliness epidemic and a fear of opening up to others. But we shouldn't let all that prevent us from finding our communities. We need people around to help remind us that we're not alone. *A Note For Adding Whimsy To Your World Whimsy is the art of delight without reason. It’s the unexpected sparkle, the unnecessary magic, the softness that says, “You’re allowed to enjoy this moment just because.” In a culture that tells us everything must be useful, whimsy can be an act of defiance. A flower in your hair. Stickers on your laptop. Fairy lights around your mirror. A ridiculous mug. A stuffed animal on your desk. Whimsy reminds your inner child that they’re still invited to the party. It makes the world feel more alive, more colorful. Don't snub it, overlook it, or think it silly. The Wise Inner Child Knows the Way Children don’t think about legacy or deadlines. They sing because they want to. Dance because they feel like it. Play because joy is its own reward. They haven’t yet learned to measure their worth in metrics or milestones. They just  are . They live in the  now —not out of mindfulness training, but because the past and future don’t yet exist in their minds. Time is immediate. Fluid. Felt in colors and sensations, not clocks. And honestly? That’s where presence lives. Not in overthinking. Not in ruminating or forecasting. But in  being . Fully, joyfully, now. I personally believe that is the medicine our adult selves need. A balancing act between taking responsibility and releasing pressure. Between planning the future and allowing play. If you never let your inner child out, your adult self will become buried under the weight of ambition and stress. The pressure to do, achieve, prove, and perform will silence the part of you that knows how to rest in delight. When we embrace the youthful spirit, we become present. So what would it look like to stop just for a moment and feel your now? What would it mean to treat your life not as a to-do list, but as a playground? Would you color for fun? Would you dance in your kitchen? Maybe even climb something? Touch grass? Eat fruit slowly? Laugh at something ridiculous? Whatever it may be, let wonder interrupt your routine. And when you do find your way of stopping and becoming present, celebrate it . Even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small. Because children don’t wait for permission to be proud. They celebrate tying their shoes. Making a doodle. Running fast. Let them reteach you how to live. Embrace the inner child who wants to sing just because. Embrace the inner child who wants to dance just because. Embrace the inner child who seeks to play, explore, and create, without needing a reason. Now, if you keep smothering that child’s fire, ask yourself why. If they existed outside of you—as a small, tender being you were responsible for—would you keep extinguishing their joy, shaming their spark, postponing their aliveness? If your answer is yes… I have serious concerns about you. But if you’re like most people—with any shred of empathy or compassion—then your answer is no. So why do you keep doing it to yourself? Suppressing that inner flame—telling it “later,” “not now,” “grow up,” isn’t discipline. It’s abandonment. A slow silencing of the most sacred, essential part of you. The part that still feels wonder. Still holds magic. Still believes. Because every time you delay joy, every time you treat play as a waste, every time you push through instead of softening into the moment… You’re slowly killing yourself. Not in the dramatic, obvious way—but in the soul-deep, chronic ache of becoming a husk of who you could be. A shell of someone great. So… let the child dance. Let them sing. Let them come out to play and color outside the lines and make a mess. Let them be heard. Because in doing so, you don’t lose your power—you return  to it. Let them remind you that this life isn’t just about building—it’s about being. The Gift Of A Silent Hour Before we close, I want to offer a gift. Or perhaps a challenge. Something that’s made a significant difference in my life—and could change yours. In the spirit of just being , I challenge you to take one silent hour a day for yourself. No phone. No screens. No input. Just you. Journal. Book. Walk. Sit in stillness. Stare at a wall. Let your nervous system catch its breath. Give yourself permission to not  produce. To not  perform. To not  please anyone but the version of you that’s quietly waiting to be heard. You’ll twitch. You’ll reach. You’ll worry. But nothing will collapse. And the world will still be there when you return. This hour is your reclamation. A return to sovereignty. Make it sacred. Light a candle. Close a door. Play soft music on a record player. Breathe deeply. Tell your mind: We are safe here. Carve out your sacred time. Not because it’s efficient, but because it’s essential. And if anyone calls it selfish—including your own inner voice? I call bullshit. You are allowed to be selfish with your peace. You are allowed to close the door. To step away. To say, “Not today.” Because sometimes, solitude is the only place you can hear yourself again. Rest is not a luxury. Rest is not weakness. Rest is not selfish. Rest is your fucking right . Some days you might not even be able to give 30%, let alone 120%. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. That means you’re human. So have a brain-rot day if it helps. Read a book. Write a book with quill and ink. Play the silly game. Watch the comfort show. Let yourself unravel. But I implore you: disconnect, too. Carve out the hour. Morning, midday, or midnight—whenever you can. Lock your devices in another room. Feel the withdrawal. Let it pass. And if you can't, ask yourself honestly: Why can’t I give myself just one hour of silence? Be real, be honest, what's really stopping you? Take a walk. Go for a bike ride. Journal. Pray. Stretch. Cry. Dance. Paint. Breathe. If it's raining outside (like it is now as I write this), go outside and let the rain soak you to your bones. Whatever you do, take your attention back from the systems that profit off your exhaustion. From the culture that told you stillness was a waste of time. Reclaim your mind from the algorithms that profit off of your doomscrolling. Even scarier for some: don’t be productive.  Stare at the sky. Doodle something pointless. Lay in the grass. Do something with no outcome attached. Just… exist. You weren’t built to be a machine. You weren’t meant to monetize every breath. You were meant to live . To be . And maybe all this sounds obvious. Maybe it sounds “basic.” But let me remind you: Just because you know something intellectually doesn’t mean you’ve internalized it. Knowing and living are two different things. So don’t scoff at people who are learning what you’ve already learned. And don’t shame yourself for needing to relearn what you thought you’d mastered. We are all on different timelines. Walking different terrain. So stay open. Stay kind. To others, and especially to yourself. Learning To Let Go: A Practical Guide Now, it's easy to spout “just rest,” “just be,” “just let go” as if it's that simple. But where do you start? How do you start? I f your nervous system has been stuck in fight-or-flight, or your mind is racing from a culture that values productivity over presence, or your own deadlines and commitments to your own dreams weighs heavy on you, the idea “letting go” can feel impossible. How do you actually let go and " be "? Here are some methods I use. Step 1: Start with the Body, Not the Brain You can’t  think  your way into calm—you have to  physically signal safety  to your body. Shake out your limbs.  Literally. Hands, feet, shoulders, head. Wake up your energy. Exhale with sound.  Sigh, groan, hum, blow raspberries—anything that tells your system, “We’re okay now.” Tense and release.  Start with your toes, move upward. Clench, hold, let go. Try putting on a song and just  move . No choreography. No judgment. Let your body lead. Why This Works: Trauma and stress live in the body. When you move, you dislodge what’s stuck. You remind yourself you are not frozen. You are not trapped. It shakes up the stagnant energy, trauma, or stress living inside you. Step 2: Name It to Tame It Unspoken emotions tend to spiral, but when you name what you’re feeling, your nervous system begins to regulate. This can be rather difficult if you're not used to catching yourself when you're about to, or already in a spiral. But like I've said in other blog posts, our language  shapes  reality. The way we describe our lives—internally or externally—changes the way we process, remember, and relate to those experiences. So try and speak aloud what you're feeling. Optional Phrases To Say To Yourself: “I’m overwhelmed.” “I’m scared and I don’t know why.” “I feel like I’m failing and I’m exhausted.” Don’t overthink it. Use your Notes app. A journal. A sticky note. Or say it out loud to an empty room. If you’re blanking, start here: “I don’t know what I’m feeling, and in this moment I don't know why, but I want to feel lighter.” Why This Works: Naming emotion activates the prefrontal cortex and helps reduce emotional overload. It brings you into awareness, not just reaction. Step 3: Interrupt the Spiral with Play If your inner critic starts judging— “This is dumb," "you’re doing it wrong,” "this is pointless and nonsensical" —that’s your cue to get weird. Blow raspberries. Make a goofy face in the mirror. Say something dramatic like, “I am a stressed-out mushroom under a heat lamp.” The goal isn’t to be silly for the sake of it—it’s to disrupt self-seriousness and let your body remember joy. Why This Works: Play brings you back into the present. It can activate cortisol. It tells your system:  We are allowed to feel good. And if you can't embrace the weird and silly just yet and the spiraling thoughts just won’t stop, try a grounding technique: Name 5 things you can see.  Describe each in color, texture, and detail. Let your eyes linger. Name 4 things you can touch.  Feel the temperature. The grain. The weight. Name 3 things you can hear.  Distant sounds. Near sounds. The in-between. Name 2 things you can smell.  Breathe deeply. Let the scent tell you where you are. Name 1 thing you can taste.  Even if it’s just the inside of your mouth—notice. These small sensory observations are anchors. They remind you:  I am here. I am safe. I am real. And once you’ve let go—even a little— pause . Notice. Appreciate. Step 4: Create A Sanctuary Create a space—physical or energetic—that says:  nothing is required of me here. It can be anything. It doesn't have to be a brand new space, it can be your bed. A blanket fort. A closet. A patch of sunlight. But let it be a sanctuary, a hallow place of rest and presence. Light a candle. Sit with a warm drink. Put on lo-fi. Call it something like: My safe space, The Chamber of Secrets, the room of no expectations. Why This Works: The body responds to ritual and space. When you build a pattern of comfort, your system begins to trust it. Step 5: Make Rest a Ritual Let rest become something you  practice , not something you have to earn. Choose one tiny act: One cup of tea in silence. One walk without your phone. One slow stretch before bed. One page in a “brain dump” journal. Repeat it. Honor it. Make it sacred. Why This Works: Repetition builds regulation. Tiny rituals teach your nervous system: “This is the rhythm of peace.” Bonus: If You Can’t Relax, Forgive Yourself Anyway Sometimes the harder you try to relax, the more tense you feel. That’s okay. Rest isn’t a switch. It’s a practice. A remembering. If all you do is lie down and breathe for a minute, that counts. If all you do is  want  to rest and can’t, that awareness is still sacred. You’re not broken if stillness is hard. You’re just learning to feel safe in your own space again. But once the stillness settles, even for a breath, you might even try to begin to notice the details you forgot to love. The slant of light. The quiet hum of being. And that noticing? That’s the beginning of gratitude. Let gratitude and appreciation ground you. Let it be your anchor. When you slow down, you begin to not just see, but observe : the way light illuminates a loved ones eyes. The way your breath softens. The way your heart has been trying to speak to you all along. Appreciation is presence. It’s a way of saying thank you—not just for the big things, but for every little thing that reminds you you’re alive. This ties into a truth from another piece I wrote:  How To See The World Like An Artist .  When you look closely—really look—you realize that everything is miraculous. A chipped cup. A dusty window. The sound of footsteps. A curl of steam. To notice is to honor. To appreciate and practice gratitude is how we stay present. It's how we come home to the world as it is. How we come home to  ourselves. Let yourself unwind. Not for performance. Not to prove you’re doing “self-care.” But because you are tired. And you are worthy. And you are allowed to feel good. That’s not weakness. That’s  wisdom . Final Truths & Affirmations You are not your goals. You are not your timeline. You are not your productivity. You are not a machine. You are not a brand. You are not your output. You are a human. You are a soul . And you deserve joy. Stillness. Nourishment. Celebration. Even when you feel like you have nothing left to give or feel undeserving. Because you are not meant to create from an empty well. You are meant to drink first. And then, only when you’re ready, create. Closing Thoughts I like to end most blogs with an inspiring quote that's relevant to the posts content, but instead of a quote, I’d like to leave you with a song: Billy Joel’s  Vienna . For the version of you that’s tired, burned out, but still trying. I see you, I believe in you, you can do it. Keep going :) “Slow down, you crazy child…” You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to be. That’s enough —you are enough ♥︎ —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date and get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . SUBSCRIBE to the blog on my personal website , Substack , or Medium . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board ! If you're reading this, Mosswing believes in you!🐉💕

DISCLAIMER:  This blog post contains discussions of sex, intimacy, gendered language, and cultural conditioning. It touches on anatomy, dirty talk, and the emotional and psychological dynamics of sexual relationships—sometimes critically. While the tone may be candid, irreverent, or even spicy, the intent is never to shame anyone for their preferences or experiences. If certain phrases or ideas feel tender or triggering to you, please honor your own boundaries while reading. This is a piece about reclaiming language—not policing pleasure. You are always the author of your own body. Aloha world~ This blog post was born out of many threads—and now it’s all unraveled into this delightfully chaotic, deeply personal, slightly rage-fueled writer rant. It started with my blog post on de-westernizing worldbuilding , which made me hyper-aware of the inherited cultural lenses I write through. That awareness started to bleed (literally) into my personal life—especially as I’ve been learning more about my own body after a PCOS diagnosis. That diagnosis sent me down the rabbit hole of understanding the four hormonal phases of the menstrual cycle (which, let’s be real, most of us with uteruses were  never  taught properly). At the same time, I’ve also been reclaiming knowledge of female anatomy—not the glossy, diagrammed version from 7th grade health class, but the real, rich, nuanced truths about what it means to live in a body that  receives , that cycles, that opens and contracts. All of that culminated into a remembrance of a TikTok I saw well over a year ago; a video that casually dropped the truth bomb that, even when written from a woman’s point of view, most sex scenes are still written with male-centered language: “He penetrated her,” “She was filled,” “He took her,” etc etc etc. You’ve read them. Maybe you’ve written them. I definitely have. So this post is where all of that converges. My personal journey of embodiment. My obsession with story. My period. And a single line in a TikTok that planted a seed I couldn’t unsee. Let’s talk about it. Table Of Contents The Importance of Language Inherited Language We've Never Questioned Writing Sex From The Inside Out Rewriting Dirty Talk Sex As Sacred: A Personal Reflection The Queer Lens & Trans Inclusion Rewrite Guide: Shifting The Sex Scene Lens Closing Thoughts References & Further Reading The Importance Of Language & The Spoken Word Psychological research supports the idea that the language we use profoundly shapes our thoughts, perceptions, and interactions with the world. A popular therapeutic technique called  cognitive reframing  (also known as cognitive restructuring ) is one of the cornerstones of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), and it’s all about changing the way we talk to ourselves—and by extension, how we see ourselves. Therapists use this technique to help people challenge harmful inner narratives like, “I’m a failure” or “Nothing ever goes right,” and instead shift those thoughts toward something more compassionate and truthful, like, “I’m struggling, but I’m still growing.” Why does this work? Because language  shapes  reality. The way we describe our lives—internally or externally—changes the way we process, remember, and relate to those experiences. Cognitive scientist Lera Boroditsky has extensively studied a different but related phenomenon, demonstrating that language influences how we perceive concepts like time, space, and even relationships. For instance, in some Aboriginal communities in Australia, people use cardinal directions instead of left and right, which affects their spatial orientation and memory. This suggests that the linguistic structures we adopt can fundamentally alter our cognitive processes.  This concept, known as linguistic relativity , or the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis , posits that the language we speak influences our worldview and cognition. While the strong version—that language determines thought—has been debated, the consensus supports a weaker form: that language influences thought in significant ways.    The words we use don’t just describe reality—they  define  it. They draw boundaries around our perceptions, sculpting what we see as normal, desirable, acceptable, or true. Language is not neutral. It’s inherited. It's ancient. It’s embedded. And it’s often soaked in centuries of power dynamics we didn’t choose, but still echo. In the same way worldbuilding can be unintentionally Westernized due to the narratives we’ve grown up with, the way we write about sex is often unconsciously  male-centered . Even from a woman’s POV, we default to language like "he took her," "he penetrated her," "she was filled," as if sex is something done  to  her rather than experienced  with  her. And that’s exactly what this blog post is about. It’s a form of literary cognitive reframing. We're taking the default phrases of sex—phrases shaped by centuries of male-centered thought—and rewriting them from the inside out. Not because male pleasure is bad or male language is evil, but because the story deserves a broader, truer, more embodied telling. Words don’t just describe sex. They define how we understand it, how we remember it, how we write it—and how we feel about it. Inherited Phrases We Never Questioned It’s not that these phrases are inherently wrong or evil—they’ve just been absorbed as  default , and that’s exactly the problem. Just like in my de-westernizing worldbuilding blog post, where I pointed out the unconscious assumption that Western culture is the “norm” and everything else is a deviation, the same thing happens here—with sex, gender, and the body. There’s a baked-in assumption that the male body is the baseline, the actor, the initiator. When in reality, biologically speaking,  everyone starts out as female in the womb . The male body is not the default—it’s simply  one version  of human expression. But centuries of storytelling have taught us otherwise. As I shared in the section above "The Importance Of Language & The Spoken Word," the words we use shape how we see the world. And in this case, the language we use to describe sex directly influences what we believe sex  is . These phrases don’t just describe a moment—they reinforce the idea that  doing  is more important than  feeling . That tightness is more erotic than openness. That the act itself matters more than the experience of it. That  his motion  is the story, and  her body  is just the setting. And here’s the real harm: people who learn about sex through literature—especially young people, women, queer readers, and anyone not centered in mainstream narratives—start to internalize these frameworks. They begin to believe that if their body doesn’t respond the way it’s “supposed” to, if sex doesn’t feel like how it’s described in books,  something must be wrong with them . It’s not just inaccurate—it’s damaging. It tells a false narrative that alienates people from their own pleasure, their own bodies, and their right to shape their own stories. Let’s break down what some of those distorted expectations might look like: Distorted Expectation:  If you’re not “tight” enough, you’re not sexy. Reality:  Vaginas are meant to stretch and accommodate. Arousal and safety cause  relaxation , not resistance. Distorted Expectation:  If you don’t orgasm from penetration alone, something’s wrong with you. Reality:  The majority of people with vulvas require clitoral stimulation to orgasm. This is normal. This is anatomical. Distorted Expectation:  If you’re not wet and ready to receive immediately , then there is something wrong with you. Reality:  Arousal is emotional, mental, and physical. For women, or vagina owners, it takes much longer for arousal to occur. Not to mention, many factors affect lubrication. Wetness is not the only indicator of desire. Distorted Expectation:  If you don’t “yield” or “surrender,” you’re doing it wrong. Reality:  Receptivity is not passivity. Desire can be active, hungry, present. It doesn’t have to look soft or quiet. These aren’t just tropes—they’re scripts. And if we’re not careful, they start to overwrite our reality. As writers, we have the chance to interrupt that pattern. To offer alternatives. To craft language that reflects  real  experiences, not just inherited ones. Because if the language of sex only tells one kind of story, how many people will go their whole lives thinking theirs is wrong or doesn’t matter? Let’s start with the classics. The ones you’ve read in books, fanfiction, maybe even your own journal at 2 a.m. under dim lighting and a burst of inspiration: “He penetrated her.” “He took her.” “She was tight.” “She was filled.” “He claimed her body.” “She yielded beneath him.” These phrases are so common, so ingrained in the literary (and erotic) canon, that we rarely pause to ask:  Where did this language come from? Who does it serve? Whose experience does it center? Again, it’s not that these phrases are inherently bad or wrong, they’ve just been absorbed as  default , and that’s exactly the problem. They come from a cultural lineage that privileges the  actor  (usually male) over the  experienced  (usually female). They’re verbs of action, conquest, and dominance. They’re rooted in centuries where women’s pleasure wasn’t considered, where sex was about reproduction, control, and ownership (🤢🤮). Even now, in modern fiction, we see male pleasure framed as assertive, directional, goal-oriented, while feminine pleasure is passive, decorative, responsive—but rarely  directive  or  centered . This doesn't mean we need to burn every romance novel with a “he took her” in it. But it does mean we get to  choose differently  now. To unlearn. To rewrite. Because as said above, these phrases shape the way we view sex. They influence what we think “good sex” looks like. They reinforce that doing is more important than feeling. That tightness is more erotic than openness. That the act matters more than the experience. And if you’re someone who writes from the body—not just about it—then you know: sex isn’t just a mechanical event. It’s sensation. Emotion. Rhythm. Breath. Relationship. The language should reflect that. Writing Sex from the Inside Out So what does it actually  feel  like to have sex when you're the one doing the receiving? This is a question that is not asked enough—not in our cultural narratives, not in our classrooms, and certainly not in our literature. Writing sex from the feminine or vulva-having perspective means moving beyond how it  looks  and diving deep into how it  feels from the inside. It’s not about replacing one cliché with another. It’s about rooting the experience in embodiment—sensory, emotional, internal, relational. The experience of receiving during sex can be: A gradual unfolding A pressure and stretch that warms and deepens A pulsing rhythm that syncs with breath and heartbeat A full-bodied ache that’s more than just physical A letting go of tension in both the body and the mind A conscious opening, not a passive yielding Writing from the inside out means describing those experiences not just as metaphors for the reader, but as truths for the character. What’s happening emotionally as her body opens? What does she feel in her chest, her belly, her thighs? What does her breath do? Does she pull him deeper or shift away? Is she safe? Nervous? Thrilled? Hungry? The language doesn’t have to be overly anatomical, but it  should  be intimate, lived-in, and specific to  her . It should reflect her agency—not just in what’s done to her, but in how she responds, guides, wants. Let’s rewrite the scene where “he thrust into her” with something that brings us into her experience: “She opened for him, feeling his hard length ease into her, breath catching as sensation rippled through her core.” “Their rhythm built slowly, her body responding with a hunger that surprised even her.” “She welcomed him, her hips rising to meet him, grounding the moment in something wordless and whole.” This kind of writing gives readers more than just friction—it gives them  feeling . It places the reader in the character’s skin, not just on top of it. It says: this story is not about what’s done to her. It’s about what she  experiences ,  chooses , and  feels  from the inside out. Why Dirty Talk Needs a Rewrite Now, let me preface this section by saying that I'm not trying to yuck on anyones yum, however, we should talk about the language we whisper, groan, or growl in the heat of the moment. Dirty talk. And specifically, the kind that gets parroted in books without much thought—because it “sounds hot,” even when it’s baked in weird gendered baggage. You know the ones: “You’re so tight.” “You’re dripping for me.” “I’m gonna fill you up.” “You like being used, don’t you?” Look, no kink shaming here. If consensual degradation is your thing? Hell yes—go for it. But the issue is when these phrases are treated like the  standard , the only kind of sexy, the default dirty talk template. “You’re so tight” is probably the most common offender. It’s meant to be praise, sure—but it reinforces a cultural pressure for people with vaginas to be “tight” in order to be desirable. That pressure has real-world consequences: shame, anxiety, pain during sex, and a misunderstanding of how arousal actually works. In reality, a relaxed, aroused vagina  opens ,  expands , and  softens . That’s not failure, that’s  readiness. This is where the rewrite comes in. Let’s offer some alternatives, phrases that still steam up the page but don’t reinforce myths or male-centric expectations: “You’re pulling me in.” “I love the way your body opens for me.” “You feel so good around me.” “The way you want me is driving me crazy.” “You’re taking me so deep.” These versions don’t sanitize the moment, they just reflect it from a more mutual, embodied lens. One where the experience is about  connection ,  desire , and  response , not just performance. Again, this isn’t about eliminating all rough talk or making sex scenes soft and quiet. It’s about being intentional. When the language defaults to dominance/submission without exploration or consent, or when it places all the power and pleasure in his hands, it flattens the potential of the moment. You can still write rough, desperate, delicious sex—and make it feel like it belongs to  both  characters, not just one. Sex as Sacred: A Personal Reflection My personal belief and philosophy is that the most intimate and normal thing one person can do with another human being is have sex. Not just " have " it, but share  it. Open  to it. Be changed  by it. Especially for those who are demisexual, or just deeply attuned to emotional connection, sex isn’t just about friction. It’s about safety. It’s about letting someone in . Some people can see a hot body and feel aroused and lust after another person. That’s valid. But for many of us, it’s more than just the physical. Especially for women. It’s emotional, mental, even spiritual. It’s a kind of closeness that asks you to be seen  in a way few things do. Because as someone with a vulva, with a body designed to receive, sex isn’t just doing something with  someone—it’s literally letting  someone inside. That is not  a small thing. That’s not casual, even if the moment is. It’s layered. Vulnerable. Sacred. And for someone who owns a penis—someone who physically enters another person—that should be treated as a deep honor. Not a punchline. Not a conquest. Not a casual line of dirty talk about being “tight” or “wet” or “ready.” To be received by someone who trusts you, who wants you, who opens for you, that should feel holy. And yes, sometimes sex is messy, awkward, hilarious, or just straight-up hot and fun. It can be playful. It can be primal. But that doesn’t mean it can’t also be reverent  and shouldn't be treated as such. The way we write about sex should reflect that range. It should leave space for the sacred. The soft. The slow. The seismic. Because when we join not just bodies, but hearts, minds, and spirits—it becomes the most human thing we can possibly do. The Queer Lens & Trans Inclusion Before we wrap up, we need to acknowledge something crucial: people with vulvas are not always women—and not all women have vulvas. The language we use in sex scenes should reflect that reality. Queer writers, trans writers, and nonbinary writers have been at the forefront of expanding the language of intimacy. Because when you don’t see yourself reflected in the default scripts, you have to create your own—and that often leads to more embodied, inventive, emotionally resonant sex writing. Writing from a vulva-oriented or receptive-body lens isn’t just about cis women’s pleasure—it’s about honoring all people who experience sex through reception, internal sensation, emotional connection, and bodily nuance. When we write with broader, more inclusive language, we: Affirm trans and nonbinary readers who are often erased in literary depictions of intimacy. Create room for more diverse, authentic portrayals of sex. Detach pleasure from gender, and let it live in the  experience  itself—not in roles assigned by tradition. Inclusive language doesn’t mean making the scene clinical or sterile—it means being aware, intentional, and curious. It means asking:  Whose body am I writing from? Whose pleasure is being centered?  And  how can I make this moment feel true to them—not just familiar to me? Let’s write sex scenes that  include  more people. That  see  more people. That feel like home for bodies that don’t often get to be the main character. Quick-Fire Rewrite Guide: Shifting the Sex Scene Lens Here’s a cheatsheet for common phrases and ways to rewrite them through a more embodied, feminine, or mutual lens. These are suggestions, not rules—use them to inspire new rhythms, not restrict your voice. Traditional Phrase Rewritten Alternative He penetrated her She welcomed him in / She opened for him He took her They met in the dark / She pulled him closer She was tight She held him / She pulsed around him He filled her She held him inside her / They moved as one She yielded beneath him She opened with trust / She rose to meet him He thrust into her She rocked to meet him / Their rhythm built slowly Her body was his Her body responded to him / They tangled together These reframes are less about softening the moment and more about deepening it—reclaiming language that has often defaulted to male dominance and returning it to mutuality, embodiment, and presence. Use what resonates. Toss what doesn’t. Just don’t forget: language isn’t neutral. So make yours  mean  something. Closing Thoughts: Language Is Power—Wield It Wisely We began this post by asking: what does it mean to rewrite sex from the inside out? And here’s where we return to the heart of it: This isn’t just about style—it’s about worldview. It shapes how we understand agency, pleasure, vulnerability, and even love. And if our metaphors for intimacy revolve around domination, entry, and possession, what does that say about how we think of sex? By rewriting these phrases, we give ourselves permission to imagine new ways of being—with others, and with ourselves. Ways that are softer. Stronger. Truer. Ways that don’t just describe sex—but honor  it. The words we choose matter. Because they don’t just tell the story—they are  the story. “Language is power, life and the instrument of culture, the instrument of domination and liberation.” —Angela Carter. Write without fear, ignore the inner-perfectionist, and when in doubt, have a shot of whiskey — then keep writing. —Bair✍︎ References & Further Reading Cognitive Behavior Therapy References Beck, J. S. (2011). Cognitive Behavior Therapy: Basics and Beyond (2nd ed.). The Guilford Press. APA Definition of Cognitive Restructuring “Cognitive Restructuring: How to Improve Your Mindset,” by Kendra Cherry, Psychology Today. https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-cognitive-restructuring-2795062 Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis & Linguistic Relativity Boroditsky, L. (2011). How Language Shapes Thought. Scientific American. https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-language-shapes-thought/ Whorf, B. L. (1956). Language, Thought, and Reality: Selected Writings of Benjamin Lee Whorf. MIT Press. TED Talk by Boroditsky: https://www.ted.com/talks/lera_boroditsky_how_language_shapes_the_way_we_think Want to stay up to-date and get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . SUBSCRIBE to the blog on my personal website , Substack , or Medium . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board ! Congrats! You found Mosswing at the end of this post!

The Great Blue Debate™ Listen up, literary darlings. I have been called out. Dragged. Exposed. And honestly? I deserved it. Recently, a friend read two of my more recent blog posts where I talked about being a purple writer and using the five senses in writing. In “ 4 Signs You Are a Purple Writer ,” I had written in my first section: “If your writing sessions involve spending thirty minutes hunting for the perfect synonym for ‘blue’ (I’m definitely not guilty of this… not me, def not me… * sips tea loudly *), you may be engaging in unnecessary verbal gymnastics. Simplicity isn’t a crime. Your readers will still get the picture if the sky is just… blue.” So when he got to a section in “ How To Show Not Tell Using The 5 Senses ,” where I wrote: “Don’t just say the sky was blue. What kind of blue? Was it a deep indigo, a washed-out gray-blue, or so blinding it felt like staring into a god’s eye?” He naturally saw this contradiction and did what any loyal friend would do: he called me out. “But sometimes it’s just blue.” And I, being a reasonable and mature adult, I barked an obnoxiously loud laugh in my date’s bathroom mid-period-pad swap, which was followed by dramatic sigh at the realization I had a new topic to write about ( and  a funny conversation starter for said date). This isn’t just a him  problem—it’s a question every writer wrestles with at some point in their writing career: When should I go full poetic immersion, and when should I just say “The sky was blue” and move on? It’s a fine balance between vivid storytelling and drowning your reader in purple prose. So let’s fight— *ehem* BREAK IT DOWN. To blue, or not to blue: That is the question. Table Of Contents Why Description Matter (& When It Doesn't) Describe When… Keep It Simple Stupid Give It To Me Gay, Is The Sky Blue Or Not? Concluding Thoughts Why Description Matters (& When It Doesn’t) We’ve all read a book where the author spends an entire paragraph describing how the light hits the hero’s cheekbone just right , and suddenly you’re wondering why you’re trapped in a two-page dissertation on the emotional significance  of a teacup. On the flip side, we’ve also read books where everything is so blunt and dry that it feels like reading an instruction manual: She walked into the room. She sat down. She drank tea. The tea was hot. The end. Neither extreme is ideal. Great writing exists in the middle ground. So when do we describe, and when do we keep it simple? Describe When… It Adds Mood or Emotion If the color of the sky reflects the character’s emotions or the tone of the scene, describe it! Example:   The sky was a dull, listless gray, heavy with the kind of weight that made you want to crawl back into bed and try again tomorrow. It’s Important for the Story If something about the sky being a deep, foreboding storm blue foreshadows the oncoming tempest that will trap your characters in a haunted mansion, then yes, go all in. Example:   The sky bruised into a deep navy, streaked with the kind of purple that whispered of oncoming storms. The wind had already begun to shift. It Reveals Something About the Character Maybe a character notices details others don’t—it tells us who they are. A romantic might see the sky as a painting; a scientist might note its exact shade of cerulean. Example:   She called it periwinkle. He called it 480 nanometers on the visible spectrum. Both of them were right, in their own way. You Want to Set a Strong Sense of Place When you need to immerse your reader in a new setting, details make it real. If your fantasy kingdom has a saffron-colored sky that glows like fire or an alien planet’s sky shifts from emerald to obsidian, tell us! Keep It Simple When… The Detail Doesn’t Matter If the color of the sky has no relevance to mood, plot, or character? Just say it’s blue and move on. You’re in a Fast-Paced Scene Imagine your protagonist is running for their life. Now is NOT the time to describe the sky as “a wistful watercolor of blues and pinks, as if the gods themselves had taken up painting.”  Just say the sun was setting and let them run. 🏃💨 It Feels Unnatural in Context If you wouldn’t stop in the middle of a tense argument to note that the drapes are “a luxurious shade of emerald that reminded her of springtime in Tuscany” … then don’t make your character do it either. Your Reader Gets the Picture If you’ve already established the scene and the mood, there’s no need to overdo it. Trust your readers. They don’t need five different shades of blue to understand that the sky is, in fact, blue. So, Is the Sky Blue or Not? The trick is knowing when a description elevates the story and when it drags it down. So here's a good rule of thumb: If it adds to mood, plot, or character insight—describe away! If it’s just filler— cut it. Mercilessly . And sometimes? Sometimes the sky is just blue. But if your character looks up and sees storm-tossed indigo skies, the color of distant thunder, maybe we’re in for something more. Now, dear writers, go forth and describe wisely. And to my dear friend who inspired this post—don’t worry. Sometimes it really is just blue. 💙😉 What’s your take? Have you ever struggled with description overload? Or do you love a little poetic flair in your writing? I, for one, certainly get carried away from time to time… All the time… Let me know your thoughts in the comments! See you in the next blog, —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date on get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board !

Over the course of my writing journey, I’ve explored a  lot  of writing resources—from books and blogs to videos and communities. But one of the most consistent and comforting tools in my creative toolkit?  Podcasts.   There’s just something about tuning in to a conversation between fellow writers or industry professionals while you’re walking, cooking, cleaning, or even worldbuilding that makes you feel  seen . Podcasts can be equal parts educational and inspirational—and they have an uncanny ability to sneak into your creative subconscious and stir things awake. And while I’ve listened to dozens of writing-related shows over the years, these are the ones that have consistently stayed in my rotation—the voices I turn to when I need insight, encouragement, strategy, a laugh, or just a bit of “you’re not alone.” If you're looking to level-up your craft, navigate publishing, or simply surround yourself with creative energy—these are for you. Table Of Contents Kobo Writing Life Podcast ALLi Self-Publishing Advice Podcast The Art of Worldbuilding Podcast Wish I'd Known Then… For Writers Podcast Writing Excuses Podcast The Rebel Author Podcast Sneaky Bonus Podcast Honorable Mentions Concluding Thoughts 1.) Kobo Writing Life This podcast is brought to you by the team at Kobo and features interviews with bestselling authors, publishing insiders, and industry experts. Whether you're indie, traditionally published, or hybrid, there's something here for you. Kobo Writing Life tends to offer a more global perspective on publishing, which I personally love, and their episodes strike a great balance between practical advice and inspiring storytelling. You’ll hear about marketing strategies, writing habits, platform building, and the ups and downs of an author career. 🔗  Listen to Kobo Writing Life 2.) ALLi's Self-Publishing Advice Podcast This one’s from the Alliance of Independent Authors, and it’s basically a goldmine for indie writers. With multiple shows a week, each hosted by a different expert, the topics range from legal rights and distribution models to author mindset and craft tips. What I love most is the no-fluff approach—it’s incredibly practical. If you’ve ever wanted a podcast that speaks directly to the real-world mechanics of making a living as a writer (without the overwhelm), this is the one. 🔗  Listen to ALLi Podcast 3.) The Art of Worldbuilding Podcast Fantasy and sci-fi writers, this one’s for us! If you’ve ever asked yourself questions like, “How do I make my geography more realistic?” or “How can I make my societies feel authentic?”, this podcast dives into all of it. Each episode is packed with clear, digestible advice for creating immersive settings and believable cultures. It’s methodical without being dry, and thoughtful without being preachy. I find it particularly helpful for fleshing out magic systems, religion, history, and language in fantasy realms. 🔗  Listen to The Art of Worldbuilding 4.) Wish I'd Known Then… For Writers This podcast is like a heart-to-heart with wiser versions of yourself. Hosted by authors who openly share their mistakes, growth, and ongoing lessons, it blends the emotional journey of being a writer with real-world experiences about publishing, contracts, burnout, branding, and more. It’s authentic, comforting, and filled with those “me too” moments that help you feel less alone. Highly recommended for mid-career writers trying to stay grounded or newer writers looking to avoid common pitfalls. 🔗  Listen to Wish I'd Known Then 5.) Writing Excuses A classic for a reason. “Fifteen minutes long, because you're in a hurry, and we're not that smart.” Except, spoiler alert: they’re actually geniuses. This roundtable podcast features authors Brandon Sanderson, Mary Robinette Kowal, Dan Wells, and others, covering everything from worldbuilding and plotting to character arcs and pacing. The episodes are fast, focused, and packed with value. There’s also a wonderful sense of camaraderie and collaboration in this show—it reminds you that writing can be fun, and that there are many different ways to succeed at it. 🔗  Listen to Writing Excuses 6.) The Rebel Author Podcast – Sacha Black Saving the best for last, The Rebel Author Podcast is hands-down my favorite and ride-or-die listens. It is where I learned the majority of my publishing and industry knowledge. Sacha Black delivers thoughtful, actionable, and often hilarious interviews with writers, editors, and creative professionals. Whether she's diving into topics like villain creation, non-fiction publishing, time management, or building a creative business, her energy is magnetic. Sacha brings big rebel energy to every episode—empowering writers to own their space and build a bold, unapologetic author career. She is hilarious but also swears (in the best way), so if you want advice with bite, this is the place. 🔗  Listen to Rebel Author Podcast Bonus: The Tired Writers Podcast This one is incredibly special to me because it’s my podcast! The Tired Writers Podcast is a writing podcast that I co-host with my best friend Kimberly Herbstritt . We created it as a space to talk honestly about our creative lives, writer’s block, accountability, burnout, joy, and everything in between. It’s cozy, real, and full of love for the writing community. If you want to feel like you’re chatting with writer friends over a cup of tea, come hang out with us.  🔗   Listen to The Tired Writers Podcast Honorable Mentions Next Level Authors  – A great behind-the-scenes podcast where two indie authors hold each other accountable and tackle real-life creative challenges. Draft2Digital’s Self Publishing Insiders  – Perfect if you want to learn more about indie publishing, discover helpful tools, and stay updated on platform changes. The Creative Penn Podcast  – Hosted by Joanna Penn, a legend in the indie-author space, this long-running podcast is full of insightful interviews and helpful publishing advice. Especially great if you're looking to build a career as a writer-entrepreneur. Joanna Penn is the GOAT for indie writers. Concluding Thoughts Whether you’re plotting your first novel, in the middle of a messy draft, querying agents, or building your indie author empire, these podcasts are like creative fuel. So go ahead—grab a notebook, a warm drink, and your favorite headphones. Let these voices be your writing companions. Got a favorite podcast I missed? Drop it in the comments—I’m always on the lookout for more! Happy listening (& happy writing)! —Bair✍︎ Want to stay up to-date and get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter ! Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog . SUBSCRIBE to the blog on my personal website , Substack , or Medium . Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast ! Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books ! Support the blog on Ko-fi ! INSTAGRAM  | LINKEDIN  | PINTEREST Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store Like this post? Share the link on your social media or pin the image below to your Pinterest board ! Mosswing Listening To a Podcast