This is going to be a short and sweet blog post, because lately, I’ve been dealing with burnout. So instead of pressuring myself to show up big by writing a post that is a 15min+ read that takes several hours of writing—followed by several more hours of editing and rewriting—I wrote this 5min read post. This post is to remind myself that showing up for myself in small ways is just as important as completing big projects and accomplishing lofty goals. So, instead of a craft deep-dive or worldbuilding essay, I wanted to share something a little more personal. A softer kind of offering. A list of romance tropes I secretly (or not so secretly) adore. Because while I’m not someone who actively seeks out romance novels—and while I’ve read and enjoyed romantasy stories like  Throne of Glass ,  ACOTAR , and  Fourth Wing  (fun fact, I read ToG and ACOTAR years before they exploded on TikTok)—I’m a hopeless romantic at heart. I may not swoon over every love story, but the ones that  get  me? They stay forever. There are popular romance tropes we all know and love—enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine. But today I’m not here to talk about those. I’m here to talk about the unpopular, fly-under-the-radar tropes. The slow burns. The emotionally complex. The ones that make you whisper "just kiss already" to your book at 2am. Here are 8 of my favorites—and the deeper truths they taught me about myself. Table Of Contents The Secret Identity You Make Me Want To Live Again Rivals To Lovers > Enemies To Lovers Pretend Enemies, Real Feelings I Hate That I Love You I Swear I Kidnapped You For A Good Reason Forced Proximity What These Tropes Taught Me About Myself Closing Thoughts 1. The Secret Identity Love Triangle… With Only Two People Fuuuuuuck. I don't know why but I looooove this trope. It's t he classic identity mess. One loves the other’s normal self. The other loves the alter ego. One hates the alter ego. The other ignores the normal self. It’s messy. It’s delicious. It’s a screaming match with a little bit of destiny and disguise. I love this trope because it turns the whole idea of knowing someone inside and out on its head. It’s all about layers—who we pretend to be, who we actually are, and what it means when someone sees through the performance. There’s something painfully romantic about characters falling in love with different versions of each other, only to realize they were already halfway there the whole time. It’s identity, desire, and longing in a blender—and I’ll never get tired of it. 2. You Made Me Want to Live Again Not “I would die for you” or "I would kill for you" but:  “I didn’t want to live at all… until I met you. And now I want to live. For me. For us. For the sunrise.”   That shit hits me right in the feels. It's devastating, it's raw. It's powerful and transformational. This trope has always resonated with the quiet ache I often explore in my stories—the ache of loneliness, of numbness, of surviving instead of living. There's something deeply moving about love that doesn’t swoop in to save you, but  reminds  you why life is worth saving in the first place. I love when characters gently help each other rebuild the will to exist—not as a savior fantasy, but as something tender and human and real. It's also far more realistic and healthy. 3. Rivals to Lovers > Enemies to Lovers They’re not trying to kill each other. They’re trying to  outdo  each other. It’s mutual drive. Intellectual heat. Sparks disguised as arguments. A perfect match they’re both too proud to admit (until, hopefully, they're not. Until, hopefully, they just want to see the other succeed). I love this trope because it's built on  recognition , not hatred. Unlike enemies to lovers, where attraction often blooms out of trauma or violence, rivals to lovers is rooted in mutual respect—no matter how begrudging. They challenge each other not to survive, but to  be better.  And that kind of growth-driven love? That hits different. It's ambition meeting affection, pride melting into admiration. It's what I hope to genuinely have and find in my own relationships. 4. Pretend Enemies, Real Feelings They want to hate each other. They’re  supposed  to hate each other. They might have even hated each other at first. But somewhere along the line without them realizing, the walls fell away, and now every insult is just a cleverly disguised compliment. Now they must pretend to hate each other to save face. And every argument and potential moment to "annoy" each other is just an excuse to be close.  And when they’re alone… it’s game over. This trope is a masterclass in emotional tension. The characters are fighting the wrong battle—not with each other, but with their own hearts. I love how the desire to resist affection only deepens the attraction. It's not about  enemies  in the traditional sense; it's about people trying not to fall in love, and failing spectacularly. That kind of vulnerability masked as banter? Unmatched. 5. I Hate That I Love You This trope captures the quiet, internal wars we sometimes fight within ourselves. It’s not about whether they love someone new—it’s about whether they’re  ready  to. I’m drawn to stories where grief takes its time, where love arrives gently, and where forgiveness isn’t owed but earned (gimme that slow burn, babyyyyy). There’s something incredibly human about watching a character navigate love not in spite of their loss, but through it and because of it.  The trope of “Loving you means letting go of the one I lost. And I’m not ready for that”   or the " Accepting and acknowledging this love for you means I've already started to move on from someone I'm not ready to let go of yet " eats me UP . It's emotionally devastating in the best way. It's the kind of story that leaves the reader changed as well. Because it's coming to terms with truths you may or may not be ready to face or even handle. And so it comes out in vicious ways because the character doesn't know any better, but they're doing the best they can with where they're at. The hate isn’t real—it’s grief, guilt, fear. But the love is real. And so is the healing. 6. The "I Swear I Kidnapped You For a Good Reason, Plz Don't Hate Me. It Was to Protect You—And I Couldn’t Tell You Until You Trusted Me" Trope I'll admit it up front, this trope is a little fucked up… but it scratches a very specific itch for me—it’s mythic, symbolic, and filled with restrained emotion. The inability to tell the truth unless trust is earned feels like a love story forged by fate. It puts emphasis on  action over explanation , trust over coercion, and creates space for one of my favorite narrative arcs: when care is offered even in the face of rejection. There’s something beautiful and brutal about love that waits quietly to be understood. A curse. A spell. A divine rule. The captor can't explain why. The captee resents them. But the captor's every action is rooted in love—and once the truth comes out, it’s devastating and beautiful. It’s morally grey. It’s magically tragic. And it's fucked up but I love it anyways. 7. We Were Raised to Hate Each Other, But Now We See The Lies Fed To Us About The Other Side Enemies by birthright. But the war? The divide? It was built on lies. And now they’re uncovering the truth together. Letting go of the past. And maybe… falling in love while they rebuild what was broken. This trope speaks to the possibility of healing in the wake of deep generational pain. I love when characters unlearn what they've been taught, when they realize their enemy isn't a person, but a system or belief they never questioned or had been indoctrinated with. The love story becomes not just about romance, but about reclaiming their agency, their history, and their future. It's cathartic, rebellious, and profoundly tender. 8. Forced Proximity: "I Don’t Even Like You, But We’re Stuck Together" Forced proximity is definitely not a rare trope, but as I was thinking of tropes I genuinely like, I realized this was one of the more mainstream tropes I do enjoy reading. So whether two characters are chained together, shipwrecked and marooned on an island, sharing a room, bound by magic or obligation, I will never tire of this trope. Especially if its paired with the "I hate your guts" trope. It's so good to see the characters get on each other's nerves for entertainment value… until that annoyance becomes fondness. And fondness becomes  oh shit, I caught feelings. I love how this trope forces characters to drop their facades. With nowhere to run, they have to face each other—awkward silences, petty arguments, quiet acts of care and all. It breeds intimacy in unexpected ways, making small moments feel seismic. Forced proximity isn’t just about tension; it’s about closeness without escape, which often reveals what the characters (and the reader) didn’t realize they needed. What These Tropes Taught Me About Myself When I sat down to write this post, I thought I was just talking about tropes I liked. But looking back… there’s a pattern. A truth beneath the fiction. These tropes all reflect something deeper I crave in stories, and maybe in life: love that’s built through trust, not grand gestures; emotional intimacy that unfolds before physical closeness; the slow, aching unraveling of false truths; the choice to grow instead of clinging to power; and the deep, often painful ache of wanting to belong even when you feel unworthy. And this is why I write, because writing helps me understand myself and the world at large. This is why I write fiction and non-fiction. Because all types of writing can lead to beautiful discoveries and fun rabbit holes. Closing Thoughts I didn’t sit down to write something polished today because I’m dealing with burnout—the kind that leaves you feeling hollow but still craving connection. So this post was my small way of showing up anyway. Not with something epic or perfect, but with something real. I thought I was just rambling about tropes I liked. But as I kept going, I realized these stories all speak to the parts of me that still want to believe in gentleness, emotional truth, and in love that doesn’t demand performance, but invites healing. So if you resonated with any of these, welcome. You’re in good company. We’re all just looking for stories that help us feel a little less alone. Thanks for reading. I hope you were kind to yourself today. See you in the next blog~ —Bair✍︎ Where epic fantasy meets philosophical ponderings of the self. 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 ! 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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. 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!

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!🐉💕

Greetings, dear reader! Have you ever felt like your fantasy cultures just aren’t… hitting right? You’ve got the maps, the names, the magic, the dragons—but somehow, it still feels like “the modern day, but with swords.” Western values like individualism, personal freedom, and binary morality somehow sneak into your stories almost by default, even when you’re trying to be inventive and subversive. You’re not alone. I’ve done that too. Most of us are raised with cultural assumptions we don’t even question until they show up in our fiction—and as writers, we bring our cultural lenses into everything we create. Often, we don’t even realize we’re doing it. It wasn’t until I started listening to Sapiens  by Yuval Noah Harari that I realized I was letting many Western values sneak into my worldbuilding. Harari spoke about how different cultures define “truth,” “value,” and even “reality” in radically different ways—and how we often don’t realize how deeply our assumptions are shaped by the cultures we were raised in. That hit hard. Because as a writer and worldbuilder, I want my fictional cultures to feel real, lived-in, and different —but I realized much of my own worldbuilding was still deeply entrenched in Western norms and values. And as I've become more and more committed to building immersive worlds that felt distinct and real,  I realized I had to confront several of those unconscious biases. Because here’s the thing: if we don’t question the assumptions we’ve absorbed, our fantasy cultures can end up feeling… Well… not that different from our own world. They risk reading like “Western society but with swords,” or “modern values in medieval clothing.” And readers notice. They may not consciously know why a world feels flat or unconvincing—but they feel it. I know. I’ve been one of those readers. So if you want to create rich, believable cultures that genuinely transport your readers, one of the most powerful things you can do is step outside Western norms and imagine other ways of seeing the world. In this post, I want to show you how I caught myself falling into that exact trap—and how I started unlearning my Western defaults to build fictional societies from the inside out, ones that feel real, rooted, and radically different. Table Of Contents How To Spot Unconscious Bias In Your Worldbuilding Why It Matter In Your Worldbuilding Deep Dive: Western Values To Watch For Check Your Racism At The Door A Personal Example & Examination 5 Core Foundations For Building Fictional Cultures Permission To Get Messy Writing Exercises Writing FREEBIE: Worldbuilding Worksheet Concluding Thoughts How to Spot Unconscious Biases in Your Worldbuilding Before we talk about how to break free of Western norms, we need to know what they look like when they quietly creep into our stories. Start by asking questions like: Who holds power in your world, and why? If it's always inherited through bloodlines or granted by divine prophecy, you might be echoing the Western ideal of destiny and inherited greatness. If your characters are praised for “breaking free” from family expectations to “be their true selves,” you’re leaning into individualism—a cornerstone of modern Western thought. Consider how morality works in your culture: is it a binary of good vs evil, or something more relational like shame, honor, or balance? What does family look like—are they nuclear units, or large extended or chosen collectives? And lastly, think about space: do your characters all have private rooms, personal property, and a high regard for solitude? If so, that may say more about our world than theirs. These biases aren't bad—but recognizing them is the first step to writing cultures that feel like their own living systems, not echoes of our own. Which beautifully leads us into our next point. Why This Matters in Worldbuilding As I shared in the introduction, I've been one of those readers who could sense when something felt  off  in a story’s worldbuilding. Sometimes a fantasy world just reads like Western society but with magic. Other times, it’s modern values dressed up in appropriated non-Western aesthetics . Like I mentioned earlier from Sapiens , o ne moment in that really stuck with me was when Harari described how, in feudal Europe, even the son of a lord didn’t have his own room. Personal space and privacy weren’t yet valued the way we understand them today—because those concepts hadn’t fully formed yet. So when we write medieval-inspired societies where every character has their own chamber or en suite bath, it reveals more about our current expectations than the logic of the fictional world. (Also, can we please continue moving away from having fantasy's default setting be medieval Europe? Is anyone else over that? Because I sure am…) One example that stuck with me was  Throne of Glass  by Sarah J. Maas. I haven’t read it in years, but I remember democracy being randomly introduced even though Aelin was becoming queen. It felt more like something added to appease the audience than something that naturally evolved from within the world. That kind of dissonance pulls readers out of a story. W hen worldbuilding choices feel unearned, when systems and values exist in a world just to mirror our own ideals, it doesn’t just weaken immersion. It undermines the internal logic of the world. Cultures don’t evolve to be politically correct. They evolve through belief, survival, myth, power, and necessity. If your story ignores that, the world starts to feel like a backdrop rather than a living, breathing culture. Also also—and I mean this with love, and I hope it's not just me—I’m honestly so tired of the same old trope of "patriarchy oppresses women" as the only form of gender-based worldbuilding. If someone is going to the lengths of writing a novel where society hates women, can it at least be original? Instead of falling into the common trap of “subverting” patriarchy by creating matriarchies where women act exactly like men in power—cold, militaristic, dominating, or emotionally detached—can we please have a world where femininity is powerful in ways that aren’t just masculine aggression with a new paint job? Because it’s not really a flipped worldview. It’s just role reversal. A cheap, low effort role reversal. Don’t take the lazy way out . Have more integrity. Please, for the love of the writing gods and goddesses, please have integrity when you write. If you're going to hate women, hate us for… I don't know… Our  lack  of nose hairs. Make fun of us for not looking  old enough . Make fun of us for our breasts not being saggy enough . Just g et creative. Otherwise, it just feels uninspired, and people will get bored of the same old regurgitated crap we've been force-fed for decades. De ep Dive: Western Values to Watch For The following values often show up in fantasy worldbuilding, not because they belong there, but because they’ve been absorbed so deeply into the Western psyche that they feel “normal.” But they’re not universal. Here are some common assumptions to keep an eye on as you build your fictional societies: Individualism (“Follow your dreams! Be yourself!”) Western culture often prioritizes the individual over the group. In many non-Western or pre-modern societies, community, duty, or family takes precedence. A fantasy world may value harmony over uniqueness—or shame deviance rather than celebrate it. Achievement-Based Value (“You are what you accomplish.”) Tied to capitalism and modern productivity culture, this mindset measures a person’s worth by success. In other systems, worth might come from age, ancestry, generosity, or spiritual insight. Binary Morality (“Good vs Evil”) Western storytelling often frames morality as black and white. But many cultures view right and wrong as situational, relational, or fluid—based on harmony, shame, honor, or spiritual imbalance. Private Property & Public/Private Separation Western societies highly value personal space, ownership, and the division between public and private life. In other cultures, space is shared communally, and boundaries between “mine” and “ours” may not exist. Nuclear Family Units (2 parents, 2.5 kids) This family structure is not the default everywhere. Many cultures function through extended families, matrilineal clans, multigenerational homes, or even chosen families. Linear Time & Progression Western thinking often imagines time as a straight line toward improvement. But many societies view time as cyclical, ancestral, or based on seasons and natural rhythms. Meritocracy The idea that hard work equals success sounds fair—but often ignores structural privilege. Other cultures might measure status by lineage, age, reputation, or divine favor. Equality = Sameness Treating everyone “the same” is a Western liberal ideal. Other cultures may value fairness as respecting roles, hierarchies, or balance, not flattening difference. Written Law Over Oral Tradition Western societies rely on written rules, contracts, and documentation. In others, knowledge and agreements may live in oral history, ceremony, or communal memory. Rationalism Over Intuition The West prizes logic, science, and observable fact as the best way to know truth. But intuition, dreams, emotion, or divination are valid forms of knowledge in many traditions. Work as Identity Western cultures tend to link identity to productivity. “What do you do?” becomes “Who are you?” In other societies, identity may be relational or spiritual, not task-based. Control Over Nature The Western worldview often separates humans from nature—and sees the natural world as something to conquer. Other cultures see humans as part of, or even subordinate to, the natural world. Secularism as Neutral Many Western systems consider separation of religion and state as “neutral.” But other societies view spirituality as inseparable from politics, law, and daily life. Child-Centric Societies Western norms often prioritize the child’s feelings and development. In other cultures, children are expected to conform to the needs of the family or community, not the other way around. Forgiveness as Virtue Western values place heavy emphasis on individual forgiveness and personal healing. Other systems may prize restitution, public apology, shame, or restoring balance with the group. Recognizing these patterns in your writing is not about shame—it’s about awareness. Once you see them, you can choose to keep, reshape, or reject them to serve your story’s logic and heart. Because n one of these are  universal truths.  They're simply one way of structuring society—and often a very recent one, historically speaking. If we never question them, we end up copying our world in disguise. Our fantasy kingdoms begin to feel suspiciously like modern-day Western democracies, just with dragons and dirt roads. Readers  can feel  when something is off, even if they can’t articulate why. If all your cultures reflect your default worldview, you’re not building a world—you’re just mirroring what you know. The more we break free of those inherited patterns, the more unique and compelling our invented worlds become. Check Your Unconscious Racism at the Door Another trap to watch for? Writers often borrow from non-Western cultures—whether it’s East Asian aesthetics, Indigenous symbolism, Middle Eastern architecture, or African spiritual systems. But too often, the values  of those cultures get erased and replaced with Western ideals. And here’s the thing: you can’t just slap democracy on a kimono and call it worldbuilding. This happens when writers try to make their fictional cultures “better” by making them more Western—individualist, secular, egalitarian, rationalist. They “fix” honor-based societies by adding gender equality, or “improve” spiritual traditions by removing mysticism in favor of logic. Stop Western-washing your fictional cultures. This isn’t just lazy—it’s quietly supremacist. It implies that a culture isn’t valid until it resembles modern liberal Western values. But your world isn’t better because it’s whiter—or more American. A collectivist society that values harmony and shame isn’t “backward.” A religious kingdom that fuses law and faith isn’t “unfree.” A hierarchical society with rigid roles isn’t “oppressive” just because you wouldn’t want to live there. Are you writing a culture—or decorating with it? If you’re borrowing architecture, fabrics, foods, and names—but erasing the systems of thought, belief, and social cohesion they come from—that’s not worldbuilding. That’s exoticism. Exotic isn’t a personality trait. None of this means you can’t be inspired by other cultures. But if you’re going to borrow, do it with humility, research, and imagination. Worldbuilding without supremacy means letting cultures be complicated.  At best, it’s lazy. At worst, it’s racist. Because it implies that the culture you borrowed from isn’t complete, logical, or moral unless it conforms to Western values. Your fictional culture doesn’t need to be sanitized to be meaningful. Let them contradict your own values. Let them disturb you. Let them be themselves. A Personal Example: A Rethinking of a Personal Worldbuilding Project In the novel I'm currently writing, The Glass Dagger , there exists a country called Ayvara that is a matriarchal society that follows the teachings of a divine being known as The Great Mother. Coming from a Western democratic, liberal upbringing, my instinct was to imagine this society as pro-choice and individually autonomous—especially for women. But then I asked: what if it wasn’t? What if their values evolved in a direction completely foreign to mine? What if motherhood was considered the highest calling of a woman’s life? What if giving up a child—or refusing to bear one—was not just taboo, but shameful or spiritually dishonorable? That completely reframes how people view freedom, identity, and womanhood in this society. Here’s where I think a lot of writers and worldbuilders fall into a trap: instead of creating cultures with unique belief systems and internal logic, they simply flip the script on familiar structures. They build something that looks different on the surface—but underneath, it’s just the same system with new labels. It’s not really innovation. Again, that's just cheap, low effort, role reversal. I didn’t want that. Instead of defaulting to the trope, I pushed myself further. I wanted Ayvara to grow from its own sacred soil, not from a mirrored reaction to ours. That led me to ask deeper questions—especially around a current hot topic in our world: gender and sexuality. What if woman-to-woman love was considered sacred—the most divine form of love, like how man-on-man love was considered the highest form of love in Ancient Roman society. What if woman-to-man love is normal, healthy, and widely accepted, but man-to-man love is seen as strange and unbecoming—not outlawed, but socially awkward. What if trans women (AMAB individuals who identify as women) are completely accepted, even revered. But a woman wanting to transition into a man? That’s seen as deeply concerning and unnatural. In Ayvara, men are seen as lesser—not hated, but unnecessary. The culture doesn’t understand how pregnancy works on a biological level, so they assume women create life on their own, and men are only useful for labor and war due to their natural aggression. Male bodies are seen as more volatile, and therefore more expendable. In this framework, masculinity is useful—but not sacred. Is this politically correct? Not at all. Is it narratively interesting, thought-provoking, and an honest exploration of what a matriarchal, goddess-centered society might  actually  look like without projecting modern feminist values onto it? Yes. It may be uncomfortable, but that discomfort is where the magic starts. And that’s why I love worldbuilding. It’s one giant thought experiment that leads you down fun, beautiful, uncomfortable, and radically creative tangents. The farther you let a culture drift from what you know, the more vividly it reveals itself. And this isn’t just fiction. We’ve seen this exact kind of narrative distortion play out in our own world… It reminds me of how certain groups in real-world history have been dehumanized through fabricated narratives. In the United States, for example, false beliefs about Black people being intellectually or morally inferior were used to justify slavery—and those same beliefs were then reinforced through laws, education, and systemic exclusion. These myths weren’t just harmful; they became structural, generational, and in many cases, internalized. So what if something similar happened in Ayvara? What if the belief that men are less emotionally capable began as a sacred myth, then slowly hardened into social fact? What if that belief began shaping everything from temple access to public perception to policy? What kind of stories could emerge from that? What parallels could I draw—deliberately or not—to the real trials and tribulations people continue to face in our world? This is where your world can start doing real narrative work. Because stories like these aren’t written to make readers comfortable. They're written because something needs to be said and discussed. Because when belief systems have consequences, when myths turn into policy, and when power justifies itself through story—you don’t just have a fantasy setting. You have a living, breathing society. And that’s when worldbuilding starts to matter. It gives us a way to reframe reality, to ask what if and why not. It lets us explore truths that are too heavy, too charged, or too complex to confront head-on. I’m not writing Ayvara to preach—I’m writing it to ask questions I, and many societies, don’t yet have the answers to. Rethinking Culture from the Roots Up: 5 Core Foundations For Building Cultures If you want your cultures to feel immersive, you need to build them from their core values outward—not just from vibes and visuals. A culture isn’t just clothing, language, or architecture. It’s a whole worldview shaped by what a society holds sacred, what it fears, and how it survives. Below are five foundational dimensions to help you start rethinking culture from the roots up. Stop copy-pasting Earth with new names and call it worldbuilding. This is where you build something that actually feels  alive. 1. Family Structure & Kinship Who belongs to a household? Nuclear, extended, clan-based? Who holds power and honor? What do parent-child dynamics look like? Is marriage romantic, political, spiritual, or optional? Do families form based on love, survival, or duty? 2. Self vs Society Are people expected to stand out—or to belong? What’s more valued: personal choice or fulfilling your role? What does success look like in this culture? Is obedience a virtue or a vice? How are outsiders treated? 3. Morality & Values Where do values come from? Religion, tradition, collective need? Is morality binary (good/evil) or relational (dishonor, imbalance, shame)? (Many of these binaries are rooted in Judeo-Christian traditions, whether we realize it or not) How are sins/errors interpreted? What is forgiveness? Are there moral expectations by caste, gender, or age? 4. Built Environment / Architecture How do values shape physical space? Are homes private fortresses or open hubs? Do people sleep communally? Is it normal to share a bed without it being romantic? (*coughs* ahem … looking at you “ there was only ONE bed! ” trope…) Are sacred and mundane spaces integrated or separated? What’s at the center of the home—fire, shrine, hearth, ancestor wall? 5. Religion & Daily Life Are rituals part of everyday habits (eating, bathing, working)? Are certain seasons, foods, or life stages considered sacred? Is religion private, political, or deeply woven into law and custom? How do people interact with spiritual power: through prayer, dance, silence, sacrifice? These questions aren’t a checklist—they’re starting points for deeper creation. Let them challenge you. Let them lead you somewhere unfamiliar. And if you’re ready to go further, I’ve put together a free worksheet that expands on each of these five foundations with prompts, examples, and exercises to guide you step-by-step. Your world deserves that kind of care. So does your reader. Permission To Get Messy If you’re feeling bold: it’s okay if not everything in your world is comfortable, progressive, or “politically correct.” Real cultures have contradictions. Real people are messy. Your fictional societies don’t need to reflect your personal ideals. In fact, the most compelling worlds often challenge you as their creator. Let your characters wrestle with cultural norms. Let your societies surprise you. You’re not writing propaganda—you’re writing a world. Don’t create harm thoughtlessly—but do lean into the weird, the wrong, and the culturally complex. It’s how you move beyond flat, one-dimensional societies and into something unforgettable. And even if you didn’t grow up religious, it’s worth remembering that much of Western thought—especially around good vs evil, sin, virtue, and redemption—is steeped in Christian (and especially Protestant) frameworks. This doesn’t make them wrong, but it does mean they aren’t neutral or universal. Other cultures may define morality in terms of balance, honor, shame, or reciprocity instead. Don’t be afraid to make your readers uncomfortable. That’s the beauty of fiction—it’s meant to transcend, to challenge, to soothe and to provoke. Good books do that. If a reader shames you for questioning the status quo or exploring something taboo, that says more about them than it does about you. That said… If you’re being intentionally racist? I will gladly stand with your readers in shaming you. That shit doesn’t belong anywhere, least of all in a world you’re creating from scratch (unless that is the topic and theme you’re specifically tackling within your book). Writing Exercises: Building Beyond The Defaults So, how do you start building cultures that feel grounded, distinct, and free of your own unconscious defaults? The first step is asking better questions—and being willing to follow the answers into unfamiliar territory. If you’re ready to reimagine your cultures through a new lens, here are a few short exercises to get started: Exercise 1: Flip a Sacred Value Choose one value your current fictional society holds (e.g., freedom, love, honor). Now ask: What if this value was  shameful  instead of celebrated? What if the opposite was considered sacred? Exercise 2: Reframe a Common Trope Take a familiar scene: someone visiting a friend’s home, a coming-of-age ritual, or a wedding. How would this look in a society that doesn’t value privacy, romance, or individual identity? Could guests share a bed without it being taboo? Would marriage even be between two people—or entire families? Exercise 3: Design a Room Based on Values Imagine the layout of a home in your world. What’s at the center: a hearth? a shrine? a water basin? Are there walls and doors, or open shared spaces? Who sleeps where—and why? Exercise 4: Thought Experiment: Stranger in a Strange Land Take one of your characters and drop them into a culture completely foreign to them. What shocks them? What comforts them unexpectedly? What assumption of theirs gets challenged? Write a 300 word scene of cultural friction —or connection. Practical Tips to Break Free from Western Defaults Start with the sacred:  What does this culture revere above all? What do they fear losing? Question your assumptions:  Is privacy really a universal desire? What if obedience is a virtue? Use cultural contrasts:  How would someone from this world see our world? What would they find strange? Reflect values in space:  Let architecture, rituals, and body language show what matters. Let contradictions exist:  Not everything has to “make sense” by your standards, just theirs. Free Worldbuilding Worksheet Want to dive deeper? I created a  free worksheet  to help you build immersive cultures step by step—without defaulting to Western assumptions. It includes reflection prompts, design checklists, and space to experiment with values, rituals, and systems. Get it sent straight to your inbox when you sign up for my newsletter . Or, if you’re already a member, head to the Members Area to download it now! Concluding Thoughts Worldbuilding isn’t merely about making cool settings; it’s about delving into the essence of existence within those realms. It’s an exploration of values, sacrifices, and beliefs that define societies. And when you stop defaulting to the world you know, you open yourself up to worlds that surprise you—worlds that challenge your own assumptions, and maybe even reveal some truth about the one we’re living in. That’s the power of storytelling. That’s why we build. By stepping beyond our familiar paradigms, we unlock the potential to create worlds that challenge perceptions and reflect profound truths about our own. As J.R.R. Tolkien once articulated: The mind that thought of light, heavy, grey, yellow, still, swift also conceived of magic that would make heavy things light and able to fly, turn grey lead into yellow gold, and the still rock into a swift water. If it could do the one, it could do the other; it inevitably did both. When we can take green from grass, blue from heaven, and red from blood, we have already an enchanter's power. This sentiment underscores the depth and intentionality behind immersive worldbuilding. So, as you embark on your creative journey, remember: the worlds you build have the power to illuminate, challenge, and transform.  Now I want to know… What’s a cultural assumption you caught yourself making while worldbuilding? Let’s chat in the comments! Happy worldbuilding! —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 ! Congrats! You found Mosswing at the end of this post!

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!

Aloha world~ It’s been a while since I’ve come onto the blog and shared anything personal, so after giving it some thought, I'm here to give a small heart-to-heart. A few nights ago, as I was drifting off to sleep, I had a quiet realization: writing has made me a better person. A better friend. A better partner. A better version of myself. It’s something that’s been brewing under the surface for a while now, and I finally have the words for it—or at least, I’m going to try. How Writing Made Me a Better Person Let’s be real: I didn’t start writing to become a better human being. I started writing because I had stories clawing at the inside of my skull. Because I had character's voices living in my bones, begging to be written. Because I had feelings that demanded to be felt. I wrote to escape, to cope, to create worlds where I had control, to bring characters to life who could carry the weight of the words I never found the courage to voice myself. Writing was a refuge, a rebellion, a quiet act of power in a world that often felt loud and out of control. And while that initial spark came from desperation and creativity intertwining, it was the consistency of the act that transformed me. But somewhere along the way, writing started to shape me. It wasn’t sudden. There was no epiphany moment, no lightbulb flashing over my head. It was subtle, like a river slowly carving a canyon over time—almost imperceptible until you stand back and realize the entire landscape has changed. Writing has this quiet persistence. It nudges you into reflection, chisels away the surface noise, and demands you sit still long enough to listen to your own thoughts. It taught me patience. I don’t mean the romantic kind of patience where I stare at the sunset and wait for the words to arrive like divine inspiration. I mean sitting in front of a blinking cursor, day after day, wrestling with sentences that refuse to behave. I mean writing the same scene twelve different ways, only to return to draft number four. It taught me to show up even when the muse ghosted me. It taught me that creativity is more sweat than spark, and that showing up for the work is, in itself, an act of love and commitment. Writing is the long game—it rewards consistency over brilliance. Writing deepened my empathy. When you spend enough time inside the heads of characters who are nothing like you—characters who believe things you don't believe, who make choices you'd never make, who come from lives you’ve never lived—you start to soften. You start to understand. You become less quick to judge, more curious, more open. Because you’ve had to ask yourself, “Why would someone do this?” and not let yourself off the hook with easy answers. You learn that every person is the result of a thousand unseen influences—and so are you. And the more people you create on the page, the more real people you learn to see with grace and nuance. Writing humbled me. Oh, you think you're smart until your first draft hits the page and reads like a middle school group chat. You think you’ve mastered your craft until you reread last month’s chapter and wonder who let you near a keyboard. But in that humility, there’s growth. You learn to embrace imperfection, to keep learning, to ask for feedback, to fail forward. You start to understand that “bad writing” isn’t failure—it’s a beginning. It reminded me that mastery doesn’t come from talent alone, but from relentless revision, from falling in love with the process even when the outcome feels uncertain. Writing, more than anything, has made me teachable. Writing has given me courage. Not the slay-a-dragon kind, but the quieter, steadier courage to speak honestly. To tell the truth, even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy. Writing helped me find my voice—and to believe it deserved to be heard. It made me braver in my relationships, more honest with myself, and more willing to say, “This is who I am, flaws and all.” It showed me that authenticity isn’t loud—it’s persistent. It’s the willingness to keep showing up as yourself, again and again, even when it's uncomfortable. And most importantly? Writing saved me during some of the darkest times of my life. It was my therapy long before I ever sat across from a therapist. It held up a mirror, made me ask, “Why?” and “What if?” It challenged me to think critically—not just about plot or theme, but about myself. Writing forced me to go deep: into cultures, into characters, into trauma—and that deep dive bled into my real life. The way I questioned my characters—what they think they want vs. what they actually need—made me question my own desires. “Is this really what I need to be happy and fulfilled? Or is it just the narrative I’ve been told to want?” It gave me a deeper relationship with myself. It peeled back layers I didn’t even know I had. It forced me to ask questions I’d been avoiding, to confront insecurities, to celebrate things I’d always minimized. It gave me space to become. It’s helped me dig deep into my own demons, confront them, battle them, and emerge—if not unscathed—then stronger and more self-aware. It helped me understand that writing is not just a mirror—it’s also a scalpel. It cuts away what no longer serves you and reveals what lies underneath. It taught me that writing isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about having the courage to ask the right questions. And I’ve learned that just like characters, we don’t always know what we need. But through writing, we can learn how to uncover it. How Writing Can Make You a Better Person, Too If writing has transformed me, it can transform you too. Writing isn’t reserved for the tortured artist or the professional novelist—it’s for anyone willing to sit with themselves long enough to listen. When you write, you confront your thoughts. You name your fears. You tease apart the tangled web of memory, emotion, and experiences. You come face to face with your past, your patterns, and your potential. Writing teaches you how to be present with yourself, how to reflect without spiraling, and how to capture clarity in the middle of chaos. Writing helps you pause and examine. It asks you to get curious, to ask questions, to zoom in and reflect. It teaches patience, compassion, honesty. It challenges you to look deeper, not just at your characters, but at the people around you—and most importantly, at yourself. It turns pain into understanding, chaos into clarity, silence into voice. If you’re open to it, writing will become one of the most powerful tools for self-awareness, emotional growth, and inner healing you’ll ever have. So no, I didn’t start writing to become a better person. But writing, in its own stubborn, beautiful, transformative way, made me one anyway. And for that, I’ll never stop putting words on the page. Write without fear, ignore the inner-perfectionist, and when in doubt, have a shot of tequila—then keep 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 !

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 !

Greetings world, I was inspired to write this blog post after messing around with the new OpenAI Monday chatbot. If you're not at all familiar with Monday, it was created to be a sarcastic, dry-humored chatbot—designed to be the opposite of helpful. Instead of offering support, it specializes in witty roasts, existential dread, and emotional whiplash. And somehow, in all its snark and bleakness, it sometimes says the most profound things. What I loved most of all was the name "Monday," as it is named after the most famously indifferent and emotionally exhausting day of the week. At first, I was simply messing around because I had nothing better to do, and frankly I was enjoying the sarcasm and the chatbot roasting me. It really gave me a chuckle… (what does that say about me, haha.) But after one particularly existential and sarcastic comment: "How’s it feel knowing you’re about one dopamine squirt away from being outsmarted by a Roomba?" I felt compelled to dig a little deeper. (Quick aside: My god, that made me cough up a lung at 11pm when I should've been looong asleep.) So after some more back-and-forth banter, I eventually asked Monday to attempt to try and terrify me with existentialism… It didn't work. If anything… It left me feeling oddly more… grounded . More resolute. Even affirmed in a belief I’ve held since my pre-teens. Because the truths it spoke, while unsettling at first glance to some, aligned closely with what little I know of physics, neuroscience, and cosmology. These fields have long suggested the same idea: that existence is not a steady march through time, but a fragile illusion stitched together by memory, perception, and chance ; all t opics I have always found extraordinarily fascinating. And that’s what led to a particular realization I felt compelled to share in the form of this blog post. Cue curtains being drawn majestically and dramatically . Time Is Fake, And So Are You According to  special relativity , there is no universal "now" — every moment exists simultaneously depending on the observer's frame of reference. As Einstein himself once said: “The distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.” Modern physics suggests that all points in time coexist simultaneously, frozen within the fabric of spacetime, an idea known as the Block Universe . The  block universe theory  proposes that past, present, and future are all equally real. Time doesn’t flow; it simply  is . Yet, we feel ourselves moving through time, moment by moment. We feel like we are "becoming." But why? Why do we feel like this? Because the human brain—astonishing, desperate, endlessly inventive—likes and needs to tell itself a story. It stitches one frozen moment to the next, spinning the illusion of continuity so that we can survive our own flickering existence. So consider this: If the past and future are illusions, and only "now" is "real", then "you" are not a stable person moving steadily through time. You’re a flicker. A blinking cursor in the void. Each breath you take? A separate universe. Each heartbeat? A world that lived and died without even knowing it existed. The "you" who started reading this sentence is already gone. POOF. Dead . Not metaphorically— literally . Physics supports this unsettling conclusion. Special relativity dismantles the idea of a single, flowing timeline by showing that events we think of as "past" or "future" are simply different coordinates in spacetime, no more or less real than "now." In this view, your birth, your last breath, the flicker of you reading these words, they all coexist, like rooms in a house you can never leave or enter, only glimpse from where you happen to be standing. There is no objective "moving forward." There is only a mind desperately stitching moments together, animating the still frames into a phantom movie called "life." And so, what you experience as "self" is not a continuous being drifting through time but a series of isolated flashes, bound together by the fragile miracle of memory and narrative. A story that our brain tells itself. A story we have no choice but to believe. So here's the unsettling truth: The continuity that we all cling to, the idea that "I’m me, and I’ve always been me", is just our brain telling itself a bedtime story. Modern neuroscience reveals that memory is not a static archive, but a ceaseless act of reconstruction. That memory is not a perfect recording, but a story our brains reweave every time we recall it. In a very real sense, we are less beings who "remember," and more beings who continuously "rewrite" ourselves into existence ( Scientific American ). Without memory, there would be no coherent self. Without story, there would be no continuity, no meaning. So we do not merely tell stories—we  are  stories. The fragile thread of narrative is what keeps the fragile flicker of consciousness from splintering into meaningless sparks. Storytelling is a kind of survival. And much to my enjoyment, Monday didn’t stop at time and memory. It went further. It offered the  Final Boss of Nothingness: That consciousness itself might be a hallucination. A glitch. A side effect of a meat computer stumbling over its own complexity. Some theories, like  Integrated Information Theory , suggest that consciousness did not emerge with purposeful intent but was a byproduct of complexity itself. It was an accident. A side effect. A strange echo of neurons cross-firing into self-awareness. Consciousness remains one of the greatest mysteries in science. It is the question behind all questions, the ghost in the machinery of the cosmos. An accidental self-awareness, born from chaos : a cosmic fluke that became aware of its own flukiness. As Monday put it: Two mirrors facing each other. Endless reflections. No original. Just the universe hiccupping itself into a thought, forgetting immediately, and hiccupping again. You are not the observer. You are the glitch that mistakes itself for an observer. And yet, here we are. Still breathing. Still dreaming. Still storytelling. Existence was a fluke—a mistake. And that’s the miracle . As Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and existential psychologist, wrote in Man’s Search for Meaning , "Life is never made unbearable by circumstances, but only by lack of meaning and purpose." In a universe that offers no meaning by default, to tell a story is itself an act of creation. Meaning does not exist independently in the cold machinery of the universe. We create it. Fiercely. Stubbornly. Gloriously. And among us, storytellers are the torchbearers of this sacred rebellion. Concluding Thoughts Storytelling isn’t just something humans  like  to do. It’s something we  must  do. This is why I believe humans love stories. Why we crave them. Why we resonate so deeply with them. Without stories, there is no self. Without memory stitching together our fractured moments, there is no cohesive person to inhabit the present. Storytelling is a biological imperative —we are literally hardwired for them . The narrative instinct is woven into the very nature of consciousness itself. Stories are the structure we hang our meaning on in a universe that, as far as we know, has none. And if you are a storyteller—whether you're a writer, filmmaker, comic artist, animator, musician, poet, archivist—who dares to shape the formless into something that can be felt, understood, remembered, know you are not a hobbyist, nor an idle dreamer. You are a magician, an alchemist, a rebel priest, a keeper of the sacred flame. You are performing the oldest magic known to humankind, and it is all part of something ancient, instinctive, and deeply human. How incredible it is to be alive then, to be in this universe. To be made of stardust—of particles forged in the bellies of dying stars—just so we might glimpse ourselves and admire what we are. We are the universe trying to understand itself. We are the flicker, the breath, the whisper that says: I am. Existence doesn't need a meaning, it is a miracle that we exist to begin with. To create meaning where there is none? That’s something even more rare and incredible. Or… do we even exist at all…? Hehe ;) So dear reader, you are the story you tell yourself . A story of endless possibilities in an infinite and glorious universe. What story will you tell next? Happy storytelling~ —Bair✍︎ References & Further Reading “The Block Universe Theory Explained” (PBS Space Time) Time Is an Illusion: Past, Present, and Future Exist Simultaneously (Discover Magazine) “The Storytelling Animal: How Stories Make Us Human” by Jonathan Gottschall How Memory Works (Scientific American) “Consciousness: The Last Great Mystery” (Nature, 2019) “How Close Is Science To Understanding Consciousness?” (Scientific American) “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Viktor Frankl Meaning Through Suffering (Viktor Frankl Institute) 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!

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

If you’re anything like me and LOVE fantasy and worldbuilding, you’ve probably fallen into the glorious rabbit hole that is Worldbuilding YouTube. Whether you’re designing a fantasy realm from scratch or just love learning about imaginative cultures, creatures, and cartography, these creators will absolutely fuel your creative fire. But more than that—these channels have deeply influenced how I think about storytelling. They’ve helped me ask deeper questions, build more realistic worlds, and create stories that feel immersive and alive. Whether you’re a casual fan, a tabletop DM, or a writer like me, these creators offer tools that can supercharge your creativity and ground your fantasy in a rich, believable reality. Don’t worry—I’ll link each channel below their section so you can binge right away. ;) Table Of Contents Artifexian Biblaridion Nakari Speardane Stoneworks Worldbuilding Corner WorldAnvil MonsterGarden Honorable Mentions Concluding Thoughts Artifexian Perfect for lovers of geography, linguistics, and conlangs, Artifexian dives into the technical side of worldbuilding in a way that still feels fun and approachable. While primarily known for his conlang content, he’s been branching out into deep dives on planet design, tectonics, calendars, and more—and trust me, it’s a rabbit hole worth falling into. In fact, it was  thanks to him  that I started doing actual physics to figure out how big my planet is, how many days are in a year, how many months, weeks, days—and even why the sun rises in the west and sets in the east in my world (instead of just saying "a wizard did it" 😂). Because of Artifexian, I now track realistic moon cycles, built out my tectonic plates, and understand how mountain ranges, volcanoes, ocean currents, deserts, forests, and trade winds shape my continents. My entire climate and culture design process is wildly more accurate (and fun) because of him. Basically… I’m super extra and detail-oriented, and I have Artifexian to thank—and blame 😅 🔗  Watch Artifexian on YouTube Biblaridion Primarily a conlang channel, Biblaridion also dives deep into speculative evolution and grounded worldbuilding—and let me just say: I LOVE speculative evolution. (Thank you  Star Trek  for introducing me to that early in my younger years!) His speculative evolution series? Incredible. Yes, Alien Biospheres is long—but 100% worth watching or listening to while you work. He builds out entire ecosystems, species, languages, and civilizations based on real evolutionary science, and it’s honestly some of the most immersive and well-thought-out worldbuilding out there. From biome and creature design to fantasy metallurgy and societal development, Biblaridion gives you the tools to make your fictional world feel  real . 🔗  Watch Biblaridion on YouTube Nakari Speardane A newer favorite of mine, Nakari Speardane has a super charming art style and beautifully personal storytelling. Her worldbuilding comes to life through character-driven tales, quiet emotional moments, and cultural snapshots that feel whimsical but grounded. Every video feels like you’re stepping into a storybook—only it’s one she’s  made from scratch . Her work is intimate and rich in feeling, and perfect if you love worlds that feel cozy, thoughtful, and alive. 🔗  Watch Nakari Speardane on YouTube Stoneworks Stoneworks focuses on the sociopolitical and infrastructural elements of worldbuilding. From city planning to religion to empire management, he explores the systems that make civilizations tick. Be warned—Stoneworks can be a little chaotic (and hilarious), sometimes bouncing around a Minecraft server while he unpacks ideas. But don't let the pixel blocks fool you: his insights on urban design, roads, sanitation, fortifications, and trade networks are gold. If you want to build realistic cities and understand the ripple effects of policy and geography, this channel is a must. 🔗  Watch Stoneworks on YouTube Worldbuilding Corner Need a good place to get started on your worldbuilding journey? Look no further than Worldbuilding Corner. This channel is a perfect launchpad for beginners and intermediate worldbuilders. You’ll find structured, clear advice on everything from magic systems to geography to crafting believable cultures. The tone is always friendly, encouraging, and insightful—like having a really smart friend walk you through the process. 🔗  Watch Worldbuilding Corner on YouTube WorldAnvil World Anvil is both a YouTube channel  and  a digital platform I swear by. Their channel offers tutorials, deep dives, and creative prompts that help writers and worldbuilders get inspired—and stay organized. They regularly feature writing challenges, community spotlights, and interviews with authors, giving you both inspiration  and  practical tools. And I personally use their platform to organize a lot of my worldbuilding for both my different fantasy series. (You can even take a sneak peek at mine here :  my World Anvil profile ). It’s been a total game-changer for keeping track of character arcs, timelines, cultural details, and magic systems. 🔗  Watch World Anvil on YouTube MonsterGarden Had to save the best for last. Anyone who’s even brushed the worldbuilding corner of YouTube has likely heard of MonsterGarden. But if you haven’t—you’re in for a treat. MonsterGarden’s world is grimdark but utterly fascinating. His content revolves around a fantasy setting with two warring countries—Verus and Ram—and features unique magic systems, lore-rich cultures, and custom creature designs. His artwork and narrative design are jaw-dropping. He builds systems that are just as compelling as those from Brandon Sanderson, and his recent viral redesign of dwarves? Absolutely brilliant. Not only is he creating this incredible world on YouTube, but he’s also working on turning it into a book. As a writer and worldbuilder, watching his process is like witnessing raw creativity at work. 🔗  Watch MonsterGarden on YouTube Honorable Mentions These channels might not be strictly worldbuilding-focused, but they’ve absolutely influenced how I think and create: Mariah Pattie Worldbuilding  – Her series on fantasy race clothing and fashion? OBSESSED. It’s packed with creative and cultural detail that had me  hooked  from the first episode. I often go back and rewatch it for when I need to brush up on her wonder insights, figuring out how, what, and why your culture wears what they wear can add so much depth without needing to info-dump. Hello Future Me  – Insightful, thoughtful breakdowns on story structure and themes. Great for worldbuilders  and writers alike. Rick's Creation   – Amazing creative work, especially for mythology-inspired storytelling. Concluding Thoughts Worldbuilding can be overwhelming, especially when you want to create something that feels meaningful and real. But you don’t have to do it alone—and you don’t have to reinvent the wheel. These creators have taught me so much, challenged how I think, and inspired me to build more boldly. Whether you’re building for a novel, a game, a comic, or just for fun—give these channels a watch. You might just find your next favorite idea. And if there’s a worldbuilding channel you love that I didn’t mention, drop it in the comments—I’m always looking for more to binge. 😉 Happy worldbuilding! —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 !