A party of human adventurers come across a guardian that only allows non-humans to pass. They were preparing for battle when the guardian happily announces that it detected no humans in the party and steps aside to let them through.
The Guardian is a small but incredibly deadly creature with a fizzgig mouth, a venomous bite, and raptor claws that can slice open anything.
The party immediately kidnaps the guardian using a container of lunch meats and Christine’s canvas bag of holding. The Guardian is incredibly happy in the bag, to the point that it refuses to come out. It makes happy little squeaks as they walk along the road.
Linus, whose answer to everything is “kill it”, is voted down by the rest of the party.
Mei, who is the alchemist of the group, begins writing up notes to use to test to Guardian’s skills at identifying humans. Clearly it (it is difficult to assign a gender to a half-bird, half dire wolf, half tribble fuzzball) worked at some point or it wouldn’t have been stationed on the border. So if it isn’t working now, why isn’t it, and what does it think humans are?
Christine doesn’t care one way or the other. She’s already bonding with the Guardian and has announced its name is Elbow. As she is the one with the ability to speak with animals, the rest of the party shrugs as if this is the most normal thing that could possibly happen.
T, their half-human paladin, blesses Elbow in the name of their God using the water in T’s canteen.
The party walks through the forest toward the castle.
When a band of Orcs attempts to surprise them, Elbow tears the orcs to pieces. Standing in the middle of the circle of the fallen bodies, Elbow yells DO NOT PASS.
The rest of the party, who had not even had time to draw their weapons, take a step back.
Elbow wiggles with delight, an orc forearm still in his mouth, and yells DO NOT PASS. Then it yawns.
Christine slowly lowers her tote bag and says “Naptime?”
Elbow dashes into the bag, cuddles up on Christine’s bedroll, and begins snoring.
A party of human adventurers come across a guardian that only allows non-humans to pass. They were preparing for battle when the guardian happily announces that it detected no humans in the party and steps aside to let them through.
Nemo: Wait… Steve, you aren’t a human?
“Steve”: Actually your Steve never survived falling down that chasm, I am a doppleganger. What about Louis?
Lous: Na fam I was always a half-elf it’s just easier to tell people I am a human then to explain how that works like 50 times a day, like seriously theres a magical library in every town, look it up. But I coulda swarn that sarah was.
The thing that ate Sarah: Nope, we the sentiant fungus living in that sword sarah picked up have already ate their brain, we hve all her memories, but thats just not us anymore. But Norma you arent human?
Norma: Actually similar to Louis I have a set of parents that people keep asking how that works though I doubt you will find many centuar minotuar relationships in the library. But NYX, you are too normal, how are you not human.
NYX: Oh! Um… I am an android, construct or warforged you might refer to my kind as. Someone who was made not born. My designator is actually 0x0000 or NULL but NYX sounded cooler.
“How did you kill your reality?” “Unbreakable shield and unstoppable spear paradox, how about you?” “I tried to make myself infinite and instead everything else became nothing, what about that dude over there?”
So, you’re writing a thing, and you need to name a character. And, as we all know, naming a character is a giant pain in the ass. I offer this list of shit I use pretty regularly, for this purpose.
Behind the Name (The etymologies are weird as fuck, in a few places, but it’s great if you’ve got a name and need to find other names that are from or derived from the same culture/language)
Ancient Names Galleria (The weird shit is here. If you need Akkadian or Phoenecian names, those are totally covered.)
Trismegistos People (Names extracted from the Trismegistos Texts – mostly names from Graeco-Roman Egypt.)
Personally, I use the shit out of Trismegistos People, England’s Immigrants, and the Ancient Names Galleria. If you’ve got good sources I didn’t hit, feel free to add them in a reblog. I’m always looking for more good name resources. (And almost all of what I have is Europe and the Near East, with a little North Africa.)
Dropping this update in the most recent reblog in my notes, in the hopes it falls into as many laps as possible. Here’s some more good sources for names, this time with a more African focus.
Popular Baby Names (the US Social Security database of naming trends in the US, with search options for date, gender, location, and trend)
A Guide to Names and Naming Practises (a UK government guide to common names and structure of names from around the world, split first by continent and then by culture. PDF.)
Curiosities of Puritan Nomenclature (an entire book on trends in English naming and name structure and the Puritan influence, from 1880. PDF.)
Things I am particularly looking for reliable sources for, if you’ve got them: North and South American aboriginal names, Southeast and East Asian names, names from the former USSR, Australian aboriginal names. (All of these by culture or language family, if possible, not just by current national borders.)
2. 'I didn’t account for the rotation of the planet and how that affects the constalations while my characters stargazed at different times of year, I have failed as a writer, and this entire thing is trash’
I’ve noticed lately that people don’t really understand what it feels like to be a writer. To them, we’re storytellers, yes, but ones who can just switch it off when the real world calls. They see writing as a hobby, something cute, something optional.
But Writing isn’t something we do. It’s where we live. Our heads are crowded with voices that won’t shut up, with worlds that refuse to stay imaginary. We carry entire cities inside us, whole histories that never happened but still weigh more than half the things in our calendars.
From the outside, the “writer” looks romantic. A little tortured, maybe, but mostly harmless. But to us? Being a writer feels like standing at the edge of a cliff with a thousand ghosts pressing at our backs, whispering: Tell us. Tell us. Tell us.
And we do. Not because it’s charming. But because not writing would mean carrying those ghosts forever.
Zoom In, Don’t Glaze Over: How to Describe Appearance Without Losing the Plot
You’ve met her before. The girl with “flowing ebony hair,” “emerald eyes,” and “lips like rose petals.” Or him, with “chiseled jawlines,” “stormy gray eyes,” and “shoulders like a Greek statue.”
We don’t know them.
We’ve just met their tropes.
Describing physical appearance is one of the trickiest — and most overdone — parts of character writing. It’s tempting to reach for shorthand: hair color, eye color, maybe a quick body scan. But if we want a reader to see someone — to feel the charge in the air when they enter a room — we need to stop writing mannequins and start writing people.
So let’s get granular. Here’s how to write physical appearance in a way that’s textured, meaningful, and deeply character-driven.
1. Hair: It’s About Story, Texture, and Care
Hair says a lot — not just about genetics, but about choices. Does your character tame it? Let it run wild? Is it dyed, greying, braided, buzzed, or piled on top of her head in a hurry?
Good hair description considers:
Texture (fine, coiled, wiry, limp, soft)
Context (windblown, sweat-damp, scorched by bleach)
Emotion (does she twist it when nervous? Is he ashamed of losing it?)
Flat: “Her long brown hair framed her face.”
Better: “Her ponytail was too tight, the kind that whispered of control issues and caffeine-fueled 4 a.m. library shifts.”
You don’t need to romanticise it. You need to make it feel real.
2. Eyes: Less Color, More Connection
We get it: her eyes are violet. Cool. But that doesn’t tell us much.
Instead of focusing solely on eye color, think about:
What the eyes do (do they dart, linger, harden?)
What others feel under them (seen, judged, safe?)
The surrounding features (dark circles, crow’s feet, smudged mascara)
Flat: “His piercing blue eyes locked on hers.”
Better: “His gaze was the kind that looked through you — like it had already weighed your worth and moved on.”
You’re not describing a passport photo. You’re describing what it feels like to be seen by them.
3. Facial Features: Use Contrast and Texture
Faces are not symmetrical ovals with random features. They’re full of tension, softness, age, emotion, and life.
Things to look for:
Asymmetry and character (a crooked nose, a scar)
Expression patterns (smiling without the eyes, habitual frowns)
Evidence of lifestyle (laugh lines, sun spots, stress acne)
Flat: “She had a delicate face.”
Better: “There was something unfinished about her face — as if her cheekbones hadn’t quite agreed on where to settle, and her mouth always seemed on the verge of disagreement.”
Let the face be a map of experience.
4. Bodies: Movement > Measurement
Forget dress sizes and six packs. Think about how bodies occupy space. How do they move? What are they hiding or showing? How do they wear their clothes — or how do the clothes wear them?
Ask:
What do others notice first? (a presence, a posture, a sound?)
How does their body express emotion? (do they go rigid, fold inwards, puff up?)
Flat: “He was tall and muscular.”
Better: “He had the kind of height that made ceilings nervous — but he moved like he was trying not to take up too much space.”
Describing someone’s body isn’t about cataloguing. It’s about showing how they exist in the world.
5. Let Emotion Tint the Lens
Who’s doing the describing? A lover? An enemy? A tired narrator? The emotional lens will shape what’s noticed and how it’s described.
In love: The chipped tooth becomes charming.
In rivalry: The smirk becomes smug.
In mourning: The face becomes blurred with memory.
Same person. Different lens. Different description.
6. Specificity is Your Superpower
Generic description = generic character. One well-chosen detail creates intimacy. Let us feel the scratch of their scarf, the clink of her earrings, the smudge of ink on their fingertips.
Examples:
“He had a habit of adjusting his collar when he lied — always clockwise, always twice.”
“Her nail polish was always chipped, but never accidentally.”
Make the reader feel like they’re the only one close enough to notice.
Describing appearance isn’t just about what your character looks like. It’s about what their appearance says — about how they move through the world, how others see them, and how they see themselves.
Zoom in on the details that matter. Skip the clichés. Let each description carry weight, story, and emotion. Because you’re not building paper dolls. You’re building people.
Zoom In, Don’t Glaze Over: How to Describe Appearance Without Losing the Plot
You’ve met her before. The girl with “flowing ebony hair,” “emerald eyes,” and “lips like rose petals.” Or him, with “chiseled jawlines,” “stormy gray eyes,” and “shoulders like a Greek statue.”
We don’t know them.
We’ve just met their tropes.
Describing physical appearance is one of the trickiest — and most overdone — parts of character writing. It’s tempting to reach for shorthand: hair color, eye color, maybe a quick body scan. But if we want a reader to see someone — to feel the charge in the air when they enter a room — we need to stop writing mannequins and start writing people.
So let’s get granular. Here’s how to write physical appearance in a way that’s textured, meaningful, and deeply character-driven.
1. Hair: It’s About Story, Texture, and Care
Hair says a lot — not just about genetics, but about choices. Does your character tame it? Let it run wild? Is it dyed, greying, braided, buzzed, or piled on top of her head in a hurry?
Good hair description considers:
Texture (fine, coiled, wiry, limp, soft)
Context (windblown, sweat-damp, scorched by bleach)
Emotion (does she twist it when nervous? Is he ashamed of losing it?)
Flat: “Her long brown hair framed her face.”
Better: “Her ponytail was too tight, the kind that whispered of control issues and caffeine-fueled 4 a.m. library shifts.”
You don’t need to romanticise it. You need to make it feel real.
2. Eyes: Less Color, More Connection
We get it: her eyes are violet. Cool. But that doesn’t tell us much.
Instead of focusing solely on eye color, think about:
What the eyes do (do they dart, linger, harden?)
What others feel under them (seen, judged, safe?)
The surrounding features (dark circles, crow’s feet, smudged mascara)
Flat: “His piercing blue eyes locked on hers.”
Better: “His gaze was the kind that looked through you — like it had already weighed your worth and moved on.”
You’re not describing a passport photo. You’re describing what it feels like to be seen by them.
3. Facial Features: Use Contrast and Texture
Faces are not symmetrical ovals with random features. They’re full of tension, softness, age, emotion, and life.
Things to look for:
Asymmetry and character (a crooked nose, a scar)
Expression patterns (smiling without the eyes, habitual frowns)
Evidence of lifestyle (laugh lines, sun spots, stress acne)
Flat: “She had a delicate face.”
Better: “There was something unfinished about her face — as if her cheekbones hadn’t quite agreed on where to settle, and her mouth always seemed on the verge of disagreement.”
Let the face be a map of experience.
4. Bodies: Movement > Measurement
Forget dress sizes and six packs. Think about how bodies occupy space. How do they move? What are they hiding or showing? How do they wear their clothes — or how do the clothes wear them?
Ask:
What do others notice first? (a presence, a posture, a sound?)
How does their body express emotion? (do they go rigid, fold inwards, puff up?)
Flat: “He was tall and muscular.”
Better: “He had the kind of height that made ceilings nervous — but he moved like he was trying not to take up too much space.”
Describing someone’s body isn’t about cataloguing. It’s about showing how they exist in the world.
5. Let Emotion Tint the Lens
Who’s doing the describing? A lover? An enemy? A tired narrator? The emotional lens will shape what’s noticed and how it’s described.
In love: The chipped tooth becomes charming.
In rivalry: The smirk becomes smug.
In mourning: The face becomes blurred with memory.
Same person. Different lens. Different description.
6. Specificity is Your Superpower
Generic description = generic character. One well-chosen detail creates intimacy. Let us feel the scratch of their scarf, the clink of her earrings, the smudge of ink on their fingertips.
Examples:
“He had a habit of adjusting his collar when he lied — always clockwise, always twice.”
“Her nail polish was always chipped, but never accidentally.”
Make the reader feel like they’re the only one close enough to notice.
Describing appearance isn’t just about what your character looks like. It’s about what their appearance says — about how they move through the world, how others see them, and how they see themselves.
Zoom in on the details that matter. Skip the clichés. Let each description carry weight, story, and emotion. Because you’re not building paper dolls. You’re building people.
A translation of British sayings, what non-British people think they mean, and their actual meaning.
this is basically how i write letters.
These things make me laugh because I remember that if you are American or Australian or whatever you must think we are just being polite all the time but really we hate it and the total underlying rudeness of my culture is brilliant.
I can hear Martin Freeman very clearly reading these in my head.
We are clinically incapable of being verbally direct; all points must be meandered towards gently until you jointly stumble across the matter at hand. If you try to force the issue up front our brains go ‘abort! abort!’ we default to commenting about the weather and then excuse ourselves from the conversation to have a lie down and a nice cup of tea to recover.
