i'm rrrawrf, also known as lisa! you may or may not know me over at @rrrawrf-writes or my main, @rrrawrf.
i've been kicking around the idea of creating a new writing blog for a while now, mostly because my original one is a hot mess with no coherent tag system and lots of extraneous chatter. so now i'm doing it!
who are you again? typically i go by lisa! i don't mind rrrawrf or kili, tho. 33, they/them, airline employee. my main hobbies are roleplaying and listening to music, and sometimes i even write! mostly tho i just talk about airports and sleep.
what do you write? mostly medieval fantasy and superpowers! no fan fiction here, unfortunately. everything is from various worlds and settings i've put together over the years.
this blog is very empty. it will likely stay that way for a while to begin with, but i plan on queuing up posts! i am going to attempt not to spam everyone. the ultimate plan is to bring what i want to keep over from my original writeblr, but this time with consistent tags and occasionally in the proper chronological order where applicable. i'll be reblogging a lot of things from others, as well, and leaving behind some things i'm not really keen on re-sharing.
your old blog??? will still be there! i am not deactivating it, because i have lots of posts with warm fuzzy notes that i treasure and cherish. i just won't be posting to it very much any more! if you did follow me over there, please follow this one! i would very much appreciate it <3
why is this one called rrrawrf-REwrites? because there are some things i've posted that i want to rewrite, and because this is a revamp of the old one! once i've finished moving and updating, i may change the names so that this one has the og blog name, but we'll see.
A HANDY CHART FOR THOSE OF YOU WONDERING WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THESE. NOTE THAT THESE ARE ALL THE INFORMAL AND YOU IS THE FORMAL SO LIKE YOU WOULD ALWAYS ADDRESS YOUR SUPERIOR/ OLDER PERSON/ SOCIAL BETTER WITH YOU BUT WITH YOUR BUDS YOU CAN USE THESE.
The Progressive Outline — How I balance my plotter and pantser tendencies.
When I first started writing at 13, I was a pantser. I’d develop an initial concept for a story, then just write – making everything up as I went.
Within a year or so, I became a plotter. I wrote extensive character sheets, deeply developed the worlds of my stories, and wrote detailed outlines that spanned not just the current novel, but series-long arcs.
In the years that followed (high school, college, MFA), I oscillated between the two approaches, navigating the benefits and challenges of both, as well as my own evolving preferences – before settling on my current method.
I call it “progressive outlining,” and it helps me do two somewhat conflicting things:
Create an outline for structure and direction
Allow my characters the freedom to organically grow, surprise me, and influence the story
The Progressive Outline
There are three parts to my outlining process:
Initial preparation
Creating a rough outline
Incremental journeys
1. Initial Preparation
Here, I do my initial brainstorming. Starting with the original concept, I generate ideas for the setting, characters, motivations, plot points, magic systems, etc. You can spend as much time as you want in this stage, but for me, the most important things to firmly establish are:
Your main character (and what drives them emotionally)
A small, initial cast of characters
Any core magic or sci-fi elements
The opening setting of your story
Those four things are important, because they’re the foundation of the story – the launchpad, both for the writing and the outline.
2. Creating a Rough Outline
Next, I create a rough outline of the story, and I really do mean “rough.” Instead of detailing every beat of the story from beginning to end, I allow the outline to become increasingly broad and vague the further out it goes.
For example, let’s say my story is made up of three parts. The most detailed section in the outline would be Part 1; Part 2 would be pretty broad; and Part 3 would have just a few high-level bullet points.
In all those sections, however, I try to mark key turning points for the characters and the plot, even if I don’t know exactly what will happen. For example, I might say, “Our characters clash at the festival,” or, “A friend will somehow betray the main character’s trust, hurting their relationship.“
The point of this outline is to provide long-view guidance wherever I am in the story. However, I keep things relatively vague, because I like to delay making specific decisions until my characters are closer to each event.
3. Incremental Journeys
Now the fun part. Writing.
To start, I take my rough outline and make sure the first couple sections are nicely fleshed out. Then, considering everything I learned during my initial preparation and using my outline as a general (but not set-in-stone) guide, I write those first few chapters.
After finishing those chapters, I do three things:
I think about what I’ve learned about the characters and story so far.
Using what I’ve learned, I flesh out the next few chapters in the outline, which might include some further world building or character development.
I write the newly outlined chapters.
Then I repeat those three steps, again and again – progressively outlining and writing my way through the story in short, incremental journeys.
Why do I write this way?
As I said at the beginning, this approach gives me the structure and direction of an outline, without denying my characters the freedom to grow and surprise me.
That’s why I write this way – outlining, yes, but leaving much of the outline initially broad and vague so that I can let my characters play a more active role in shaping how each plot point comes to life. The process is pretty similar to Flashlight Outlining, if any of you are familiar; the main difference, as far as I can see, is that I also maintain an overarching outline.
Should you write this way?
You’d know better than me! A key part of every writer’s development is figuring out their process, and we do that by writing and experimenting. So give this outlining process a shot if you’re dissatisfied with your current process or want to try an approach that draws from both plotters and pantsers.
And if you already love your process?
Please share it below! I’d love to hear how you write (with or without an outline) and why it works for you.
— — —
Hey there! My name’s Mike, and I’m a writer and copywriter with an MFA in fiction. For more tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.
Dead wife montage but it's all slow motion shots of your dead wife throwing grenades and doing backflips and oneshotting the enemy with their long range weapons
"I love you but you're doing wrong in a way I cannot condone" and "I hate you but you're being wronged in a way I cannot stomach" are top tier and I need more of them.
not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing [what would happen between earth and the moon if the earth stopped spinning as illustrated by xkcd randall munroe]
@fandomsunitedposts said “Pet Monsters” for a prompt!
Thank you for the awesome prompt, I hope you like it!
Ken stops trusting his dad when he’s ten, sitting on the couch and watching westerns. Sedan, Ken’s pet, is nestling under Ken’s shirt. Sedan’s been going through growth spurts lately, trying to figure what he’s going to be, and he hasn’t been so good at regulating his own body heat. So Ken does it for him.
Marcus, his dad’s pet, a huge, hundred pound bloodhound, is lying in front of the TV, snoring softly. He’s never been particularly fond of Ken, but Ken likes the look of him, lazy and content like his dad who’s eating potato chips out of his hand.
On screen, the sheriff twirls his gun, lighting up the deserted street with one, two, three shots. The bad guy, dressed all in black, yells and his pet roars. When the last crack fades, the bad guy is lying dead, flat on his back, and his pet, a fanged horse, is lying sightless next to him, dead before it hit the ground.
“They ain’t got wolves there, son,” his dad says, eyes glued to the screen. “Bad guys, they got proper evil things, unearthly things. There’s a reason the good guys shoot him in the heart, you know. It’s so the monster dies too.”
Ken’s heart leaps into his throat and, unconsciously, he presses Sedan closer into his stomach. Sedan’s been growing lately and last week, last week he’d sprouted another leg, bringing the count up to six.
@fandomsunitedposts said “Pet Monsters” for a prompt!
Thank you for the awesome prompt, I hope you like it!
Ken stops trusting his dad when he’s ten, sitting on the couch and watching westerns. Sedan, Ken’s pet, is nestling under Ken’s shirt. Sedan’s been going through growth spurts lately, trying to figure what he’s going to be, and he hasn’t been so good at regulating his own body heat. So Ken does it for him.
Marcus, his dad’s pet, a huge, hundred pound bloodhound, is lying in front of the TV, snoring softly. He’s never been particularly fond of Ken, but Ken likes the look of him, lazy and content like his dad who’s eating potato chips out of his hand.
On screen, the sheriff twirls his gun, lighting up the deserted street with one, two, three shots. The bad guy, dressed all in black, yells and his pet roars. When the last crack fades, the bad guy is lying dead, flat on his back, and his pet, a fanged horse, is lying sightless next to him, dead before it hit the ground.
“They ain’t got wolves there, son,” his dad says, eyes glued to the screen. “Bad guys, they got proper evil things, unearthly things. There’s a reason the good guys shoot him in the heart, you know. It’s so the monster dies too.”
Ken’s heart leaps into his throat and, unconsciously, he presses Sedan closer into his stomach. Sedan’s been growing lately and last week, last week he’d sprouted another leg, bringing the count up to six.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin. They both looked down at the crumpled shape of the Overlord, His Unholy Majesty, in his obsidian armor.
His final spasms had been mesmerizingly acrobatic. The fall down the steps leading up to his iron throne had pretzelled his body quite impressively, both arms folded behind his back and one leg bent at a jaunty angle.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.
"Shit," said the goblin.
"Shit," said the orc.
"We're likely to get blamed for this," the goblin said. She walked over to the head of the glittering mangled heap and started pulling the helmet off.
"It's not our fault," the orc said. "It's hard to help someone choking when they wear two-hundred pounds of spiked armor at all times."
"Yeah, well," the goblin grunted. The helmet came free, and the bald head of the Overlord bounced on the stone with a hollow, coconut noise. "You know how it is in this bloody country - thieves get their heads cut off so they can't think about thieving, and all that." She fished in the Overlord's mouth with a finger and pulled out the obstructing olive on the end of her claw.
She popped it into her mouth and chewed. "What do you reckon they do for a regicide?" she said.
"We should run," the orc said. She had started bouncing her leg. "I hear that there's some places in the Alliance where they just kill you and let you stay dead. That's got to be nicer than what'll happen if we stay here."
The goblin started to nod - and then her gaze fell on the helmet.
It looked like a pineapple designed by a deranged blacksmith. It was all thorns and spikes and hard edges, as though the maker had been very determined to not let pigeons roost on it. The only bits that weren't solid iron were eyeholes. Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face.
She held up the helmet and squinted from it to the orc. One of the thorns had been bent badly in the fall.
Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face...
"Right," she muttered. "Right. Could work - or."
The orc had a sudden vision of the immediate future. "No," she said.
"I mean you're about his height-"
"No."
"It would just be for a-"
"Absolutely not."
"Just hear me out," the goblin said. "Outside of this room are two-thousand men and orcs and goblins who are absolutely gonzo about this man, and there's a whole country of them outside of the castle, and at any moment someone's going to walk in that door and see one dead tit in black armor and two unbelievably dead idiots next to him.
"Or." She tossed the helmet up like a basketball to the orc, who fumbled and tried to find somewhere to hold it that wasn't a knife's edge. "We chuck him out the window now, walk out the door in the armor, and ditch the armor as soon as nobody sees us."
The orc had started bouncing her leg again. "They'll know something's up the second I walk out of the room."
"No worries," said the goblin. "Leave that to me."
---
It had been a very strange year for the Empire.
Change had rolled across the land as slow and inevitable as a glacier. Roads and bridges carved the gray, blasted wildlands, and a number of social reforms had made the country a place where you could be miserable, yes, but miserable in comfort and safety, and that was an improvement.
Barely anyone got boiled alive in molten metal, and even if the disgusted sun never rose to light the Empire, at least you had a roof over your head to protect yourself from the acid rain.
"Your empire flourishes, Your Unholy Majesty," the magician said over her wine glass. She looked down from the tower's balcony over the gleaming stone battlements. Some work had been done to line the castle and surrounding city with sizzling, crackling alchemical lights at night. The whole thing glowed like something dangerously radioactive.
The suit of armor waved a languid, glittering gauntlet over to the goblin, who bowed.
"His Abominable Gloriousness Thanks You," the goblin recited. "The Prosperity Of His Empire Can Only Be Achieved Through The Prosperity Of His People."
"If I may be so bold, I am quite pleased that you had chosen to take my counsel under consideration," said the magician. "We have accomplished many things together."
Another wave. Another bow. "The Overlord, May His Presence Swallow The Sun And Stars, Thanks You As Well."
"It was quite gratifying to see you change your mind, after so many centuries of denial." The wine was swirled. "Tell me, what was it that finally gave you cause to listen to me?"
There was the slightest hesitation. The goblin's eyes flicked to the armor, then to the magician. She puffed out her chest. "Do you question the wisdom of His Austere Lugubriousness?" she asked.
The magician looked at the goblin. She looked at the armor. She tipped her head back and drank the wine too quickly.
She looked back at the armor. "I know you're the orc, you moron," she said.
The room went deathly still. An alchemical light fizzled.
The orc pulled off the helmet, sending long, untied hair down tangling, and said: "How could you possibly-"
"Because you're both idiots!" the magician said. The goblin jumped. The orc jumped with a noise like a dropped stove. "What kind of a plan was this?! If it wasn't for me, you would have been turned into fertilizer months ago."
She closed her eyes. She took a long, dramatic breath. She set the wine glass down on the balcony rail.
"How did the Overlord die?" she asked when she seemed like she had gotten a hold over herself.
"Choked on an olive," said the goblin.
"Threw his body out the window," said the orc.
"You don't have to mention the window," said the goblin.
"Right," said the orc. "Sorry."
The magician looked out over the city, hand curled thoughtfully under her nose. "Who knows about this?"
"Just us. And, uh. You. Apparently."
"And why did you accept my counsel?"
The orc blinked. "Sorry?"
"Why did you accept my counsel?" the magician repeated.
"Well," the orc said. "Well - you seemed like you had good ideas-"
"Great ideas!" the goblin said with an edge of desperation. "Don't know why the old bastard didn't listen to you!"
"Right - right," said the orc. "And when we figured we were stuck doing this - well, it just made sense, really."
The magician seemed to absorb this. She nodded. "All right," she said, striding between the two and grabbing the crystal decanter.
"Um," said the orc. "Sorry. What happens now?"
"What happens is that you two will continue to serve as Overlord," said the magician. "You will continue to take my counsel. We will continue to reform this bloody country, and gods willing, we will turn it into the crown jewel of the world by next Midwinter."
The orc looked at the goblin. The goblin looked at the orc.
"Really?" the goblin asked.
"Oh yes," said the magician. "I've worked hard to be counsel to the Overlord, and I have no reason to stop now. And besides-"
She looked the orc up and down with a deliberate slowness, poring over every microscopic detail, eyes tracing over every jagged line, and grinned like a panther.
"You look much better in the armor than he ever did," she said. Dark robes swirled like a becleavaged thundercloud, and she strode out through the high iron doors, decanter in hand.
The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.
I think one of my favourite trends in history is when two very different but somewhat equally footed cultures meet and get mutually delighted by this New And Exotic Thing that's now briefly insanely fashionable. Like oh wow you have fancy textiles I have never seen? Let me seeeee. Tradies for this kind that we have here? Yeah this pattern depicts these ornamental garden pets that we- oh you don't have those? Would you like one? I love how you used that new kind of feather for that thing that you usually use for traditional feather decor. I am wearing Your Type Of Hat as a fashion statement with my outfit.
I know that there's always bleak and boring geopolitical bullshit going on with every interaction between cultures, but I do still think it's fun when two completely different cultures mutually decide that this one they just met is now Highly Fashionable, and swap everything from art subjects and methods to clothing styles and delicacies, like a giddy mutual girl crush or friendly cats rubbing their faces to each other in order to match their scent.
Trust is built slowly over time. It's rarely given immediately and instead is revealed in the smallest vulnerabilities, the quietest choices, the moments where a character lets their guard down without realising it.
I've outlined some ways you can prove to your reader the trust your characters build together.
Sharing secrets they don’t tell anyone else.
Letting someone see their vulnerable side: emotional, disheveled, or undone.
Falling asleep around them without worry.
Admitting confusion instead of pretending to know everything.
Asking for help, especially when they never do.
Walking beside them instead of behind or ahead.
Allowing silence without trying to fill it.
Letting them read unfinished drafts, art, or work-in-progress ideas.
Showing up at their door in a moment of panic.
Not hiding their flaws or insecurities.
Giving them the spare key without overthinking it.
Delegating an important task without hesitation.
Relaxing their shoulders when that person arrives.
Sharing food straight from the same plate or drink.
Telling the truth, even when it’s messy or uncomfortable.
Revealing old scars: physical or emotional.
Accepting advice they’d reject from anyone else.
Allowing touch without stiffening.
Letting that character enter their space.
Looking at them like they’re a place, not a person. A safe place.
Trust can be woven into every quiet moment, even when broken and needing to be rebuilt.
