City Boy Nightwing Art By Jamal Campbell

Write Believable Intelligent Characters

╰ Let their intelligence show in how they notice things

Smart people aren’t always the ones talking, they’re the ones observing the tiny detail that everyone else misses. They connect dots faster. They clock micro-expressions. They’re already ten moves ahead while everyone’s still arguing about step one.

╰ Don’t make them know everything

The smartest characters have gaps. A genius hacker who can’t do small talk. A professor who’s never seen Shrek. An expert in ancient languages who has zero street smarts. Give them blind spots, and suddenly they feel real—not robotic.

╰ Let their intelligence shape how they argue

A clever character doesn’t always win by yelling louder. Sometimes they cut deep with one sentence. Sometimes they bait someone into proving their point for them. Or smile while delivering verbal chess moves that leave everyone stunned two scenes later.

╰ Smart doesn’t mean wordy

Sometimes the smartest thing your character can say is nothing. Sometimes it’s “Huh.” Or one line that lands like a hammer. Intelligence isn’t just about complexity, it’s about clarity. Bonus points if they say the thing everyone else was dancing around.

╰ Show them solving problems, not just explaining them

Whether it’s picking a lock or defusing a political standoff, let them act. Watching them think on their feet, adapt, and surprise people is way more compelling than giving them long-winded monologues about the history of poison.

╰ Let them struggle with being misunderstood

A smart character might say something that’s totally logical but lands like a slap. Or they assume people see the obvious when they don’t. Intelligence can be isolating. That tension makes them human.

╰ Don’t make them the author’s mouthpiece

If your “smart” character exists to deliver the moral of the story, they’ll feel like a soapbox in a trench coat. Let them be flawed, biased, wrong sometimes. Let them learn. Otherwise, they stop being a character and start being an essay in disguise.

╰ Make their intelligence emotional, too

Book smart is one thing. Emotional intelligence hits differently. Maybe they’re intuitive. Maybe they know how to read a room. Maybe they see through someone’s bravado in five seconds flat. Brains plus empathy? Lethal combo.

╰ Smart doesn’t mean nice

Intelligence can be cruel. Calculated. Detached. Don’t be afraid to let your clever character weaponize their smarts if that’s who they are. Sometimes the coldest characters are the ones who know exactly how to hurt you—and choose not to. Or do.

I need to remember this ( TДT)

hi, i love your prompts!!

can you do prompts/suggestions for revealing a character’s tragic backstory to the other characters? mostly with like hurt/comfort or angst. please n thanks!

How to Reveal a Tragic Backstory

check out these sources:

The Backstory Drip: Helping Writers Become Authors

When Do You Reveal a Backstory of a Character?: Writing Stack Exchange

Writing Character Backstory That Feels Real: Now Novel

1. Establish Context Before the Reveal

Before revealing a tragic backstory, it's crucial to lay the groundwork. Give the audience some clues or hints about the character’s pain or past struggles without fully explaining it. This builds curiosity and tension, making the eventual reveal more satisfying.

Example: Throughout the story, you might show the character having nightmares, flinching at certain triggers, or displaying a particular behavior (like pushing others away) that hints at something painful in their past.

2. Choose the Right Moment

A tragic backstory should be revealed at a moment that feels natural and emotionally charged. Don’t force it into the plot. Often, it works best when the character is vulnerable, perhaps during a quiet moment, when they feel safe enough to let their guard down, or during a crisis when the emotional dam breaks.

Example: The character might reveal their past during a moment of intense emotional vulnerability, like when they think they’re about to lose someone else they care about, or when they are experiencing a setback that mirrors their past trauma.

3. Keep It Uncomfortable

A tragic backstory is rarely easy to talk about, and the discomfort surrounding the reveal can be just as important as the backstory itself. Let the character struggle with the words or try to push the conversation away, only to be coaxed into speaking. This makes the moment feel more authentic and raw.

Example: The character might start the conversation with, "It’s not important" or "I don’t want to talk about it," before finally giving in to the other character’s gentle probing or a shift in the situation that forces them to face the truth.

4. Show, Don’t Just Tell

Instead of simply stating the tragic event, show how it affects the character through their actions, memories, or how they interact with others. This deepens the emotional impact, allowing readers to experience the pain with the character rather than just being told what happened.

Example: Rather than saying, "He lost his entire family in the fire," you could show how the character avoids talking about their family, has flashbacks when they see something related to fire, or even flinches at certain words associated with their trauma.

5. Use Symbolism

The tragic backstory can be tied to something physical, symbolic, or thematic in the narrative. A certain object, place, or even weather can be used to evoke memories of the past, creating a deeper emotional connection.

Example: If the character lost someone they loved in a car accident, perhaps they always have trouble getting into cars, or they wear a piece of jewelry that reminds them of the person. When this item or memory is triggered, the character opens up about the event.

6. Layer the Reveal

Sometimes, a tragic backstory is revealed in pieces over time. A character might not reveal everything all at once, but bits and pieces come out as the story progresses. This gradual reveal can allow you to build emotional complexity and deepen the audience’s understanding of the character.

Example: The character might first mention a loss in passing, then later reveal more details about the circumstances surrounding that loss. In a climactic moment, they might confess the full extent of their pain, perhaps adding a new layer of guilt or unresolved anger.

7. Avoid Making It “Too Perfect”

Tragedy isn’t always a neat, tidy narrative. It’s often messy, complicated, and filled with unresolved feelings. Don’t try to make the tragic backstory feel like it was meant to be "healed" or resolved easily. Characters are shaped by tragedy, and the wounds might never fully heal.

Example: The character might express regret or resentment, even years later. They might struggle with feelings of guilt, or they might have difficulty trusting others due to their past experiences.

8. Don’t Overload the Backstory

While tragic backstories are emotionally powerful, too many details can overwhelm the reader or distract from the present story. Instead, focus on the most crucial parts of the past that shaped the character’s current behavior, rather than telling every painful moment.

Example: Rather than describing an entire traumatic event in detail, focus on how it emotionally affected the character. Perhaps the character doesn’t want to remember, so the backstory is revealed only through emotional reactions to certain triggers or through small, painful details.

9. Use the Backstory as a Motivator

After revealing the tragic backstory, the character’s actions should be influenced by it. Their trauma will affect their decisions, and it’s important to show how it shapes their journey going forward.

Example: The character might reveal that they lost someone to violence, and that’s why they became a protector of others. Or maybe their tragic past has made them emotionally distant, but in the course of the story, they gradually learn to trust and open up.

10. Make the Reveal Matter to the Plot

A tragic backstory shouldn’t just be there to elicit sympathy. It should tie into the character’s motivations, fears, and relationships with other characters. If the backstory doesn’t serve a purpose for the plot, it can feel like unnecessary exposition.

Example: If the character is hesitant to form deep relationships because of their tragic past, this fear will be challenged by their interactions with the other characters. Perhaps their backstory also explains why they’re so skilled in a certain area, giving the plot a practical reason for them to be involved in the current situation.

Writing Prompts Revealing a Tragic Backstory

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

She leaned against the worn table, fingers tracing the edge of a chipped mug, not meeting his eyes. "I didn’t always… I wasn’t always this," she began, her voice thin, strained. He sat across from her, waiting, but not pushing. She swallowed, her chest tightening. "There was a fire, years ago. I was just a kid. My parents—" She stopped, shaking her head, as though the words couldn’t pass her lips without choking her. "I don’t even know how I made it out."

She reached out to touch his shoulder, a gesture of comfort, but he recoiled as if her hand was burning him. His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. "Don’t," he muttered, backing away, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Please don’t." She stared, mouth dry, unsure what she had done wrong, but the way his face twisted as if remembering something painful told her everything she needed to know.

They jolted awake, heart pounding, gasping for breath as the remnants of the nightmare clung to them. The other person, already awake, noticed and reached out, pulling them into their arms. "Shh, it’s okay," they whispered softly, but the words barely registered. "I couldn’t save her," they choked out, voice raw. "I promised, but I—" The sob broke free before they could finish, and the other person tightened their hold, pressing their forehead against theirs. "You didn’t fail," they whispered, offering the comfort of their presence. "You're safe now."

They were walking in silence, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their boots the only sound between them. He kept his head down, eyes fixed on the ground, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Then, without warning, he stopped. "I watched him die," he said, his voice rough, as though the words were hard to spit out. She turned, startled by the suddenness, but he didn’t meet her gaze. "My brother. He bled out before anyone could help." His jaw tightened, eyes distant. "And I couldn’t do a damn thing."

Her laughter echoed in the room, but it faltered when she saw his face. He wasn’t laughing. He was staring, distant, lost in some memory only he could see. "What’s wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned. His eyes snapped back to her, and he forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Nothing." He turned away quickly, but not before she saw the tear that had escaped down his cheek. "I just... you made me think of my sister."

I'm waiting till it's dark outside, my motivations is like a vampire 🍷

call me when you figure it out

has anyone figured out how to be a real person yet

Today. 25th October. Is. The. WORST FUCKING DAY IN MY LIFE. In a blink gone went my hopes for this final. I don't have anymore tears I swear.

My family is actually asking me why I'm crying all my tears after watching a 3 minutes video....

Me: YOU CANT UNDERSTAND THE PAIN IM GOING THROUGH

*me looking at all the degenerate that liked my fic*

*sigh* Is there anything more satisfying and motivating than looking at this to write another chapter?

Nah I don't think so.

A monster forcefully switches places with you. You become a horrible creature, and the monster assumes your form. Unfortunately for the monster, your life absolutely sucks—and you have no intention of swapping back.

Ways I Show a Character is Emotionally Burned Out (Before They Even Realize It Themselves)

I love writing characters who think they’re fine but are actually walking emotional house fires with bad coping mechanisms.

They stop doing the things they used to love and don’t even notice. Their guitar gathers dust. Their favorite podcast becomes background noise. Their hobbies feel like homework now.

They pick the path of least resistance every time, even when it hurts them. No, they don’t want to go to that thing. No, they don’t want to talk to that person. But whatever’s easier. That’s the motto now.

They’re tired but can’t sleep. Or they sleep but wake up more tired. Classic burnout move: lying in bed with their brain racing like a toddler on espresso.

They give other people emotional advice they refuse to take themselves. “You have to set boundaries!” they say—while ignoring 8 texts from someone they should’ve cut off three emotional breakdowns ago.

They cry at something stupidly small. Like spilling soup. Or a dog in a commercial. Or losing their pen. The soup is never just soup.

They say “I’m just tired” like it’s a personality trait now. And not like… emotionally drained to the bone but afraid to admit it out loud.

They ghost people they love, not out of malice, but because even replying feels like too much. Social battery? Absolutely obliterated. Texting back feels like filing taxes.

They stop reacting to big things. Catastrophes get a blank stare. Disasters feel like “just another Tuesday.” The well of feeling is running dry.

They avoid being alone with their own thoughts. Constant noise. TV always on. Music blasting. Because silence = reckoning, and reckoning is terrifying.

They start hoping something will force them to stop. An accident. A missed deadline. Someone else finally telling them, “You need a break.” Because asking for help? Unthinkable.