No Seriously, Writing “I” And “me” Is So Gross! Like Do I Switch To Third Person So I Don’t

Me right now

currently powering through the absolute worst, terribly written, cringe ass fanfic ive ever read in my entire life simply because the concept is too good

me rereading a scene: omg why is she acting like that who wrote this? i wrote this.

Okay, I made some hard decisions, and we’re down to 10 wips. I think this is a manageable amount. Let’s see how many I can finish this year

Literally me right now

Me after a long day of writing: *closing the lid of my laptop nodding to myself* that was a good sentence

I have a lot of friends that I share one or two diagnoses with, but they either have better support or just don’t struggle as much with the stuff that makes it hard to work and whatnot. It’s frustrating when I make a small inane comment about what I can and cannot do and they correct me based on their experiences

Disability is such a spectrum and I don't even know if you could truly say two people have the exact same ability level. That's why the whole "I can do this why can't you?" line that a lot of disabled ableists push is so frustrating. Babe, they can't do that because they don't have the exact same set of circumstances in their life and body that allows you to do the thing. There's a lot of varying ability and access within a diagnosis and just because you can do a thing with your diagnosis doesn't mean everyone else with that diagnosis can too.

And you know what, we’re just not gonna talk about how many wips I’ve started lately. We’re just not gonna do it. And I’m definitely not coming up with world building for another one based on a tiktok.

Nothing like spending the night somewhere because of the snow, only I can’t sleep and my laptop’s at home so now I’m writing on my phone while my friends cat claws my shoulder

Writing, at its core, is about stepping into someone else’s shoes. It’s not just about creating characters who are like you, it’s about understanding characters who are nothing like you. Writing forces you to ask, “Why does this person act this way?” “What are they afraid of?” “What do they want?” You have to feel what your characters are feeling, even if you don’t agree with them. That’s how you create characters who are complex, layered, and real.

Writing Grief Without Romanticizing It

Grief is raw, messy, and deeply personal. It doesn’t follow a neat arc or fit into tidy narrative beats. While stories often use grief as a dramatic device, romanticizing it can cheapen the emotional reality. Writing grief authentically means embracing its discomfort and unpredictability, not sanitizing or idealizing it. 

What Romanticizing Grief Looks Like

Characters who seem emotionally wrecked but always manage to look graceful in their suffering.

Overly articulate monologues that sound more like a eulogy than a real moment of loss.

Depictions of grief as a singular, cathartic event instead of a long, jagged process.

Romanticized Grief:

“Every day without you is like a piece of me fading away into a tragic, beautiful void. I’ll carry this pain forever, for it’s all I have left of you.”

This might be poetic, but it lacks the authenticity of how most people actually process grief.

Realistic Grief:

“I forgot your birthday. I didn’t mean to, but when I remembered, it was already too late. And then I hated myself because forgetting felt like erasing you.”

Writing Grief Authentically

1. Show the Physical Toll

Grief isn’t just emotional—it’s physical. Insomnia, headaches, exhaustion, or even the inability to move can be part of the experience.

“She woke up in the middle of the night again, choking on the air. Her chest felt like a cinderblock had been wedged inside, heavy and unmoving. It was three days since the funeral, and she still hadn’t slept longer than an hour.”

2. Let Grief Be Messy

Grief isn’t a perfectly linear journey. There’s no logical progression from denial to acceptance—there are setbacks, breakdowns, and even moments of denial long after healing has started.

“He yelled at his mother for throwing out the cereal box. ‘It was his favorite,’ he said. She didn’t remind him that it had been expired for months. She just handed him the trash bag and walked away.”

3. Avoid Glossy Sentimentality

Sometimes grief isn’t poetic; it’s ugly, blunt, and devoid of grandeur. Characters might lash out, shut down, or isolate themselves.

Romanticized: “I’ll cry every day, but I’ll keep going because you’d want me to.”

Realistic: “They said time would heal it. But it didn’t. Time just put more space between me and the life I knew before.”

4. Let Grief Manifest in Small, Unexpected Ways

Grief isn’t always about sobbing—it can show up in mundane moments: hesitating to delete a voicemail, holding onto an old sweater, or instinctively setting the table for someone who’s gone.

“She turned to tell him the joke, the one about the broken lamp, and stopped halfway through. The silence hit harder than the punchline ever would.”

5. Highlight the Absurdity of It

Grief can be absurd and disorienting. Characters might laugh inappropriately, obsess over trivial details, or feel disconnected from reality.

“At the funeral, all she could focus on was how crooked the flowers were arranged. She kept wanting to fix them. If she didn’t, she thought, none of this would feel real.”

6. Explore How Grief Changes Relationships

Grief doesn’t happen in isolation—it affects relationships, often in unexpected ways. Some people pull closer, others drift apart.

“Her friends stopped asking how she was doing after the first few weeks. She didn’t blame them; she didn’t have an answer. ‘Fine’ wasn’t a lie—it was just easier than saying, ‘I still can’t breathe when I see his empty chair.’”

7. Show the Longevity of Grief

Grief doesn’t end when the funeral does. Let it linger in your story, showing how it ebbs and flows over time.

“It had been five years, but she still called his number when something exciting happened. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was just habit. Or maybe it was hope.”

8. Allow for Moments of Respite

Grief isn’t constant agony. People still laugh, find joy, and go about their lives—sometimes feeling guilty for it.

“She smiled for the first time in weeks, and then immediately hated herself for it. It felt like betrayal, like forgetting.”

What am I doing? Just talking through my story to myself instead of writing it.