Workshop 2

August 4, 2025

Kristina L. Wildes

Set the Mood First

Before you read anything else, press play. Let the music hit like adrenaline. Let it slam into your bloodstream and rattle your pulse.

This is what it feels like to stand at the edge of everything. You want more. You know you shouldn't. And you're about to take it anyway.

This is not calm-before-the-storm energy. This is the storm!

Where We Left Off: The Power of Choice

In Workshop 1, we didn’t begin with origin stories or chapter ones. We started at impact. A single, defining moment already in motion. A blade raised, but not yet dropped. A voice that halted the inevitable.

“You’re only alive because I made a promise.”

We started there because beginnings can feel like mountains. Trying to build a world from scratch and make it feel real before a single character breathes is intimidating. So instead of forcing you to construct the entire scaffolding of your story, we dropped straight into the moment of tension. No prologue. No safety net. Just choice.

And what a powerful choice it was!

That prompt didn’t just ask for a scene. It asked you to make decisions.

• Who made the promise?

• Why did they honor it?

• What power shifted in that moment?

• What was said or left unsaid that changed everything?

You wrote two or more pages from that space. You didn't need a completed outline. You didn’t need a sprawling map or a fully developed world bible. What you needed was already inside the moment. In the dialogue. In the expression. In the weight of silence.

And you delivered!

Workshop 1 was about momentum. The permission to start messy. To start mid-fight, mid-conversation, mid-regret. To prove to yourself that you could write before you knew everything.

Now, in Workshop 2, we peel back the layers. We look at what that moment meant. We ask what was behind the blade, what was hidden in the silence, and what will be revealed if the promise begins to break.

Because if that line stopped the story from ending, the only question left to ask is this:

What happens now?

This Week’s Prompt: Unmasking Desire

Write a scene where either the villain or the hero reveals what they truly want.

Not what they pretend to want. Not what they claim in public or tell themselves in the mirror. What they actually crave beneath the surface.

• Is it revenge dressed up as mercy?

• Is it love twisted by obsession?

• Is it to be understood without ever being vulnerable?

• Do they want the other person gone, or worse, changed in a way that cannot be undone?

• Do they want redemption, or is it ruin they are chasing with open arms?

Let this scene strip away the performance. Let it cut through the defenses. This is the truth that even your character may not want to admit.

Make it ugly if it needs to be. Make it tender. Make it full of contradictions. Make it feel like something that has been buried so long it hurts to touch.

You do not need a full confrontation or an explosive event. What you need is clarity. Let the want speak for itself.

Let It Sink In: Embrace the Emotion

Now that the mood is set and the prompt is echoing in your chest, breathe through it with this second track.

Close your eyes. Let yourself feel what your character can’t say. The moment before they snap. The moment before they speak. The moment they almost admit something terrifyingly honest.

Then write!

Your Goal This Week: Dive Deep

Write two to four pages.

Choose either the villain or the hero as your focus.

Reveal what they want. Not politely. Not filtered. Make it truthful, bitter, or even beautiful in its brutality.

Optional: Let them lie out loud while bleeding honesty between the lines.

Even more optional: Let someone else see through the lie and say it out loud.

If you are continuing from Workshop 1, great! If not, that’s also fine. Use this prompt to explore a monologue, a flashback, or an intimate confrontation that defines the character’s internal engine. This is not about the surface. This is about what’s buried underneath it.

Craft Focus: The Power of Want

Characters become unforgettable not because of what they do, but because of what they want.

That want, pure or poisoned, is what drives their every choice. It’s what cracks their voice when they speak. It’s what makes readers lean forward and say, “Oh, I know that feeling.”

So ask yourself:

• Does your character know what they want, or are they lying to themselves?

• Do their actions reflect that want, or are they hiding it?

• What would they sacrifice for it?

• Who would they become to get it?

• What happens when they get too close?

Wanting is dangerous. Writing that want honestly is even more dangerous.

Be brave!

Want to Share? Your Voice Matters!

If you wrote something and you're proud of it, or nervous about it, that’s exactly the kind of work I’d love to read.

Send it to author@kristinawildes.com or drop a reflection or favorite line in the comments.

No edits. No pressure. Just creative momentum and mutual obsession with storytelling.

Final Thoughts: The Journey Continues

This is Week 2. The second stone in a long, winding path.

Each workshop is crafted to build from the last, layer by layer, conflict by conflict, until, by the end of the year, you’ll have a story with real depth. A world that breathes.

Characters who bleed on the page.

We started with a single line. A choice not to kill.

Now we’re chasing down the reason why it mattered.

As we move forward, I’ll begin layering prompts: world-building, character relationships, setting, story arcs, all designed to support the book you’re building. You can follow them all, or pick what suits your scene that week. You have flexibility, but the framework will always grow.

The story you’re writing? It’s already alive.

Come back next week. We’ll find out what happens when someone’s desire becomes too big to hide.

Curious What I Wrote?

Date: 14 SEPTEMBER 8032, 1430UT  

Location: Vale Central Command, Sector D-4  

Reporting Officer: Cmdr. Caelum Nox Mercier  

Subject: Directive 17-S Executed – Priority Asset Preservation

Humans were nasty creatures, greedy, inept, weak. Gods, the sheer stench they gave off was nauseating. As if none of them knew what the definition of a proper shower was. They could hide it with their scented lotions, perfumes, and soaps. Though if he tried hard enough, the smell was still there, as if stabbing him in his nasal receptors. Trying to state they were always here, they never left. After centuries, one would believe he was capable of blocking out the inadequacies of humanity. He wasn’t, he just learned to hold his breath until the coast was clear. Regardless if it would take him hours or not until an area presented itself where he could breathe normally again.

This was one of those times. A time where he truly wished he could open up a human's mind just to poke around it to figure out why they were so, so, disgusting? He wasn’t sure if disgust was exactly the word he wanted to use though it would suffice.

The hallway to the command deck was still humming with static. Many of the inlaid overhead lighting fractured, some were gone completely. Glass littered embedded in the wall like crystal shrapnel, glistening against the broken LEDs. Large pieces could be seen impaling through bodies, as if they were crucified in place. Blood was everywhere, the very source of the assault on his nostrils. Everywhere his pale grey eyes tracked he could see pools of the viscous liquid. He remembered when he was still a fledgling, unable to hold his breath for longer than a newborn. A shiver ran through him, the memory of the pure, unfiltered redolence had him nearly bent over.

Caelum stood as far away from the rest of the recovery team, his antics on par with usual, the rest leaving him to his devices. His ocean-blue hair was soaked at the tips, clinging to his jaw. Having breached the vessel once the Echoborn were confirmed to have vacated. Saia, the ship’s autonomous intelligence array, activated emergency protocols, releasing fire suppressant the moment new life forms were detected on board. Those very eyes of his now tracked Rhydian with the same focus he might give to a new star forming in the void. Dispassionate, curious, only partially disgusted.

Rhydian slowed, breath sharp in his chest. Caelum calculated that within the next few moments he would be asked the same question he’s heard hundreds of times before when it comes to the Echoborn. 

“You could have stopped this,” Rhydian snapped at him, almost to the exact moment Caelum predicted. “You watched them die.”

Caelum blinked slowly, stepping over the debris he couldn’t be bothered to look down to examine, his black boots crunched. Rhydian flinched, staring at him then towards what Caelum allegedly stepped on.

“I did.” Caelum blinked slowly, as if filtering through distant galaxies for an appropriate response. He pressed on, standing next to the raging man. Standing almost two heads above him, Rhydian looked up. His pale grey irises met light cerulean, Caelum’s scapula length ocean blue locks a stark contrast to Rhydian’s short spun gold.

“Don’t act as if you hold any sympathy for these men.” Rhydian retorted, stabbing his gloved finger into Caelum’s chest.

“I don’t have any.” Caelum raised his eyebrows, as if this was supposed to be common knowledge at this point.

Rhydian’s breath caught in his throat. The words hit with more weight than they should have. Not just because of the death he’d walked through. Not just because he was still reeling from the sight of folded bodies and melted visors. But because Caelum said it without emotion. Without hesitation. As if the world owed him, personally.

“Why?” Rhydian’s voice cracked.

“Why, what, Rhydian?” He was beginning to wonder if the poor sod before him was truly fit to be the High Commander of Valendros’ Galactical Fleet.

“Why am I still alive?” A beat passed. “This should have been me, Caelum. Me!” Rhydian pushed against the Liraethan, as hard as he could muster. Caelum nearly broke his composure but feigned to be thrown back. “Had you not evacuated me near minutes beforehand, I would be here, with the rest of my unit, dead. The Echoborn would have torn me apart as if spreading butter on bread.” Rhydian had a point, Caelum nodded, shrugging in agreement.

As much as he hated to admit it to the egotistical man standing before him, Caelum just couldn’t shove his pride down. The voices swirled in his head, demanding him to remind the human who was the alpha species here. One step became another, until he was right in front of the blonde, leaning down to whisper in his ear. 

“You’re only alive,” Caelum said, “because I made a promise.” 

Rhydian paled, bracing himself against the nearest wall. “To who?”

“To the ones who found me.” Caelum’s eyes didn’t leave his, a dangerous smile growing on his face. 

“The ones who…” Rhydian’s jaw tightened. “That was over five hundred years ago.”

“Seven hundred and twelve,” Caelum corrected.

Rhydian stared at him. “You think that still matters?”

Here is my response to last week’s assignment.

This is not polished or perfect. It is raw, like yours probably is too. But that is what this space is for. Practice. Growth. Momentum.

Going forward, you will find my answers to the previous assignment at the bottom of each new workshop. So if you ever feel stuck, need a nudge, or just want to see how someone else tackled it, feel free to read mine.

-Kristina