If These Characters Could See My Draft Folder…
- Feb 11
- 3 min read
There is a folder on my computer that should never, under any circumstances, gain sentience.
It is labeled something harmless. Something professional. Something that suggests order and intention. Inside it lives half-finished chapters, alternate openings, emotionally unwell scenes written at 2:14 a.m., and at least three documents named some variation of final_final_ACTUALLY_final.
If my characters could see this folder, I would never hear the end of it.
So today, in the spirit of self-awareness and gentle chaos, I imagined what would happen if a few very opinionated fictional beings were allowed to peek inside my writing process. Reader, it did not go well. But it was honest.
Wednesday Addams
On discovering my murder mystery drafts
“The body count is acceptable. The emotional damage could be higher.”
Wednesday would scroll silently. No blinking. No visible reaction. Just the faintest tilt of her head when she finds a particularly grim scene.
She approves of my willingness to let bad things happen. She appreciates commitment. She does not care that I rewrote the same death scene four times because I could not decide on the lighting.
She would, however, judge me for my habit of softening edges at the last second. Apparently, I am too attached to hope. A flaw, in her opinion.
Still, she would nod once. Which, from Wednesday Addams, is basically a standing ovation.
The Sanderson Sisters
On my fantasy drafts and magical systems
“Thou hast how many drafts and yet so few spells?”
They would be offended immediately.
Winifred would flip through my folders like she is searching for something stolen. Sarah would get distracted by a romantic subplot and forget why they are mad. Mary would sniff the air and say something unhelpful but accurate like, “She writes magic like she’s afraid of it.”
They want more incantations. More chaos. More unapologetic witchery. They do not care about narrative restraint or pacing. They want drama and lightning and at least one spell written entirely for vibes.
Honestly? They are not wrong. I do, in fact, hold back sometimes. This is a personal growth moment.
Smaug
On my worldbuilding documents
“I see you have hoarded words. I demand a share.”
Smaug would be furious that my drafts are scattered across folders instead of piled in one grand, dragon-worthy heap. He would be personally offended by my color-coded outlines and footnotes.
He wants royalties. He wants his name spelled correctly every time. He wants to know why I spent three pages describing a city but only one paragraph describing the treasure within it.
He respects ambition, though. He recognizes a fellow hoarder when he sees one. If nothing else, he would sit on my draft folder and dare me to edit near him.
I would lose that battle.
And Me, Watching Them Judge
Look, my draft folder is not elegant. It is not tidy. It is a living thing that grows sideways and occasionally sheds old versions like a snake that forgot what it was doing halfway through molting.
But it is honest.
It is proof that stories do not arrive fully formed. They arrive in pieces. In experiments. In false starts and better second thoughts. In moments where you write something terrible so you can get to the part that finally feels right.
If my characters could see that chaos, they might judge. They might demand more spells or sharper knives or shinier treasure.
But they would also see devotion. Time. Care. The quiet, stubborn act of showing up again and again to build worlds out of words.
And honestly? I think even Wednesday would respect that.
She would not say it out loud. But she would know.
Until next time,
Indigo Winter
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