Bri Castellini - The Rogue MFA

Bri CastelliniJune 11, 2026

How Filmmaking Made Me a Better Descriptive Writer

When I was in college, the most defining feedback on my work came from my advisor Kathlene, who told me:

You have really funny, distinct characters… but it’s like they’re talking in a dark room

Which was fair. I hated, and still certainly struggle with, describing things. It’s never my first priority, never what excites me most in the drafting phase. I’m a character writer, not a world-builder. Not sure if that’s been made clear yet.

So I took this advice all the way to a graduate degree in Writing and Producing for Television, a style of writing that actively discourages you from describing things too much on the page because then you’re stealing opportunities for the directors and cinematographers to put their stamp on the visuals. I only have to write dialog?! Sign me up!

Then a pandemic happened, and a romance novel hyperfixation, and suddenly, I found myself back in the prose trenches. However, *Wicked voice* I had been changed for good. Specifically, because of production design, though perhaps I’ll be back in a few months to tell you about some other ways filmmaking influenced and improved my writing (foreshadowing).

Production Design: What Your Space Says About You

My very first film collaboration was on my web series, Brains, a zombie series about Alison Sumner (played by me) as she vlogged her college experience after the apocalypse started to let up and the internet came back. We were very much influenced by the narrative vlogs of the time (the series ran from 2015-2017) like The Lizzie Bennet Diaries and Carmilla, so naturally much of our time was spent in the character Alison’s dorm room.

Prior to being a filmmaker myself, I didn’t really spend a lot of time viewing media consciously considering the spaces characters inhabited. That didn’t mean I wasn’t absorbing something, though.

My production designer Page Schumacher (who now stages window displays professionally and also did our zombie makeup) was given $12 and free range, and here’s what we created together:

Important details:

Torn posters. This was the post-apocalypse, many of Alison’s fellow students had fled campus or died, and Alison is a practical girl. We imagined that Alison, at some point, looted her classmates’ former dorm rooms, which led to an eclectic series of very basic-looking dorm room posters that were a little worse for the wear. World building: everything still exists, but in a state of disrepair, and likely much of her decor was looted. Also, the character prioritized science-y imagery, indicating she’s a STEM student
Anatomically corrected phrenology poster. The centerpiece of our torn and looted posters was a phrenology poster (a eugenics pseudoscience) that Page went through and corrected with the anatomically correct areas of the brain, as Alison was a neuropsychology major. Much of the show is about Alison and her friends’ study of the brain (zombie and human alike… get it?? Brains??) and Page reasoned that when Alison found this nonsense phrenology poster, she liked a colorful brain poster but disliked its pseudoscience. World building: the character’s voice and priorities, not to mention her course of study.
Skeleton endocrine system covering its balls. Made by my friend Chris in AP Psychology in high school and then gifted to me at the end of the semester, I was delighted this made it into Alison’s production design for three reasons- 1, an Easter Egg for my friend, 2, more skull/science imagery that felt on-brand, and 3, the articulated paper limbs allowed us to give the skeleton various poses in different episodes, aiding the tone of the show. This was a comedy series (or, as my director once called it, a horror series the protagonist thinks is a rom com), so this helped us add subtle levity to the frame so that no matter how dark things got for the characters, we knew there’s always a joke lurking as a counterbalance. World building: tone
Ruffled sheets & discarded clothes. Alison, despite being a Type-A Science Girlie, is also kind of a mess. Emotionally, but also literally. World building: externalizing a character’s inner turmoil
The color red. Early in the series, Alison states her thesis: she’s trying to seduce a cute boy in her class/survivor group, and while she ingratiates herself into his life, she’s also trying to subtly push him in the right direction (while also not-so-subtly flirting like a maniac). She’s doing this with color psychology- red stimulates your adrenal glands and primes your brain for sexy times (given that it’s present on someone you’re already theoretically hypothetically attracted to). As a result, there’s a clear bias in her looting towards items of decor and clothing with a prominent red accent. World building: the character’s hyperfocus, but also, a tone indicator- bold saturated colors implies a brighter and more comic-book-like tone, versus a gritty The Walking Dead-style project

And this relates to prose…how?

Before filmmaking, my reaction to feedback inquiring about character’s spaces was “I mentioned they’re in a living room. You’ve seen a living room before. Use your imagination.”

But spaces tell us about more than just the physical scenarios the characters find themselves in- they tell us about the tone of the piece in the language used, they tell us about the people who live there and their priorities, and they also tell us how the people who live in those spaces want to be perceived by others. It’s world building, yes, but it’s also character design, and the way a character reflects on their own space in describing it to readers, or a new character reacts upon being invited in, are extremely telling.

So now, when I get to a point in a novel draft where I’m entering a new place, I think… how would I dress this set?

What does YOUR space say?

Take a look around you right now, even if you aren’t at home (but especially if you are):

What are the primary colors of the space around you, and how do they make you feel?
What are unique items or elements within the space that mark it as this space and not another?
Is it cluttered, messy, neat, spare?
If you were to tell me about the person who designed this space based solely on how looks, what would you say?

A living room isn’t just a living room. An office isn’t just an office. Humans made the world and sell the trinkets and place the trinkets just so and all of that tells us something, or can. The curtains might just be blue… but if the writer chose to give them color, what can we learn just from that?

If it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t have been written down, and if you, like me, sometimes struggle with things that in your mind don’t matter, consider making them matter. If I’m bored when I’m writing the description to a scene, then that’s not the scene’s fault. It’s a necessity to describe the rooms where my characters exist… but it doesn’t have to be a chore, and thanks to filmmaking, and zombies, and my friend Page, it’s not anymore.

Learn more about The Rogue MFA and our community here. When you’re ready to rock, join our Writing Community Hour over on The Rogue MFA YouTube channel (which meets every other Thursday evening at 4pm PST/ 7pm EST), where we’ll be building routine and community with YOU. Subscribe to get notified, and if you’re even a little bit interested, please fill out our quick survey so we can expand these in the future with you in mind.

Bri CastelliniMay 21, 2026

How To Give Feedback on Creative Writing in Person So That People Actually Listen

So that people actually listen… and you get better feedback in return

If you can’t give feedback constructively, your writing community is unlikely to offer it back in return, which you need in order to become a stronger writer. Just because you’re “right” doesn’t mean it’s a good note, and while it’s straightforward enough to fix a grammatical error, when actually talking to another writer about their work and getting philosophical about it, there are more things you’ll want to consider before opening your damn mouth.

Start with the positives

Never start a feedback message, verbal session, or email with critique. It sets the wrong tone and immediately puts the other person on the defensive.

If you can find nothing nice to say, nothing the writer has succeeded in, then perhaps in the future you shouldn’t continue your feedback relationship with this person. Though if you can’t find a single thing nice to say, you probably aren’t looking hard enough. However, you still aren’t released from this requirement. Don’t lie to them, but if you must, dig deep:

Is the premise strong?
Do you like the character, or see potential in one?
Is the setting interesting?

There must have been a reason (outside of if you’re in school and forced to interact with this person) you decided to swap critiques.

In my foolish youth, I used to hate this advice. “If I don’t remark on it, I must have liked it or found nothing wrong with it! Everyone’s so sensitive!” Thankfully I’ve distanced myself from my libertarian upbringing, and also, realized I was a hypocrite. We share work to get better at our craft, absolutely, but it would be a lie to say we share it only for that reason. We’re also looking for validation that we’re on the right track, and even a single encouraging comment before a brutal critique session can be the inspiration we need to keep at it, to keep growing and improving.

Not to mention- you also want the writer to know what to keep!

It’s not just a kindness to start with compliments; it also makes the other person more receptive to notes. Would you trust notes from someone who finds nothing redeemable, apparently, about the work? Probably not. For the same reason I don’t trust notes on romance novels from my grandma who hates romance novels, I don’t trust notes from people who can’t find even one nice thing to say.

Ask yourself: what are they writing?

I would say the number one reason why feedback is rejected is because it’s not in line with the reality of the piece. This can manifest in a few ways, like a romance author getting feedback that it’s weird how often the characters have internal monologues referencing how attractive they find the other person, or a horror writer who gets notes about how in order to appeal to all ages, maybe they should dial back the blood and gore.

I’ve also seen this be problematic even more broadly, and it usually comes from this: the person giving feedback is attempting to shape the in-progress work to what they would write/would prefer to read, rather than helping it become the piece it intends to be. Occasionally the best thing to do is walk away with regrets- “I don’t think I’m the right audience for this piece, so my feedback would likely not be relevant.”

However, I think that feedback from sources less intimately familiar with the genre or format of the piece can be enlightening (to a degree), so it’s worth taking the time, before you start making comments in their document, to really ask yourself the question: what is this? What does it want to be? And how can my feedback help it be a better version of what it already is?

Be specific and actionable

“This is bad/not working” is not a real note. How can you make your feedback ACTIONABLE? What are you actually encouraging the writer to DO with your note? Change a word? Rethink a character motivation? Add a scene? Remove one?

Dig deeper when you’re explaining yourself- WHY is something not working for you? The fact that it’s not working is useful, but until you give them context for why not, you’re asking them to build IKEA furniture in the dark. They now know their first attempt was wrong, and they have all the pieces to get the fifteen differently shaped screws into the correct places, but wouldn’t this all be easier if you brought them a flashlight?

Only offer suggestions when asked

It’s often more constructive to let the person receiving feedback come up with their own solutions to a creative note, because at the end of the day, it’s their piece. Not yours. A writer interpreting someone else’s detailed instructions will always be less inspired (and likely less integrated with the rest of the piece) than someone taking a note and finding a way to interpret it within the context of what they’re already trying to do.

Of course, sometimes people want a suggestion. Sometimes they’re stuck, or they’re simply struggling to find the screw (THANKS, IKEA. THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME) with just a flashlight to guide them. I still maintain you shouldn’t have a singular “this is the right idea” pitch when you’re not a co-writer and are just meant to be a sounding board, so in that case, have two or three pitches. Give them some options, to show them they aren’t stuck and to ensure that there’s still a level of agency in their creative decision-making.

Even better, even when solicited, play the favorite game of every teacher that every student hates (but secretly benefits from): refuse to answer, and ask them questions. Go back a scene or two, interrogating the writer on what the engines of those earlier, working segments, were doing. Look at what comes next, and ask about the different ways and reasons to connect the disparate segments.

You have to let them find their own answers, even if you need to add a few new flashlights to the search (IKEA metaphor again, keep up!). Because ultimately, the only person who’s capable of turning on the overhead light is the writer themselves. As soon as you’re the one flipping that switch, it’s not their GRÖNKULLA anymore, it’s yours.

Your taste is not infallible

It’s easy to get caught up offering feedback to someone else to make their work more your taste/vision. Even when you’re collaborators, you aren’t going to get your way 100% of the time, and that doesn’t make the other people wrong. It makes them different.

Giving notes is vulnerable, and I don’t want to invalidate that. It’s less vulnerable than receiving them, obviously, but offering encouragement and advice on someone’s work is still a creative exercise. So just remember that this process isn’t personal, and at the end of the day, the work you’re thinking deeply about isn’t yours. You might disagree with how someone implements your feedback (or refuses to), but it’s not your work, and it’s important you remember that before you dig in.

Writers could stand to be less defensive about getting feedback, but editors and readers have some deep breathing exercises to do as well. I’ve seen feedback-givers foaming at the mouth, doggedly harassing a writer with the same note over and over in successive sessions after revisions have been made because the writer decided to reject it.

It’s one thing if the fundamental issue hasn’t been fixed, at which point you should probably revise the way you’re giving the note, but your particular note is not special or sacred, and this is not your piece of writing. [Olaf voice] Let it go.

Bri CastelliniMay 19, 2026

How To Take Feedback on your Creative Writing Without Spiraling

Art is subjective, and it’s also intensely personal. Intellectually we all understand these things, and that criticism and notes are a necessary part of improving your craft, but emotionally it can be tough to stop ourselves from arguing against every possible suggestion. I feel you, defensive dudes. I am you. If you called me argumentative in front of my mother, she’d ask if you were really talking about her daughter, because “argumentative” is putting it way too lightly.

Feel like you’re not getting much/enough out of feedback sessions with other writers? Let’s talk about it.

Don’t Pre-Bias Anyone

It’s important not to be so hyper-focused (especially in earlier drafts) on what you want feedback on that you signal what elements in your project you aren’t as confident in, biasing your audience to solely focus on that. When you simply present your work as-is, it makes it possible for note-givers to take in the work free of expectation. Then, when they do or don’t bring something up, you’ll either be validated in your concerns or pleasantly surprised it isn’t as big of a deal as you worried.

It’s a fine line, because I agree with Kelly that you should have some semblance of guidance to give your readers, so I try to align how specific I am with instructions depending on draft phase and the person giving notes.

With a note-giver I’ve worked with before and an early draft, I’ll establish the themes/elements of the project I’m most excited and challenged by without offering specific details, page numbers, etc. That way, they know where my head’s at and can meet me there, giving us an aligned mission statement.

With a newer note-giver and early draft, I’ll keep it even more vague, since I don’t know their taste or perspective yet and want to learn it without biasing them.

Read Everything, Then Take a Walk

I get intense anxiety when I get an email of notes, both from the general fear of the unknown (did they like it??) and from the more specific fear of if this will be the email to put the final nail into my writing career’s coffin. Then I’ll read a note or two, see red if I disagree with even an ounce of it, and seethe before finishing consuming the advice days later, strung out and emotionally exhausted.

In an attempt to be less Like That, I’ve found it can be helpful to suck it up, read the entire message of notes, and then log off and take a walk. No podcasts, music, or mobile games—just walk. Let the notes, and all the feelings they bring to the surface, sink in. Get mad, get sad, spiral into existential dread, then take a deep breath and remember that we asked for these notes, we want our writing to improve, and the person who graciously took time out of their day for us is just trying to help.

It doesn’t completely cure the defensiveness, but it helps.

Shut Up

When you’re getting notes in person or on the phone, you can’t really take a beat for a walk and re-centering, so I’ve found the next best thing is to, simply, shut it. When you’re getting feedback from more than one person, you’ll get far more out of the session (and be far less combative with very nice people taking time out of their day to do this with you) by listening more than you talk.

Really, this comes down to a single consideration- how do you want to spend your time… arguing with your feedback givers, or hearing what they have to say?

You can answer questions, sparingly, but it’s far more valuable that you know how people answer their own questions without your input, since you won’t always be in the room when audiences experience your work. The insights of how an audience interprets things that aren’t clear to them are an invaluable part of this process- there’s no right or wrong, there’s just an honest reaction, and then it’s up to you to figure out how to either course-correct that reaction or lean in.

Caveat- just because you stay quiet doesn’t mean your truth doesn’t matter, or that you should put up with being marginalized by writers without your lived experience crapping all over your hard work. But part of listening is deciding if this is even the right feedback group for you in the first place, and also, it’ll tell you who is and isn’t your true audience. My point here is not that you should shut up and let other people tell you what’s what, but rather, that by inserting yourself too frequently, you’re losing the opportunity to hear how people honestly reacted to your work and what misconceptions they were left with that you’ll want to shore up in the next draft they may not even realize they’re incorrect about.

Look Deeper

No matter how practiced or well-meaning, there comes a moment in every feedback interaction where the person giving notes makes a suggestion or pitch to improve the work. This is where most defensiveness stems from, because the easy reaction is to argue about why that suggestion doesn’t work or make sense. A-ha! You think. Finally, the truth comes out—they don’t understand me or my vision and thus it’s already perfect as-is!

I’m sorry to break this to you, but their suggestion doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s a great idea, maybe it’s a terrible idea, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. They aren’t rewriting this story—you are. So, if you disagree with the suggestion, the disagreement is not the point. Instead of arguing about a suggestion made, your job is to try to understand the root of the suggestion so you can solve the underlying problem in your own way.

Example:

Suggestion: You should make the talking iguana a talking owl, actually.

Defensiveness impulse: They can’t be an owl! There’s already a talking owl character in the third act, and I don’t want to undermine that reveal. You fool. You worm.

CURIOSITY DRIVEN response: That’s really interesting. What’s not working about this character being a talking iguana for you? And how/why would an owl fix that problem for you?

The defensiveness impulse is correct, but again, that’s not the point. Something isn’t translating, and you can’t fix the problem by convincing them their suggestion is wrong, only by understanding the core of why they felt the suggestion was necessary in the first place.

Of course, sometimes people just want an entirely different book. That’s a failing of the feedback-giver (more on that here), and learning to sort through feedback that’s valid for what you’re trying to do and valid for what they’re trying to read is the work of time and experience. My best advice is to get broader feedback before making a change that feels fundamental in an uncomfortable way, and use those extra data points to make your ultimate decision.

Remember Why You’re Here

At the end of the day, the goal of receiving feedback should not be validation, even if it’s what we all secretly want. Don’t fish for compliments, as that’s not a productive use of anyone’s time. Be genuinely interested in and open to how to improve your work so it communicates your vision as clearly as possible to the greatest number of people, and remember: we do this because stories matter to us.

So, ask for what you need without biasing people, take some time before responding if you can, otherwise listen closely and look deeper than the surface level suggestions. Your defensiveness is only hurting your relationships with other artists and the work you care so much about.

“Read” this post as a YouTube video instead, if you’re so inclined!

Learn more about The Rogue MFA and our community here. When you’re ready to rock, join our Writing Community Hour over on The Rogue MFA YouTube channel (which meets every other Thursday evening at 4pm PST/ 7pm EST), where we’ll be building routine and community with YOU. Subscribe to get notified, and if you’re even a little bit interested, please fill out our quick survey so we can expand these in the future with you in mind.