#daily writing

[write-on-world]

[estellaedgewater]

Day 35 of writing until I finish my book

[writingwithfolklore]

Hi I’m curious I’ve tried writing 30 minutes a day but I feel burnt out doing that would writing 5 minutes a day and building writing as a muscle over time be a better option?

Hi! Firstly, I'm sorry this took so long to get to. I didn't forget about you!

Also, the whole 'write a certain amount per day' is more of a guideline than an actual rule. It works for some writers really well. It does not work for everyone.

If you are interested in trying to write every day, I would absolutely encourage you to start where you believe you will be successful. If you can only seem to commit to writing five minutes, write for five minutes! Five minutes is more than no minutes, and who knows--you might hit a stride and end up writing for ten or twenty. Maybe over time you will be able to write for longer, or maybe this little 5 minute stretch is perfect for you.

I tend to only get burnt out of writing when I'm forcing myself to write when I just can't commit the energy, time, or brain capacity. It's meant to be fun! Figure out when and for how long you have the most fun writing, and make that your schedule.

[dreamyysaturn]

I’m more like my parents than I like to admit, especially when I’m angry I know that I’m my parents daughter.

They try to do better for the most part I’m just not sure it’s enough. Or maybe it would be if it weren’t too late too late to parent a child that’s no longer a child a child of parents that weren’t really parents.

I know it’s their first time on this earth too.. as people and as parents but […], why didn’t they try harder?

Maybe they see in me what they’ve lost, maybe I remind them of what they could’ve had and maybe I’m just not what I should’ve been. Maybe I’m simply not what they wanted.

[…] they were all I had, all I could look up to so of course I’m my parents daughter.

from my diary

[taranorma]

Before I know it, I’m on my knees, rummaging through my suitcase until I find where I’ve buried my phone. My fingers move without me to pull up my contacts list and select Beautiful.

The phone rings.

I try to get my breathing under control when there’s a soft click and a quiet, “Hey?”

“Hey.”

I had hoped a single word wouldn’t betray my current state, but my baby sister knows me too well.

“Hold on. Let me get to the break room.”

Right. It’s the middle of the day. She’s at work, dumbass.

“I’m sorry,” I manage in a weak voice.

There’s a pause. I hear a door shut in the background before Erin says, “Don’t be sorry, just tell me what’s up, okay?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. The pain is a momentary distraction, enough for me to talk without sounding like a total mess.

“I think I’m wasting my life.” My hand trembles, and I bring up the other to hold the phone steady with both of them. “Like, seriously, what am I doing?”

“Whoa, okay.” I know she’s pacing; she always paces when she’s on the phone. “Aren’t you on vacation right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you—” She makes a muffled noise, a bit of a grunt. “What happened? Did something happen?”

I can’t tell her. I can’t tell anyone, actually. I don’t think there’s a person I know who would believe me.

“Just doing a lot of… thinking.”

“Thinking’s dangerous,” she says in a tone that is clearly trying to find the right balance between sincerity and levity.

I laugh, an ugly wet sound in the back of my throat. “It’s the worst.”

[maxkirin]

National Novel Writing Month, aka NaNoWriMo, is almost here so I thought I'd draw a cute writing tracker! (And also some frogs 💕)

☀️ Track progress day to day 🗓 EZ weekly goals 🐸 Decorate with STICKERS

Pick it up for free on my Ko-Fi! ☕️ ko-fi.com/s/8c84966274

[wikifuck]

Prompt: I'm the last of my kind, should I be worried?

Endling is the last of her species, the definitive end of her bloodline. The world around her has destroyed her people and is largely indifferent to that fact.

The people around her feel sorry for her, interpreting her stoicism as silent crying. The angst party in her circle of friends is never-ending and determined to not let her forget about it.

The thing is, Endling is scared. Not of being the last, oh no, but of admitting that she does not care. Should she care? Shouldn't she be angsting over how she will never feel "true love?" How she will never be able to bear a child? How she will have to settle for the wonderful people she has chosen to keep around her instead of the abusive family she ran away from? The family that was the whole reason she was off her home planet/city/nation when the genocide occurred? She does not know, and she wonders if she will ever find someone who can understand her.

[kithalstead]

"I was just a kid during the revolution, I don't remember much. It's my brother you should talk to, he was a general."

Writing prompt up for grabs

[itsmechanical]

20.08.23

Hello people, finally my precious weekend comes to an end ahh from tomorrow regular classes will resume. But I even some problem with my friend, well I was having doubts if he actually wants to be my friend or I am holding him to hostage to be my friend. I did tell him about it, he said not to worry and he will tell me if he doesn't want to be my friend and also he finds me fun to be around. But his texts are just idk sends me doubt. So I am still having doubts, I hope it will be solved soon.

Anyways I did some biology today, french revision and computer programming and did some preparation for tomorrow's chemistry class, since I suck in chemistry 😭😭

[enchantingepics]

Story Prompt 2

In the quiet embrace of the night, he left again. His departure echoed like a silent question, leaving her to grapple with the shadows that crept into her heart. As he walked away, her thoughts raced, torn between understanding and longing.

But could she blame him? His heart, a transparent window untouched by smudges or cracks, carried a perpetual brightness. He found joy in the smallest moments, laughed freely at his own flaws, and gracefully navigated the currents of life. Yet, he never opened his eyes underwater, remaining blissfully unaware of the depths concealed beneath.

On that particular night, the darkness draped over her like a wool hood, hiding the turmoil within. How could he have known that she needed him? That she yearned for his presence to ward off the shadows for just a few hours? He couldn't know, for he held sunshine and danced through cloudy days, untouched by the abyss she faced.

As he turned away, she mustered the strength to call out, a desperate plea lingering in her voice. "Wait," she said, her gaze locking onto his retreating figure.

He paused, turning back to meet her eyes.

"Can you stay?" Her words trembled with vulnerability. "Tell me everything's all right. Please."

Her unspoken plea echoed in the space between them: I need you. Yet, she held back, unwilling to expose the depths of her dependence. It was a frightening prospect, one she couldn't burden him with. It was better if he remained oblivious.

He blinked, a hint of confusion in his gaze, but she could see the understanding dawning. He may not comprehend the darkness that engulfed her, but he would stay. She was certain of that.

"Of course I can," he whispered, his sincerity cutting through the night.

[write-on-world]

[estellaedgewater]

Day 25 of writing until I finish my book

~ just keep writing. You can do it. You’re the best. I believe in you. Your writing is amazing. Don’t let the internal critic tell you any different.

[benjaminbentley]

for it was when falling stars turned from i wish to i beg i came to realize my childhood had come and gone.

b.b

[twicethetrouble]

Day 1 of Daily Writing Family Web

“Do you feel like there's something missing?”

Leo looked up from his phone and towards his twin. Donnie was awake again, lightly scratching his fingers against the scarf just to feel the fabric. His focus solely on said scarf to the point where Leo almost questioned whether he was speaking to him or not.

“Like legitimately or are you just asking because you're high on glitter slime,” Leo asked, head tilted to get a better glance at Donnie.

Donnie shot him a glare.

“I'm not high, I’m drowsy,” he muttered. “They're different.”

“Not by much,” Leo said with a shrug. “Either would be enough to get you to ask weird, hypothetical questions like this, apparently.”

“Forget I asked,” he grumbled, looking away once again.

“Wait, were you serious?”

“Not anymore,” Donnie muttered.

“But why?” Leo asked, shifting on the spare mattress so he was properly facing his twin.

“Just drop it.”

“Yeah, no can do,” Leo said. “Now what's up?”

Donnie stayed silent out of spite.

“Come on, Dee. Share with the class,” Leo goaded. Donnie ignored him further. “You know I’ll just pester you for the rest of the day until you doooo...”

“You're my least favorite brother,” Donnie stated.

“I'm sure,” Leo said dismissively. “So?”

“Defeated sigh,” Donnie muttered to himself before continuing. “I don't...properly know. It just feels like there's something missing sometimes.”

“Like now?”

“Possibly,” Donnie said.

“What's missing?”

“I don't know,” Donnie stressed. “Something. Like we used to have something, something important, but we don't anymore. And we haven't had it in so long we don't even remember what we're missing.”

“But you can tell something used to be there, just enough to miss it,” Leo finished for him.

“Yes,” Donnie said, his shoulders losing some of the tenseness he had gained during the conversation. There was silence between the two for a long moment. It was nice, until Leo broke it.

“Nope, doesn't sound familiar,” he said with a shrug.

Donnie glared at him again, this time smacking him in the back of the head with his foot.

“Rude!”

“I'm disowning you,” Donnie informed him. “April's my new twin now. You're just an annoying dumdum turtle I happen to live with.”

“That's uncalled for. And definitely not how twins work,” Leo tried to argue.

“It does now, ex-twin,” Donnie muttered.

“You must be feeling better if you're coherent enough to disown me,” Leo joked. Donnie shrugged halfheartedly, but otherwise ignored him.

[jeeyonshim]

Do you ever think about going back?

No, he lies.

.

The air of this town is redolent with heat and light. Natalia, in particular, wilts during the high days of summer. This is proof, she’ll grumble, this is purgatory, and when he asks her when moving day is she says, Now, get the U-Haul, we’re leaving.

.

Hayden watches Natalia dress every morning, always at a damnably early hour, always waits for her to pull on the last of her clothes before he reaches for her and makes a valiant effort to convince her to shed them all again. More often than not she does. Uniform shirt and jacket and skirt drop on the floor like so many ripe fruits forgotten on the branch. The two of them tangle their legs together affectionately afterwards, regaining their breath and waiting for their heartbeats to slow back to their resting rates. In the small hour before the sun rises the walls of their bedroom glow a faint, pale silver, and they miss nothing. There is nothing to miss. They are home.

.

Sometimes there is blood in her mouth when he kisses her, late at night. While she dreams she bites her own tongue, or the inside of her cheek, and when she starts awake he is already holding her, stroking her hair. She kisses him as though she is trying to forget everything except for the two of them in this room. Hayden feels a pang of shame that a part of him thrills at the saline taste of Natalia’s blood. The water and nectar of her life, passing into his own body as she clings to him, trembling. They hold on to each other, and wait for the tide of her oneiric horrors to subside.

Natalica, he whispers. A rider diminutive, clumsily constructed around her given name. Possessive tense. I’m here, he whispers, as she buries her face in his shoulder. He can feel the warm dew of her tears beading on his collarbones. I'll always be here, he says, and he thinks of much he means it. In spite of how he knows he's living on borrowed time, somewhere deep within him he wonders if it has to be so. There is a fierce, beating part of him that believes it like a promise he’s making to her, to himself, to the world that holds them both. I'll always be here for you, Hayden tells Natalia, willing it to be true.

[pawprints-upthehill]

Saturday 17th June --

The new Good Omens season 2 trailer has reawaked my love for this show and I decided to blow the dust of an old AU. I've always loved the ideas for Reverse Omens I've seen here on Tumblr and back in 2019 I wanted to put my own spin on it. I wrote a whole plan out for a full story and even wrote parts of it! Then....I never finished or posted any of it. So here's a very small scene from the AU I've been calling Mirror Omens that I wrote today. Same with my last writing post, this is very much a WIP and has not been anywhere near proof-read.

Aziraphale -> Aziron

Crowley -> Raphael

Cute little fluff scene below the cut!

Mirror Omens, Chapter 3

Aziron should have known better. There was no way Raphael was going to drop the subject of the Antichrist so easily, he knew that. But, he had to say, four slices of cheesecake into this particularly obvious attempt at subterfuge, he didn’t much care. Later, surely, he would curse his obvious weakness for sweet treats (as well as what he hoped was his less obvious weakness for any ridiculous suggestion the angel had that meant they spent more time together) for giving Raphael the ability to manipulate him so easily. 

Right now though, he was happy to simply sit back and enjoy.

“Marvelous,” he sighed contentedly, sitting back a little more in his chair. He eyed the angel opposite him with casual curiosity, his earlier ire soothed (as the pesky angel no doubt knew it would be) by cake. “The coffee’s good I take it? Even with all the ridiculous things you put in it?”

Raphael, for his part, shrugged, looking amused. “The fact a palette as refined as yours thinks adding some sugar and cinnamon to coffee is ridiculous never ceases to amaze me,” he quipped, and the demon practically purred at the easy praise.

“As far as I’m concerned, my dear, the only way to improve coffee is to add it to cake - I do love coffee cake,” Aziron added thoughtfully.

Raphael put his mug down, tilting his head slightly with a knowing look in his golden eyes. “I think they have some of that too, do you want some?”

Oh how well this angel knew him. It was dangerous, truly, and he should be concerned that he could read him so easily. In fact it wasn’t just dangerous, it was downright absurd that anyone as smart as he should allow such a thing to continue unchallenged.

“Ooh I don’t see why not, if you insist,” Aziron agreed, enjoying Raphael’s snort of amusement as he stood. 

He watched, despite telling himself not to, as the archangel walked to the counter and ordered his cake and another coffee for himself. He let his eyes linger where they certainly shouldn’t have and he felt a growl growing in his chest when the barista smiled just a bit to widely upon seeing him again.

Oh yes. He was very foolish indeed.