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[koinotfish]

A random sensory story after a dissociation episode I had the other night:

The sky was thrumming and throbbing and turning gray above him. Snow was beginning to fall. It might bury him. It would bury him if he didn't sit up and snap out of it, go inside. Brush the silty seasoning of gravel and damp sand off his shorts and out of his mop of hair. He needed to go inside. The snow seemed like it wasn't listening to gravity tonight. Everything was so slow. Gradual and gray and grainy. His breathing was slow too. He wasn't hurt anywhere, nothing was wrong, but there was something in his chest that wasn't functioning like it usually did. The sky was so dark. His vision wasn't good enough to see all the stars or even most of them, clouds aside. He knew they were up there. He focused on one directly above the pointed top of a distant, bald tree and his exhausted brain began to abstract paint colors all over the edges of things. It was filling in the blanks, making assumptions and hallucinating details out of boredom, or maybe it didn't quite believe any place in the world could be that dull and colorless. His face was cold, but in a tingling way. His nose and the tips of his ears and fingers stung. It would bury him out here on the driveway if he didn't get up, and he would die. Distant panic flared and warmed the back of his skull at the base, another imagined brain detail. The tiniest baby breath of wind nudged a single clumped lock of hair into his eyelashes. It was annoying; he wanted to move it. He was going to move his arm, send the signals to his muscles to reach up and brush it back, then sit up and go inside. His eyes didn't even move. His body didn't want to listen tonight. Such willful things, and he was the only one stuck in these long moments unable to exert his own will.

The front door creaked quietly open, whispering a low, lonely noise into the chilly night air. His ears shifted focus to listen to her footsteps, crunching dryly on hard ground and frost, but his eyes didn't budge. This star he'd started starting at ages ago now should be flattered to have sustained his attention, light-years away. She didn't speak. Her halo of straggler blonde hairs absorbed and greedily ate up the backlit scenery of moonlight and dark trees. Her eyes were stubborn, stern, but so soft and blue like... Like nothing he could describe, really. All these other words, and he couldn't think of how to write or phrase the way they looked. He could see them when his eyes were closed. He could see his star changing colors to imitate their hue. But they sucked up words and left him in almost a panicked search for poetic justice for the sight. She reached out a slender hand down to him. Not close enough for him to reach; she was standing barefoot and only in her blush pink nighttime chemise. Her arms were textured with goosebumps and her gaze was burning and still, somehow, patient.

He stood and took her hand, and the pretend colors drained as fast as the blood and feeling flooded his limbs and the driveway crumbs fell from his clothes and pockmarked skin. They went inside. It was bright and warm and here, there were shocks of color everywhere. Their orange cat a shade lighter than the flaring fireplace. The gaudy crocheted red and green throw on the couch from his mother in law. The ugly green armchair that he'd loved for a decade now (and it showed). There was color here, and inside their house, his brain and his body listened.

[koinotfish]

#writersinpurgatory

Yes! It's time so sit down and get this chapter down!

Now let's take a look at where I left off- *scene I don't know how to continue"

Oh.. oh. Nevermind.

[koinotfish]

My alters are silent, the little one and my author. And now it's so lonely. I know I did it though. I know I buried them and it's all my fault...

[koinotfish]

— Nitya Prakash

[koinotfish]

Viscerally, this

I'm not ready to move forward

[koinotfish]

Daft bird #167

[koinotfish]

Posting to acknowledge that for the first time in a while, I felt pretty and confident(ish). After being homeless the last two years post-loving-an-addict, being chronically unemployed due to BPD symptoms making everything ridiculously hard, and not really having anything of a support system... I'm sort of doing things now. I just started a job with a manager and coworkers that don't make me feel like dog shit and *vibrates with excitement* actually gave me PRAISE for the first time in my work life. I'm typing this in a car that's under MY NAME, returning from buying groceries with MY MONEY since I cook and eat semi regularly now. My weight's higher on average than it's been in the past 5 years probably. I'm working on a series and have two books in the works already written- they'll be in my hands, physical copies, tangible things, soon! I'm married, I have a best friend for the first time and a few other people I talk to on and off that treat me like friends should. I have the ability, time, and energy to work on hobbies, both with my husband and independently. Life isn't perfect, but it's actually hopeful for the first time. And that felt really, really good to notice this random day gothin' it up at the park.

[koinotfish]

Active here, 'active 😅' on the archive.

Tumblr...do your thing and connect me with other writers ❤️

(Please reblog if you're an active writing blog)

[koinotfish]

This helped me, give it a read if you're stuck on where to go! #superuseful

How do you 'find the plot' as it were in a story? You've mentioned a few times hat you tend to start out with stories that are only a few chapters long, but then spiral outwards from there. I feel like I have the opposite problem - I come up with character concepts, worlds, etc. but everything fizzles out after a few chapters. It's not that I'm not passionate about the worlds or the characters I build, I just... feel like they have nowhere to go. Any tips/tricks/advice for when this happens?

Hi anon!

So everyone does these things a bit differently. What I do might not work for you! So keep that in mind if I describe something that makes you feel demotivated or uninspired, it probably means it just isn't the right technique for you!

Now to break things down:

Even if I'm only starting out with a few chapters, I usually know where I'm heading. Which is almost always - when it's not straight up PWP - a romance.

Romances by default need to have a HEA (Happily Ever After) or HFN (Happy For Now / Hopeful For Now). That HEA/HFN must feature the two main romantic leads (unless you're writing OT3 or whatever). It's not 'happy but one of them died.' It's 'happy but both of them are end-game.' No matter how long my story is, that is always the end-game, and that never changes.

So you already know where you're going. No matter what. The story is internalised, the rules are firm. You break that rule, it's not a romance anymore. It's something else with a romantic storyline in it.

Generally speaking anon, if you target certain genres or character arcs, you will always know exactly where you're headed - it's your Polestar, your True North - even if you don't know exactly what it looks like yet because you haven't been there before, you know that everything in that story either has to work to get your characters closer to that end-point, or it works against that end-point in a way that will have to be overcome.

And then from there, that is where all my stories gain their shape, even if I don't plot anything. Because even though I write a lot of different genres, the romance is always at the heart of it for me. Or more accurately, it's always the compass point. Even when the romance isn't that important. Eran and Mosk's romance absolutely took a back seat in The Ice Plague, but their happiness was still the end point. I always knew where I was heading.

In amongst your worldbuilding and character building anon, I would say you need to do more concrete work on understanding the genres, and then applying one or more to your own work. I feel like you've put everything in your backpack except for the compass, and then get surprised when you lose your way.

It doesn't matter how good your map is, if you don't have a compass to read it with.

Think of the map as your worldbuilding and character building, then think of the genres and the tropes as your compass.

Go hunting for the compass alongside the map, otherwise you just end up with a map that's unworkable no matter what direction you turn it in. It looks like it has all the information you need, but it actually doesn't, because a map on its own isn't enough. (Even Google Maps uses a compass salkjfads).

When you lose your way, it can help to think of your favourite examples of the genre/s you're writing, and how motivating those endings or conflict points were in the story. It can help to revisit the genre/s themselves. For example if you're writing upbeat action/adventure, you want relatively fast pacing and some explosive moments. If you're writing grimdark, you're going to have to kill off some of your (and everyone else's) faves.

Learn about genre/s, about trope/s, the deeper you go, the more of a story scaffold you'll have as the skeleton beneath all the flesh you put on the story. Without that backbone, without that compass, it will all fall apart.

I am fortunate in the sense that I've been studying story structures what feels like all my life. From the very basic story structures of Grimm's and HSA's fairy tales, to literally studying it at university in scriptwriting and film and creative writing. So my compass is within me, and I don't have to research it in the same way anymore.

But I loved every moment of building my compass, and I hope you enjoy building yours too, anon. Since you already enjoy the worldbuilding and the characterisation, it's the last thing you need in your backpack to keep a story going and know where you're headed. Because your genre is always pretty clear, for the most part, and when the genre isn't, the tropes will be.

[koinotfish]

😩🥹🖤

tall guys forced to kneel ♡♡♡

pretty guys bullied to cry♡♡♡

soft guys spoiled too much♡♡♡

[koinotfish]

I Killed the Spiders (A depressive hypothetical poem)

(TW: SI, death, grief, OD)

This one is important, and I hope at least one person reads it. I'm an entomologist, specifically head over heels for spiders since about 7 years ago. I have BPD and a whole lil rainbow of the mental illness alphabet. So, naturally, I struggle a lot. I recently got off the streets from being homeless with my ex, but had to move in with my dad again. That's been rough. I wrote this poem shortly after getting settled into the shed here. It's from the perspective of a friend or maybe my husband, maybe both. Anyone who'd miss me and think of me every time they see spiders, and the grief cycle they'd go through if I gave up. You, you matter. I matter. These words matter. And, of course, SPIDERS MATTER 🥺

There were spiders on my ceiling

First I fed them, I had a feeling

They were looking at me with care

And so I admit, I left them there.

And then one of them I called Kate

She fell with the flies that she ate

And I was so angry at her, so I

Swept up all the spiders, and they… died.

Just like you.

Then I felt bad, and I laid in bed

With guilty thoughts inside my head

And I still felt like they were there

Or was it you, with the ghostly stare?

Were you up on my walls last night

Watching me through the streetlamp light

Or with headlight eyes in my neighbor’s car

Or in the moon, or the lady at the bar?

Because, if it was you, I must confess

I am furious, but in my chest

There is an ache that overwhelms the rage

And I keep filling page after page,

But they’re still empty, still blank

And I can’t think of what to print

I know I was supposed to rhyme,

But I can’t keep to that at this time

When nothing makes sense, but my

Senses are dull, without you here, Kai.

You were a magnifying glass, a prism

That cast a rainbow on the floor of this prison

Maybe you thought you were just made of glass

And you were, but… You were so much more than that

So adored, so treasured, and yet you always cried

That you were so alone, and we all tried-

You know we tried to fill you with things, right?

But you kept so much of you out of sight

Until it was all in the open, and we’re buried now

All of the people who cared, it’s scary how

You could act so composed and be so deep

That you took all your pills and just died in your sleep.

I’m mad at you, you know, and maybe, Kai,

I’ll never forgive you, or maybe I

Will never forgive me for not keeping you, holding

The things I treasured more closely.

Fuck, I fell off my rhyme scheme again, but

I’m just a mourner with an office depot pen

And a notebook I’ve had in the kitchen drawer

That have numbers scrawled and I don’t know what for

I am not a wordsmith, an artist with my language ever

If you were here, you would a thousand times over do it better

I don’t know what else to say.

I’m sorry I killed the spiders in my room.

[koinotfish]

Poem Dump, #2

Sunlight frames each straggler strand

Of your hair around your head

You've clasped your hands

Neatly across your chest

I've been awake here, watching you

I've lost count for how many breaths.

You're serious, expression slack

But I brush my arm against yours

And you brush me back.

You roll away, and I still stare

At the back of your neck

And the hairs growing there.

You're sweetness even in your sleep

I watch you in anticipation, never tired

Never bored, even as the minutes creep.

I'm lost to you, you're my guiding rope

Pulling me out of this dark hole

Your bright smile a beacon of hope.

I trace your tattoo lines with my eyes

Like I often do with my hands and lips

You stir a little as the sun starts to rise

Painting you in blues and tangerine hues.

Will you wake? Or will my eyes close first

Watching you, taking you in in awe

Or maybe writing another adoring verse

[koinotfish]

The Smallest

Did you know, love,

That your voice shakes

When you say you're sorry

And that you use filler words

When you're anxious

And that when you cry

It makes me feel

A pain, sort of like hunger

Starving for a smile

Your sweetness and pretty lips

And the way your eyes melt

When you're content

And saturated in love

And did you know

That even now, sweetness

You remind me of a puppy

One with ears back and

The whites of his eyes showing

And a sorry little tail tucked

Not quite catching

The meaning of my words

But knowing, feeling my upset

And thinking it's his fault

He's done something wrong

And he's in trouble, so

He licks his lips submissively

Shows his belly and whines

And tries to become so small

Underneath the bed

That he might disappear

And my precious man,

Did you know

That I am terrified

Of making you feel

Like you've made

Any mistake, any fuckups

Because you... You shrink

So small into yourself

That I can't grab you

To hold you, to reach you

To teach you that

My hand moving towards you

Is to hold your face,

Not to harm

And I lose you in there

In that vast depth

Of wherever you go

In your brilliant mind

So I call out

But you can't hear me there

You can't hear me either

So I bide my time

And bite my nails

Wondering if this time,

You'll stay inside

And never come back to me

And I'll shatter, irrevocably

Because I miss you already

And I'm sure that

I don't remember

How to stand here

On my own, or

How to sleep if

I'm alone.

[koinotfish]

Game-Changing Sites for Writers

A recent search for a specific type of site to help me build new characters led me down a rabbit hole. Normally, that would make me much less productive, but I have found a treasure trove of websites for writers.

Bring Characters/Places to Life

There are a few different places you can use to create a picture of something entirely new. I love this site for making character pictures as references, instead of stock photos or whatever pops up on Google Images.

thispersondoesnotexist: every time you reload the page, this site generates a headshot of someone who doesn't exist. This is great if you're thinking about a character's personality or age and don't have specifics for their facial features yet.

Night Cafe: this is an AI art generator that takes your text prompt and generates an image for it. I tried it for various scenery, like "forest" or "cottage." It takes a minute for your requested photo to load, but no more than maybe five for the program to finish the picture.

Art Breeder: this website has endless images of people, places, and general things. Users can blend photos to create something new and curious visitors can browse/download those images without creating an account. (But if you do want to make an account to create your own, it's free!)

Find Random Places on Earth

You might prefer to set a story in a real-life environment so you can reference that place's weather, seasons, small-town vibe, or whatever you like. If that's the case, try:

MapCrunch: the homepage generates a new location each day and gives the location/GPS info in the top left of the screen. To see more images from previous days, hit "Gallery" in the top left.

Atlas Obscura: hover over or tap the "Places" tab, then hit "Random Place." A new page will load with a randomly generated location on the planet, provide a Google Maps link, and tell you a little bit about the place.

Random World Cities: this site makes randomly selected lists of global cities. Six appear for each search, although you'll have to look them up to find more information about each place. You can also use the site to have it select countries, US cities or US states too.

Vary Your Wording

Thesauruses are great, but these websites have some pretty cool perspectives on finding just the right words for stories.

Describing Words: tell this website which word you want to stop repeating and it will give you tons of alternative words that mean the same thing. It typically has way more options than other sites I use.

Reverse Dictionary: type what you need a word for in Reverse Dictionary's search box and it will give you tons of words that closely match what you want. It also lists the words in order of relevancy, starting with a word that most accurately describes what you typed. (There's also an option to get definitions for search results!)

Tip of My Tongue: this website is phenomenal. It lets you search for that word you can't quite place by a letter in it, the definition, what it sounds like, or even its scrambled letters. A long list of potential options will appear on the right side of the screen for every search.

---

Hope this helps when you need a hand during next writing session 💛

[koinotfish]

Manifesting this so I can die of happiness in my sleep rather than die from overworking due to the oncoming 65+ hour work weeks of my two jobs :)

people who let me wake up to this get a special place in heaven. firefly_fox how does it feel to hold my life in ur hands....

[koinotfish]

if we want the rewards of posting our fic we must submit to the mortifying ordeal of editing the damn thing

[koinotfish]

Excerpt 2 from The Secrets the Sun Keeps:

Hey, you- angsty fantasy reader who enjoys supporting indie authors- come check this out! I post... regularly on AO3 here. Please read, comment, reblog, and do whatever it is you lovely people on Tumblr do. Much love <3

~~~

“Hm. With the amount of customers visiting your booth,” He looked around demonstratively, making a show of landing on a competing leather and hides merchant. “I’m sure times are tough for you. I apologize, but I’m on a long journey from out west and the trip is far from over. I cannot afford to give away my valuables to charity. Farewell.” He turned with a flourish of a wave and the woman lashed the backs of his knees with her jagged spined tail. <em>Gotcha,</em> he smirked before morphing his expression to one of bewilderment. 

In lieu of the broken common tongue she grated out earlier, she thrust a poly and… Yep, 50 agars into his palm. He stroked along the sharp grain of the snake’s hide, and its dark gold colored scales in phony contemplation. After thinking her offer over for a tense minute, the heavyset reptilian lady glaring a hole in between his eyes, he returned her coins to her and walked off again.

“You not find better deal than what I give you, stupid stranger!” Fumed Risha. 

“Your prices offend me, miss. This exotic beast is from the west, further beyond Faulk than any in Minden have likely ever been. I owe it to the serpent to find somebody capable of rendering it into workable armor, rather than simply sell it to a higher bidder. Again, have a good evening.” He said all of this from a distance so that he had cause to yell it over the din of the market, and heads turned towards the ensuing argument. The higher quality vendors with finer wares wouldn’t have given an outsider a second glance, but the words ‘out west’ captured their attention. Still, he paid the solicitors no mind as he pretended to peruse other stalls and booths, the poly from his boot in hand to show that he was wealthy enough to deal with. Poor people were paid poor prices even for expensive items, and the rich got richer. Thieves, liars, and con artists were above both.

With time to kill, Erik milled around town and briefly debated on buying a drink at the tavern, but if he reeked of alcohol the group would assume he’d spent <em>their</em> hard earned money. There was a stable in town that looked like a strong wind would send its abused supports to their knees. He decided to scope that out. Although the building was dilapidated, there were three people standing guard- a middle aged man, a younger boy, and a woman around his age. So it was a family business, then. Walking by looking around the streets as if lost, he realized their house was connected by an alleyway to the stables and had windows facing over their business. The second time he walked by, he noted the woman looked up from scooping hay to watch him. Her husband barked something at her and she jolted, averting her gaze and getting back to work. 

She was pretty in figure but had a plain face. It wasn’t clear what type of fae she was, so that meant there was a good chance she was a mutt or halfbreed of some sort. Certainly too low bred to be capable of magic. That husband of hers was a fearsome orc. Maybe even purebred with the length of those tusks. They were a hideous people with a temper to match their brawn, especially the males. A female orc who had a problem with you was no party either, though. How strange to see such a pure blooded male in this puny, filthy town. Had to be an outlaw or something. Or an opportunist seeking to profit off being the only source of a mount in the area. Erik had the feeling it was the former. His opinion of orcs was not favorable, thanks to the slavers that distracted him from the task of recapturing Meredith. 

Erik walked through the barn style door of the stable with his hands in his pockets, stealing glances at the woman when her son and husband weren’t looking. The dark skinned boy, who took after his father more than the mother, announced they’d be with him in a minute. Clearly it wasn’t the woman’s job to handle customers. She looked like she had something to say, so he started the conversation with her anyways. Erik remarked casually on the beauty of the tall, fit black stallion they had. Nervously, she agreed and reached up to place her palm on his nose. The horse had to bend down for her to reach him, but seemed calm with her. Only two horses were kept here in the same double wide stall. Every other spot had weird, lanky otter looking creatures with webbed feet. 

“You’re looking at the dire otters. Small, powerful, and capable of pulling cargo in groups,” The orc said, wiping sweat off his pronounced brow with one hand and pushing his tiny wife behind him with the other. She was all but flung towards the back of the shed and did her best not to squeal in surprise when she nearly tripped forward. “Whatcha in the market for, foreigner? Or did you just stop by to chat?” The last comment was spat at him, but he feigned ignorance and stated that he was only curious what types of animals were for sale here. His excuse only earned a grunt and a snort in response. Their boy was watching him like a hawk as well, but the woman’s eyes were turned down as she continued to sweep the same place on the floor, pushing the dirty hay around in a pile. He’d embarrassed her, and that worked to Erik’s advantage perfectly.