renasdoodles

[renasdoodles]

I just finished the Shades of Magic trilogy by V.E. Schwab! It's a good series!

[renasdoodles]

Please. Write it. Write the thing. Even if you feel like it's shit. Even if you think no one will read it. Even if no one reads it. Even if you think the words make no sense. Even if it breaks your heart. Especially if it breaks your heart.

Please. Write it.

[renasdoodles]

Reblog so everyone can hear what they need.

[renasdoodles]

I like writing.

I like the process of writing. I like the mechanics of writing.

I like writing down words and picking what order that they should go in to best convey the meaning and images in my mind to the person reading them. I like thinking about the way a sentence sounds and the way it interacts with the other sentences around it. I like thinking about what words should repeat, and what words should stand alone, and what words should be swapped out with other words.

I like the actual writing part of writing!

[renasdoodles]

Happy Storyteller Saturday 💜

What do you do when you hit a roadblock or get stuck with part of a story? How do you get past it?

This is a weeeeeeks old ask lol but still counts!! Thank you ^^

You know how people say if you're stuck on a part it's likely because something before it is the issue?

Yeah. That's actually true 99% of the time for me.

If I'm stuck on a paragraph or part of an outline, now I immediately check the three before it. Changing something there almost always fixes the problem. Sometimes you just gotta walk yourself back to take another path!

[renasdoodles]

Things Real People Do in Dialogue (For Your Next Story)

Okay, let’s be real—dialogue can make or break a scene. You want your characters to sound natural, like actual humans talking, not robots reading a script. So, how do you write dialogue that feels real without it turning into a mess of awkward pauses and “ums”? Here’s a little cheat sheet of what real people actually do when they talk (and you can totally steal these for your next story):

1. People Interrupt Each Other All the Time In real conversations, nobody waits for the perfect moment to speak. We interrupt, cut each other off, and finish each other's sentences. Throw in some overlaps or interruptions in your dialogue to make it feel more dynamic and less like a rehearsed play.

2. They Don’t Always Say What They Mean Real people are masters of dodging. They’ll say one thing but mean something totally different (hello, passive-aggressive banter). Or they’ll just avoid the question entirely. Let your characters be vague, sarcastic, or just plain evasive sometimes—it makes their conversations feel more layered.

3. People Trail Off... We don’t always finish our sentences. Sometimes we just... stop talking because we assume the other person gets what we’re trying to say. Use that in your dialogue! Let a sentence trail off into nothing. It adds realism and shows the comfort (or awkwardness) between characters.

4. Repeating Words Is Normal In real life, people repeat words when they’re excited, nervous, or trying to make a point. It’s not a sign of bad writing—it’s how we talk. Let your characters get a little repetitive now and then. It adds a rhythm to their speech that feels more genuine.

5. Fillers Are Your Friends People say "um," "uh," "like," "you know," all the time. Not every character needs to sound polished or poetic. Sprinkle in some filler words where it makes sense, especially if the character is nervous or thinking on their feet.

6. Not Everyone Speaks in Complete Sentences Sometimes, people just throw out fragments instead of complete sentences, especially when emotions are high. Short, choppy dialogue can convey tension or excitement. Instead of saying “I really think we need to talk about this,” try “We need to talk. Now.”

7. Body Language Is Part of the Conversation Real people don’t just communicate with words; they use facial expressions, gestures, and body language. When your characters are talking, think about what they’re doing—are they fidgeting? Smiling? Crossing their arms? Those little actions can add a lot of subtext to the dialogue without needing extra words.

8. Awkward Silences Are Golden People don’t talk non-stop. Sometimes, they stop mid-conversation to think, or because things just got weird. Don’t be afraid to add a beat of awkward silence, a long pause, or a meaningful look between characters. It can say more than words.

9. People Talk Over Themselves When They're Nervous When we’re anxious, we tend to talk too fast, go back to rephrase what we just said, or add unnecessary details. If your character’s nervous, let them ramble a bit or correct themselves. It’s a great way to show their internal state through dialogue.

10. Inside Jokes and Shared History Real people have history. Sometimes they reference something that happened off-page, or they share an inside joke only they get. This makes your dialogue feel lived-in and shows that your characters have a life beyond the scene. Throw in a callback to something earlier, or a joke only two characters understand.

11. No One Explains Everything People leave stuff out. We assume the person we’re talking to knows what we’re talking about, so we skip over background details. Instead of having your character explain everything for the reader’s benefit, let some things go unsaid. It’ll feel more natural—and trust your reader to keep up!

12. Characters Have Different Voices Real people don’t all talk the same way. Your characters shouldn’t either! Pay attention to their unique quirks—does one character use slang? Does another speak more formally? Maybe someone’s always cutting people off while another is super polite. Give them different voices and patterns of speech so their dialogue feels authentic to them.

13. People Change the Subject In real life, conversations don’t always stay on track. People get sidetracked, jump to random topics, or avoid certain subjects altogether. If your characters are uncomfortable or trying to dodge a question, let them awkwardly change the subject or ramble to fill the space.

14. Reactions Aren’t Always Immediate People don’t always respond right away. They pause, they think, they hesitate. Sometimes they don’t know what to say, and that delay can speak volumes. Give your characters a moment to process before they respond—it’ll make the conversation feel more natural.

Important note: Please don’t use all of these tips in one dialogue at once.

[renasdoodles]

There is no story that you are "not a skilled enough writer" to write.

If you have a story you want to write , write it, even if you're worried about not doing it justice.

A first draft does not have to be perfect.

Your writing can always be improved later.

Your writing will never improve unless you actually write.

The worst kind of story is the kind that never gets written at all.

[renasdoodles]

[renasdoodles]

Short Story: Three Days

The sun has only just peeked from the horizon when the sound of knuckles rapping on wood interrupts Caius’s morning stretch. He takes a moment to crack his back, bending backwards with hands behind his hips before making his way to the door. He swings it open just as the aedile—a town councilman of sorts—is about to knock again.

“Ah, Caius!” the aedile greets with a smile as if meeting the fisherman for the first time, right hand raised in a loose fist mid-knock, “Pleasant morning! How are you, friend?”

“Early,” Caius responds, “What is it that you want, Marcus?”

“Right to to the point then…” Marcus’s friendly beam doesn’t falter from his face although his feet shuffle almost imperceptibly in discomfort. He clears his throat as if marking the transition from small talk to business, “As you know, the Festival of Fyre is coming up.”

Caius nods in acknowledgement. Everyone knows that the festival is in only two days. During the Festival of Fyre, families would sacrifice fish and livestock to appease the god of flames. It happens at the same time every year in the summer. Caius makes not a few sales nearing the festival; usually running out of the day’s fish within only a couple of hours.

The aedile continues, “Well, there have been many…unexpected occurrences this year in regards to livestock…There is just not enough meat to spare. The people can’t be expected to starve for the sake of the festival, so…” he clears his throat again, “Perhaps you and the other fisherman may provide more fish instead. We would need at least one for every household. Size matters not and if they’re old or a bit rotten, no one would know.”

Caius considers this. There must be at least a thousand households in the city. Even if each fisherman were able to deliver an equal share, it would be insanity to expect that many fish in just a few days. Perhaps the salted fish I’ve preserved? Caius tries to think of ways to make it work but none of the numbers add up in his head.

“I don’t think…” Caius begins his response slowly but it’s interrupted by Marcus’s hand clapping him on the shoulder.

“Great! I knew you would agree! In any case, I must get going! I’m quite busy today! I’ll see you at the festival!” Marcus spoke quickly in one breath. He turns just as quickly after speaking, marching away without looking back. He doesn’t want to hear any objections.

Caius scratches the side of his head in confusion and then resignation. Perhaps the other fisherman will provide more than I can…

The day continues as usual. Caius has his breakfast and heads into the city proper to purchase a fishing net. The line and small handheld net he owns won’t be enough to catch so many fish but perhaps a larger, wider net might bring him a bigger haul. He had been meaning to buy one from the net weaver for a while and he had finally saved up just enough to afford one. The festival would make up the cost later.

He makes his way to the net weaver’s house and makes his big purchase. Caius waves at the weaver as he turns down the street with a new net slung over his shoulder, heavier than it looks.

The fisherman is walking at a brisk pace when he is accosted by a haggard old woman with long, graying hair that frizzes in every direction.

“The world will end in three days!” the madwoman crows, spreading three knobbly fingers with one hand and grasping Caius’s arm in the other. She brings her weathered face close enough to his that he could smell the rancid teeth in her breath as if to emphasize her prophetic ramblings, “Three days!”

Caius has no patience for this nonsense. He has a job to do and only so much daylight. He couldn’t waste time humoring the elderly beggar and so he shoves her off of him. “Away, crone! Crawl back to your hovel!”

The old woman crumples against the weight of his palm, stumbling backwards before falling on her rear. He looks down on her, disdain plain on his face as he dusts the dirt from his arm.

“Three days!” the madwoman repeats, half to herself.

Caius steps around her and continues his route, leaving the rambling beggar to her imagined apocalypse. “Crazy woman,” he mutters under his breath, complaining to no one in particular.

The ground rumbles. The stout stone buildings around Caius shiver and clay pots—common in the city—tip and shatter, spilling their contents into the street. People stop and brace themselves as the quaking continues, holding their sturdy stances for a moment after it passes before they resume their daily activities. Everyone is used to the earthquakes.

Caius shrugs the quake off just like everyone else and continues his walk home. He reaches the coast in good time, sweeping dark wavy hair back from his face as he strides past his husky limestone shack to a small wooden boat tethered to a post behind his home.

The fisherman digs around a trunk by the dock, pulling out a bucket of scrap fish parts before retrieving a pole with a line attached and a net with a handle from the back wall of the shack. Just in case the new net doesn’t work out. He slings the fishing pole over his shoulder and makes his way to the little boat, arms full with the tools of his trade.

He slinks his new net into the boat and gently places the bucket, the handled net, and the pole into his vessel before carefully climbing in, reaching a callused hand to the tethering rope and flipping it over the dock post.

He rows out into the ocean, stroke after expert stroke pushing off of watery walls, rowing far enough that land sinks just below ocean waves but he could still clearly make out the mountain that marks his coastal home. His usual spot.

The fisherman loops the line attached to his new net around his left hand and reaches for the bait bucket with his right, throwing in some handfuls of chum into the sea to attract nearby fish. He gathers a portion of the net’s weighted edge before winding up and throwing the net. It spreads like a blanket and lands where he had strewn the bait.

He waits a moment for the net to sink into the foaming blue, eyes wandering to the bait bucket as the woven grid makes its dive. Would fish guts count? No, they aren’t whole fish…but maybe if we had enough of it?

After the net has sunk enough to catch some fish, Caius pulls the line to retrieve it. The wide net draws closed as he pulls, reeling it in until it’s just beside his swaying vessel.

His boat rocks gently as he heaves the heavy mesh up into it. He drops the net onto its wooden base like a wet sack, mostly empty except for about a half dozen flopping fish which he deposits into a wooden box.

A few more throws and in hours Caius has about thirty fish. Not nearly enough for the Festival of Fyre but it will have to do for tonight. The sun is beginning to set and he would need the time to row home. Perhaps I could fish at the shore for a time before bed, he thinks.

He scans his surroundings for that telltale mountain and rows home with his bounty.

After he docks the little boat, looping its tether to the dock post, he stays in the bobbing dinghy. The old fisherman pierces a bit of fish gut with his hook as if it were thread through a needle and then gives his pole an expert flick, casting his line.

For a time, nothing so much as nibbles; and then the line is taut as a fish attempts to swim away with Caius’s bait. He pulls against the fish’s strength, slowly but expertly drawing it closer to him before reaching for his hand net. With a tight grip on the line, he swipes the net into the water and pulls a flopping fish from just under the surface. A sizable catch.

He catches nothing else that night, instead eating two of the fish and leaving the rest in several large clay pots he uses for food storage before retiring.

The next day begins as usual. Caius goes through his morning stretches, eats his breakfast, and then he begins gathering his tools to begin his day in the ocean.

He is pulling out the pail of bait when the ground booms. A couple of Caius’s clay pots fall, scattering fish and salt over the floor. The fisherman—unprepared for the sudden quake—is nearly knocked off of his feet, fumbling the bucket he had been carrying and spilling a few foul-smelling bits of scrap fish onto the ground. The quake thankfully passes quickly but not before giving the old fisherman a fright.

Caius curses to himself, steadying his stance before bending over to pick up bits of fish from the ground and toss them back into the bucket. He shakes his head at the shattered clay, the spilled salt, the dried fish splayed over his floor. What a mess.

It takes him a while to clean up and it’s still not perfect, but it’s acceptable. The fish has been put away and sharp pieces of ceramic have been disposed of, leaving a fair amount of salt still littering the floor. Good enough, he thinks, not wanting to waste any more time cleaning.

With a self-satisfied nod, he walks back to his boat—already packed with his supplies—climbs in, untethers it, and pushes off. He rows to his usual spot—where he could make out the mountain but not quite the shore—and casts his wide net just as he had the previous day. He catches less than half the amount of fish than he did the previous day.

When the sun begins descending past the horizon, Caius finds his mountain and rows towards it, exhausted from the day. He had hardly captured any fish and the Festival of Fyre will be tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll have better luck tomorrow…

It’s dark when he finally arrives home.

Another earthquake interrupts the fisherman’s sleep that night. They’re more frequent now but surely it will pass. Another smaller one roars through a few hours later.

By morning, Caius has hardly slept but the Festival of Fyre is tonight and it’s the last chance he has to fish before the event. He eats a smaller breakfast today, forgoes the stretching, and makes for his boat.

He rows to his spot—mountain clear above the horizon, shore little more than a line—and casts his net just as he had the previous two days. He reels it in, tanned hands pulling in large strokes until it’s right beside his boat. He reaches into the water for the net and pauses. The water is warm. It had never been so warm before. Perhaps the sun heated this section of water?

The few fish he drags in are hardly moving. Disappointed, he sighs and is about to throw another handful of chum into the water when a thunderous roar sounds from inland. He pauses—wrist-deep in fish scraps—when another, louder rumble sounds.

The wave that follows is one of the most impressive that Caius has seen in his years of fishing. Its crest towers over his dinghy and crashes down near him, rocking his boat violently enough that he stumbles. In the blink of an eye, he finds himself underwater.

Mustn’t panic. Every fisherman knows what to do when he falls from his boat; his father had drilled it into his head when he was a boy. The immediate thing is to figure which way is up. He blows a few bubbles and follows them towards filtering light. It’s only a couple of minutes before he breaks the surface, gasping for air and coughing saltwater.

To Caius’s relief, the boat is still afloat and right-side up, bobbing over light waves. Luck watches over me. He thanks the gods as he swims to it, grabs the upper edge of its side, and positions himself before lifting out of the water and rolling himself into the boat.

Successfully back onboard, he lies on his back heaving for a few minutes before righting himself and scanning the horizon. Dark clouds blanket the sky and it’s getting dark. It must be near time for the festival and he needs to make his way back.

Another earthquake as he scans the horizon for his mountain landmark. His eyes land on it and he stares in helpless disbelief, bobbing alone in the middle of the sea.

A dense cloud of ash spews from the tip of the triangle. Another rumble, another explosive sound, and glowing orange-red erupts from the summit, crawling down the mountain side towards Caius’s city.

“The world will end in three days,” the madwoman had crowed the day before yesterday.

Originally published on renalawhead.com on June 6, 2024 Dividers by @saradika

[renasdoodles]

Short Story: Three Days

The sun has only just peeked from the horizon when the sound of knuckles rapping on wood interrupts Caius’s morning stretch. He takes a moment to crack his back, bending backwards with hands behind his hips before making his way to the door. He swings it open just as the aedile—a town councilman of sorts—is about to knock again.

“Ah, Caius!” the aedile greets with a smile as if meeting the fisherman for the first time, right hand raised in a loose fist mid-knock, “Pleasant morning! How are you, friend?”

“Early,” Caius responds, “What is it that you want, Marcus?”

“Right to to the point then…” Marcus’s friendly beam doesn’t falter from his face although his feet shuffle almost imperceptibly in discomfort. He clears his throat as if marking the transition from small talk to business, “As you know, the Festival of Fyre is coming up.”

Caius nods in acknowledgement. Everyone knows that the festival is in only two days. During the Festival of Fyre, families would sacrifice fish and livestock to appease the god of flames. It happens at the same time every year in the summer. Caius makes not a few sales nearing the festival; usually running out of the day’s fish within only a couple of hours.

The aedile continues, “Well, there have been many…unexpected occurrences this year in regards to livestock…There is just not enough meat to spare. The people can’t be expected to starve for the sake of the festival, so…” he clears his throat again, “Perhaps you and the other fisherman may provide more fish instead. We would need at least one for every household. Size matters not and if they’re old or a bit rotten, no one would know.”

Caius considers this. There must be at least a thousand households in the city. Even if each fisherman were able to deliver an equal share, it would be insanity to expect that many fish in just a few days. Perhaps the salted fish I’ve preserved? Caius tries to think of ways to make it work but none of the numbers add up in his head.

“I don’t think…” Caius begins his response slowly but it’s interrupted by Marcus’s hand clapping him on the shoulder.

“Great! I knew you would agree! In any case, I must get going! I’m quite busy today! I’ll see you at the festival!” Marcus spoke quickly in one breath. He turns just as quickly after speaking, marching away without looking back. He doesn’t want to hear any objections.

Caius scratches the side of his head in confusion and then resignation. Perhaps the other fisherman will provide more than I can…

The day continues as usual. Caius has his breakfast and heads into the city proper to purchase a fishing net. The line and small handheld net he owns won’t be enough to catch so many fish but perhaps a larger, wider net might bring him a bigger haul. He had been meaning to buy one from the net weaver for a while and he had finally saved up just enough to afford one. The festival would make up the cost later.

He makes his way to the net weaver’s house and makes his big purchase. Caius waves at the weaver as he turns down the street with a new net slung over his shoulder, heavier than it looks.

The fisherman is walking at a brisk pace when he is accosted by a haggard old woman with long, graying hair that frizzes in every direction.

“The world will end in three days!” the madwoman crows, spreading three knobbly fingers with one hand and grasping Caius’s arm in the other. She brings her weathered face close enough to his that he could smell the rancid teeth in her breath as if to emphasize her prophetic ramblings, “Three days!”

Caius has no patience for this nonsense. He has a job to do and only so much daylight. He couldn’t waste time humoring the elderly beggar and so he shoves her off of him. “Away, crone! Crawl back to your hovel!”

The old woman crumples against the weight of his palm, stumbling backwards before falling on her rear. He looks down on her, disdain plain on his face as he dusts the dirt from his arm.

“Three days!” the madwoman repeats, half to herself.

Caius steps around her and continues his route, leaving the rambling beggar to her imagined apocalypse. “Crazy woman,” he mutters under his breath, complaining to no one in particular.

The ground rumbles. The stout stone buildings around Caius shiver and clay pots—common in the city—tip and shatter, spilling their contents into the street. People stop and brace themselves as the quaking continues, holding their sturdy stances for a moment after it passes before they resume their daily activities. Everyone is used to the earthquakes.

Caius shrugs the quake off just like everyone else and continues his walk home. He reaches the coast in good time, sweeping dark wavy hair back from his face as he strides past his husky limestone shack to a small wooden boat tethered to a post behind his home.

The fisherman digs around a trunk by the dock, pulling out a bucket of scrap fish parts before retrieving a pole with a line attached and a net with a handle from the back wall of the shack. Just in case the new net doesn’t work out. He slings the fishing pole over his shoulder and makes his way to the little boat, arms full with the tools of his trade.

He slinks his new net into the boat and gently places the bucket, the handled net, and the pole into his vessel before carefully climbing in, reaching a callused hand to the tethering rope and flipping it over the dock post.

He rows out into the ocean, stroke after expert stroke pushing off of watery walls, rowing far enough that land sinks just below ocean waves but he could still clearly make out the mountain that marks his coastal home. His usual spot.

The fisherman loops the line attached to his new net around his left hand and reaches for the bait bucket with his right, throwing in some handfuls of chum into the sea to attract nearby fish. He gathers a portion of the net’s weighted edge before winding up and throwing the net. It spreads like a blanket and lands where he had strewn the bait.

He waits a moment for the net to sink into the foaming blue, eyes wandering to the bait bucket as the woven grid makes its dive. Would fish guts count? No, they aren’t whole fish…but maybe if we had enough of it?

After the net has sunk enough to catch some fish, Caius pulls the line to retrieve it. The wide net draws closed as he pulls, reeling it in until it’s just beside his swaying vessel.

His boat rocks gently as he heaves the heavy mesh up into it. He drops the net onto its wooden base like a wet sack, mostly empty except for about a half dozen flopping fish which he deposits into a wooden box.

A few more throws and in hours Caius has about thirty fish. Not nearly enough for the Festival of Fyre but it will have to do for tonight. The sun is beginning to set and he would need the time to row home. Perhaps I could fish at the shore for a time before bed, he thinks.

He scans his surroundings for that telltale mountain and rows home with his bounty.

After he docks the little boat, looping its tether to the dock post, he stays in the bobbing dinghy. The old fisherman pierces a bit of fish gut with his hook as if it were thread through a needle and then gives his pole an expert flick, casting his line.

For a time, nothing so much as nibbles; and then the line is taut as a fish attempts to swim away with Caius’s bait. He pulls against the fish’s strength, slowly but expertly drawing it closer to him before reaching for his hand net. With a tight grip on the line, he swipes the net into the water and pulls a flopping fish from just under the surface. A sizable catch.

He catches nothing else that night, instead eating two of the fish and leaving the rest in several large clay pots he uses for food storage before retiring.

The next day begins as usual. Caius goes through his morning stretches, eats his breakfast, and then he begins gathering his tools to begin his day in the ocean.

He is pulling out the pail of bait when the ground booms. A couple of Caius’s clay pots fall, scattering fish and salt over the floor. The fisherman—unprepared for the sudden quake—is nearly knocked off of his feet, fumbling the bucket he had been carrying and spilling a few foul-smelling bits of scrap fish onto the ground. The quake thankfully passes quickly but not before giving the old fisherman a fright.

Caius curses to himself, steadying his stance before bending over to pick up bits of fish from the ground and toss them back into the bucket. He shakes his head at the shattered clay, the spilled salt, the dried fish splayed over his floor. What a mess.

It takes him a while to clean up and it’s still not perfect, but it’s acceptable. The fish has been put away and sharp pieces of ceramic have been disposed of, leaving a fair amount of salt still littering the floor. Good enough, he thinks, not wanting to waste any more time cleaning.

With a self-satisfied nod, he walks back to his boat—already packed with his supplies—climbs in, untethers it, and pushes off. He rows to his usual spot—where he could make out the mountain but not quite the shore—and casts his wide net just as he had the previous day. He catches less than half the amount of fish than he did the previous day.

When the sun begins descending past the horizon, Caius finds his mountain and rows towards it, exhausted from the day. He had hardly captured any fish and the Festival of Fyre will be tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll have better luck tomorrow…

It’s dark when he finally arrives home.

Another earthquake interrupts the fisherman’s sleep that night. They’re more frequent now but surely it will pass. Another smaller one roars through a few hours later.

By morning, Caius has hardly slept but the Festival of Fyre is tonight and it’s the last chance he has to fish before the event. He eats a smaller breakfast today, forgoes the stretching, and makes for his boat.

He rows to his spot—mountain clear above the horizon, shore little more than a line—and casts his net just as he had the previous two days. He reels it in, tanned hands pulling in large strokes until it’s right beside his boat. He reaches into the water for the net and pauses. The water is warm. It had never been so warm before. Perhaps the sun heated this section of water?

The few fish he drags in are hardly moving. Disappointed, he sighs and is about to throw another handful of chum into the water when a thunderous roar sounds from inland. He pauses—wrist-deep in fish scraps—when another, louder rumble sounds.

The wave that follows is one of the most impressive that Caius has seen in his years of fishing. Its crest towers over his dinghy and crashes down near him, rocking his boat violently enough that he stumbles. In the blink of an eye, he finds himself underwater.

Mustn’t panic. Every fisherman knows what to do when he falls from his boat; his father had drilled it into his head when he was a boy. The immediate thing is to figure which way is up. He blows a few bubbles and follows them towards filtering light. It’s only a couple of minutes before he breaks the surface, gasping for air and coughing saltwater.

To Caius’s relief, the boat is still afloat and right-side up, bobbing over light waves. Luck watches over me. He thanks the gods as he swims to it, grabs the upper edge of its side, and positions himself before lifting out of the water and rolling himself into the boat.

Successfully back onboard, he lies on his back heaving for a few minutes before righting himself and scanning the horizon. Dark clouds blanket the sky and it’s getting dark. It must be near time for the festival and he needs to make his way back.

Another earthquake as he scans the horizon for his mountain landmark. His eyes land on it and he stares in helpless disbelief, bobbing alone in the middle of the sea.

A dense cloud of ash spews from the tip of the triangle. Another rumble, another explosive sound, and glowing orange-red erupts from the summit, crawling down the mountain side towards Caius’s city.

“The world will end in three days,” the madwoman had crowed the day before yesterday.

Originally published on renalawhead.com on June 6, 2024 Dividers by @saradika

[renasdoodles]

I’m sending Good Writing Vibes to anyone and everyone who needs them right now!!!

[renasdoodles]

One of my long time patrons requested a space painting tutorial with a focus on how to make the stars shine and the colors vibrant. So I recorded a speed paint I made under 10 minutes of how to paint the Milky Way. I hope it helps!

You can find free downloads of the brushes I used right here YuumeiArt.com/space-tutorial It contains a brush set for Photoshop and another set for Clip Studio (converted by Arcane Halo)

Music is Tree Soul by Kentdow

[renasdoodles]

[renasdoodles]

Free Headers/Dividers Masterlist

If you’re looking to add some graphics to your Masterlist, check out this list! All images are free for you to use - just please consider liking or reblogging 💕 And for best quality, tap/click and open each image and save from there (don’t save from the post itself!)

edit: as of 11/20/23 this will no longer be updated - please go to @saradika-graphics for requests & new resources!

Masterlist Headers & Dividers

Aesthetic Dividers

Navigation & Support

Making Moodboards in Canva

Recent Faves:

— Christmas

— Winter

— Stars & Space | Sun

— Stars & Space | Moon

— Stars & Space | Planets

— Stars & Space | Purple

✨(Everything was made in and using Canva - so definitely check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Here, here, here and here are some tips on using the app / making graphics if you haven’t before!) (and credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

[renasdoodles]

Debating whether I want to post full short stories here of if they would be too long...How long is too long for a Tumblr text post?

[renasdoodles]

Happy Halloween 🎃 👻

I hope that this ask finds you well.

While editing, have you run across any parts of your story that you have been surprised by?

Happy Halloween!! I think the thing I'm most consistently surprised by when I edit is the sentence structures. The parts of the story I pretty much expect even if I have to delete them but the weird way past me constructed sentences always surprised me!

[renasdoodles]

This draft is getting progressively messier and rougher as I get more desperate for the story to just exist. I'll fix it all later, I swear!