#[ writing/creative burnout for tumblr ]

[raineandsky]

#109

When the doorbell rings, the hero’s kind of hoping it’s the pizza delivery guy.

They open the door to find, tragically, not the pizza delivery guy.

“Uh,” the villain says, “hi.”

The hero isn’t entirely sure what sequence of words would best fit this scenario. “Hi?” is the best they can do.

The villain shuffles on their feet awkwardly. A pause hangs between them, filled by the distant roar of the city beyond. “I thought you’d ask why I’m here,” they say eventually.

“I’m more concerned about how you’re here.”

A smile threatens the corners of the villain’s mouth. “We know where all you heroes live.” The smile fades into nothing again. “Or just I know, now, I guess.”

“Okay.” The hero squints at the villain uncertainly. “I’ll entertain you. Why the hell are you standing outside my door?”

“No one wants to be a villain anymore. Everyone quit.” The villain’s face contorts into some unreadable expression. “It’s just me.”

That doesn’t sound right. From the villain’s slight grimace, they know it too. “Everyone… quit villainy,” the hero repeats.

“There’s nothing to gain from it anymore. We had a vote and I was the only one who wanted to keep going.” The villain’s gaze dips to their hands as if they hold answers. “They left me everything, but… I can’t do it all on my own. So I’m turning myself in.”

The hero stares at the villain for a long moment. “Even [Supervillain].”

“Especially [Supervillain].”

The hero steps aside with a sigh. The villain looks like they’re being invited into a pit of wolves. “You want me to come into your house?”

“My handcuffs are in my living room cabinet and I don’t trust you standing out there. It’s cold, anyway.”

The villain closes the door behind them in an uncharacteristic show of politeness as the hero digs through their drawers. They’re wiping their shoes on the mat when the hero gets back, cuffs in hand.

The villain holds their hands out and the hero clicks the cuffs around their wrists. It’s almost too easy. The question is sitting on the tip of their tongue.

“What’s the catch?”

The villain doesn’t seem surprised by the question. They shrug halfheartedly. “Dunno.” They glance about for inspiration. “All the others have gone into hiding, I guess. You have me, but everyone else will probably evade you for the rest of time.”

“Much like they already do.” The hero manoeuvres them to the sofa in the living room, giving them a nudge to make them actually sit down. “You make it sound like you’ve been left in charge of the entire criminal organisation.”

The barking laugh the villain lets out is entirely fake. Too sharp, too short. “I have.”

“So villany will collapse without you.”

The villain shrugs again, the motion laden with effort. “Not like anyone else was willing to carry that burden—and I’m not either, hence why I’m, y’know…” They gesture vaguely at themself, in cuffs, in the hero’s living room.

The villain goes, villainy is defeated. No more villains, no more big crimes, no more heroes. Everything the agency has worked to be would collapse. The hero would be out of a job. It'd be over.

Yet here the villain is, giving everything up, taking the entirety of villainy down with them. The sole survivor of a shipwreck and wishing they’d gone down with the ship. A ship they don’t seem to realise the hero is on too.

The doorbell rings again, and the hero leaves the villain carefully settling on the sofa to answer it. They return with a giant grin on their face and a giant pizza box in their hands.

“Let’s worry about all this afterwards,” the hero says brightly. They brandish the box at the villain in the hopes of tempting them. “Want some?”

The tempting works; the villain reaches for a slice. “What a last meal.”

The hero sets the box on the coffee table as they flop back on the sofa. “I don’t know, [Villain],” they say with a smile, “I don’t think it has to be.”

[ask-the-prose]

Writing Burnout and Helpful Tips

Hi yall, it’s been wonderful seeing ask-the-prose posts going around writeblr and I’m so happy to see that some of these guides are helpful. If you have a specific topic you’d like me to cover, send in an ask!

What is burnout?

Burnout is incredibly common and nothing to be ashamed of! If you find you are too exhausted to do what you love, running out of ideas, or perhaps not wanting to do anything, you may be burned out. Burnout can pose a serious block to your writing, and it’s just not fun.

Burnout can happen when you’re stretching yourself too thin, spending more time and energy creating than taking in creativity, or not taking care of yourself the way you need.

Step 1: Put out the fire

One of the number one ways to fast-track your way to burnout is to forget to care for yourself. We’re writers! Sometimes we get in the zone, or maybe a little obsessed, and we forget to eat, hydrate, and maybe even put off sleep. But ignoring self-care is unsustainable.

We all see posts all over reminding us to hydrate, eat well, sleep, and even stretch, but these are genuinely great tips to remember when you’re not feeling well. I’d like to add a few ideas to try when you’re feeling down.

Exercise. Walk, run, play a sport, do anything that helps move your body, whatever you can do to help your blood flow, even if it’s just a few push-ups or a good stretch.

Find a new set of walls to stare at. I get in a rut going to the same places or staying home when I have nowhere to go. But hanging out at a coffee shop or cafe helps me often. It’s a chance to observe people, see new things, and get some sunlight. If you need to shake it up, try a new cafe!

Socialize. Sometimes burnout looks like loneliness. Socialize! Talk to a friend or family member, or make a new friend! New perspectives help.

Not all of these work for everybody, but they’re friendly suggestions to try when you’re feeling burnout coming on.

Step 2: Replenish your reserves

As creatives, we get stuck always wanting to create, but that’s not sustainable either! Creativity is not just an internal process, we need external stimulation to replenish our creative reserves. When you feel like you just can’t come up with ideas or anything new, maybe it’s time to read.

Reading can help, though I personally understand the struggle to read (and finish!) books. Start with short stories or novellas if you struggle to read novels. Read within the genre you’re trying to write, and then step out of your genre and try something new. You never know when inspiration will strike.

Watch movies, listen to new music, play a video game, or do anything that can give you a creative boost. Reading is critical, but learning about other mediums is just as important.

Step 3: Self-indulgence is key

You may find as you’re recovering from the burnout that your wip may just be what’s causing the problem. Ask yourself some important questions:

Am I writing for myself?

Am I writing something that I want to write?

If not, what do I want to write about?

Do I like what I’m writing, or do I feel like it’s what everyone wants to read?

Answer these questions for yourself, and if you find you don’t like those answers, take a look at your project and see what you can or want to change. Remember, if it’s not fun and it’s not what you want, then it might not be worth it.

Take what you need, leave what you don’t

As always, this guide is meant to be helpful, and as with all writing advice, it’s entirely subjective. I believe these tips work because they worked for me. But if you find that something isn’t helping, leave it! Move on or adjust to what you as an individual need to recover from your burnout.

Remember that no writing is ever wasted and that your writing matters. We need your voice too!

– Indy

[bibisbooktalk]

Being a writer and not knowing what to write or where to start sucks. I want to make a living out of writing. It's been my dream since I was a child to become a published author. My style and writing preferences have changed through the years. I used to write more than I do now. I barely even open a book to read anymore.

I'm never happy about any ideas I get, never satisfied with anything I come up with, and I always end up stuck somewhere in the plotting stage. I wrote fanfictions from 2020 to 2022. I stopped when I found out all of my stories had been re-published in different fanfiction websites without my consent.

That didn't stear my dream, though, didn't change what I wanted. It encouraged me to start working more on my original work rather than fanfiction. However, my writing hasn't come smoothly since my days as a fanfic writer. My ideas were more frequent then, and I would spend hours and sleepless nights writing. Now I'm stuck staring at a blank page, trying to figure out what I want to achieve as a writer. Do I want to write fantasy or romance, YA or adult fiction. Do I want to make vampire novels my trademark or do I want to write fae romance.

How do I write about what I don't know? I lack a community where I can talk about my work, yet I am also afraid to share my ideas and find myself betrayed. Writing is more than just words on paper, yet writing has become meaningless words to me.

I'm pointlessly attempting to string sentences together, to create something worth it, something good, something groundbreaking, yet the words don't come, and nothing seems special enough or interesting enough. First drafts aren't meant to be good, but I feel like I'm running out of time. I can't even write a prologue.

"Start in the middle.", "Start with the action." But nothing comes to me. It is frustrating to be a writer and have no creativity at all. I've been imprisoned in this "writer's block" since 2022. So, what do I do? How do I figure out my story? How do I take control of the narrative? How can I love writing the way I used to again?

Novel writing will never stop being my dream, and I refuse to give up even through this endless fog. However, it doesn't stop me from wondering if I'm wasting my time. If writing was just once a brief hyperfixation—a dream never meant to be.

[byoldervine]

How To Recognise Writing Burnout

It’s so easy to not realise that you’re burning yourself out with your writing, especially when writers encourage you to write even when you don’t feel like it in order to keep a consistent practice. But I’ve found it easier to recognise burnout by asking myself this question;

“Is this starting to feel like a chore, or am I still having fun?”

Writing is supposed to be fun. Sure, it won’t always be fun - it’s still a lot of hard work, after all - but overall you should be able to say that you enjoy the writing process and your writing sessions even when you didn’t want to get started right then and there. But if you find yourself consistently not enjoying your writing sessions beyond just the initial starting point, and you find it more like a chore than a fun project, you might be burnt out on it rather than just unmotivated or uninspired

At that point, it’s time to step away from your work and take the time to consider what you could do differently; maybe your goals are a bit much at the moment, and you need to change your parameters? Maybe you have other needs to address that are causing the burnout? Maybe you just need a break in general, or a change of scenery to break up the monotony? Try a few things to see what works, if you’re unsure, but the important thing is that you look out for yourself and your needs so that you can break out of this burnout, not keep writing yourself into the ground without fixing the issue at hand

[sagessge]

Silent expectations

I feel the perishing world

On my shoulders

The moment I hear the voice

Of silent expectations

Yet the praise was never heard

I hate the sky,I say

When I look back and see a pack

Expecting me to open my wings

Their eyes acting as dumbles

Down fell I!

On the ground

With ever so many wounds

As I lie on the ground

I could not fall anymore!

The fear was gone!

And I hear them screaming

Birds are meant to fly!

But what I want to be here on the ground?

What if I want to feel the sun on my chest?

And watch the winter freeze me to death?

What if I want to just wait

For the demise to arrive?

What if without even living and flying

I wish to die?

So please,take the flashlight away!

Your silent expectations slay me

Again and again

Every one of yours

"Ofcourse,this was inevitable"

Causes me to seep into the ground

More and more

I gave it all

My blood,sweat and tears

'Tis not gifted

'Tis not inevitable

And I don't fly

What if I can't fly?

Why if I can't turn?

What if they all view

How big of a loser I am?

How afraid I am?

My eyes speak something my lips can't utter

Please! Please! Please!

For once in my life

Let me be mediocre

Let me be me without any expectations

And let me be content

And fly and rest on my own terms

Please,just for once

[selenekallanwriter]

Every single day

[echosandroses]

Adult life means you get to have no life

[poetryorchard]

Feeling the post-NaPoWriMo burnout? Join us for a creative writing workshop inspired by Kiki's Delivery Service! We'll discuss growing up, burning out, hustle culture, and finding your "why" (again)

Sign up here! Our workshops are asynchronous and you are invited to sign up for the materials even if you can't make the live session.

[purplereadingenthusiast]

    Alador builds. He experiments. He tinkers. Day after day he spends in his lab, only leaving for food and bathroom breaks, plus the occasional promotion show. At this point, he even sleeps down there, long after his team—now only comprised of eight other people—has gone home. It’s easier that way, he reasons, with Odalia constantly requiring him to work; this way he never has to leave, never has to bear her reprimands that drain him as much as his never-ending work schedule. He feels like one of the abomatons he spends all his time creating, going through the motions of his monotonous, day-to-day life robotically as if his body and mind are comprised of goop and metal materials.

    Sometimes, when he’s on a rare break and doesn’t know what to do with himself, he thinks about his younger self, and how excited and passionate he was about abominations and mechanics. How he was rarely spotted without his goggles, inspecting or creating or testing something, driven by curiosity. Sometimes Alador wonders how his younger self would react to what he’s turned into now, how the light and laughter that was his eyes is hidden behind dullness and dark eye bags. How would he explain it to himself, if he asked?

    He always brushes the thought away as soon as it comes. It’s silly to reminisce on the past, he tells himself. There’s no point of pondering what could have happened, because it didn’t happen and it never will. He knows he will likely stay this way his whole life, or as long as he stays with Odalia, which is essentially the same thing. He can’t leave. She needs him as much as he needs her, and it’s easier to continue living this way than to needlessly fight it and somehow make it worse for himself.

    His palisman, Patches, squeaks at him, breaking him out of his thoughts and scurrying towards the counter, where his newest project lies in wait. Alador sighs from deep in his chest, tiredness causing his whole body to protest as he walks over to the counter, giving Patches an ear scratch and putting his goggles on.

    Once again, Alador is little more than a machine.

[raineandsky]

#102

tw: abuse, threats, knives

The superhero barely sleeps anymore, but he can’t afford to. His mind is always haunted by one question: where has the hero gone?

His assistant lingers on the threshold to his office while he stares blankly at the table. She clears her throat when he shows no sign of acknowledging her. She holds a little envelope out to him when he glances up, his name written on the front in glittering cursive.

He reads the contents. Rereads. Looks to his assistant for answers. Receives none. Stares back down at the words on the little note in front of him.

“Well,” he says flatly, “I suppose I best go if we want the city to stay intact.”

-

The supervillain answers the door with a winning smile and a shocking amount of hospitality. 

“I’m so glad you made it,” he says brightly. He ushers the superhero into what can only be described as a mansion. Crime clearly pays well—or he likes to pretend it does. Who knows how he came into a house like this.

The supervillain sets the superhero down in an extravagant dining hall. Servants line the room, practically invisible in the shadows, almost as much of the furniture as the table and chairs in the middle of the room. Most of them have their eyes pointed to the floor.

The supervillain settles in the chair opposite and motions for one of the servants to step forward with a wine decanter. They pour it out agonisingly slowly, their focus honed in on the glass, before skirting around the table to do the same for the superhero.

The superhero startles. “Oh, there’s no need—”

“Nonsense!” the supervillain gestures for the servant to continue. “You’re my guest. Have a drink, please.”

The wine is poured. The servant steps back, their gaze flitting to the supervillain, and with the slightest nod of his head they retreat back into the shadows.

The superhero watches them go, catching the eye of one of the other servants standing on the outskirts of the room. It catches him off guard slightly—he could’ve sworn they were all staring at the floor—but after a moment to study their face he has to hold down a choked gasp.

That’s the hero. The hero he’s spent endless days searching for. The hero that disappeared off the face of the earth, who seemed to just cease to exist. The hero’s staring back at him like they’re equally stunned to see him here, their eyes wide and their jaw slack.

The quiet goes on too long. The supervillain twists in his chair to glance at whatever’s caught the superhero’s interest.

“Ah,” he says shortly. The single word seems to snap the hero out of it, their gaze immediately snapping back down to the ground. “Is my servant here bothering you?”

“You—” You invited me here on purpose. The superhero can’t think of words outraged enough. They’ve been here the whole time. “How dare you—”

“[Hero],” the supervillain says lightly. “Come here.”

The hero shares a worried glance with the servants next to them before slowly stepping towards him. They pause just behind his chair, their head bowed—out of fear or respect, it’s not obvious. “Sir?”

The villain holds his hand up to them expectantly. “Give me your hand.”

The hero spares a glance at the superhero. “B-But sir, our guest—”

“Your hand, [Hero].”

They hesitate, their breath uneven. Then they slowly, slowly put their hand in the supervillain’s.

The supervillain moves faster than the superhero can react. He slams their palm down against the table, his grip deathly tight on their wrist. A steak knife sits in his other hand, the tip poised over the back of the hero’s hand.

The superhero’s on his feet in an instant. The hero desperately tries to pull away, but the supervillain’s grip on them is vice-like.

“Now,” he says smoothly, “what have I said about manners?”

“[Supervillain],” the superhero tries.

“Haven’t I taught you anything?”

“I– I’m sorry.” It comes out of the hero’s mouth like a knee-jerk reaction, like it’s been said a million times before. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again—”

The supervillain twists the knife testily against their skin. Something of a strangled sob tears from the hero’s throat. “Staring is rude, [Hero].”

“I– I know, I’m so sorry—”

“[Supervillain],” the superhero snaps with all the authority he can muster. “Stop.”

“I deal with my servants how I please, [Superhero].” The supervillain’s gaze pulls up to him lazily.  “This is my domain, not yours.”

But he thankfully lets go of the hero. They pull back nervously fast, their hands cupped over each other protectively. The supervillain glances back at them as they attempt to meld back into the shadows. “Go downstairs, [Hero],” he says flatly. “We will discuss this incident later.”

The hero’s gaze snaps back to him like he just asked them to walk into hell itself. “Down– Downstairs?”

“Don’t make me repeat my instructions twice, [Hero]. You know this.”

Their eyes flit between the supervillain and the superhero for a moment. Then they dip into a short bow, and with a slightly choked “sir,” they practically bolt from the room.

A couple of the servants behind the supervillain exchange whispers and sorrowful glances.

“I must apologise,” the supervillain says with an innocent sigh. “I thought I’d trained my servants better than that. I assure you such behaviour will be dealt with.”

The superhero’s still on his feet. “Release them immediately.”

The supervillain idly swills the wine for a second. “Or what?”

“The agency will not stand for this.” The superhero clenches his fists at his sides. “I will not stand for this.”

“Well,” the supervillain drawls, “you can have them back when I’m dead.” The supervillain sets his glass on the table a little too hard. “This has been a wonderful evening, [Superhero]. Now get out.”

-

It takes 20 minutes to get back to the agency, and by then the superhero has a half-formed plan in his head and a burning cry for vengeance.

When he’s dead. So be it.

[soulverymuchdead]

Do You Finally Feel Warm?

She'd burn all night, desperately trying to offer warmth to those who wouldn't even notice the ash she'd become by morning. Forced into a life of suffering, their greed stoked the flames that consumed her, leaving only a cold, empty spirit.

[lazui-l]

Sorry this is kind of a weird desperate vent post but please tell me I’m not the only one who will just read a book/watch a show/play a game/witness whatever form of media and start hyperfixiating on it because of how enjoyable it was

and then you walk over to the creative workshop part of your brain and you sit down and go “I want to make a story just as good as the stories I’ve been hyperfixiating on. I want to make something that will effect the reader just like how (insert inspiration) affected me” so you start brainstorming a plot or a character or a setting

But then you just stop and look at your ideas and think to yourself “I’ll never be as great as (insert certain artist/author who’s inspired your work) I’ll never have the positive emotional impact on someone like they had on me” and you just start hating everything you make and get swallowed by this endless pit of “I’m never gonna make anything great enough” and that makes you so miserable because you genuinely love creating stories and creating characters but your anxiety and constant need for validation drains the joy you once experienced and you feel like an unfinished painting on fire.

Like maybe this is a very universal experience with writers but I’ve never really seen anyone talk about what it’s like to have certain pieces of fiction you adore and bullying yourself into believing you could never make something as great. Has anyone else gone through this/are going through this??? Anyone have any advice or experiences or anything??

[amurderof-crows]

do i want to change career paths or am i just burnt out?

i have my heart set on going to dance school and studying contemporary dance. i want to go into the industry as a performer and educator. i have my first uni audition this week and i am terrified but excited. this is it, the start of what i want my life to be

but sometimes i look at bilbo baggins writing his life story down in his little hobbit hole, eating too many breakfasts and lunches, and just generally having a fun time.

and i think what if?

what if i just dropped everything and had a little hobbit hole and wrote a novel?

my partner thinks this is just the burn out talking. they're probably right.

still.... what if....

[authorkrysejay]

Indie Author Update #35

Things went a bit slower last week but I'm going to blame the constantly hot humid days. 3.2K total written with three days off during which I worked on the cover artwork for book 3 as well as setting the ARC for Phoenix Caged. So I mean less written but a lot of things behind the scenes. I also made a few posts for insta.

I did try and take some photos outside with my books but I quickly realized that my feet were burning out on the balcony and I was having a hard time breathing. So, I'll try and take some this week when the humidity breaks. Fingers crossed.

So far this month I've completed six chapters and we're only halfway through July. Which is better than I thought considering the slow week. That being said I'm not sure I'll be able to meet my deadline of the end of August to finish this draft. I'm not sure how much progress I'll be making in September and beyond when I start university.

On a different note, I love the art of what is not written speaking louder than what is. There's a lot of delicious angsty moments with plenty of pettiness on its way.

Next week's goals are to continue writing, take photos, create reels, and not falling into another bout of burnout.

[danwritingthings]

Heavy eyes and dark skies,

Weak muscles and scratched knuckles,

All day struggles and same old troubles,

Eyes can’t close, thoughts engrossed,

Hope to get some sleep,

Soon to be counting sheep.

[a-halo-for-you]

I'm miffed

Do you ever be writing a book and suddenly you're 130-something pages in and you can't write anymore? Or suddenly a characer that you made up feels so unfamiliar to you it's like you keep staring at a painting of a person you've never seen and you just feel nothing?

I'm so stuck right now and I've only recently realised its because I seem to have fallen out of touch with my main character, like I just feel tired for her now rather than anything else...

I suppose its a type of burn out but I really don't need this shit right now gahhhhh

If anyone has any advice in how to overcome this bs please let me know cause I'm trying to focus but I feel so flat when it comes to the book and my mind keeps wandering to other projects instead

I wish I could just focus on one thing at a time instead of my mind being a ferris wheel of thoughts

I guess I'll just have to try again tomorrow but still this feeling sucks, it's like my writing doesn't feel like mine atm and its really impersonal? or shallow? or just not me?

I don't know how to explain it

Writing is hard and thinking hurts, so maybe I should take a little break... find something fun and enriching to do where I won't have to worry so much

Sorry for the ramble, just need a place to go with my despair cause my skin is beginning to feel bad and that means I'm getting anxious

anyway

bye-