#Staying creative as a writer

[lnk-and-lnspiration]

10 Tips for Staying Motivated as a Writer

Staying motivated as a writer can be a challenge, especially when faced with rejection, writer’s block, or simply the daily grind of putting words on the page. But keeping your motivation levels high is key to maintaining your creativity and staying focused on your writing goals. Here are 10 tips for staying motivated as a writer: Set achievable goals: Breaking down your larger writing goals…

[marsreds]

something something mel's makeup as the tears she won't let fall.

something something the gold as noxus, the true source of her love and loss and what's causing them and why they'll never flow.

something something mel was shaped by noxus and she carries it on her skin like armor, like a brand.

something something having her sorrow front and center, outright glowing (especially when they put her in the shadows, as they liked to do) yet never allowing anyone to see it for what it is.

something something mel knowing where she's from and what made her into what she is, yet deciding to forge her own path.

until she can't anymore.

[mistermistyyy]

Just wanna say, writers, ESPECIALLY male writers: PLEASE write friends who are intimate.

Write friends who can hold hands. Write friends who can rest their heads on each other's shoulders. Write friends who lock arms. Write friends who hug each other when they reunite. Write friends who share food. Write friends who say "Wow, you look pretty today". Write friends that get embarrassed at compliments. Write friends who carry their loved ones when they're tired. Write friends who cry at the thought of losing each other and collapse into each other's arms, clinging to them. And write this with any gender. Male friends, female friends, trans friends, friends with different genders

Especially post-COVID, we're faced with future generations who've got a lot of complicated emotions that feel unwilling to be open and vulnerable with their friends. Prove them wrong. Teach them that it's amazing to be loving and open and vulnerable with your friends. Put it in everything you write. Because a kid or a teen watching a show/movie/book/play and seeing two best friends holding each other while one cries, or holding hands when laughing at each other's jokes will have a more meaningful effect on them than you might think.

[suspensefulpen]

Anything Else?

TW: Noncon Drugging, Chain Restraints, Sadistic Whumper

Whumper smiled to himself as Whumpee struggled to focus their gaze. Their eyes refused to stay opened and on Whumper.

Not only were they tired from the past couple of hours of straight taunting, they were tired from whatever Whumper had injected them with. After getting the idea from a friend, he decided to try it out on Whumpee. He was very pleased with the results.

“So, what was all that you were saying earlier?” He asked with a knowing grin. “You said you were going to hit me, stab me, strangle me, get me back. Anything else you plan on doing?”

Whumpee’s lips didn’t move to form a response. Only a small exhale could be heard. The chains attached to their wrists and ankles holding them down to the bed didn’t rattle. He could see their eyes slowly starting to shut. Grabbing their chin, he forced their head up. “I’m talking to you Whumpee.”

Their eyes opened more before slowly closing. He hummed. “I thought you had things to say Whumpee. Why’re you so quiet now?”

Whumper yanked on one chain, forcing their glassy eyes to briefly lock with his. This was something he could get used to seeing. He smirked.

“You look so much better like this. You think I enjoy you thrashing around all the time? Nah, I don’t. I like you better this way.” He hummed. “Too incoherent to talk or even open your eyes. I wish I could keep you like this forever…”

His smirk fell as a thought occurred to him.

[a-chaotically-small-lunta]

You know how you look up to someone and how someone looks up to you? Okay, now make it g/t

Lemme explain via example: Imagine a writer who types all their stories on their computer. Maybe they share them online maybe they are way too nervous to do that, and just keep it a secret hobby. Anyway, one day they leave their desk to do something only to come back and notice that their writing document moved to a different page, and their computer didn’t fall asleep like it usually did. This confuses them but they brush it off, telling themselves that maybe they were faster than normal and maybe accidentally moved the page.

However, it keeps happening. Each day they walk away for a moment or even longer, their computer never falls asleep and is on a completely different page. This starts to freak them out. So, they decide to walk away and then sneak back as quietly as possible. When they peek their head inside, they see a tiny little person at their computer, just staring at the screen. The writer watches as the tiny continues to read their story, and that’s when they realize, they’re reading the writer’s story. They walk in, spooking the tiny. The tiny is in shock, they can’t tell if it’s just fear of being seen or getting the chance to actually talk to the writer whose work they adore, perhaps a mix of both. Maybe the tiny gets overwhelmed and before the writer can ask the classic “What are you” question, the tiny burst into a bunch of questions about the story the writer is writing. The writer taken aback by this, just awkwardly answers them and tries to ask them a question only for the tiny to continue asking questions. Eventually the tiny remembers that “Oh right… I’m not supposed to be seen…” and cautiously asks if the writer is upset with them and whether they will hurt them. The wrier assures them that they are mad and won’t hurt them and are honestly glad that their computer wasn’t hacked or there was a ghost or something. Also, how could the writer ever hurt their biggest…well smallest fan?

Maybe they build a friendship where the tiny helps the writer with ideas and getting over those writing hurdles. Hell, maybe the tiny even was inspired by the writer and tried writing their own story and shares it with the writer. Maybe the writer gains the confidence to share their stories online or even publish their work all because one little person loved their work. Perhaps the tiny, with the help of the writer, shares their own stories while hiding their identity as a tiny from everyone. So many possibilities! Just tiny little fans, forgetting they should probably focus on not being seen and not “What is Character’s favorite thing to do when they are bored?” Like sweetheart probably not the best time, but go for it.

[jane-not-rizzoli]

The difference between being a kid and being an adult is my imaginary friends are now called Original Characters and people will say stuff like “[X] is so well observed”

[ephemeralgalaxies]

being a writer is like:

"I love this character with my whole heart" [continues to doom them by the narrative]

[usefulquotes7]

I am enough. I am OK. I will just stay. Here. By Myself.

[raineandsky]

#84

There’s been a new series of attacks on the city. Nothing that anyone can blame on current villains, no—this is the work of someone new. Someone crueller than the rest.

The hero can’t catch them. No one knows why. The hero always shrugs and promises to try harder when people ask. No one knows. No one can know.

A building blows up, the hero gets called in, she’s always too late. The superhero is slowly losing patience, but appearances matter—the hero always throws them her best winning smile with a pledge to bring the fist of justice down on the vigilante, and her word on it seems to calm them down a little.

Easy. Keep up appearances. Stay alert. Don’t get caught.

This is the hero’s mantra that she always repeats to herself, minutes before she gets her inevitable call to the crime scene. 

Keep up appearances. With a flick of her wrist a match lights, pushing the gloom back slightly. Stay alert. She carefully holds it to a long fuse at her feet. Don’t get caught. The light sparks, and the hero starts to make her getaway before the bomb sets off and the building collapses on her. She sets her stopwatch—three minutes. Okay.

Across the hall. Downstairs. To the main door and out—

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The hero whips back, with barely contained horror, to face the villain, leaning against a doorframe and smirking at the hero like he knows something. The hero’s insides twist nervously at the expression. “Didn’t take you for a derelict building kind of gal,” he continues casually.

“All the city is under my watch,” she snaps a little too quickly. “Derelict buildings are in my care, too, just as much as the populated ones are.”

The hero can hear the hissing of the fuse upstairs, even from here. The villain can too, from the way he tilts his head thoughtfully. Or maybe she’s imagining things and he can’t hear a thing.

She moves to get past the villain. He leans across the doorway as if that can truly stop her. It wouldn’t, but catching the villain in an about-to-be-blown-up building was not part of the plan. She fixes him with a hard glare instead. “I suggest you move,” she spits, but the villain only laughs.

“What, no time for a dance with your favourite criminal?”

He holds his hands out to her like he’s serious but she bats him away. “Leave, [Villain],” she demands, praying it sounds more like a command than a warning. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She shoves past him and he thankfully moves this time, stumbling back into the doorframe as she skirts around him. He follows her as she lets herself out the main door, and she’s distantly thankful that he’s so persistent. 

“And you should?” the villain snaps harshly. “The agency sends its finest out to wander about buildings five seconds from collapsing?”

The hero would laugh at the irony if she wasn’t so worried about how close they are to the door and how short that fuse surely is by now. She turns to him and hopes her usual heroic smugness is sitting in its place.

“If you want to dance,” she says, quicker than can be played off as smooth, “we can do it where everyone can watch.”

She turns to run but the villain catches her arm, uncharacteristic concern etched into this expression. “What’s going on with you?” he asks softly. “You’re acting weird.”

Fuck, he knows. He’s going to carefully pry a confession out of her like he’s the good guy. Okay, I’m the big scary villain everyone’s looking for! I’m the one bringing the city to its knees! Then the villain will arrest her or some shit. He’s an undercover hero. He’s– he’s going to tell the superhero, her life is over. He knows, he knows he knows he knows—

The hero’s stopwatch beeps cheerfully from her pocket, and before she can think what she’s doing she tackles the villain to the floor.

Whatever noise of surprise the villain made at the contact is lost to the deafening boom of the bomb erupting, gutting the building without a care. She can’t see it—doesn’t want to, not really—but the debris scatters across the street like a taste of the carnage behind her. She can see some of the disaster in the reflection of the villain’s widened, startled eyes—fire, smoke, and merciless, cold-hearted destruction.

The villain finally manages to tear his gaze from the mutilated remains of the building and back to the hero. She can’t meet his eye. He knows. There’s no doubt he does. She stares at where concrete is jabbing into her palms instead.

“Did you just save my life?“ His question almost sounds offended. The hero almost laughs at the unexpectedness of it.

“You’re welcome.”

His gaze flits back to the building crumbling over the hero’s shoulder. “You—” His voice catches on nerves. She’s never seen him actually scared of her before. “You did that. You’ve done all of them.”

No point in lying anymore. “I have to do a lot to get the agency’s attention nowadays.”

Something pulls at the corner of the villain’s lips, and it takes her a moment to realise that it’s a smile. Unabashed, delighted, like he’s just stumbled across a pile of gold.

“You’re on the wrong team,” he says. “There’s a place for someone like you with us.”

And, to be honest, the hero knows he’s right.

[tailoredsnob]

I'm just sayin', you don't truly know how fucked up and concerning your writing can be, until you actually start reading the words you have just typed up.

[get-prompted]

Prompt;

Everybody sits around the campfire, laughing and cheering and telling stories. It might just be paranoia, but you swear you saw a pair of animalistic eyes in the dark. And you SWEAR there was only 10 people here before, not 11.

[sagessge]

Your paw on my hand,my dear friend

It was you with me when I was at my end

You licked my salty tears

And I saw you there

Your shiny eyes and everlasting smile

It doesn't last though,when we're away

I swear no human can love as pure as you do

To them you're just a pet

To me you are my friend,my companion

My support,the only face that makes me smile no matter how grim I am

I talk to you and I open my heart

Knowing that you won't give it away

Knowing that you might not understand but you try

People come and go

But you,please stay

I've heard them say "Pets are just a chapter for us,to them we are their whole book"

Yours is the chapter I adore,I annotate,I come back each time when my eyes feel soar

And your smile paints on my face

I've never smiled so much

You made me heal,for real

And you are my favorite chapter

Keep your paw on my hand longer,my friend

Stay

[crmsnmth]

Please Stay In View

We're up all night again I don't want to waste my time with you I'm angry that I have to blink every so often I'm scared you'll vanish from my view and I'll wake up, still sleeping on my friend's living room floor while Tiger Army plays and moss growing

Please don't leave me alone I don't want to lose sight of you right now I'm still having trouble believing you are real am I in a rubber room somewhere

Hey, if this is insanity then you can count me in

Another night, arms wrapped around you legs wrapped around me this is how we worship the silver moon Please don't be just another delusion I can't handle the idea of you being a fantasy and I feel like I've got a good grip on this Your mouth breathes hot air in my ear And I'm inclined to believe this moment is true

Please stay here with me When this over, don't tell me to go home Let me lay in your bed again So I can hear you fall asleep and watch you breathe

I've never known something so relaxing

[archiveofthelibrarian]

Urggh... Don't y'all hate it when your book makes an entire genre change in the second draft?

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 9: Can’t Move | “Stay. Please.”

TW: None

@whumpuary

Whumpee coughed. Everything hurt. It hurt so much he couldn’t even move. How sick he felt didn’t make it much better. He felt glued to the bed and cold. Even with the four blankets layered on top of him, he still felt like he was going to freeze to death. 

Caretaker finally came into the room, a bag in his hand and a coat on. “Sorry I took so long. Traffic was no joke today.” He seemed out of breath as if he’d been running. Placing the bag down, he reached inside and pulled out a medicine bottle. He left the room to rinse out the small plastic cup that went with it. He poured the medicine into it and helped Whumpee sit upright to take it. Afterwards, he helped him drink some water. Laying Whumpee back down and tucking him back in, Caretaker shrugged his coat off as he turned to leave. 

“Stay.” Whumpee croaked. “Please.” 

Caretaker turned back around. Based on the urgency in Whumpee’s voice, he couldn’t ignore the request. He hung his coat on the footboard of the bed and lied down next to him. He pulled Whumpee into his arms, the blankets still wrapped around him. 

“It hurts…” Whumpee whined. 

“I know, I know. I got you a different medicine so it won’t hurt so much and your fever will die down. It’s going to be over soon though, okay?” Caretaker placed a kiss on his forehead. “I promise.” 

[azaracyy]

today, cupimon prays for your happiness too.