#WRITING IS HARD

[regthomas1728]

I actually cannot do this. Let me practice with one of my characters. Wait, I did it once with a Bucky fanfic--it had the friendship/relationship discussed and the pain Bucky was going through for a straight page and a half to three pages. I guess I can do turmoil. But, I want to practice it more with my characters.

"actions speak louder than words" unless you’re a writer, in which case you’ll spend 300 pages describing a character’s inner turmoil while they stand perfectly still in a room.

[artsy-writy]

Humans find ways to enjoy the most dangerous things ever.

Alien: Welcome human, to our space craft.

Human: Thank you for having me. Oh. Is that a fish?

Alien: *taps the tank* Indeed. Poisonous and causes the most painful death known to us.

Human: Ah. So, what does it taste like?

Alien: ...sorry?

Human: Does it taste good when cooked?

Alien: I-it's in a heavily guarded tank-

Human: Yeah but- OH. I'M SO SORRY.

Alien: Y-yeah- I was so confused-

Human: It's a pet! I'm so sorry. I must have seemed so insensitive.

Alien: What? No! We're researching it. R-E-S-E-A-R-C-H

Human: Oh ok. But surely, you've found a way to make it a delicacy.

Alien: NO! Next thing I know, you might ask how our venomous reptiles will taste. Like the Produlator.

Human: Oh. The snake looking thing? Pretty sure the human restaurant down the street serves it. Really good.

Alien: ...I'm voting for all of you to be sent back to your planet.

[not-poignant]

Hi, Pia! A year ago I discovered you through the Mysterious Skin fanfic, which truthfully has helped me in so many emotional layers till this day (and always will). After that read, I jumped on your profile and was blown away by the world you have created with your own hands. You really inspired me to publish my first fic in AO3 recently (for a random fandom), but sadly I've been having a hard time with it.

At the beginning I was relieved that fear didn't stop me anymore, but then it happened again, it came back, in another form, hitting me harder. I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations and when I read one of those I think: "This is perfect, I could never achieve this level, I don't have this voice, I should just delete mine, I don't have nothing to say, I can't make people feel this way" and I hate to have those feelings because I think it breaks down the true meaning of writing in general (to help people, to connect, to make a tribute, to have an emotional journey), but at this point I have lost my mind. My dream was always to be a writer, but I left it behind for so many reasons, now I thought things were changing inside me, but I guess it's not the case, I can't even deal with a fanfic...

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before. How did you start writing? How has it been for you? How do you deal with these things? Feel free to answer me only if you're comfortable with that, I don't wanna put pressure on you as if you were my spiritual guide, but, for all the thoughts and things you share here, I think you are a wise person.

Sorry for the long text, I don't have people in real life to talk to about these issues. I'm really grateful to you already because of your story, it's always in my heart, it's part of me. Btw, I hope you are doing well, keep the amazing work. ❤️

PS: Sorry for the mistakes, not a native English speaker here.

Hi anon,

Congrats on posting your first fic! That's really huge. Even if it does open us up to The Insecurities, it's still a massive thing to do in the first place and I'm so happy for you.

As to everything else, oomf, let's get into it.

So the first thing is there is no writer out there who doesn't get assailed - literally assailed - by insecurities and massive feelings of self-doubt or even self-hatred over their writing (if there is, I haven't met them).

There's no point in writing at which they stop, and if you overcome some, new ones come in their place. I think that's just the nature of the beast - both wanting to (ideally) please at least some of our readers, and also offer something decent to read.

It can help to realise this is a normal part of writing and the experience. Obviously at its most severe, it might require therapy support, or professional support of some kind, but getting assailed by The Insecurities is part of being a creative person.

I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations

So yeah, this is true. Hear me out! This is true for me too. This is true for every writer that exists. Even the ones who win Pulitzers. This is going to sound blunt, but this is true for every story in the world. I know when I post my works that there are better stories with better characterisations out there. And there are stories that I consider perfect to me. But this last part is really important! I don't get to determine what's perfect for everyone. I'm not allowed to make that choice for them. And also people don't read in order to find The Most Perfect Story Ever, they read for many many many reasons, and that one often isn't even on the list! That's just on our list, when we feel beset by The Insecurities.

Like, yes, better stories exist. That's very subjective. They're better to you, they might not be better to some of the readers who read your work, and unless your only goal in writing is to be 'the best ever' (this is not a great goal imho because it's unattainable) sometimes a simple 'oh...yeah I mean it's true there are better stories according to me, but that doesn't mean that people won't enjoy mine, or that people won't think my stories aren't the best, and I'm not even writing to be the best in the world, so I don't know why I'm listening to this because it's not even what my values are in writing.'

But I also need to make it clear that your insecurities will never leave you 100%. They find new ways to come back, and they do keep coming back. We get periods free of the worst of it, often have low-key doubts in the background fairly frequently, and sometimes feel really good about writing. That's...writing. You haven't done anything wrong in your writing or in yourself when you have new insecurities coming in, and you've acknowledged yourself that things have already changed, because these are new or different insecurities. Think of it like an upward spiral, you circle back to feeling insecure, you have to if you want to keep going up.

You won't stay there forever, but the circling is part of the process. It can help to remind yourself of some cognitively true facts - what you think is perfect in writing is someone else's 'worst story ever' if they read it. What you love to read is not necessarily what you end up writing, and that doesn't mean it can't be someone's favourite story. And yeah, someone has already done something better by our standards, because I don't think there's any point on this journey where we go 'that's it, I've done it, I've become the best writer ever, insecurities begone!!!' (It would be nice, but it's not how it works).

So when insecurities come back it's not 'oh god I've failed at writing and/or keeping the insecurities away' it's - this is normal. You can go 'oh I'm being a regular writer right now, in the hard part of it.' I know this. It sucks. It probably means I need a break when it gets really bad, and I need to recharge a bit. I can keep improving, and my writing doesn't have to be anything other than entertaining. I've pretty much struck perfect from my vocabulary. It's too subjective.

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before.

Anon, about twice a year I feel so bad about my writing I become convinced that the only answer is to delete all of it off my AO3 accounts. And on a regular basis I go between what I consider fairly normal insecurities (is that closing okay / is this arc good / will people like this character / have I pushed this too far / oh god my engagement is down am I terrible at writing), to pretty intense ones (idk why I do this nothing I write is good / how have I convinced these amazing people that this is worth their time / I wish I could write like (insert X author here) instead of this absolute mid shit etc.)

It helps me a lot to know that some of it is mental illness, but most of it is actually just normal. I'm a writer who wants my readers to have a good time and who wants to write something I can be proud of, and sometimes my brain won't let me feel proud of anything I've done because I made it, and sometimes I don't like myself very much. It means I should work on liking myself more. It doesn't mean I should stop writing.

I started writing as a kid, to cope with fairly awful life circumstances at home. So I was lucky that insecurities didn't matter because no one was seeing my writing except for me, I already hated myself (because people who were supposed to care for me, hated me - there's a reason I write the stories I do!) and I was literally trying to survive something that some people don't survive.

When I started sharing my writing, The Insecurities came. And...idk, I learned how to recognise it as a normal part of the process. It took a long, long time. It's normal to feel like there's something unique about how much we suffer over not liking our writing or feeling like it's bad, that the insecurities say something really true about our writing or even our integrity as a person.

Most of the time they say nothing at all except about the state of our mental health and how tired we are. For example, it's more normal for artists and writers to hate what they create during times of government unrest, or increased oppression, or in abusive households, because it's a way to redirect a lot of very unpleasant feelings to something we think we can control.

Sometimes it just happens because we're tired and the wave crashes over the dam we have in place that says 'go away insecurities.' Like you'd be amazed how much food, staying hydrated, getting good sleep / having good sleep hygiene can actually keep the worst of The Insecurities at bay.

Sometimes we need a break! Too much of a good thing in writing can lead to our brain trying to tell us we're terrible at it so we'll just walk away and watch some movies for a bit! The best way to prevent that is to take a break before we get there.

The good news is, you're a writer feeling something very normal for us writers. The bad news is that it feels bad. It can help to step back a bit, and also to join some writer's groups online maybe, ones that focus on support and lifting people up.

I wish I could say you one day hit a point where the insecurities never come back, but if anything, I don't think you can do these sorts of crafts without them. At their extremes they're not good for us, but the extremes of anything aren't good for us. You're not alone, I promise. The worst you've felt about your writing, is the worst many people have felt about their writing. It's just...often such a lonely process and many writers don't talk about it, but it's there, and it won't last. It's part of the spiral. Over time, you might find it easier when you know it's normal, and temporary, but frankly, there are times it's just really, really hard.

You will move past this, and then one day you'll touch on this again, and then you'll move past it again. Sometimes we spend longer in it than we wanted to, sometimes we need to take a longer break than we meant to, sometimes we write more than was good for us with how tired we were at the time.

It's not perfect, it's not supposed to be perfect, but it is part of the journey, it just means you're a writer like the rest of us writers, anon. I hope you can find your way back into writing more soon! And I hope you can be compassionate towards yourself. You put yourself out there, and have been writing, and honestly that's fucking amazing. I think you're awesome.

[artemisdesari-blog]

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[in-over-my-head]

I feel like every writer I know can relate to this.

New ideas are so shiny!

[veronicaleighauthor]

Edit Note: I'm really amazed by how much love this post got. Guess it just shows we're all in the same boat. I do have other humorous writing memes on this tumblr under the same tag, if you're interested. Never give up writing! ❤️

Edit Note 2: I can't believe this has reached 25,000+ notes. Been on tumblr for ten years (different account) and nothing like this has ever happened before. Thank you! 😊

[quinnjgraham]

I know this is the website where we talk about artists and writers doing anything other than making art or writing, but man, we REALLY undersell how good it feels to actually work on your stuff.

Like you hit your word count for the first time in a week and its like

[the-palelady]

you’re straddling simon while the two of you are making out, and he grabs your waist in the most desperate of ways, dragging your closer to him.

it’s like he’s trying to consume you, forcing your chest to press into his. it’s almost suffocating, yet it isn’t enough.

his fingers dig into the divot of your hips and he’s still pulling, still eating you whole as his chapped, warm lips devour yours.

those same rough, callused hands loosen and drag up the expanse of your spine, feeling along every scar, every stretch mark. every flaw you have he’s tracing it, memorizing it, painting it on the back of his eyelids so he never forgets.

he’s rough yet gentle and soft all at the same time. he’s the calm before the storm.

he doesn’t leave an inch of you untouched, from the curve of your hips to the dimples in your cheeks.

you look divine in the museum that is simon’s mind. he places you at the center of his own personal gallery, the works of michelangelo and botticelli insignificant to how heavenly you look seated on his lap.

hell, you’re beautiful no matter what, and simon won’t let you leave his side until he’s sure you’ll never forget that.

[niennanir]

NGL, I laugh with glee equally at both.

I would give more comments on fics, but my comments always end up as "awooga me likey" and "nose bleed pixiv elephant emote" instead of "I walk this mortal plane of day to day life to be gifted a seed of pure passion that lets me know that it's worth another day to read something like this again" kinda expression to let the author know I thoroughly enjoyed their work.

[bonnibellexox]

Learning to leave some questions unanswered for a while is like trying to grow wings. It’s hell. I’m too autistic for this

Interested in a post-apocalyptic, romance story set in a beautifully mutated world? Check out my new book, Status Quo (coming this year) at @status-quo-book

[uwudonoodle]

[cranberry-queen]

@vanlydmarso Sure! So here's a chapter of a book I'm working on. In it:

Voice-of-Reason: Mark

The Wild Card: Andre

The Observer: Tina

The Instigator: Lily

The Driver: Sam

Mark pushed his way into the house, the weight of a plastic bag dangling from his wrist. He barely had time to shut the door before Tina’s voice—sharp and fast—rang through the house. Spanish. Heated.

In the kitchen, between the fridge and the island, Tina stood with her arms crossed, her foot tapping in that deadly, rhythmic way she did when her patience ran thin. Andre stood opposite her, rubbing the back of his neck, his shoulders hunched like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mark didn’t need to understand the words to know the fight’s cause: Andre’s latest bout of unemployment.

Mark swiftly averted his gaze. Tina was the only person in the house who had no problem dishing out scoldings when necessary, and he had no intention of getting dragged into the crossfire. He made a beeline for the counter, dropped Andre’s change into the battered “Council Jar,” and set the Coke beside it before hopping the two steps down into the sunken living area. Without a word, he dropped onto the couch beside Lily and extended his bag of Sparkles toward her.

She beamed at him, plucked a yellow one from the bag, and popped it into her mouth after unwrapping it. Her thumb scrolled idly through a social media feed on her phone screen, but her ears were tuned to the kitchen. Lily was the only one of the other housemates who understood any Spanish—badly, but enough.

“Andre lost his job again?” Mark asked, voice low.

“Yup,” Lily said, still chewing. “His bartending gig was supposed to make up for the fact that Tina switched to part-time at Woolworths.”

Mark frowned. He remembered when Tina had cut her hours at the clothing store, relieved to finally focus on finishing her degree. They’d even celebrated.

“What’s worse,” Lily added, her voice dropping, “is that her contract’s locked until the next hiring cycle.”

Mark exhaled sharply through his nose. That explained why Tina’s voice had taken on that sharp, clipped edge. He watched as Lily reached for another sweet but paused, her gaze unfocused.

“Tina…” she tilted her head, listening, “She’s giving him a week to find a new job or she’s renting his half of the basement to someone else. He’s trying to guilt-trip her, but she’s not having it.”

Mark rubbed the back of his head. He could spot them the rent, had done it before. But Tina would shut him down before he even finished the offer. She’d told him once, in that firm, no-nonsense way of hers: If you make allowances for one person, you have to do it for everyone. If Andre knew there was a safety net, he’d never get a job. Pride thing, maybe. But Mark cared too much about both of them to undermine that.

A familiar jingle at the front door made them both glance up. Sam.

Even though the door was always left unlocked during the day, she always used her key. Habit, she claimed. Six months wasn’t enough to break it.

The door swung open, and Sam waltzed in, a brightly colored box in her arms. She kicked the door shut behind her, her usual energy undeterred by the shouting match in the kitchen. Tina and Andre, caught mid-argument, paused long enough for Tina to sigh and give Sam an apologetic look.

“Sorry, guys. Give us a minute.” She grabbed Andre’s forearm and dragged him toward the basement door.

Once they were out of sight, Sam dropped the box onto the kitchen island with a grin.

Mark and Lily pushed off the couch, leaving the half-eaten bag of sweets and instant noodles behind. Sam saluted the faded photo of Mark’s parents on the fridge before popping the lid open.

“Since when is your manager this nice?” Lily asked as they settled onto the barstools.

“New manager,” Sam replied, filling the kettle. “Layla. She lets the closing staff take leftovers before they get tossed. Hates waste but doesn’t want upper management to sniff around.”

“She’s not worried someone will rat her out?” Mark snagged a chicken mayo sandwich.

Sam tossed a few crumpled receipts into the bin and dumped her spare change into the “Council Jar.” “And lose free food? Not a chance.”

“I’m not complaining,” Lily hummed around a chocolate jam doughnut.

Mark chuckled at her choice before nodding at Sam. “You actually make it to the lab on time this morning, or did you sweet-talk your way out of being late again?”

Sam rolled her eyes, stuffing a cinnamon bite into her mouth. “Made it. Barely. Professor Lennox would’ve lost it if I strolled in late again.”

“What are you even working on now? Thought you said it was some kinda cube?” Mark asked.

“An energy cube,” Sam corrected, setting their coffees in front of them. She took a seat. “It’s a self-sustaining generator. The casing works like a Faraday cage but channels electromagnetic energy into the core instead of just blocking it.”

“So it absorbs power?” Lily squinted, bracing for the answer to be wrong.

“Exactly. The core’s a supercapacitor, paired with what we call a ‘quantum resonance matrix.’ It stabilizes the absorbed energy, making it constant. Once powered, it emits a localized field that wirelessly powers electronics. Like Wi-Fi, but for electricity.”

“So, my phone would charge just by being near it?” Mark folded his arms, intrigued.

“Yup.” Sam’s face lit up. “No wires, no batteries. Just this little cube in the corner of the room.”

Lily arched a brow. “That sounds terrifying. What’s stopping it from frying everything?”

“That’s what we’re figuring out.” Sam shrugged. “We gotta break a few devices to get it right.”

Mark smirked. “So it’s either a game-changer or a phone-melter.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Lily muttered, sipping her coffee.

Sam grinned and reached into her bag, pulling out a cube the size of a coffee mug. “This one’s defective. Too small for the prototype, so I gotta toss it tomorrow.”

Lily reached out but yelped the second her fingers brushed it, dropping it straight into her coffee.

Mark swore and fished it out with a dish towel, his whole body jolting from the shock. Every cell in his body felt awake.

Sam frowned, brushing off Lily’s frantic apologies. “Weird. It shouldn’t have done that—”

Before she could finish, Andre and Tina reappeared.

“What’s that?” Andre snatched the cube before Sam could stop him. He held it up, studying it—then winced, hand jerking back. “Ow—what the hell?”

“Give it back.” Sam reached for it.

Andre smirked and pulled it just out of her reach. “Relax, Doc, I’m just—ow! Damn thing shocked me.”

Tina sighed, smacked him upside the head, and took the cube. The second it touched her palm, she yelped and dropped it.

Sam caught it mid-air and stuffed it back into her bag. “Right. No one touch the shiny, defective, probably-shouldn’t-be-here cube.”

Tina gave her a long look before grabbing her coffee and sitting down. Andre followed suit, still shaking out his hand.

Sam grinned at them. “So, dinner’s on me?”

Tips from a Beta Reading Writer

This one's for the scenes with multiple characters, and you're not sure how to keep everyone involved.

Writing group scenes is chaos. Someone’s talking, someone’s interrupting, someone’s zoning out thinking about breadsticks. And if you’re not careful, half your cast fades into the background like NPCs in a video game. I used to struggle with this so much—my characters would just exist in the scene without actually affecting it. But here’s what I've learned and have started implementing:

✨ Give everyone a job in the scene ✨

Not their literal job—like, not everyone needs to be solving a crime or casting spells. I mean: Why are they in this moment? What’s their role in the conversation?

My favourite examples are:

The Driver: Moves the convo forward. They have an agenda, they’re pushing the action.

The Instigator: Pokes the bear. Asks the messy questions. Stirring the pot like a chef on a mission.

The Voice of Reason: "Guys, maybe we don’t commit arson today?"

The Distracted One: Completely in their own world. Tuning out, doodling on a napkin, thinking about their ex.

The Observer: Not saying much, but noticing everything. (Quiet characters still have presence!)

The Wild Card: Who knows what they’ll do? Certainly not them. Probably about to make things worse.

If a character has no function, they’ll disappear. Give them something—even if it’s just a side comment, a reaction, or stealing fries off someone’s plate. Keep them interesting, and your readers will stay interested too.

[thedeepbluedark]

sitting down to write isn't really about creating a story, it's about getting the story onto the page before it destroys me

[xyywrites]

The Power of Silence in Dialogue

We often think of dialogue as something that’s just about what characters say, but let’s talk about what they don’t say. Silence can be one of the most powerful tools in your writing toolbox. Here’s why:

1. The Unspoken Tension

When characters leave things unsaid, it adds layers to their interactions. Silence can create a tension that’s so thick you could cut it with a knife. It shows things are happening beneath the surface—the real conversation is happening in what’s left unspoken.

Example:

“So, you’re leaving, huh?” He didn’t look up from the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, slow and deliberate. “Yeah.” “Guess I should’ve expected this.” (Silence.) “You’re not mad?” “I’m not mad,” she said, but the way her voice broke was louder than anything she'd said all night.

2. Building Anticipation or Drama

Sometimes silence can heighten the drama, creating a pause where the reader feels like something big is about to happen. You don’t always need words to convey that sense of dread or anticipation.

Example:

They stood there, side by side, staring at the door that had just closed behind him. “You should’ve stopped him.” She didn’t answer. “You should’ve said something.” The room felt colder. “I couldn’t.” (Silence.)

3. Creating Emotional Impact

Sometimes, saying nothing can have the biggest emotional punch. Silence gives the reader a chance to interpret the scene, to sit with the feelings that aren’t being voiced.

Example:

He opened the letter and read it. And then, without saying a word, he folded it back up and placed it in the drawer. His fingers lingered on the wood for a long time before he closed it slowly, too slowly. “Are you okay?” He didn’t answer.

TL;DR

Silence isn’t just a pause between dialogue—it’s a powerful tool for deepening emotional tension, building anticipation, and revealing character. Next time you write a scene, ask yourself: what isn’t being said? And how can that silence say more than the words ever could?

[seekerknight557]

i think it is a very powerful thing when the story inside you is so loud that you are forced to relearn how to draw, write, and talk to people to get it made into a real thing

[ahyperfixatingcookie]

i have too much inspiration, but no motivation :(

You know when someone talks about not being inspired enough to keep writing, I want to cry... BECAUSE I HAVE TOO MUCH INSPIRATION, SO MUCH THAT I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO PUT IT, PLEASE SAVE ME.