#anais writes

[tss-storytime]

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Welcome, to Come Into the Water. A Big Bang horror fic written by yours truly in conjunction with above art by @onthevirgeofdestruction, and beta reading from @remy-the-lemon-berry

The water flows unceasingly.

For Virgil, Truth is hard to find. It is lost in the sea of lies and secrets that have corrupted everything and everyone, it seems. There is nowhere to hide. Nowhere is safe. How can he move forward without a guiding light? Who will save him?

Mercifully, the water flows unceasingly.

Come Into the Water.

Or, Virgil finds truth in the form of a cave hidden deep in the back of the Mindscape. It sings a song to him, a song he would very much like to join.

Come Into the Water.

BUCKLE UP! if you don't know me for horror you sure are gonna now! This was a delight to write and a delight to share. It is oozing with symbolism, from the wildly obscure to the excitingly common. I poured so many hours of strange research and devious laughter to this fic. It is meant to be enjoyed however you please, but know there is always more to find, hidden in the references. There is so much here, and I will be as active as ever in my comments.

Ch 1.

Ch 2.

Ch 3.

Ch 4.

Ch 5.

Ch 6.

Ch 7.

Ch 8.

Ch 9.

Ch 10.

Ch 11.

Ch 12.

@tss-storytime

[mournfulroses]

Anaïs Nin, from a novel titled "A Spy in the House of Love," published in 1954

[thehopefulquotes]

Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.

Anais Nin

[vifilms]

ARCANE SPOILERS, EIGHTEEN+

vi being a confirmed munch! she would literally give the best, the sloppiest, nastiest, most beautifully divined head ever received. you’re telling me she wouldn’t get on her knees for her girl at any moment. vi is the type to insist, even when you’re desperate to get your hands on her, she aims to please and that’s exactly what she’s doing to do. doesn’t matter where you are or really when it happens, she’ll see it through. practically doing tricks on your pussy, her tongue fucking in and out of your coveted hole, splitting your split open with her tongue, slurping at every drop, coating her gorgeous face with your cum. powder blue eyes so dilated, they’re almost too dark to function. she looks at you through her eyelashes, needing to see the look on your face when you cum, greedy hands digging into the roots of her hair, pulling you even further, the tip of her nose teasing your clit until you’re coming undone for her as her mouth pushes you through the best euphoric orgasm you’ve ever had just to be met with “ready for another, cupcake?”

[surqrised]

Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.

Anais Nin

[sehsfav]

— james joyce.

[perfectquote]

Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds. It dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of a natural death.

Anais Nin

[ardent-reflections]

"I can only connect deeply or not at all."

Anais Nin

[metamorphesque]

musings on writing

Heaven Is Not Verbose: A Notebook by Vera Pavlova (tr. Steven Seymour), Letters Home by Sylvia Plath, MaddAddam by Margaret Atwood, A Breath of Life by Clarice Lispector, Isak Dinesen quoted by Raymond Carver, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Max Brod by Franz Kafka, Conversations with Kafka by Gustav Janouch, The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

[shisasan]

January 27, 1924 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]

[thoughtkick]

We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.

Anais Nin

[annaizscribbling]

In Which the Farmer is a Cryptid. Part 7, Jas.

(Pt 1)

Jas was a curious girl. She had to be, really.

She had laid out two of her favorite dresses on her bed. Both were purple, of course. Everything should be purple, in her strong opinion. Jas had found herself a bit less chipper that morning, and she had once overheard Haley say that the best way to tackle a grungy day was to look even more fantastic.

Thus, choosing between her two favorite dresses. After that she would have to choose a bow, which would be far more of an ordeal. Really, being a young lady was no easy task. Though Marnie likes to tell Jas that she’s got it easy. She says that playing all day and school with Penny is easy, and that Jas should enjoy it while she gets to be a kid.

Clearly, Marnie has never had to put together a fancy outfit.

After staring at the two options long enough to get bored, (hours probably) she sought out some assistance. This was a two person problem. Time to get some help.

“Shane!” she called out through the walls. There was no response. She grumbled, crossing her arms. “Shane!”

After a few seconds of impatience, she scooped both dresses into her arms and trotted towards the kitchen.

“Shane!”

Jas found him where she expected to find him, warming up some cold pizza in the mircrowave that was supposedly older than herself. He looked half awake, slumped against the counter because standing up required too much energy. He yawned, a long, loud yawn that often made Jas giggle.

“Shane. Help,” Jas said seriously, inching closer with her dresses in hand.

“Hmm?” He pawed at his scruffy chin, other hand stuffed in his massive hoodie pocket. The light from the microwave cast a glow against him. He really did look barely awake.

“I need your help. I can’t decide what to wear. Choose,” She thrusted both dresses towards him, face puckered seriously.

Shane blinked groggily; he didn’t do mornings well at all. Marnie was probably out taking care of the cows and being productive. Her godfather clicked his tongue, before peering at the bundle of purple frills and tule that made up her dresses.

“… Can’t tell where one dress ends and another starts,” he mumbled, pulling the hem of one to separate it from the other. “Uh. Here. This one,” he nodded his chin at the darker purple one.

“Did you see the bow on the back?” she pointed at the feature for consideration.

“Uh huh. Looks great,” he yawned, patting her on the head. The microwave finished whirring, so he pulled out his food.

Jas frowned, but accepted the choice at face value. Before she could walk back to her room, Shane had gently pulled her arm, bringing her into a hug. He ruffled her dark hair, leaning on her playfully.

“You have a good day for me, kay?” Shane told her, giving her a firm pat on the back. He still sounded half awake, but effort was being made.

“I will, Shane,” she smiled, hugging his side.

“Good. I’ve got ta get to Zuzu City today, but I’ll see you tonight. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get you something from that chocolate store you like so much."

“Yay!” She squealed.

It was a nice thing to hold onto. As Shane left and Marnie started working, it was another day for Jas to entertain herself.

Jas was a curious girl. She had to be.

Her days could be rather lonely. The grown ups in her life were busy. Vincent got busy with his family sometimes. There weren’t other kids in Pelican Town. So Jas knew how to entertain herself. Jump rope, dolls, digging, playing with the cows or chickens, dress up, playing pretend. Lots of things could fill the day.

But sometimes it was hard. She felt a little grouchy, or just more … bored. Just bored. Or maybe a more mean type of bored? She wasn’t sure.

As Jas pondered her mood, dressed in her specially picked dress, she found herself wandering. Wandering up past the house, up the straight path.

It wasn’t long before she found looking at the farmer’s property. Huh. Didn’t mean to do that.

It was a gorgeous summer day. The farm had to many little buildings and ponds. Great big trees were set in clusters around the edges of the property. Strange statues in pastel colors lined the far side by the fence. Animals lounged around in their pens, all healthy and happy. Rows upon rows of kegs and furnaces made neat lines on the other side of the farm.

But Jas’s eyes were captivated by the crops. Big bountiful crops all around.

And among the summer harvest, was the farmer.

Jas loved the farmer. Who was more dazzling than her? Jas wanted a farm of her own one day, to grow flowers and fruit on a pretty day, just like today. The farmer was in black today, like her usual attire. Though today her clothes were breezy, swaying in the gentle summer wind. She held a wicker basket against her hip, filled with blueberries and strawberries, it seemed.

Jas stared.

The farmer was stooped by a little hutch in the center of the crops. Her long curls looked perfect, they always did, honestly, they never seemed to look remotely different on any given day. Like one of Jas’s dolls, but with freckles! Jas wanted freckles too. Her attempts at using paint did not pan out.

After a moment, Jas crept a little closer.

Despite the fact that the farmer was turned around, she seemed to sense Jas. She turned around, smiling fondly.

Jas startled, before timidly waving back. She couldn’t decide if she felt guilty or not about snooping, but the farmer didn’t seem upset, so perhaps it was fine.

The farmer waved her over.

Jas trotted over, excited.

“How would you like a fairy rose?” the farmer whispered in her soft, always very earnest voice. There was a sparkle in her big brown eyes.

“Uh huh,” Jas nodded rapidly, though she didn’t see any flowers anywhere near. She saw plenty of plants, but they all seemed like they’d been harvested already.

“We’ll have to ask my friends,” she told Jas with a mischievous smile.

“Friends ...?”

The farmer nodded, gently pulling Jas to kneel beside her by the little hutch. With a smile, the farmer gave a low whistle into the opening of the little leafy house.

To Jas’s utter shock, a little … something hopped out. It was green, round, shiny, with a little stem and leaf on top. It had black glossy eyes and pink blush. She gave a little gasp.

Two more in red and orange popped out next, flowers in hand. The farmer put her basket down in front of them, and they began piling crops into it. She watched in awe as one of the little fellas brought out the most beautiful fairy rose, a purple one. The green guy waddled out in front of her, holding it out.

Had Jas been any older, perhaps this would have been terrifying. Impossible. Strange and frightening. But she was not any of those things, instead, she was utterly delighted with the funny little things in front of her.

Jas looked to the farmer for permission, who nodded encouragingly. She took the flower and smelled it, the little guy seemed pleased, dancing around, putting its little stick arms in the air with joy.

“That’s a junimo,” the farmer said with a soft smile. She had a soft, soothing voice any day, but especially now, she seemed content. “They help me around the farm. I worked for them for the better part of two years, getting things they needed. Later, I purchased homes for them, and they help gather crops. The junimo’s help Seb and I.”

“… junimos?” Jas looked at the adorable little guys incredulously. She really wanted to hug them.

The farmer nodded, standing up and brushing off her flowy linen pants. She smiled down at Jas and the junimos, plucking another flower from the basket and tucking it behind Jas’s ear. “Good helpers. And very good friends.”

“They are?”

“Sure are,” the farmer nodded. “If you’re not too loud, they might be more than happy to play with you. Helps keep the lonely away,” she whispered.

Jas looked up with big eyes, before turning her attention to the junimos. “Hi, junimos. I’m Jas.”

The junimos came closer, the red one crawling right into her lap. She giggled with delight, petting its smooth skin. It was so cute it made her heart hurt.

With that same soft smile ever present, the farmer got up to go tend to her animals, keeping an eye on Jas as she played with her new friends

“Do you like my dress?” Jas whispered to the junimos, who made strange little gleeful noises in response. Jas blushed and hugged one of them to her chest.

[mournfulroses]

Anaïs Nin, from a letter to Joaquin Nin, featured in Reunited: The Correspondence of Anais and Joaquin Nin, 1933-1940

[frail-and-hearty]

“I am so in love with you that I cannot stand to bear that you’d ever think you’re alone even for a second, no matter where you are in the world.”

[blueeyesfilledwithpassion]

Taste Life Twice

ANAIS NIN

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Advice from Anaïs Nin

The following are excerpts from a letter of advice she sent to a 17-year-old aspiring author by the name of Leonard W., whom she had taken under her wing as creative mentor.

I like to live always at the beginnings of life, not at their end. We all lose some of our faith under the oppression of mad leaders, insane history, pathologic cruelties of daily life.

Older people fall into rigid patterns. Curiosity, risk, exploration are forgotten by them. You have not yet discovered that you have a lot to give, and that the more you give the more riches you will find in yourself. It amazed me that you felt that each time you write a story you gave away one of your dreams and you felt the poorer for it.

You must not fear, hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and feelings.

It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing.

Permit yourself to flow and overflow, allow for the rise in temperature, all the expansions and intensifications.

Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.

If it seems to you that I move in a world of certitudes, you, par contre, must benefit from the great privilege of youth, which is that you move in a world of mysteries. But both must be ruled by faith.