#cadence & flow is all poetry

[itspileofgoodthings]

I love the rhyming on ttpd. can only think of two examples currently but I know there’s more.

[compacflt]

I have to ask because I'm just too curious! How is your writing so good? Like, holy hell, your prose, the flow from one sentence to another, how you tell Ice and Mav's thoughts and the yearning and pining and angst and everything. You made me cry so many times reading their perspectives, and it's such a unique take and so relatable and sad at the same time.

I'm just wondering if you've taken any courses, what you do to improve your writing, or maybe any references and ideas for when you get stuck on a scene. I'm not much of a reader of western media, so maybe you have some recommendations?

Thanks in advance! You're one of the best writers I've ever had the pleasure of reading!

See here for my regular writing advice :)

yes, i am a double major in journalism & english so I’m taking basically all writing classes at school. but as i said in my previous advice post, i haven’t learned anything in any of my classes that you couldn’t learn just by reading attentively and writing on your own. the benefit of a structured program is Having Deadlines and that’s about it imo

I don’t have a ton of recommendations for precisely this reason—my recommendation is to literally read everything you can get your hands on, AND to treat Everything you read/watch/experience like high literature. Advertisements in the subway have a theme & a message & employ certain literary tactics to deliver that message to you. They’re worth learning from. So are the nature documentaries on tv—which stories are prioritized and why? What story techniques do documentarians, for instance, use to make us, the viewer, relate to animals and experiences that are otherwise unrelatable? Can you find examples of foreshadowing & symbolism in your own real life? Fiction is just a reflection of the dynamics of our own world—if you can find the rhythm of an overheard conversation on the street, you can find the rhythm of fictional dialogue

(Which is why i continue to stress, keep a journal or a diary. one of the most instructive exercises i ever did was when I was in a creative writing class at like 14 and they had us just follow strangers around and write down exactly what they said. So you get a lot of “so he told me, like, he was, like, like, um, ‘I’m not cheating on you,’ or whatever, and I was like, bitch, what?” —But that’s how people talk! It’s a good exercise lol.)

my one actual craft recommendation is basically mandatory assigned reading in many western english/writing classes—for good reason: Thomas c foster’s “how to read literature like a professor.” He summarizes about a hundred classic western texts and explains how they use various english-canonical symbols (“if characters eat together they’re taking communion,” “if a character gets wet and doesn’t drown it’s a metaphorical baptism,” “literally everything you read is somehow related to sex… except sex which is usually about something else”) and it’s written really well for both readers and writers. Basically my bible. a great primer if you don’t know where to start with western literature/if you don’t know where to start with writing symbols and stuff

anyway to summarize, life is literature, living is reading, we all still have so much time to learn, read “how to read literature like a professor,” and keep a diary

I also forgot to mention this in my last advice post but don’t use epithets please 😭 idk if you use epithets or not but this is just general advice, it’s my most snotty literary opinion and it’s very common in fanfic for some reason (it’s like so specific to the fanfic genre it’s insane) but i am extremely convicted about it i feel very strongly so im telling you. epithets make your writing sound very obviously fanficky. “the blond man” “the taller man” etc… just don’t use them it’s so unspecific!! WHICH blond man???? WHICH tall man? why can’t we be specific here?? have we been suddenly struck with amnesia?? just use his name!!

Also you say you don’t read a lot of western literature—I am not sure where you’re from but don’t feel like you HAVE to read/write only western literature to be successful. That’s only true if you want to succeed in the gatekept western lit market—and even then, the gatekept western lit market is literally currently foaming at the mouth to hear other perspectives right now. Who you are & where you come from invariably affects how you see the world & write about it, so lean into that if you can!

unfortunately my advice for getting stuck on a scene is “just write it.” Just sit down and get SOMETHING on the page. Spoiler alert, those tend to be the scenes i (and most of the writers i know) dislike the most, when coming back to reread my/our own writing. like there are many scenes in my fics that i have published where i think the lack of passion is unfortunately pretty obvious. But that’s kind of the way it goes. Some scenes you will like/want to write better than others. Shrug. at least they’re there on the page. as they say: don’t let “perfect” be the enemy of “good enough.”

[kimdokjas]

on looking back & repetition as metaphors for grief

1. a grief observed - c.s. lewis // 2. spirited away - dir. hayao miyazaki // 3. orpheus tries to hold on to eurydice (c. 1791) - françois gérard // 4. omniscient reader's viewpoint - singshong // 5. gilgamesh a verse narrative - tr. herbert mason // 6. omniscient reader's viewpoint - singshong // 7. on the other side of grief with ocean vuong - aaron schwartz // 8. time travel told in five parts - judas h. // 9. omniscient reader's viewpoint - blackbox art // 10. housewife, the vanishing princess - jenny diski // 11. poem in pieces, a log; a history of too much - adrianne kalfopoulou // 12. the butterfly's burden; cadence chooses me - mahmoud darwish // 13. metamorphoses - ovid

image ids under the cut:

1. A quote by C.S. Lewis. I look up at the night sky. Is there anything more certain than that in all those vast times and spaces, if I were allowed to search them, I should nowhere find her face, her voice, her touch? She died. She is dead. Is the word so difficult to learn?

2. Dialogue from the Spirited Away screenplay. Haku says: But I can't go any farther. Just go back the way you came, you'll be fine. But you have to promise not to look back, not until you've passed through the tunnel.

3. A painting by François Gérard. Orpheus tries to hold on to Eurydice as she lies prone in his arms. Orpheus has a desperate expression on his face.

4. An extract from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. A tale of this new world continued to flow on. But then, just as the subway's doors closed, Han Sooyoung looked behind her with a slightly unsure, hard-to-read face of someone that left something behind. Even Yoo Joonghyuk looked back, too. The only person who didn't was Kim Dokja.

5. An extract from The Epic of Gilgamesh. If you are Gilgamesh and did those things, why / Are you so emaciated and your face half-crazed? / I have grieved! Is it so impossible / To believe? he pleaded. / My friend who went through everything with me / Is dead! / No one grieves that much, she said. / Your friend is gone. Forget him. / No one remembers him. He is dead. / Enkidu. Enkidu. Gilgamesh called out: / Help me. They do not know you / As I know you.

6. An extract from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. None of them could understand. They couldn't understand that there was someone in this world who could never live in the present.

7. A quote by Aaron Schwartz. In a way, grief is a marker of time. There was this and then there wasn't this, but you're still here,

8. A stanza by Judas H. so in the dream you find a way to go back / back to the days of sunshine on her not-yet grey hair / back to the hummingbird that came / when she called / back to when she still had a voice / to call them at all / time travel and grief are really not so different / it is all about looking back

9. Official art of Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint by Blackbox. Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyung turn to look back at the viewer. Kim Dokja in the background walks ahead without looking back.

10. A quote by Jenny Diski: People don't understand about repetition, do they? How it is at the heart (thump, thump, thump) of obsession; at the erotic centre (drip, drip drip) of desire. You do, of course. Repetition is insatiability spelt sideways.

11. A quote by Adrianne Kalfopoulou. Grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there

12. Poetry by Mahmoud Darwish. I am still here / but you won't return as you were when I left you / you won't return, and I won't return

13. A quote from Ovid's Metamorphoses. Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?

[moondirti]

Who from the 141 speaks the best arabic do you think? From one arab girl to another, it’d be so hot if any of them were fluent 🫠

if my memory serves me correctly, we get a bit in the first campaign from price. to me it seems to be a basic knowledge. a few sentences he picked up on the field and memorised to make his job easier. evac orders, cardinal directions, how to ask for water, food, medicine. that kind of stuff. pure utility, though that’s his approach to most things.

i like to believe (call it bias or whatever) that gaz is fluent. this ties in to my headcanon that he’s the only member who attended and graduated uni, but he strikes me as someone intensely curious about everything. introducing him to something, be it language or cuisine or a skill he hasn’t mastered yet, is like knocking down the floodgates. it’s his time in urzikstan that does it. hearing the way it rolls off farah’s tongue (let’s ignore doumit’s canon pronunciations), or how she’s able to translate a long, winding, clumsy sentence to something short. beautiful.

there’s a word for everything, he finds. one for the state of gossiping with your friends over morning coffee. one to congratulate someone on their cleanliness after a haircut. one that means may you be the one to bury me, for it would be unbearable to live without you – that is used so casually in conversation, kyle is stunned when he learns the true meaning. it doesn’t hold the same expectation, the same trepidation, as it does in english, though it retains its weight all the same. he wonders what makes a language so special that its intrinsic devotion has found a common place within its cultures, and he sets to find out.

this turns into a thing. more rambling under the cut.

the largest learning curve is the alphabet. the sounds that don��t exist in his mother tongue. he’s especially hard on himself when it comes to enunciating them properly – half the beauty is in the way words flow together, and there would really be no point in indulging in arabic’s more lyrical aspects if he’s off pitch. he gets the hang of it eventually, of course, one too many vocal exercises later.

the weathered dictionary he picks up at a second hand store teaches him that most words have three letter roots, and that it isn’t so easy as to look them up alphabetically. picking up new vocab becomes infinitesimally harder, then. for twelve million choices, the distinction between some words comes down to diacritical marks. necklace, decade, contract, held, complicated, and knots are all spelt the same way, yet pronounced ever so slightly different — a fact he learns the hard way when he tells the cashier at the kibbeh place he frequents that he likes her decade.

reading. reading is what helps him get over that.

(he probably should touch on basic grammar first — nouns, verbs, particles, sentence structure, that sort of stuff — but figures he'll pick it up as he goes, basing his methodology on an inability to remember any rules for the english language. he grew up hearing it, reading it, watching it, surrounded by it, so it just is what it is now. why work so hard on task books made for kids, then, when he can just get right into the meat of the matter? acclimatise through force.)

he picks up stacks of books upon books upon poetry. naguib mahfouz. ghada al-samman. al-mutanabbi. mahmoud darwish. it takes him a month to get through the first, and another month for the second. which only means he really takes his time with them, roving over the same line until it's etched into his memory. the cadence, the beats for pause, the way a word he has to punch from his throat is followed by one that lilts, all sing-songy. eventually, he starts to (inadvertently) mimic that sweeping manner of speech, employing it in contexts which certainly don't call for it.

the cashier — the very same one whose age he mistakenly stressed, despite the fact that she couldn't have been much younger than him — is far too nice to say anything about it, smiling instead, endeared, while he waxes poetic about meze.

farah calls him out immediately the next time they catch up.

apparently, no one speaks in classical arabic anymore, go figure. it would be like talking in shakespearean english, she tells him. he imagines it, iambic pentameter and all, and cringes, newly determined. his own research unearths (though it wasn't really a secret) the fact that there are roughly 25 different dialects belonging to different regions — and while some are pretty similar (syrian and lebanese), others could classify as a whole other language on their own (moroccan).

reddit tells him what he already knows; that the best way to learn is through exposure. there are no dictionaries for patois. and farah, despite her total enthusiasm at his interest, is far too busy of a woman to help.

(really, it just gives him an excuse to finally do what he's been meaning to.)

the next time he's craving kibbeh, he's fixed on not making a fool of himself when he asks the cashier out to lunch.

[distort-opia]

Thoughts on The War Within from the Joker 80th anniversary special?

Ah, Tomasi's little meta take on the neverending battle between Batman and Joker!

It's a lot like Bermejo's "Two Fell Into The Hornet's Nest"-- one big metaphor and tribute to the dynamic between Batman and Joker, with a focus on Joker's perspective. The short story is, after all, part of a Joker anthology. It's told in the rhythm and cadence of poetry, which is quite enjoyable, but it's nothing that hasn't been said before.

To be honest, I think the last two pages are what's interesting: the ending. The rest is a journey through all the forms Joker has taken in different media and stories, in his fight with Batman:

We get Leto's Joker, Arkham games Joker, New 52's Joker... and so on. The idea is that the faces change, but the war stays the same.

But the last two pages go like this:

And now is where you think "Oh, Batman is wearing a device that protects him from Joker gas all along". The text specifically and intentionally says "Where oh where does the green gas flow?" The bar we see in the device as red is not alerting anything before, it's only red in the last pages. And so, when The Killing Joke!Joker shoots Batman and then removes the air purifying device, the person who gets up is a Joker-infected Batman. Joker beats Batman by making Batman become him.

And um... somehow I got even longer than the post already is, so I'm putting more elaboration on the ending under the cut.

"The more I walk in your skin, the more I learn how to beat you." There's multiple layers to this... Batman, by virtue of who he is in the narrative, has to stay the same-- unmoving, moral, the hero of the story who kills no one. But Joker is an embodiment of chaos; he doesn't stay the same, he evolves. We see him take on different forms and committing various horrifying deeds which, at the end of the day, make him a stronger and versatile villain. This is a sentiment we've seen before, even recently with Zdarsky's take on them: Joker could kill Batman anytime he wanted. As a villain, he's got a freedom that Batman, being the rule-governed protagonist of the story, does not. What stops him from ending the battle is the love of his enemy.

But how does Joker beat Batman? It's by Batman becoming him, and this is framed as a sort of inevitability. It's what makes Joker smile more than anything, with the last panel being Batman-as-Joker cutting a smile into his own face with a batarang. They're the same person at different points in time, and the "war within" is pretty much saying "there's two wolves inside me". There's just one me in this equation, and the war is between Batman and Joker: two sides of the same entity. Heh... I included that first panel for a reason. If you go back, you'll see Bruce's eyes are clearly green. One could argue Batman was Joker from the start.

The Medusa reference is the last layer and something I'm not sure about, honestly. A fair maiden who becomes a monster and whose gaze turns anyone to stone... that might be what it tries to say. Since this is Joker's perspective, it might suggest the corruption of innocence. Medusa doesn't turn into a villain because she wants to, it's a betrayal that leads to it; she's a victim who becomes a villain. But to be fair, sometimes artists just like to give Joker snake motifs. All thorought the story, we see snakes entangled with depictions of Joker, on the wall, in the textures. I swear, the sheer number of times Joker has been associated with a snake, or has even had snake hair before:

Wonder Woman #164

Knight Terrors -- Catwoman #2

Association with the devil, with poison and evil, etc. etc. It could just be that-- artists going "oh I know what's Green and Evil!" Though as a fan of snakes, I gotta say, I actually like it. Snake Joker for the win!

I ended up going on a bit of a tangent, but I hope you enjoyed these meandering thoughts.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Our Guest Chapter 1

Vampire!Sun, Vampire!Moon, Vampire!Eclipse x Hunter Reader

(You arrive at a sinister and luxurious castle with the innocent intention of checking why its mysterious residents haven't been paying any taxes or utilities for the past several centuries. Very useful excuse for a vampire hunter to have when trying to do some good old infiltrating. The three vampire lords however, fully intend to capture and seduce you, but that is a bit difficult when you keep asking them about their financial books. Will they be able to make you theirs? Are they onto your little schemes and playing along? Will you finally get that plate of cupcakes? We'll find out)

“There is a beautiful and delicious darling waiting at our castle door, brothers.“

“This is practical, normally we have to go out and hunt for one of those. Apparently the whole process switched to free postal service.“

“I can taste the tantalizing sweetness in their veins even from here. All shall envy our fortune, no other lord of the night will ever have access to such nectar.“

Three vampiric aristocrats were huddling together behind the velvet curtains, trying to get a discreet peek at the unexpected visitor that had rung the castle doorbell, disturbing their nocturnal activities. The boys had been on their best behaviour. Trust them.

Prior to this, Marquis Moon had been composing a new sonata, writing notes in expert penmanship before playing the piece beautifully, but no beloved was there to hear it. Viscount Sun had just been in the middle of painting a new masterpiece, creating wonders with each stroke of his brush, but he had found himself in need of a model to pose for him.

Grand Duke Eclipse's craftsmanship was unmatched when it came to jewellery, his combinations and designs of precious stones and metals resembling physical manifestations of poetry, yet no beauty had been available to wear them, no delicate fingers to offer home for his rings nor lovely neck he could adorn with gold and rubies.

How convenient of you to come and solve their problems, dear Y/N!

You stood at the door, umbrella in hand, calm, smiling, without a care in the world. Possibly wondering why it was taking so long for someone to come to the door. Truth be told, it was a pretty big castle, maybe the residents just needed time to get from one side to the other, you never know.

The three brothers eyed you through the window with hunger, lust and curiosity. It was quite cold outside and your cheeks were red. You were doe-eyed, delectable, theirs for the taking.

Moon's preternatural senses were sharper than those of his brothers, capable of detecting even the smallest of details when it came to analysing a living creature, perfectly appropriate skills for a hunter of his calibre. He could hear the stable rhythm of your heart, memorising it as if it were a beat of a musical piece, something he should use in composing. He could make a whole symphony with your heartbeat as inspiration for tempo, the flow of your sweet blood serving as inspiration for the flow of his music.

Moon spoke, his voice almost a raspy whisper:

“Most unusual, not a single trace of fear in them. Posture almost immaculate, joy and confidence in their bearing, almost as if they just entered an amusement park. Shall we give them a little scare? The steady cadence of their heart could use some excitement, every calm melody needs a good crescendo from time to time.“

Viscount Sun huffed, disagreeing:

“Fear adds such a bitter taste and ruins both the palate and the palette. Various emotions change the chemical components of the nectar of life, different combinations create different flavours, similarly how different colours form various new shades on the canvas. Just look what a soft little thing they are. Such a delicate disposition, definitely not made for this type of weather nor your sadistic chasing games, Moonie.“

“Do not spoil my fun, Sunny.“

“Why chase when you can entice?“

“That is a very interesting way of admitting that you are tragically bad at tracking prey.“

“If only you were as good at throwing compliments as you were with throwing insults, you wouldn't have to chase anyone in the first place.“

Eclipse held up a red beryl gem and gazed at it, as if silently asking a question. A green mist appeared within, whispering to him in a language only he could understand. He listened intently, maroon circles appearing in his golden eyes for a swift moment, before disappearing. All in due time.

Sun and Moon were still having their little argument and he decided it was time to put an end to it:

“Enough, we cannot keep them waiting out there forever. They will freeze before any of you gets a chance to do anything at all. We should warm them up.“

As you were waiting for someone to finally deign to answer the door, you took your time to admire the castle's exterior. You were very fond of such aesthetic and your inner scholar felt like a cat that had fallen into a whole basket of catnip.

Even in the dark of the night and heavy rain, it was fairly easy to discern that it was a place of splendour, its design a combination of Renaissance and Gothic architecture. There was a wide variety of turrets and towers, marvellous rose windows, loggias and galleries, facade ornaments containing statues of figures from Classical antiquity.

Nevertheless, Beauty always had an interesting tendency of holding hands with the Grotesque. Therefore, something lugubrious reigned in the air, a perpetual feeling of gloom, as if there were an echo of forgotten funeral bells, suspended between reality and imagination. Life and Death, Luxury and Decay, all of it intertwined in a shameless orgy of contradictory concepts.

October rain was a perfect proverbial cherry on top. Honestly, there was no better time of the year to make a little detour at such a place. It just didn't hit the same if one were to visit a sinister chateau in June.

The season of Autumn had arrived like an old friend, having just gotten out of its elegant carriage, clad in russet cloaks and vermillion capes, bringing gifts, ripe grapes and apples, calling for harvest and summoning everyone to bask in the final rays of golden sunlight before stern Winter shrouds the land with snow.

However, your particular journey had a few setbacks, forcing you to use all of your negotiation skills to get a local taxi driver to get you to the desired address.

The aforementioned driver was currently sitting in the parked car, keeping the engine running, waiting for your further instructions. He was looking at the building's imposing structure with an expression of visceral fear and the only thing holding him from simply driving away was the suspiciously large amount of cash you had given him to bring you there in the first place.

How lovely, all of our main characters were so trustworthy.

Other than your sudden presence, all had seemed to be perfectly peaceful in our dear castle, not a creature stirred. The bats were napping, the owls nesting, the spiders were wondering whether they should protect their web designs in the central intellectual property system. All was calm. Well, a few poor fellows in the dungeons may not have been having the best time of their lives, but you can't make everyone happy.

You had gotten yourself well-acquainted with the names and ranks of your targets. Pardon, “auditees“. Although, considering the nature of your visit, both terms could equally apply, the revenue and audit business was a cruel one. You had done extensive reading on the subject of their suspicious “economic activities“, along with all the macabre phenomena that had been connected to them. You should be feeling some sort of anxiety over the whole task, but honestly, you were rather giddy. You loved a challenge. What a wonderful way to spend the spooky season.

The heavy door opened in front of you. You looked upwards at the looming shadowy figure, a pair of golden eyes glowing in the penumbra, a deep husky voice greeting you:

“Do my eyes deceive me? A bright morning star is visiting us, is it dawn already? Welcome, welcome, bringer of light.“

“Good evening, sir. Please accept my sincere apologies for disturbing your household so late. You are the Grand Duke, I presume?“

“What a polite little thing you are. Indeed, you presume correctly. Now, why are you here in the middle of nowhere at such an ungodly hour? Lost your way?“

The vampire lord was looking at you as if you were the last scrumptious morsel on that side of the known universe, which could be interpreted as both flattering and unnerving.

Before you could answer, you noticed that two additional figures appeared at his side, a gaze of menacing crimson and one of ardent blue. You spoke, tone chirpy and cheerful:

“The Marquis and the Viscount! What an honour, I only heard the best about your artistic talents.“

“Oh, did you come all the way here for an autograph, dearest? Or perhaps a private performance?“

You smiled at them, tilting your head like a kitten that was trying to charm its owner into getting treats.

“May I come in? I will make it quick, I promise.“

The three of them gave each other a look, grinning as if thoroughly amused.

“Interesting, usually we are the ones asking such a question. Come in, come in! Do tell us, are you a tourist? We love tourists that desperately need assistance with directions. Adore them, very much so.“

“You love to help them?“

“Hm? Ah, yes, yes. Definitely love to help them.“

“Actually, I have been sent by the Revenue and Audit Bureau, I am here on official business. The usual, suspected tax fraud, unpaid utilities and so on. “

They definitely didn't expect that. Oh, no, no. Confusion reigned for a solid minute, before you casually presented your very legitimate credentials, letting them read. Sun was the first to break the silence with a slightly hysterical laugh. He reached to give you a little pat on the head.

“Are you now, my pretty? We still love making new friends, even when they come from financial institutions!“

“The taxi is waiting for me with my baggage still, so I won't take long and will just ask you a few preliminary questions. This visit was really just intended for me to announce that I would be conducting this procedure in the following days. I will be making a few additional visits during the week just for the sake of the inspection, then I shall be on my merry way with the report.“

“Nonsense! We cannot let you go back on the road in this weather. Besides, the local hotel is more terrifying than a graveyard at the witching hour. Do stay with us, we have plenty of comfortable chambers, we cannot let you fly away like a little comet in the night.“

“Oh, you are very generous, but that won't be necessary. Business aside, it is still a great pleasure to make your acquiantance.“

You extended your hand to them, expecting a firm and professional handshake. What could possibly go wrong there?

Everything.

Your eyes widened when the Grand Duke took your hand and kissed it, taking his sweet time. By the time he released it, your cheeks must have gone through several shades of red.

“The pleasure is all ours, morning star.“

As if that wasn't enough to make your heart skip a beat or ten, the Viscount and Marquis joined the fun, as well, each of them placing little kisses on your knuckles.

Alright, apparently neither side would be playing a fair game.

They knew exactly what they were doing. Their gestures and ministrations provided an excellent distraction, making you drop your mental defenses for a few precious seconds, enough for them to work their spell on you as you began to lose yourself in their eyes.

Several firm rules existed when it came to dealing with vampires and you just messed up the most crucial one: do not let yourself be mesmerized.

And yet.

Combine that with your natural curiosity and desire for knowledge, and there you have it, a freshly baked disaster, straight out of the oven.

Suppressing your fascination with the three of them had suddenly become a very difficult task. You had never seen such facial structures nor anatomy before. True, you had seen your fair share of weird things in your short little life, but you were still very much taken aback.

The three aristocrats possessed celestial features reminiscent of their heavenly namesakes, a perfect union of Beauty and the Grotesque, allowing such an appearance to be more alluring than simply awe-inspiring. The brothers were preternaturally handsome, of impressive height, wolfish grins always present, everything about them was perfectly tailored to entrap both willing and unwilling victims.

Sun's canines were discreet but still very sharp, appropriate for someone whose primary role was to lure and enchant. Moon's were far more prominent and intimidating, the rest of his teeth possessing a similar razor edge, fit for a predator meant to deliver efficient results. Eclipse's were the sharpest and most lethal, establishing his status of being the most formidable and terrifying member of the group.

Rich scents were lingering in the air around them, amber, vanilla, cardamom, rose oil, lovely, oh, so lovely.

It took you a solid several seconds to register the fact that you still had to use your words to speak, but the glow of their eyes was so magnificent, magnetic, such ethereal beauty, entire worlds were present in them, promising pleasures untold.

It was as if the concept of time had suddenly been shattered like a fairy tale mirror, seconds became centuries. How long had you been silent and simply standing there in pure adoration?

And yet, a certain part of you suddenly awakened, grasping the rest of your soul by the hand and pulling it out of the mindless haze, showing that it had power strong enough to escape the tendrils of darkness. You had a task, after all. Let's remain professional.

Unbeknownst to you, the brothers were somewhat shocked with your ability to get your mind back on track, even after direct exposure to the hypnotic power of all three of them. True, they had only been using a low level of their mind control magic, but it was still impressive, considering that most humans would simply choose to remain in the comforting embrace of oblivion. Why on earth would anyone choose to return to the cold fields of reality?

During all of that, your grip had slackened on the umbrella's handle and a suspiciously strong wind current blew it away right out of your hand before you even had time to realize what is going on, leaving you unprotected from the pouring rain.

By the time you had finally returned to your senses, you were partially soaked from the deluge and the wind was really not doing you any favours. You made a cute sneeze, followed by another.

“Pardon me. Now, as I was saying-“

Another adorable sneeze. You honestly hoped that this wouldn't make your reputation suffer one day.

Eclipse casually commented, smirking:

“You won't be able to last the drive to the hotel like that. Unless you are prepared to deal with potential pneumonia.“

Before you could protest, Sun eagerly trapped both your hands in his grasp, giving them a little squeeze and massaging them as if trying to warm you up. He didn't let go even when you tried to pull away.

“Goodness, darling comet, your hands are so cold. You will catch your death out there, we must insist that you stay here with us for the whole week. It is very cozy and comfy inside, we can build you a whole nest of blankets after a nice hot bath. Moonie, go get their things and give the good driver some extra compensation, will you?“

You blinked as Moon passed by with a speed that was certainly not normal by any means. You could have sworn that you felt the most tender of caresses along your cheek, a motion so swift that your eyes could barely catch it, but your nerves certainly did. It was difficult to supress a shudder.

Enthusiastic and almost mad with glee, Moon got all of your things from the car, hastily throwing a bag full of jewels in the taxi driver's face as additional payment, ignoring the man's muffled yelp, before dashing right back at the door, carrying your baggage as if it weighed nothing.

A few moments later the only thing that was heard was the rain falling and the sound of the car tires shrieking as it drove off, leaving you alone with your eager and enamoured hosts.

You made a little squeak of surprise as you were suddenly pulled inside, the door closing and making a dramatic echo in the stormy night.

A few words were in order regarding the noble residence. The whole castle served both as a comfortable home and as a convenient trap for newcomers. It was true that the classical process of hunting provided a wonderful thrill, a tingle so exquisite that nothing could compare. Chasing and tracking chosen prey, what a delight, sensing the beating heart, the warmth of blood, bliss beyond description. However, there were times when it seemed appropriate to play a more elegant game, inviting and letting the victims enter the web willingly.

Therefore, our handsome vampire lords had a habit of organizing ostentatious dance parties, having a very strict dress code where all the guests had to dress in accordance with the fashion of the late 18th century. A grand feast would be prepared, fireworks, concerts, luxuries that would place kings to shame, a decadent display of wealth and desire. The celestial vampires would then proceed to charm and seduce their victims, one by one, all of them giving themselves, mind, body and soul.

If all went well, and usually it did, the experience could be pleasurable for all those involved. One drinking from the neck, the other two relishing the sweetness on the pulsating wrist arteries. If things were a bit more amorous, all of them would nibble and drink the precious blood from the inner thigh area.

Sharing was caring, after all.

There was something beautifully intimate about the whole process. Drinking life. Hungry licks and bites, gestures of both a lover and a murderer. For an enemy, tearing out the heart and drinking from the source seemed like a worthy way of evening an old score, but for allies it would always be a pleasant little bite and a quick drink, leaving the victim alive and well.

They harboured a heightened appreciation of the human body. Flesh was aesthetically pleasing, beautiful, pulsing with life, warmth, all those wonderful things that were ready to be stolen. Blood illuminated by moonlight, blood illuminated by early rays of dawn. Art, it was pure art.

Furthermore, the brothers had additional powers conveniently associated with their artistic skills. Temporary enthrallment was a wonderful tool, but they created their own ways of ensuring a more permanent bond with those they allowed to live, assuring that no matter where they run, they could always be called upon and summoned like obedient pets.

Sun would sometimes use some of the precious blood as an additional pigment ingredient for his paintings, no different from Moon at times combining it with ink to write musical notes as he composed. It served as a type entrapment of the person's mind, having a part of them forever bound to them, their soul captured in their art, their music.

If Moon were to play a piece written with the blood of one person, they would immediately succumb to the pull, making haste to heed their master's call no matter what. Similarly, if Sun were to paint with that specific colour containing the blood pigment, he could make the person do whatever the picture was showing in that current moment.

Eclipse's ability was the most potent, he was capable of trapping the entire soul of a person in jewels, ensuring absolute control over their mind and heart whenever he wished. In death they would remain his prisoners, their spirits and energy his to use as he pleased.

Such magic was terrifying even in the world of vampires and therefore a majority of them had acknowledged the celestial brothers as royalty among immortals.

Now, let us return to your fun little predicament with those very sane individuals that certainly only had your best interests at heart.

Moon made haste to bolt the doors as soon as you were inside, of course. Sun's giggle was slightly maniacal as he winked at you.

“Security reasons, my pretty. You never know what beasts are lurking out there, dangerous times we live in.“

You pouted, removing your soaked coat and trying to get your hair to somewhat dry by combing your fingers through it.

“Oh, yes, that is quite true that one can never be too careful, my dear sir. In fact, I think I saw a few life insurance agents on my way here. Truly frightening creatures, the lot of them, wouldn't recommend meeting them in a dark alley under any circumstance whatsoever.“

Moon's voice was close once more, it seemed almost as if he moved as swiftly as a shadow, one could miss him within a single blink.

“There could be some other monsters wandering around, shining comet.“

“Such as?“

“Do you happen to know which creature of the Night feeds on the essence of the living, stalking and doing all it can to attract prey?“

“The HR department?“

Ignoring his confusion, your focus shifted to the grandeur of the interior. They weren't lying, it was undoubtedly cozy and wonderful to behold. Comforting heat was coming from the fireplace. Thick carpets with elaborate patterns were present all over the hardwood flooring. Walls were decorated with intricate tapestries and paintings, golden sconces, cabinets containing Venetian glass and crystal figurines, not a single surface was left bare. Vaulted ceilings, frescoes painted in each available bit of space, creating a wonderful effect that only a mad artist could concoct in a fever dream of divine inspiration.

Which is probably what had happened, considering Sun's habits.

However, elements of the supernatural and macabre continued to linger. Some paintings had eyes that seemed a bit too alive, while others would become more and more disturbing the longer you looked at them. Statues appeared to be capable of changing their pose at a whim and it was easy to miss the motion itself within a mere blink. Shadows cast from the fireplace were not following any law of physics, undulating and writhing on the floor as they please, sometimes creating monstrous shapes.

Marvellous. Beyond description, fascinating. Had it not been for your task, you would have gladly spent a whole eternity studying the components and properties of the whole structure.

You were brought back to reality when you realized that you were still very much shivering and that you really needed to get your hair properly dried.

You gasped as you suddenly felt Eclipse wrap his cloak around you from behind, pulling you closer to his form, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. Goodness gracious, was that a secret additional pair of arms he had?

“Sir!“

“There was no time to fetch you a blanket, consider this an urgent alternative.“

“Don't you think this is a bit of a compromising position?“

“Preposterous, that must be the feverish delirium talking. This cruel weather is detrimental for soft flowers such as yourself.“

“I suppose by this logic it must the delirium that is squeezing my hips right now?“

He purred in your ear:

“Relax, morning star, you need warmth, we cannot allow you to get ill under our care.“

“I think I am very warm now, though.“

“Hush, be still, let us take care of you.“

Viscount Sun made sure to get your attention once more.

“You know, sweetness, many have pursued us for various reasons, but tax evasion was never one of them. This is going to be a fun new experience for all of us.“

It was perfectly within your right to struggle and act indignant in order to free yourself, but you were aware that you had to be diplomatic and collected for the moment. Antagonizing your hosts would yield no results and would certainly make your job far more difficult than it needed to be.

You had to remain professional, it was a task like any other. Yes, your hosts were not really the best examples of sanity nor did they seem to be aware of the concept of personal space, but you couldn't let that distract you from your duties. Someone had to be mature in the whole situation, after all. You cleared your throat, trying to appear as dignified as possible in your current position.

Adjusting a bit, ignoring the fact that you were still being held tightly by four arms, you managed to reach for your pocket to get a little notepad and a pencil. It was a rather comical scene to behold, since you had limited options and an even more limited space to maneuver in, but by some miracle you were able to make a few scribbles on the paper. Such an action required the same skill level one usually achieves when trying to get work done with one cat asleep on their computer and five additional cats on their lap and head.

Sun was very much offended with you playing with the paper and pencil instead of letting him warm your hands. You spoke:

“Alright, I will need some basic information for now, such as source of income, registered businesses, unregistered activities that may go under the radar of the government. You do realize that there is an unusually large cemetery on the way here that is not even on the map?“

“I can answer all of those for you. Accumulated heirloom. Pleasure is our only business and business is doing well! As for the final one, well, it is such a tragedy how incompetent cartographers are these days, my dear.“

“Regardless, I still have to conduct a thorough investigation and write a report, it is a formal requirement. Also, it will be necessary that I take a tour around the place simply to inspect the installations. Since none of the utilities are being paid for either, I must see whether you have self-sufficient power sources.“

“Now, now, you can't explore all on your own, that would be against our rules. And you don't want to be a little rulebreaker. You cannot enter certain rooms or parts of the castle without our permission.“

“Understandable. You three can guide me during my stay, then.“

“Moreover, communication with the outside world is highly discouraged. So discouraged, that it is forbidden, actually.“

“May I ask why?“

“You may! We won't answer, but you definitely may ask regardless, your voice is so pleasant to listen to. Do you sing?“

“I am still processing the “no communication with the outside world with no explanation whatsoever as to why“ part, give me a moment. I think I need ibuprofen.“

“Oh, we do have that!“

Soft cloth suddenly fell on your head and you realized it was a towel. You slowly looked upwards, finding yourself face to face with Moon who was now shamelessly hanging upside down from a cord, crimson eyes as menacing as ever and grin impossibly wide.

You spoke, unsure how to even react properly:

“What on earth are you doing?“

“I was feeling excluded. And you needed something to get your hair dry.“

“How did you even get up there? You were at the door barely a few seconds ago.“

“In a very clandestine and stealthy manner, as is currently being demonstrated. Impressed?“

“Fine, yes. Happy?“

Moon giggled like a wicked imp, relishing the situation. Teasing you was slowly becoming his new favourite activity.

“Are you good at playing hide and seek, my everlasting aurora?“

To his surprise, you actually did ponder the answer to his question for a few moments. Finally, you smiled at him:

“The classical game has a predictable pattern, so I actually did invent my own twist once. I would count, the other person would hide, and then I would simply proceed to steal cookies from the kitchen without anyone knowing. Really practical. Free sweets, nobody knows who the culprit is, perfect cost-benefit analysis.“

Oh, he loved that. Moon definitely appreciated some good old-fashioned mischief and he felt an even greater desire to discover what made you tick. He reached with his hand, tracing along your jawline with his claws, before pressing the palm of his hand to your cheek, his wicked eyes never leaving yours.

“Naughty, naughty. You must be punished.“

“Retroactively?“

“With interest.“

“Good luck with calculating all of that. If you start early, you should be done by the next decade, give or take a year or two.“

Moon's mind was already imagining all sorts of scenarios that he had every intention of bringing into reality.

What a delight it would be to have you, play with you, chase you, catch you, taste you, forever and ever. Your blood was tormenting him, you were the golden apple stolen from a magical garden, ripe and delicious. He did not care how many pomegranate seeds it would take to ensnare you and chain you to his world.

One had to admire the dedication, at least.

He was familiar with that sly streak. Finally, a kindred spirit. You had something guileful within you, as if a joyful scherzo were constantly playing in your soul, lively and vivid, truly akin to an ethereal aurora borealis in the night sky, teasing mortals with its unreachable beauty.

Needless to say that Sun was simply not having this and he had to ruin the moment by intervening in the most mature way possible: by taking your pencil away.

“What is this I see? A hawthorn pencil? Quite sharp, I see. No, no, we can't have such a vile thing as hawthorn wood here, absolutely not, in the trash it goes where it belongs.“

You had every intention of arguing with him, but you were once again distracted with the fact that Eclipse was now diligently getting your hair dried with the towel as if you were a kitten they had found outside or something. Goodybe reputation, it was nice knowing you, write a postcard.

“I must say, nobody ever insulted my pencils before.“

Sun went over to the nearby desk, fiddling with some parchment until he found what he was looking for, returning with a triumphant grin on his face and a quill feather in his hand.

“You shall write with one of these.“

“I don't even know how to write with ink without making a mess.“

“Come now, I am sure you are a fast learner.“

You shuddered as he teasingly slid the feather along your cheek and neck.

“Oh, stop.“

We were all familiar with the saying about everything being about the journey and not the destination itself. Perhaps you could allow yourself some enjoyment in the whole affair. In all technicality, you did manage to get in the castle, so it was going well for now. Moon summoned a few ghostly servants to command them to get a comfy chamber prepared for you, as well as some dinner. You were rather tired and hungry, after all.

Eclipse gave your shoulder a little squeeze to get your attention.

“Now, morning star, since you are already here, could I interest you in some pretty necklaces you may like?“

You pondered his offer for a few moments, before shrugging, letting yourself relax.

“You know what? Sure.“

(continuation also on AO3)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

In Vogue’s 1969 Christmas issue, Vladimir Nabokov offered some advice for teaching James Joyce’s “Ulysses”: “Instead of perpetuating the pretentious nonsense of Homeric, chromatic, and visceral chapter headings, instructors should prepare maps of Dublin with Bloom’s and Stephen’s intertwining itineraries clearly traced.” He drew a charming one himself. Several decades later, a Boston College English professor named Joseph Nugent and his colleagues put together an annotated Google map that shadows Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom step by step. The Virginia Woolf Society of Great Britain, as well as students at the Georgia Institute of Technology, have similarly reconstructed the paths of the London amblers in “Mrs. Dalloway.”

Such maps clarify how much these novels depend on a curious link between mind and feet. Joyce and Woolf were writers who transformed the quicksilver of consciousness into paper and ink. To accomplish this, they sent characters on walks about town. As Mrs. Dalloway walks, she does not merely perceive the city around her. Rather, she dips in and out of her past, remolding London into a highly textured mental landscape, “making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh.”

Since at least the time of peripatetic Greek philosophers, many other writers have discovered a deep, intuitive connection between walking, thinking, and writing. (In fact, Adam Gopnik wrote about walking in The New Yorker just two weeks ago.) “How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live!” Henry David Thoreau penned in his journal. “Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow.” Thomas DeQuincey has calculated that William Wordsworth—whose poetry is filled with tramps up mountains, through forests, and along public roads—walked as many as a hundred and eighty thousand miles in his lifetime, which comes to an average of six and a half miles a day starting from age five.

What is it about walking, in particular, that makes it so amenable to thinking and writing? The answer begins with changes to our chemistry. When we go for a walk, the heart pumps faster, circulating more blood and oxygen not just to the muscles but to all the organs—including the brain. Many experiments have shown that after or during exercise, even very mild exertion, people perform better on tests of memory and attention. Walking on a regular basis also promotes new connections between brain cells, staves off the usual withering of brain tissue that comes with age, increases the volume of the hippocampus (a brain region crucial for memory), and elevates levels of molecules that both stimulate the growth of new neurons and transmit messages between them.

The way we move our bodies further changes the nature of our thoughts, and vice versa. Psychologists who specialize in exercise music have quantified what many of us already know: listening to songs with high tempos motivates us to run faster, and the swifter we move, the quicker we prefer our music. Likewise, when drivers hear loud, fast music, they unconsciously step a bit harder on the gas pedal. Walking at our own pace creates an unadulterated feedback loop between the rhythm of our bodies and our mental state that we cannot experience as easily when we’re jogging at the gym, steering a car, biking, or during any other kind of locomotion. When we stroll, the pace of our feet naturally vacillates with our moods and the cadence of our inner speech; at the same time, we can actively change the pace of our thoughts by deliberately walking more briskly or by slowing down.

VIDEO FROM THE NEW YORKER :: The Men Walking Every Block in New York City

Because we don’t have to devote much conscious effort to the act of walking, our attention is free to wander—to overlay the world before us with a parade of images from the mind’s theatre. This is precisely the kind of mental state that studies have linked to innovative ideas and strokes of insight. Earlier this year, Marily Oppezzo and Daniel Schwartz of Stanford published what is likely the first set of studies that directly measure the way walking changes creativity in the moment. They got the idea for the studies while on a walk. “My doctoral advisor had the habit of going for walks with his students to brainstorm,” Oppezzo says of Schwartz. “One day we got kind of meta.”

In a series of four experiments, Oppezzo and Schwartz asked a hundred and seventy-six college students to complete different tests of creative thinking while either sitting, walking on a treadmill, or sauntering through Stanford’s campus. In one test, for example, volunteers had to come up with atypical uses for everyday objects, such as a button or a tire. On average, the students thought of between four and six more novel uses for the objects while they were walking than when they were seated. Another experiment required volunteers to contemplate a metaphor, such as “a budding cocoon,” and generate a unique but equivalent metaphor, such as “an egg hatching.” Ninety-five per cent of students who went for a walk were able to do so, compared to only fifty per cent of those who never stood up. But walking actually worsened people’s performance on a different type of test, in which students had to find the one word that united a set of three, like ��cheese” for “cottage, cream, and cake.” Oppezzo speculates that, by setting the mind adrift on a frothing sea of thought, walking is counterproductive to such laser-focussed thinking: “If you’re looking for a single correct answer to a question, you probably don’t want all of these different ideas bubbling up.”

Where we walk matters as well. In a study led by Marc Berman of the University of South Carolina, students who ambled through an arboretum improved their performance on a memory test more than students who walked along city streets. A small but growing collection of studies suggests that spending time in green spaces—gardens, parks, forests—can rejuvenate the mental resources that man-made environments deplete. Psychologists have learned that attention is a limited resource that continually drains throughout the day. A crowded intersection—rife with pedestrians, cars, and billboards—bats our attention around. In contrast, walking past a pond in a park allows our mind to drift casually from one sensory experience to another, from wrinkling water to rustling reeds.

Still, urban and pastoral walks likely offer unique advantages for the mind. A walk through a city provides more immediate stimulation—a greater variety of sensations for the mind to play with. But, if we are already at the brink of overstimulation, we can turn to nature instead. Woolf relished the creative energy of London’s streets, describing it in her diary as “being on the highest crest of the biggest wave, right in the centre & swim of things.” But she also depended on her walks through England’s South Downs to “have space to spread my mind out in.” And, in her youth, she often travelled to Cornwall for the summer, where she loved to “spend my afternoons in solitary trampling” through the countryside.

Perhaps the most profound relationship between walking, thinking, and writing reveals itself at the end of a stroll, back at the desk. There, it becomes apparent that writing and walking are extremely similar feats, equal parts physical and mental. When we choose a path through a city or forest, our brain must survey the surrounding environment, construct a mental map of the world, settle on a way forward, and translate that plan into a series of footsteps. Likewise, writing forces the brain to review its own landscape, plot a course through that mental terrain, and transcribe the resulting trail of thoughts by guiding the hands. Walking organizes the world around us; writing organizes our thoughts. Ultimately, maps like the one that Nabokov drew are recursive: they are maps of maps.

Why Walking Helps Us Think

By Ferris Jabr

[topazadine]

How to elevate your writing style with 6 simple hacks

Let's go through a few simple and easy tricks to make your writing masterful! No expensive writing courses - these are all so very free.

Read and write poetry

Use Microsoft Read Aloud

Develop your theory of mind

Be vaguer (within reason)

Listen to IRL conversations

Say less to do more

Read and write poetry

I often get complimented on my poetic writing style (no wonder my entire book series is about poetry magic). Here's what a professional editor said about the sixth book in the series, Poesy:

There's no real secret to how I have developed my style: the entire start of my journey, from about age 14 to age 26, was writing poetry. I read good novels and practiced my poetry in addition to getting my Brit Lit degree and all that stuff. (I have a chapbook out called The Lucretia Cycle, which is about my sexual assault at age 25. Trigger warning, obviously.)

Why is poetry so helpful for fiction writers? The word flow. Poetry is meant to be spoken aloud, so it needs to have a certain cadence.

As an aside, this is why I hate people who think you can just take a sentence and break it up however you want and call it poetry. No! They're different forms. You can use poetry to inform your fiction writing style, but it doesn't really work the other way around.

Anyway, practicing a lot of poetry helps develop your internal voice so that you can self-edit, improving your word flow and making for a smoother reading experience.

To write good poetry, just like with writing good fiction, you need to read good poetry first. Hunt up an anthology of celebrated writers, search "100 best poems of all time," stuff like that.

As a test for if a poem is good, read it aloud. If it makes no sense and sounds weird, then it's a bad poem.

Use Microsoft Read Aloud

This goes along with the abovementioned poetry: you want to develop a good word flow. Even if your readers aren't listening to an audiobook, most people have an internal voice that reads along with them, and they're going to get annoyed if your writing has a jangly, unpleasant flow. Of course, there are times when you do want a jangly, unpleasant flow, like when you're discussing something gross, but most of the time, you don't want that.

Hearing your work read aloud not only helps you catch typos, but it also lets you notice if you use the same word too many times; the Microsoft Read Aloud voice uses the same tone for the word every time so it'll be very apparent. You can also ensure that sentences flow smoothly with one another based on the practice you've done with poetry.

The other thing that Read Aloud helps with is punctuation, something that a lot of people struggle with. See, the way that we teach punctuation in school sucks because it doesn't point out that punctuation is basically stage directions for reading aloud; that's the whole reason it was invented. It helps group words together so that we understand how they are related and how we should verbalize them. Even if your punctuation isn't grammar-school perfect, it will make sense to readers if it helps them slow down at the right points.

My ultimate goal when revising is to put my headphones on, sit with some knitting, and not have to stop the Read Aloud for several pages. Once I've hit that point, I know I'm good to go.

Develop your Theory of Mind

Theory of Mind is the ability to understand that someone else may not have the same knowledge, experience, opinions, or beliefs that you do. It is a crucial skill for writers in a variety of ways; I'll detail a few of them now.

Being aware of audience. What enraptures us as a writer is not always what our readers will care about. This is why infodumping is annoying; it often is about the writer wanting to show off how smart they are and how much they have thought about their characters. Writing in an engaging way. Going along with this, good writers understand that their readers are likely not devoting their lives to any one book; they're able to recognize that their book is one of dozens or even hundreds that the reader will consume this year. As such, they push to make their book stand out by making it as intriguing as possible. My way of standing out is going all in on characterization, and including poetry, which is designed to be memorable. Considering a reader's blind spots. A great beta reader can help you with this, but if you have good ToM, you can rectify these errors yourself by remembering what you haven't told the reader yet - and what they need to know right this instant. It also ensures that you explain things in a way that makes sense to readers, such as remembering that not everyone knows the same pop culture references and may not be familiar with certain brands or objects. Understanding characters' perspectives. When my brother started reading my first book, 9 Years Yearning, one of the first things he said was something like "ugh Orrinir is SO down bad for Uileac!! Why can't Uileac see that!!" Well, because Uileac is a teenage boy who is also down bad for Orrinir but is terrified of pushing his closest friend away by confessing. Applying Theory of Mind allowed me to write a story where both characters are practically screaming their desire, but neither is willing to take the plunge. There's no forced miscommunication, just a very human reaction: accepting one pain (keeping one's feelings hidden) to avoid another, bigger pain (ruining a close friendship). Remembering what information only one character has. Especially crucial in mysteries and thrillers, but it applies to every book in some fashion. Your characters don't know what the other does unless they are a mind reader (unlikely), they are actually told the information direct from the source, or they sniff around and find it out.

Now, I know that some neurodivergencies have issues with Theory of Mind, but recent neuroscience demonstrates that there are actually a number of ways to improve your ToM.

If you have autism, schizophrenia, or other neurodivergencies, please don't think it's impossible for you to become a good writer; it's absolutely not.

Anyone can become a great writer if they work hard and practice. No matter your neurotype, no matter your background. I'd never gatekeep this beautiful art from anyone.

I've found some resources about improving theory of mind here and here, but there are many more out there. I'd also argue that dialectical behavioral therapy, targeted toward developing theory of mind, would be helpful too.

Be vaguer (within reason)

Keeping some mystery in your works is important for a few reasons.

Invites further reflection. When everything is spelled out for your readers, there's little room for them to come up with their own theories and perspectives on your writing. Gives readers autonomy. Readers like to take ownership of a world - that's why we have the entire genre of fanfic. Leaving some things open for interpretation helps them feel like they are part of the experience rather than a passive viewer. Helps your writing pass the sniff test. This is especially important for scifi or fantasy, but it matters in other genres too. Getting too specific gives readers a chance to go "well acktuahlly" if they happen to be more well-versed in a topic than you are. Blatant misinformation breaks their immersion. Avoids infodumps. Readers' eyes will glaze over if you throw too much information at them. Let them think. Sprinkling a few tidbits in here and there, then making the reader connect the dots, is far more enjoyable than a wall of irrelevant details.

The funny thing is that what I remember from texts is always the small and charming details rather than the big important plot points and explanations of the world mechanics. For example, it has been literally 20 years since I picked up a Redwall book, but I remember the sumptuous discussions of the feasts, with all the yummy cheeses and so on. I remember the discussions of the tapestries and the abbey's tall ceilings. Those are the memorable details, not the exact plot points.

What can you be vague about? Well, it really depends on what type of book you have - there's no one-size-fits-all rule. Make a hierarchy of things that are most important for readers to understand, and let everything else be background info.

In general, though, avoid specific measurements. Time, distance, weight, height, and so on, unless they are absolutely critical to the plot for some reason (unlikely). If you're wrong, readers will be very annoyed.

Listen to IRL conversations

I have a more in-depth guide to dialogue planned, so I'll leave this pretty short.

One of my favorite ways to improve dialogue is to watch interrogation videos. You have access to hours of unscripted conversations from a variety of people in all sorts of situations.

But, at the same time, you are not trying to figure out what to say in response to anything because you've not having a conversation. It can be challenging to notice verbal tics when you're working to digest and respond to someone else.

Another popular method is to just plop yourself down at a cafe, or bus, or whatever else, and quietly listen to others without seeming weird.

The important thing about both of these is to choose something where you are passively listening to someone speak without needing to contribute anything.

Do not rely on movies, or other books, or podcasts, or whatever, to build your dialogue skills. These are edited down and agonized over; they are not going to teach you how to sound natural. You need real-life examples.

Say less to do more

Good writing can do a lot of work without extra fluff because the writer is targeting multiple things at once. Excellent authors can build foreshadowing, demonstrate personality, worldbuild, and infuse themes just by having a character walk across a room, moving the plot forward without separating every single thing into its own point.

Sentences can be pretty short, less than two lines, and still powerful. For example, I'm proud of this part from my upcoming book, Pride Before a Fall.

As if a world-fever had broken: Orrinir woke feeling sluggish, mind full of marbles that rolled every time he moved. His first thought was of Uileac lain beside him, eyes closed and hair stiff with sweat. A bath would be in order, but later. Assuming the cavalryman even let him.

Clearly Orrinir had a rough night full of unexpected problems, and now he has a mental hangover. He's tired and has many disconnected thoughts rattling around in his head.

From the "world-fever" part and the fact that Uileac is covered in sweat, we can sense that Uileac was sick but the danger has now passed.

Uileac and Orrinir clearly had some sort of argument, and now Orrinir's not sure whether his partner will accept his care. We also guess that Orrinir desperately wants to help his partner and is kind of obsessed with him but also scared of rejection. He seems a bit snippy and resentful, too.

Each of these sentences is less than two lines, but they all get a lot done very quickly.

Note also that while I use two unique phrases in the first line, the rest of it is pretty plain. The reader can enjoy the interesting metaphor in the first line, then get back to more straightforward discussions afterward. It's not a 24/7 purple prose fest.

This is a very hard skill to learn; even after over 15 years of writing regularly, I'm still working on it. However, you can get to that point by just revising over and over again.

Write your draft in as much detail as possible, unconcerned with if it's wordy or messy. Then, figure out how you can say the same thing more concisely without losing the meaning. Go back in and do this again, and again, until every single word has a reason to be there.

I've created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

The posts I write can sometimes take me hours - they're always intricate, always thoughtful.

I do this as a labor of love for the writing community, sharing what I have learned from almost 15 years of creative writing.

However, if you'd like to support me, maybe you'll consider buying my book?

At $0.99, that's about 7 cents for each minute you spent reading this post.

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

However, there's a problem: Orrinir Relickim, a rough and tough fellow pupil who just can't seem to leave Uileac alone.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution. If you loved it, be sure to preorder Pride Before a Fall, arriving January 1, 2025!

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

[caltropspress]

RAPS + CRAFTS #34: Snotnoze Saleem

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

I go by the name Snotnoze Saleem. So far, all projects under this alias have been released on Illuminated Paths, including the mixtape Intifada, the sister EPs Shards I & II, and the most recent EP Samizdat, all self-produced. I don’t want to give too much away as of right now since I prefer to announce music when it is fully complete, but I got a collab tape with an amazing producer coming up, and I’m always working on my own stuff.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

Any and everywhere. I used to have a routine where I would write on my lunch break at work, and then afterwards after smoking. I don’t particularly like employment, so I always had a source of agitation to pull from, however that routine has recently been shattered due to a layoff. But I’ve been slowly finding a new groove until the next source of daily annoyance gives me more ammo, and even without a job, there’s always something. I discipline myself by sitting down and saying, “I’m going to come up with at least a few bars here,” or, “I will find a pocket in this weird ass beat,” but during that window of discipline I’ll let the words come as they may. I make an effort to jot down interesting thoughts or turn of phrases every day, even as little as just two words that I think sound interesting when put together. I tend to feel panicky if I feel I haven’t written anything for a few days straight, which can happen.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

It used to be strictly pen and paper because I thought it was more “official,” but as time progressed I found myself thinking in bars all throughout the day, and I found it much more convenient to just pull my phone out and type whatever it is that came to me. I don’t think I’ve ever kept a whole verse strictly in my head; I’d be too afraid of forgetting it.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

Usually disorganized, and then I find a satisfying order and rhythm for recitation. A few times a song will be more focused and will come off as what you could say are logical thoughts, like my one song “A Foreign Army Invaded My Funeral Procession” from Shards II, but that wasn’t even on purpose. It kinda just came out that way.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

Nah, I don’t trash anything - always keep it. I’ve used lines I’ve written years prior, or recycle entire verses on a new beat if I think it fits better. When I’m in that discipline window I mentioned earlier, I’ll just write whatever, doesn’t have to make sense (not like the finished version has to) or be on any type of beat or rhythm or cadence, just get the juices flowing. It’s usually pretty clunky at first, but once I’ve gotten used to the beat then I can make adjustments. If I’m working on a verse and I haven’t reached that breakthrough beyond, say, a week or two, then it may be time to move on to something else, but that doesn’t mean I’ll never go back to it again.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

I used to write screenplays when I was younger, and little short stories. I don’t know what happened as I aged, but I find it hard to write organized thoughts and sentences like that nowadays - you know, “proper” sentences. I think the biggest influence it has on me now is just the fact that I’m not a stranger to the act of writing my thoughts down since I’ve been doing it for a while in some shape or form. I would like to read more poetry as well.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

The production plays a big role in this. If I have a beat that really gets a strong reaction from me, like my blood starts boiling as soon as I hear it, I can knock out a big chunk of a verse quickly, or maybe even a whole verse. Other times, it’s just a matter of reciting it either out loud or in my head over and over and over and over and over again until I’m fully satisfied with every word and pocket.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Always writing to a beat, though I may pull from the random thoughts and feelings I’ve jotted down during my day-to-day. But the beat is usually the biggest factor in helping with writing a verse as opposed to little blurbs. If it’s something crazy, like some clamorous buzzsaw synth with a vocal sample of an elderly woman gasping or something, then the words will match that atmosphere. If it’s something calmer, I will adjust accordingly.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

Man, I will pull from anything. My immediate surroundings, maybe a sign I see on the street; or something someone said earlier that I thought was funny or strange; a memory; a feeling I had at a particular moment; a meme or tweet I saw online; the news; a sentence from a book; whatever. Despite the seeming randomness though, I think there are always a handful of topics in my mind that I tend to dwell on or go back to, and it seems like I attempt to compile those disparate sources to fit within those topics even if I didn’t really set out to do that when I started. 

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

Hmm, those seem like the same thing to me. I would say I do both. Lately I’ve been making a conscious effort of trying not to use “obvious” rhymes, so instead of rhyming, for example, “feature” with “creature,” maybe I’ll go with “people” or even “facetious” or something. See, it doesn’t really rhyme, but it kinda does and you can make it work. I think that makes it more interesting. Nothing wrong with “obvious” rhymes though - more of an exercise to keep my mind sharp. 

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

I mentioned a collab tape with a producer earlier. I got a song on there that I really think I left the planet on. I wrote it when I was bedridden with COVID, and I think the combination of my brain being in such a vulnerable state and the beat really speaking to me helped with my writing. Don’t get COVID, by the way. Of the stuff I have out at the time of this writing, I like the song “Embryonic” from Shards II. It’s a kind of spoken word thing over a noise sample. I like hearing what different people think I was going for on that one.

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

That’s a really tough one. It might be recency bias because it just came out, but I like when I said, “Bantustan bandit back on that bolshevik bullshit.” I like the alliteration and I enjoy using political terms in a somewhat irreverent way. “Bantustan” is in reference to the areas in the West Bank that are designated for Palestinians, which have been compared to the Bantustans of Apartheid-era South Africa, which were designated for black Africans; “bandit” in reference to flippant use of samples; and “bolshevik bullshit” because I guess my raps tend to lean pretty left-wing.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

I don’t think I have any authority to tell people how they should or shouldn’t rap. 99.9% of the time I don’t use them because I just don’t need to, and it makes a song easier to perform. But on my song “Nymphs” off of Samizdat (where the line I highlighted in the last question is from), I actually punched-in most of the lines because I was inspired by people like RXKNephew who I feel do it in a unique way, and I just thought it fit the beat. Just seemed like a fun thing to try out. But I don’t really whittle anything down. I have good breath control and sometimes it could even give it more flavor when it sounds like your lungs are about to burst before you finish a line. 

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Novels of all types, although my favorite authors are ones who can be funny about very serious things - satirical, you know - or know how to play with the English language. The real world. History and politics. Jazz music helps me with finding flows because it is so free and organic. And I really love noise and punk music for the energy.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

I like what I put out. It’s not lost on me that many people may find my style outlandish and maybe even unlistenable - that’s okay. It sounds like me and whoever it’s meant for will find it and enjoy it. 

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Well, the flow on “Nymphs” was done on purpose as a direct tribute, but otherwise I think I’m weird enough as a person (in a good way) that I can take influence from my favorites such as DOOM or ELUCID and it would still come out sounding like me, if that makes sense. 

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

I would like to show the listener that rap is a limitless genre and the best genre and the culmination of all genres, where you can say whatever you want, however you want, and that you can really make a beat out of anything. Real-world concerns would focus on eradicating oppression of all people on the basis of who they are (or any basis really) and the use of everyday language in creative and “foreign” ways. 

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Delaney Nash

[rosewaterandivy]

I love your writing style and after stalking your blog I found out that you studied English. Got any writing advice for someone who's still trying to figure out and develop their own style? I feel like I have so many ideas but the execution is 👎

Hello sweet thing! 🥰 Thanks for reading and a quick disclaimer before I dive in here: I don’t really even understand my own process/style yet and that is perfectly fine. I think it’s important to take risks in writing to develop skills and see what vibes with you and what doesn’t. So, while I have two degrees in English, I’ve never taken a creative writing class— just wanna get that out there. Now, onto the advice!

Read. Read often and voraciously. This method is tried and true for a reason, and that’s because it works. When I’m lacking in the inspiration department, I read poetry, novels, non-fiction, works by other writers in the community, maybe do a deep-dive with some lyrical analysis— if you know, you know. Seeking out other voices to inspire and teach is paramount.

(Continued under the cut)

To grow as a writer (or, really as a person), you can’t exist in your own silo. You need to engage with other stories. On some level, you should be listening to other’s voices and studying their styles. Otherwise, you’ll stunt your development as a writer. You could also, inadvertently, reinforce bad writing habits, if you’re not expanding your horizons by consuming other author’s works.

And this conversation has been making its run in the community as well as my corner of academia, but I’d be remiss not to touch on it here: there is no such thing as originality in literature. Everything from the Carolingian Cycle to Homeric Hymns to tropes, etc. has already been said and done. But what matters here, truly, is how you can put your spin on something. Have soulmate AUs been done to death? Yes. Is that gonna stop me? Hell to the no! I love that shit, of course I want to engage with that trope and see what I can do with it.

Rhythm. Cadence, flow, whatever you call it— this is crucial to me as a writer and academic. And honestly? I’m still figuring this one out for myself. I tend to talk or ramble as I write, mostly to test out dialogue for how it sounds but also as an editing trick. I tell my students all the time, read your work out loud before assuming it’s all said and done! You’d be amazed at how many things you’ll catch by stumbling over words and phrases that the eye would skip over.

I think a lot of this comes from patterns I’ve picked up from reading. Because I read and listen to other author’s voices and styles, I’m more equipped to see mistakes in my own syntax and voice because I’ve diversified my exposure to other styles of sentence structure, etc. So, yes, this does go back to reading and finding other voices— but it truly does help!

Feel it out. First and foremost, I am a chaotic writer— my GDrive is a mess and I can’t even imagine how many WIPs I have that are just a single sentence or phrase at this point. But everyone has to start somewhere, and for most of us, that takes the form of a sentence, phrase, or occasionally, a single word.

I just kind of just go for it in the docs, to be honest. I’ll get frustrated, walk away, delete (keep a doc designated as a graveyard/junkyard for this purpose, trust me!), get distracted, etc. But that’s okay and to be expected with the creative process. Flow can’t happen without a little resistance at first.

Play with syntax. Would a longer sentence be more meaningful here? Shorter? What about repetition? Think about word choice as well— identify the tone and mood you want to project.

Word Choice. Specific words are used for a calculated focus or effect— think about it. Would you want to hear the smacking of lips from a few tables over on a first date? Or hear the sounds of your roommate going to town on an apple while you’re putting the moves on that hottie from said first date?

Readers can feel the significance and weight of a word, how much space it occupies in a sentence: they have real influence. It’s not just morphemes and phonemes and phonetics; words project experience and sensation, so it’s important to tie your words to your intent or the mood you’re attempting to create.

If I’m writing an intimate scene, I’m not going to use abrasive words that will jar the reader from the tone I’m working so hard to craft. I’ll choose soft words, immersive words — a little repetition, as a treat, so we can sink more gently into the scene. Mention light, texture, employ the softness the surrounds the characters and kinesthetic imagery (imagery describing the actions or movements of the body), but above all, keep it soft.

Synonyms are a wonderful thing! Have a word that’s too clunky for that specific phrase? Find a shorter one; too harsh, find a gentler one; so on and so forth.

This is where reading other stories will help (she says, circling back to point 1). Inevitably, it will diversify your personal vocabularly and your ability to string words together in sentences. The tricks I’ve absorbed by just reading? Innumerous, incalculable and lucky for me, they’re instinct by now.

Format. What’s the goal? If the scene is action heavy, keep the sentences short. Urgent. Focus on the senses we should be aware of in a fight scene. Looking for something more intimate? Stretch things out, suspend time and let people ease into the moment gently.

Short sentences can narrow your focus; longer sentences, the ones that ebb and flow and gather multiple senses, those are some of my favorites— so enriching and immersive.

What view is most important in a given scene? Would a character be more focused on the feel of their beloved’s skin against theirs or the how the hurt reflects in their eyes?

Synesthesia. Ah, yes, my favorite. Synesthasia is a technique adopted by writers to present ideas, characters, or places in such a manner that they appeal to more than one sense, like hearing, sight, smell, and touch at a given time. I am guilty of using this whenever I possibly can because I think being able to embody a scene is crucial to effective writing.

Sensory experience is something that helps me find my way in a narrative. It allows me to settle in. Think about the various qualities of differing sensory experiences, and their consequence. Every sense doesn’t need to be included, just because you can does not mean you should.

Plus, it’s quite convenient for implying intimacy. A character who notices that another character smells of bergamot, cinnamon, or home accomplishes a lot of things in a few words. It immerses the reader in the scene in a very real way; it’s a quick, easy avenue into establishing a history and a relationship between the two characters; and it implies something deeper than a passing acquaintance/platonic interest.

But, I’m also an olfactory snob, so what do I know!

Oof, yeesh, sorry for the ramble here! I think the truth of it is this: I don’t make a lot of these choices consciously. I get stuck somewhere and feel my way around until I can make sense of it again, laying puzzle pieces or clues that I hope others will be able to find when they read it.

I guess my main advice is to read. Read often and well, experience other voices and styles, go outside your comfort zone! If you lock yourself away in that silo or echo chamber, you’ll only reinforce one style or approach— you’ll miss out on so much beauty and creative experiences that the world has to offer!

To close, I’m going to list and tag a few works and authors I’ve found to be instrumental in my reading and writing experience.

Best of luck anon!

QuinAnderson’s The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut Fic

@loveshotzz , @carolmunson, @jo-harrington, @wroteclassicaly , @stevenose , @bettyfrommars (and I’m sure I’m forgetting some at this moment!! I’m sorry 😩) have their own special way of weaving a story, breathing emotion and life into it.

My fic rec tag

Poetry:

Crush by Richard Siken

Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz

Night Sky With Exit Wounds & Time Is A Mother by Ocean Vuong

The works of Louise Gluck, Elizabeth Bishop, Gloria Anzaldua, Slyvia Plath, Rilke, Ilya Kaminsky, and Jeanette Winslterson

Movies:

In the Mood for Love

Y tu mamá también

Moonlight

Atonement

[mumblesplash]

I saw u were the one who made the hope poem and can i say its amazing!!!!

So i justed wanted to ask how you got into poetry and how you write the stuff?

haha the first question is way easier to answer than the second, basically i've had a hobby of writing little rhymes and song parodies since i was a little kid

honestly i still hesitate to call it poetry because i very much do not have any kind of background in literature, just sort of a knack for rhyming? and as i recently figured out it's all more rhythm-based than anything. (and i mean Recently recently, i literally didn't know what poetic meter was until like a week and a half ago)

as for *how* i write it, i guess the best way i know how to explain it is i have the cadence as a blank template in my head and i rapidly cycle through different sets of words that fit into it until i find a line that both flows nicely and makes sense? some words or phrases will be obvious from the start, which makes it easier because then i just have to find the rest of the line

the hope poem was actually relatively easy in this regard, because the first four words of that post were 'hope is a skill hope is a weapon', my very-probably-dyslexic ass read it the other way around, scrolled down a few lines and saw 'hope is a plant you care for' and then '...or KILL' popped into my head bc i have chronic rhyming brain. the rest of it just sort of happened

[sadsinger1]

On Poetry

What is poetry, after all, if not terse prose with alternate punctuation and blocking?

Oh, come on. Poetry isn't just fancy prose with commas and breaks sprinkled around. If it were, we’d all be Shakespeare, tossing sonnets like confetti! Nope, poetry is the rebellious cousin of prose—the one who decided that grammar is merely a suggestion and decided to speak in riddles, mysteries, and metaphors.

Poetry: The Soul's Symphony or Just Pretty Punctuation?

Poetry, my dear friend, is the echo of human emotion. It's where words break into song, where sentences flow like rivers, and punctuation dances to the beat of the heart. It’s the language of dreams and the secret handshake of the soul. Prose? It's the grocery list of language—practical, useful, essential. But poetry is the fine wine, the whispered secrets between the lines, and the surreal story that never quite makes sense but feels just right.

Prose: The Bread and Butter of Communication

Now, let’s be fair. Prose has its place. It's sturdy, reliable, and predictable. It’s what keeps the world turning and gets us from point A to point B without any unnecessary detours. Prose lays out the facts, makes the case, and tidily wraps up the story. It’s the oatmeal of language: nutritious, filling, and without any extra fluff.

But Poetry? Ah, It’s a Whole Different Beast

Poetry doesn’t bother with the expected. It throws a splash of paint on the canvas and calls it a masterpiece. It hides its meaning, teasing you to look closer, to lean in. It’s that wildflower you stumble across on a busy sidewalk, refusing to be tamed by the rigid lines of the city. It’s the stardust sprinkled across the mundane—a riddle wrapped in a rhyme and tied with a bow of ambiguity.

Prose That Sings: Lincoln’s Second Inaugural and the Gettysburg Address

But, wait—don’t count prose out just yet. Occasionally, prose steps into poetry’s shoes, dresses up, and waltzes across the page like it owns the place. Take Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address, for example. The rhythm there isn’t accidental—it’s the heartbeat of a weary nation. Lincoln’s words weren’t just sentences; they were like notes, carefully chosen and strung together to play a melody of hope and healing:

"With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right..."

Here, the cadence is gentle, deliberate, each beat a step towards unity. It’s not poetry, but it’s not not poetry, either.

The Gettysburg Address: A Prose Masterpiece

And then there’s the Gettysburg Address, the little speech that could—a mere 272 words that somehow managed to become immortal. Lincoln didn’t need fancy rhymes or line breaks to make his point. He used the structure of prose, but wove in a rhythm that gives it a poetic quality:

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."

It’s prose with a pulse—a steady march towards a larger truth. The repetition of phrases and parallel structure creates a quiet kind of music, one that doesn’t need a verse or chorus to make its point.

The Magic of Rhythm in Lincoln’s Prose

Lincoln’s speeches prove that even prose can dance if you set it to the right tune. In his closing lines from the Gettysburg Address, the rhythm rises, the beat quickens, and the repetition drives the point home:

"...that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

It’s not just the words—it’s the way they’re arranged, the rhythm that makes them memorable, the cadence that elevates them from ordinary to extraordinary. It’s a prose that doesn’t merely communicate; it resonates.

So, What Is Poetry, Really?

So no, poetry isn’t just prose playing dress-up. It’s not about alternative punctuation or artistic line breaks. It’s about creating something that breathes, whispers, and dares to make you feel. And sometimes, just sometimes, prose can step up to that challenge too, breaking free of its everyday chains and dancing in the moonlight.

Next time someone tells you poetry is just fancy prose, roll your eyes for me, would you? Poetry isn’t about being fancy; it’s about being free.

[compacflt]

my apologies if this is too simple or juvenile or personal a question but HOW did you become such a proficient writer? and do you have any tips or pointers to keep in mind? i know you must do a lot of reading and a lot of writing, but your skill is just incredible to me. your prose!! your cadence!! when we get around to talking about it is genuinely one of the best things i've ever read and i'd eat it if i could!!!

this ask was so sweet thank you!! rly made my day when i needed a boost. Hope you don’t mind i took a couple days to think about it cause no one’s ever asked me for writing advice before

idk how i became a “proficient” writer bc I really don’t write that much. something about my fic gave me brainworms and i went into overdrive but that’s…not my usual MO. which is why it’s weird for me too. admittedly i am studying english/creative writing as my second major at uni, but i haven’t learned anything in any of my classes you couldn’t learn by just reading and writing on your own. honestly i should’ve stuck with my IR major instead, i find structured cw classes a complete waste of time. but here are some little tips i thought of that would’ve helped ME:

This is more a “do as I say not as I do” because I’m really bad at habits like this, but keep a diary. You can write about the big events (went to the store, did homework, got laid etc.) but that’s boring—focus on the details (watched someone at west side market throw a glass bottle of olives at a rat, broke a pen and permanently stained my dorm desk and won’t get my deposit back which pissed me off because I move out in a week, this guy’s breath smelled like lemon pledge and it made me wonder if he drank window cleaner before kissing me etc.). Real life is really interesting! How can you write about interesting real life in an interesting way? It’s a good way to practice. You don’t have to do a big reflection at the end of the day or anything. It’s okay to jot down something you saw & then immediately forget about it. It’s the act of figuring out how to translate life into words that’s important

If you type, learn how to type FAST. This is just my experience, but I think typing faster makes your cadence, clause length, dialogue, IDEAS flow better/more naturally. We think in words/sentences, not letters.

This is a super lame tip that’ll make you roll your eyes, but read poetry. Poetry is all about how words/ideas/images sound and interact with each other. Don’t get hung up on one poet—im not really recommending any for precisely this reason—read poetry you love (for me, Ada Limón, Jack Kerouac, Frank O’Hara, ghazals etc) AND read poetry you hate (for me, Rupi Kaur, Emily Dickinson, Whitman, etc)! Read all genres you can get your hands on. (I think there are like “great poetry anthologies” you can find for free online if u don’t know where to start. Also you can’t go wrong with subscribing to/reading a variety magazine like the NYer. It’s pretentious but it exposes you to all kinds of weird topics, ways of writing about them, etc.) Figure out how certain combinations of words and punctuations make you FEEL, and why, and why the writer chose (or not) to make you feel that way. Figure out which literary sounds you like and which ones you don’t. For me, i figured out that I REALLY like alliteration, comma splices, zeugmas, the rule of three, and

“he’s [verb]ing again… yeah compacflt’s characters are [verb]ing again… big shocker”

If you have an idea for a piece, figure out what it is you really want to get out of it—to say something? to experiment with a different style? to see your fav characters do something? to have fun?—and then figure out how, on a technical level, you should write to match that goal (this is where the poetry training comes in handy). If you’re just writing to have fun, don’t listen to any writing advice (incl. mine), because most of it is bullshit and over-generalized and will make you feel bad about yourself. Just take the advice that you think will work for what YOURE trying to write.

But if you’re writing to explore some political idea, then you should think about HOW to best write about that idea. What would be a convincing story/allegory/scene to engage with this idea vs. not convincing. I talk on this blog all the time about how disappointed I am that my very-adult-grown-up attempt to deal with the dynamic of “immovable internalized homophobia vs unstoppable falling in love anyway” is rendered a little childish/immature by some pretty unconvincing plot points like the characters buying a house together—I really should have considered how that plot point would interact with the characterizations I’d built already (hint: poorly). You can think of writing as kind of a military structure if that helps—you have strategy on the overarching campaign (plot/character growth/allegory/theme) level, the battle (scene that advances the above) level, and the tactical (sentence-level construction/syntax/wording) level. They all have to work together. If a scene is failing to properly engage with the idea you’re trying to convey, you’re losing a battle that will weaken the overarching campaign. Same thing if you choose a weird word in a sentence/write in a style or tone that’s weirdly out of place with your idea—it makes your engagement with the theme/idea less convincing. just try to be purposeful and consider your strategy on all levels of your work as you’re writing it!! At the very least it’ll make editing easier lol.

But then again when I read my own writing from just a couple months ago I cringe out of my skin, so like—just also accept that it’s a process and we’re all just making it up as we go along. Be proud of being embarrassed of your old work, because it means you’re growing. Own that shit. When I finished writing WWGATTAI i thought it was the best thing I’d ever written, and maybe it was. But since the day I finished working on it, it’s the worst thing I’ve written since then. That’s a great feeling. Not to be like writing grindset obviously bc it’s supposed to be fun—but if what you want is to get better at writing, the strategy is to WRITE a whole bunch of shit, and then own your embarrassment about how much you’ve grown since you started. And know you’re still always growing and learning. there should never be any “goals” where skills are concerned 👍🏽

[sama-not-sam]

Sama "the ambitious" Ali: task 002; the eulogy

It hadn’t occurred to Sama that Mrs. Tristan might expect all of the wards to speak at the funeral. She’d expected to hear something from those who’d been closest to him, Angus, Carmen, Estrella, and probably from Alison, but she certainly hadn’t been planning to speak herself. Sama was here because it was appropriate, because she wanted to honor Richard’s memory and all he’d done for her, and because she’d never felt like she could say no to Mrs. Tristan. She was not here because she had any right to Richard’s life. But, she’d never felt like she could say no to Mrs. Tristan, so Sama would have to come up with something to say.

Sama was a fairly confident public speaker. She wasn’t someone who gave speeches, but she could lead a meeting or present findings when the need arose. The main problem was she didn’t have anything to say about Richard, or at least not anything that couldn’t be said by someone else. It felt a bit like being asked to give a eulogy for a former boss, or one of her college professors. Sama wasn’t qualified for this, and worse, it wasn’t something she would get a second chance at.

All through the service, Sama went back and forth in her mind about her plan, if it was a good one or not, if it would look like she was honoring one of Richard’s passions or like she just couldn’t be bothered to try harder. She refused to acknowledge that she was more concerned about Alison’s judgement than anyone else’s. At least she could find some comfort in the fact that she was closer to the beginning of the speakers than the end. She could get it over with, if nothing else.

Sama waited until Jacob was back in his seat before standing, not wanting to rush anything. She held the book of poetry with both hands as she took to the podium. She tried to look at the other mourners, but couldn’t, instead focusing on some point in the distance.

“Hello.” Her voice sounded too quiet, even with the aid of the microphone, and she had to take a slow breath before continuing, louder and more confident. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sama Ali, one of Richard’s many wards.” Sama paused, losing her train of thought for a moment and unable to remember the transition she’d rehearsed in her head.

“I’m not a sentimental person. It’s not something that’s ever served me. I don’t have anything to share with you about Richard that you don’t already know.” She found herself unable to find a flow of words as she usually did, probably the difference between speaking to a group of coworkers and giving a eulogy.

Sama cleared her throat, and opened the book to the page she’d hastily marked with a bobby pin. She’d been thinking about poems about death since she first received Mrs. Tristan’s letter, and when she found out she was supposed to speak, Sama had slipped into the library in search of one in particular. Under the circumstances, it seemed like the best she could do.

“I thought, maybe, I could share something other than memories, something we all know Richard loved. This is a poem by Maya Angelou, titled When Great Trees Fall.

“When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety. “When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear.”

Sama began to find her footing as she read the poem, gaining confidence in the familiar cadence of one of her favorite poets. She began to look out over the gathered crowd, meeting the eyes of some of her fellow wards.

“When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. “Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves. “And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.”

Sama closed the book and came back to herself, once again uncertain of her choice and unable to make eye contact. For a moment, she wondered if she should say something else, but she couldn’t think of anything, and certainly nothing more eloquent or poignant than Maya Angelou. So she just made her way back to her seat, back straight, shoulders square, eyes trained on the ground.

[feytouched]

hi ieva!! i was reading through your poems and i’ve fallen in love with the way you write all over again ( . ̫.) which poet(s) do you draw the most inspiration from stylistically / are your favourites if you don’t mind me asking? :O

hi! thank you so much ;w; <33

i would say my greatest stylistic inspirations are mary oliver and mary szybist (i think these are quite transparent, they inform a lot of my personal style), as well as simon armitage (i admire the way his language flows, he makes great use of cadence in his poetry), seamus heaney and gillian clarke (big inspirations in terms of the beauty of their descriptions of nature). i also love ee cummings though most of my poetry has little in common with that style, i admire the freedom of it. and then probably my favourite poet ever, rilke: i can't even begin to reach the transcendental quality of his writing, but i can admire it and strive towards it all the same, and it's been a guide and comfort on many occasions.

other poets i like: wendy cope (of course. i was here when every other post was a quote from the orange! and it was glorious!), dorianne laux (i think her style also influenced the way i write), basho (every now and then i reread on love and barley in a single sitting and it makes me feel things), louise glück, derek mahon... just some of the names gracing my poetry shelf

obligatory 'i haven't even written any poetry in almost two years so i'm not even really a poet any more i'm just a seed in the dark waiting for the drive to write to pour over me again' disclaimer !

[shabdforwriting]

6 Points to Keep in Mind while Writing an Erotic Poetry

Writing erotic poetry requires balancing sensuality with artistry. Here’s a deeper dive into each of the six points to keep in mind:

1- Expression of Emotions:

Erotic poetry should tap into a wide range of feelings, not just physical desire. It explores emotions like longing, affection, passion, vulnerability, and even insecurity. This emotional depth creates intimacy and connection with the reader, making the experience of the poem more profound than mere physical attraction.

2- Use Symbolic Language:

Erotic poetry often benefits from metaphors and symbolic imagery to describe desire and intimacy. This can involve references to nature, elements, or abstract concepts that allude to eroticism without being explicit. Symbolism allows for layers of interpretation, giving the reader space to experience the poem in a personal, imaginative way.

3- Social and Cultural Perspective:

Considering the societal and cultural context is crucial. Erotic poetry can push boundaries, challenge norms, or highlight cultural attitudes toward sexuality. It’s important to reflect on how your work will be perceived within different cultural frameworks and what it contributes to larger discussions about sexuality, power, and identity.

4- Subtlety and Suggestiveness:

Rather than being overt, erotic poetry often thrives on suggestion. A well-placed word or phrase can hint at intimacy, building tension and anticipation. The art lies in how you imply without stating, drawing readers into the emotional and physical dynamics of the poem.

5- Context and Background:

Every erotic poem needs a setting or context that situates the emotions and desires being expressed. This could be a specific place, time, or relationship. The background adds layers to the poem, giving it a narrative depth beyond fleeting passion.

6- Rhythm and Flow:

The musicality of poetry is essential in all forms, but especially in erotic writing, where the rhythm mirrors the ebb and flow of desire. The structure and pacing of lines can evoke the rising tension and release found in intimate experiences. A smooth, flowing cadence can make the poem feel sensual, while abrupt changes in rhythm can create a sense of urgency or unpredictability.

By weaving these elements together, erotic poetry can become an evocative, emotional, and intellectual experience, where the focus is not only on desire but on the human experience that surrounds and informs it.

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