#ragewriting

[bigfatbreak]

Wait a minute…papa Tom doesn’t seem too hostile towards Nathalie. Or at least she doesn’t seem nervous/blackmailed. Does Tom not know her past allegiances or…is there an alliance in play?

Viceroy employs many in his arsenal, and as far as Nathalie is concerned, Tom is a coworker. :)

[deimosatellite]

girl at this rate i'll make my own dorian gray screenplay wtf. ive written screenplays before and while i mostly wrote in novel format and while im not too confident in screenwriting . i wont make dorian and basil siblings so the bar is pretty low..................................................................... kicks a rock................IM SO MAD LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[angelicxi]

also not to to make vague and whining posts...but to make vague and whining posts, since I am actively sick and so dizzy I can barely stand upright for five minutes at a time, ergo sorely lack the required brainpower needed to express this w any of like, grace and precision, much less eloquence.

man oh man I am so fucking done with the way people approach art and media. how all of it is now perceived as "content" and the only metric by which they judge whether or not it is good is how hashtag relatable it is to the consumer, how the point of it is, or should be, as far as these people are concerned, to be Nice and Inoffensive and Digestible and About Me, The Specialest And Most Importantest Little Princeling, actually. how they perceive themselves as a customer, essentially. shopper weighing you, the artist / creative, like a product in his hands and tutting. and more than anything I loathe the incredibly dangerous entitlement bred by this attitude.

also, people have gotten waaaaayyyyyy too comfortable with just wandering into the DMs / inboxes of strangers they encounter at random on the internet with increasingly bizarre grievances. main character syndrome is sosososo real, deranged and common. I want to scream!! I AM screaming!!!!

[contremineur]

Lianna Schreiber, Stub

from here

[2dumb2furious]

Devi is the tiktoker to Ben’s Redditor meanwhile Paxton has never used anything besides Instagram, Eleanor is using every social media under the sun daily in hopes of getting famous, Aneesa is DEEP into tumblr especially the soccer side and Fabiola only watches 50 minute long YouTube videos about robotics.

really glad ben went to eight-time NBA star dwight howard with his failsex w/ devi problems. knowing him it was between that and making a reddit AITA post

[pinespittinink]

🌿 pinespittinink reintro 🌿

hello and welcome to my blog 💌 i'm easing myself back into writeblr and hope to meet some new people and continue to vibe as i always have on here. this is not my main blog, so while i may follow you, it won't be from this account. i don't follow or engage with minors; all my work is adult and queernorm unless otherwise indicated.

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a little bit about me: catherine ~ she/her ~ capricorn ~ pan & poly ~ 28 ~ 18+ only ➡  about page ⬅ ​

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i've been around here sporadically since 2018 and always tend to come home; i like prompts and ask games and tags and fun things. i write love stories in sci-fi and fantasy settings, and i'm working towards traditional publishing always. currently i'm querying my adult fantasy standalone, The Great Glavenisean Theater (The Night Circus x House of Leaves). i enjoy writing nsfw content, lush scene setting, and detailed emotional headspaces.

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🖋 my wips 🖋

the great glavenisean theater 🎭 {wip intro} {general tag} spec fic/fantasy standalone. a tailor goes to the big city and gets swept up by a phantasmagorical theater with an interdimensional portal in the stage, gets a crush on a cute guy working the rigging, and maybe starts to lose his mind as shit gets Weird™️

in the deep of the trees 🍃 {wip intro} {general tag} high fantasy, romantic subplot, standalone. (bi4bi otp). a social-climber uses subterfuge, blackmail, and murder to achieve his ambitions, and the court eccentric that he's in love with gets weirder and weirder when a new discovery is brought back by an exploration team.

star white 🌟 {wip intro} {general tag} romantic space fantasy, standalone. (gay otp) one man searches for the love of his life after he's been abducted by sentient dark matter, and spends millions of years travelling through space with a semi-organic AI ship.

solene's verse 🌊 epic fantasy, duology. (t4t otp) a young self-taught wizard makes a ton of bad decisions, as a group of ragtag youths from the cesspit of the world try to rescue the elder brother of one of their own from a tower of cultists.

the revenant (working title) dark fantasy, duology(???? who knows). a one-woman-war-machine who cannot die fights alongside her childhood best friend and lover and their loyal band of vagabonds to bring down the corrupt royalty desecrating their kingdom

the wasteland (working title) weird spec fic/dark fantasy, novella. a lousy hot-tempered fire elemental and a shitty light necromancer embark on the world's worst walking roadtrip to a castle on the wasteland falling away at their feet.

[odyssey solomon's wip - mad max fury road x the road x the locked tomb, post-apocalyptic fantasy. father and son against the world plus a weird shapeshifting bitch]

[gentle poly cathedral wip - romantic fantasy, novella. gargoyles and psalms and stained glass, my beloveds]

[soft poly space wip - romantic sci-fi, duology. androids and black holes and librarians, oh my!]

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🎐tag guide🎐

my writing 🌸 my edits  🌸 my poetry 🌸 sap spill 🌸 {original text posts, not always writing related} uwu romance 🌸 {umbrella tag for everything love and romance related} trope talk🌸 {umbrella tag. overlaps often with uwu romance} character work🌸 {what it says on the tin} compilations🌸 {tumblr web weaving posts} i live here🌸 {stuff i jive with on a molecular level}

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[ Romantic and indulgent prose full of filigree, worlds full of whimsy, mystery and a hint of danger, a core of tenderness rooted at the heart of every story. Your writing is always penned in the manner of a love letter not just to the craft or even as an ode to romance but to the subject of love in itself. ] – @aninkwellofnectar​ 🌹

“for whom / and to whom all this love, / all this light falling.” 

–@ragewrites, Film Still, for pinespittinink. 

[ragewrites]

Leah Saint-John (b. 28/12/1998)—previously active under the name Lianna Schreiber—is a Romanian writer.

♦ Stylistically somewhere between Keats / Arghezi / Swinburne / Rilke & Celan; mostly when you think of me I wish you’d think Oh, it’s a Saint-John piece, no wonder.

♦ Culturally a product of my environment—ergo profoundly Eastern-European. (And within that: indelibly Romanian.) (And within that: Filomela Delavlașca, gen.) It is our myths and folklore which engendered my love of literature: it is the sprawling green hills which sustain it.

♦ I began teaching myself English as a preteen, motivated chiefly by poverty. I could afford to thrift for books now and again, but that was the extent of the money my mother could afford to dedicate to my leisure. While dodgy websites hosting bootlegged albums and foreign films with Romanian softsubs were easy enough to find, books, especially the sort of books I wanted to read, were hard to get underhand in anything but English. Ecce magistra pupillae.

♦ It was Keats who made me fall in love with poetry. (Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?) I started to write some of my own, badly, around 2016.

♦ The choice of Saint-John as a surname is unrelated, if felicitous.

♦ All writing featured on this blog—unless expressly indicated otherwise—is my own work. I have been part of the writeblr sphere since 2017, publishing solely under the ragewrites masthead. My greatest—and strangest—‘claim to fame’ is the slug post.

♦ You may reblog anything that catches your fancy. Including my poems in web weaves, using lines I’ve written for fanfic or fanart titles—things of this sort are alright, so long as proper credit is provided.

♦ Please do not repost my work, here or on other platforms.

♦ I welcome polite curiosities, questions about my writing and questions about writing in general. However, please do not treat me as though I am an NPC in the grand quest of your life. Proselytizers, in particular, will be blocked.

[nalladragewrites]

Defeat

Beads of sweat are racing down her back.  The one that makes her quiver first, wins.

She pushes her hair out of her face so she can watch her surroundings.  By watching, she realizes she’s being watched.  After just sloppily pushing her hair back, she moves her fingers above her head like a sporadic orbit, checking for misbehaving strands of hair.  She felt the sudden urge to fix her uniform and lost. 

She glances around, looking at the people but especially at how much time is left.  She looks next to her to the girl that’s stalking her like prey.  She felt the girl was attached to her.  Only there was a fifteen foot gap and like her orbital, it was unseen to everyone else but her.  

She didn’t just glance at the girl, she clearly checked her up and down, took her in, trying to regard what she was up against.  With her intense glance, she gained immediate confidence.  But how could she be so confident?  How does she know she has the upper hand?  It’s simple; she doesn’t.  All she can do is hold her head up high, be alert, expect anything and wait.  

It should be unnatural to have to wait.  It is for her.  She would gladly do jaw-dropping, bone-breaking, tedious labor while baking under the hot sun then have to wait.   

Standing here now, the blazing sun beating down on her, sweat still dripping, she sighs.  She’s been tense for the last ten minutes but now she’s finally starting to relax.  

Wrong idea.

She knew it was going to happen before it actually did.  She saw it in her teammates eyes.  

Finally, she got the ball. Now all she had to worry about was her defender.  Of course the girl was much closer now, trying to stop her in her tracks.  This is the time when she’ll learn who really does have the upper hand. 

Her mind is flooded with every skill she learned but is unable to put it to use; she speeds up and runs right past the defender.  

Her teammates are running with her, supporting her if she needs it, and other defenders are flanking in from behind her. Yes, behind her. 

Her hair is trailing as she’s running full speed towards her goal.  The closer she gets, the quicker she moves, her body full of adrenaline.  At this point, nobody can touch her.  Her mind is blocking out everything except what’s ahead of her.

She’s getting closer.  She has to take a shot.  She sets the ball closer to her right leg. Mid-stride, she takes that leg, pulls it back and kicks…laces down.  After she sends the ball away, she looks up, watching it, but she already knew something went wrong.  Her kick wasn’t as strong as it should’ve been.  She slowed down, no longer running full speed, just letting her legs carry her forward.  

She watches the ball roll on the ground into the goalie’s grasp.  She’s been defeated.  Not by her opponent, but by her own self. 

The goalie is getting ready to punt the ball back out on the field.  She jogs back to midfield with praises of ‘Nice try,’ and ‘Good run,’ follow behind her.  The game goes on.

[goopi-e]

First of all: transcripts.

[Image 1 ID: an exempt from Euripides by Anne Carson, edited to say the following:

Slug: I'll eat apple.

Orestes: It's rotten.

Slug: Not to me.

End image 1 ID].

[Image 2 ID: a poem by ragewrites which reads as follows:

The Slug: I'll eat the apple.

The Gardener: It's rotten.

The Slug: Not to me. Not if it came from your soil; not if it was tended to by your hands.

The Gardener: Rot is rot, regardless of who grew it.

The Slug: No - certain rots are sweeter than others. Certain rots yield wines.

End image 2 ID].

wow.. 😔💔

[vagabondprophet]

Overmorrow

The overmorrow never comes

Yesterday's ashes cold and black

Tomorrow distant promise

No shadow yet of glory

Nor of tragedy and loss.

Today the brightest thing

The soil where we plant

The watering the rooting

Of everything to come,

Eternities fruit finds foundation 

In the actions of today.

- Vagabond Prophet

'Overmorrow' the prompt from @ragewrites .

[eddielhouse]

The roof of my mouth is snakelike shedding skin which makes it hurt to eat, so I run my tongue along the ridges and hold sugar in my mouth until it becomes unbearable. I'm talking about rubbing salt in a wound just to feel something. I'm talking about rinsing the blood out with vodka. I'm talking about smoking to fill your lungs up with something other than her name. I'm trying to carve out what is left of me that's human; become something more, become something holy.

(Un)Becoming

[stardustandwar]

birthday poem for @ragewrites. happy birthday! <333

[coruscifer]

national poetry month recs day 12: prayer before the evening meal by @ragewrites

want has gnawed abominations of us; blindly we now grope for You in the dark, our starved teeth seeking to sink into Your tendermost parts, to graze Your lamb’s ribs

[verilies]

rosedark, the hands / that take your own; // roselight, the lips / that press reverent on your bird's-bone. // my love, you are as the doves / that circle heaven's brow: / with flowers hallowed / bless'd and loved deeply / by the moon. // for you, spring shakes itself awake / climbs with a yawn / from the shadowed yew-boughs; // for you, the swallows have come home. // for you, i press this small song / between the petals of Life's book.

lover, i press a kiss to your cheek, shy and earnest at the same time, eager for the love you hold in your hands but nervous all the same. to be likened to the darling birds that doves are, symbols of peace and love and of the goddess venus herself, is embarrassing and flattering all at once, though i must confess that, while love is the first thing on my mind as i gaze at you, peace is far from being second or even third. hunger ripples through me, shoots up my spine as i gaze upon you, and i lick my lips in anticipation of you, lover.

[ragethewriter]

Interview tag game!

Pick a character, and have them answer these interview questions!  I was tagged by @corishadowfang  - thankyou dear :3c

I’m going to be interviewing my deuteragonist Caecius!  Hi Caecius!

1. How are you doing today?

"I’m doing well, how are you?”

we’re great thanks buddy

2. You ready to answer some questions?

"If you’d like me to, sure.”

3. How do you feel about your name? Your surname?

"I don’t have a surname as far as I know... but I’m fond of the name I do have.  My parents gave it to me, and I know not everyone can say the same.  Although sometimes I think the irony is a bit much... I’ve had to explain to plenty of people that my eyes work just fine.”

4. Is there anything you’d like to thank your author for?  

".................... Not particularly.”

5. You can only eat three foods for the rest of your life, what are they?

"Oof, not an easy choice.  Lamb, honeybread, and... nectarines?  I’m not sure those go together...” 

6. Have you ever done or said anything that surprised your author?

“Does it count that I haven’t strangled Raicouda yet?”

No.

“...Then probably my sense of humor.”

7. You have limitless funds, what kind of party are you going to have?

“A party to end all parties, of course!  Feasting and dancing are absolutely must-haves.  Costumes and painted faces, music all through the night and into the next day, a venue with crowds and games and riotous halls, and a quiet garden for sneaking off to share secrets...   Now if only I had that many people to invite. Ahaha... ha...”

8. Tell us a quick story about something that’s happened to you that not even your author knows about… yet.

“Well.  One time when we were younger, Arcana apparently got me drunk, kissed me, and then let me cry all my secrets out on her shoulder... And no, I don’t remember any of it.  So don’t ask.” 

9. Do you have a favorite Hero?

"The War Mother is the only hero that really matters to me - but I do have my favorite stories too.  There’s one about the daughter of a great celestial bear, who took her mother’s stars and slew monsters with them; she captured a three-headed dog and rode him to the gray fields of the dead to find someone... it’s one of my favorite heroic ballads.”

10. What do you plan to do after this?

“... I have plans for dinner I don’t plan on missing.  If you’ll excuse me...”

Alright Caecius, thanks for being a good sport!   For more content of mister tall, dark, and canine - you can find him both here on my writing blog, and here on my art blog! Next up, I’m tagging @siarven, @power-of-ages-writeblr , @adiwritings , @valeriemcqueen @authorkimberlygrey , @wingedcatp, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, @itsmoodlenoodle , @callmeweeeh , @ill-write-when-im-dead, @kainablue, @bluenightfire, @axelrider, and @pyresandarson !

[oneweekobsession]

wow. frankissstein by jeannette winterson is wow, an extraordinarily awful book.

cw: transphobia

7/8 of the way through, I thought I could see the conceit that might, possibly, be underpinning this, and that might, possibly, go a little way to - well, not redeeming it, not redeeming it because good lord almighty the transphobia is off the scale. so not redeeming it, then, but at least, explaining it.

was it the case, I began to wonder, that Winterson was presenting us with a novel that was written *as if* by an artificial intelligence? an artificial intelligence that had been fed some basic plot ideas, and a range of cultural and literary references, and then set free? if so, i decided, that might make sense of the novel's odd data dumps: the way that characters or the narrator(s) offer indigested accounts of ai, or they deposits of historical context.  that might explain, i thought, particular clumsinesses of exposition. Particularly, i thought, in terms of how the text handled textual allusions. Like this, Mary Shelley's reference to her parents, which is followed by a really odd bibliographic reference to one of Wollstonecraft's works

...when I was a young girl of sixteen, and the proud daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin. Mary Wollstonecraft: A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. 1792.

Or this, a few pages later, when MS asks PBS about a book, and PBS gives her the title in weirdly specific detail, the sort of detail that suggests an absence of literacy for reading early nineteenth century titles and title pages:

Shelley sighed. Yet he is the most patient of men: An Account of the late improvements in Galvanism with a series of curious and interesting experiments performed before the commissioners of the French National Institute, and Repeated Lately in the Anatomical Theatres of London. To which is added an appendix, containing the author's experiments conducted on the body of a malefactor executed at Newgate ... 1803. Yes, that one, I said.

It might, too, explain the really weird way that song lyrics get weirdly misappropriated in the modern part of the story:

You look like a boy whose a girl who's a girl who's a boy

which seems to me, at least, to be riffing on Blur:

Girls who want boys Who like boys to be girls Who do boys like they're girls Who do girls like they're boys

and it might explain the cringe worthy 'big bots don't cry'. and much else in the novel's clunky use of reference points.

and it might explain the extraordinary clunky way that the novel's two threads are doubled: how the 19thc's Mary Shelley becomes Ry Shelley; Lord Byron becomes Ron Lord; Claire Clairmont becomes both Claire the sex doll and Claire the CEO; Polidori becomes Polly D; and Victor Frankinstein becomes Victor Stein. Geez.

and it might explain why the characters are one dimensional, mouthpieces rather than rounded entities. 

and it might - *might* -  explain why the depiction of the transgender character repeats *all* of the most offensive tropes possible.

all of the things i found so distasteful about the novel might be explained, i thought, if the premise of this novel was that it was written by an imperfect ai, an ai that had been fed all of our prejudices, all of our snippets of culture, and instructed to write a novel that drew on frankenstein.

and, you know, i thought we might actually get that, for a moment: in one section - in an exchange between mary shelley and ada lovelace which is in, i think, the one actually sympathetic and reasonably well-done section - they discuss the possibility of a novel written by machine.

but no. the novel does not go there. there is no (not as clever as it thinks) conceit to explain away the offensive parts, or the laboured parts, or the really fucking awkward parts of this novel. there is no (not as clever as it thinks) conceit which turns the tables on the reader, and shows to them the ways that the transphobia the novel contains is a clever reflection on the state of our society.

no. no. there is no explaination.

all there is is a vile and transphobic work.

like i don't hold with putting books in the bin, but ngl, this one is pretty fucking close to ending up there.