#worst writeblr ever

[charbroiledchicken]

does anyone else die inside a little when they do novel outlining? like i love the brainstorming/daydreaming stage as much as the next person, but actually getting it down into words? in chronological order? in a non-confusing way? i would rather jump out a window into burning fire and then inhale a jar full of bees.

[drchenquill]

Me, talking about any of my characters: They have so much depth, their mind is so complex with so many layers, each more unique than the other.

Me, talking about Azul:

[vsaintsin]

A trend I've noticed in most online writing communities is that people HATE the editting/revisions stage of writing. Often with a passion, almost? Maybe it's just my hyper-literal brain misunderstanding a bunch of sarcastic jokes but idk?

The first draft is always where I feel least at home with a story. It's messy and too cramped and too open and I wind up with 600 separate docs containing various versions of the story and I'm mostly puzzling them all together but sometimes I can't even be all that sure they're in English because they're such nonsense to my language processor. God Forbid first draft V remembers that settings exist at all or that anything might need to be described in ANY WAY.

I love editting and revisions. That's when I get to watch my stories turn into SOMETHING and not just a garbled string of consciousness desperately trying to cling to themes and context and continuity.

My first draft is just stick-built suggestions of a house, editting and revisions are the walls and the flooring and the furniture and everything that makes the story feel like home. I love that process. It's where I strain all my confidence in my work from, when I finally feel like I'm doing more than yelling into the wind.

Maybe that's the artist in me that dreads starting any kind of illustration but loves the rendering process. Maybe it's the part of me that knows that the life of the work is in the part that AI just can't do - the human hand that adjusts and tinkers and is thoughtful of single lines that maybe nobody will ever notice.

Probably though I'm just a chronic over thinker who likes to be able to find a practical application for something that usually causes me so much trouble.

[superbeans89]

No one:

Porn writers:

[ghostmarmot]

While I haven't been published in too many, I have slogged through the submission requirements for many (dozens!) of places, and I can say, without a doubt, these are the worst I have seen.

Pages? No word count listed, which is unusual, but not unheard of. Usually some form of font size or spacing is mentioned and always has been on those listing page numbers only. On some of the larger zines and for tradpub, they even specify the font for submissions.

This is everything. No mention about what they want the zine to be geared towards, no themes, nothing. That sounds great, right? Easy to get into? Except that a zine that changes themes or never even arrives at one will have a hard time getting a subscriber base. And most people know that, so they definitely have a plan for the zine. So you're going to be upsetting a lot of people who submitted good pieces that don't fit your idea, simply by not being clear about your submission guidelines. Which will cause a lot of frustration for the staff and the submittors, who may have pieces that fit better, they just didn't know what was being looked for.

And the next complaint is mostly a minor one, but a WordPress account is free. If your sole point of contact for people is Instagram for things that are the written word, I think they may be a bit lost. How are people going to download the zine? Or, if it's as I suspect, they are just going to post the images of the pieces on their account, can that really be called a zine?

[mintandcreme]

I’m so sad 😭 I had a dream with an amazing Soljae fanfic idea, and then I woke up so excited, only to not remember a single detail. WHYYYYYY 😭 rip 😔

[nixie-writes-and-reblogs]

Can someone please give me some girl names that mean memory or new life or something like that? Google is absolutely no help😭

[foxclcves]

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 & 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✒️

hello hello, and welcome to my writing blog! my name is jenn, and i go by she/her pronouns. i usually write characters and stories that are seeped in fantasy, scifi, or horror genres, but sometimes i deviate to slice of life/low stakes & cozy fiction. i tend to keep my writing to myself, but between my loved ones and my therapist's support and gentle encouragement, i'm finally making moves to post my stuff again. that's what i created this blog for, mainly: it's for them AND me.

what else... i have a cat, i love to garden and bake, and i tend to look on the brighter side of things. i think deep down i'm an earnest and compassionate person... sometimes it just gets buried under my social anxiety. but i digress! thank you so much for dropping by, i hope you stick around. and if you don't, i hope you have a nice day anyway. ♡

𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒆

Wednesdays and/or Sundays, around 4:00 PM MST

[jukeboxwitharms]

Just hit 50k in the new wip estimated amount left 10k(probably 15k) huge win everywhere.

[avocado-frog]

Happy STS! What is the best novel you've ever read? What did you like about it, from a storytelling perspective? Has it influenced or informed your own approach?

Hi thanks I've got another ask from you from like two weeks ago that I forgot about whoops

On the jellicoe road has had me in an absolute chokehold since December. It took me a while to get into it because it's a little confusing for the first 100 pages, but my English teacher last year gave it to me because I didn't get a book from the library (it's also worth noting that he gave me a copy that did not have the title on the front, and it was scratched out on the spine, so i did not know what the book was called until i looked it up later)

From a storytelling perspective, it follows two storylines, one is the present, the other is about 20 years into the past, and I'm not going to spoil too much of it, but the parts from the past are written by the protagonist's caretaker, and are in third person, while the present bits are in first. It's definitely worth a reread because of the way the two storylines tie up in the end

I don't think it's really influenced much of my own writing, but I do think that my characterization skills have improved because of it

[brianmostcertainlymay]

Pulling a timeline of plot details for the super secret self-indulgent self-insert fic, and let me tell you, it isn't as fun as it sounds. ;- p

[ahungeringknife]

365: May 28

DNI if you're a Mara stan. We are not the same.

---

Uldren stood akimbo in front of his sister's Kell throne watching a pair of Corsairs bring in a single woman. One held her by the arm. A Guardian by the Ghost floating at her shoulder but her face was covered by a helmet and hood. He cocked his head looking at her and stepped down from the dais. "Well well what do we have here?" he sneered as she approached. "Trespassers was it?"

The woman pulled her arm out of the Corsair's grip. "No. I have an introduction. Your Corsairs threatened to blow me out of the sky before I could do anything."

He almost laughed. It came out more like a cough. "An introduction, for a Guardian? Who knew you luddites knew proper decorum when visiting royalty," he sneered.

"I can't imagine why Guardians wouldn't follow procedure when they have this to look forward to," the woman said. "Where is the Queen?" and she stepped forward. Or tried to. The Corsairs grabbed her by the arms to stop her.

"I don't know why you think the Queen meets with anyone who trespasses in the Reef?" Uldren asked, stepping closer, one hand comfortably curling around the grip of his knife.

"I wasn't trespassing," the Guardian said. "And if she's not here I'll wait." She yanked her arms out of the Corsairs' grasp and folded her arms. Uldren eyed her. There was something... familiar about her. Like a word on the tip of his tongue. "But I'm not leaving. I will see the Queen."

"So aggressive just like all Lightbearers," Uldren scoffed. "Perhaps the Queen will acknowledge you and-

"Yes. I will," and he straightened from his leering at the sound of Mara's voice. He turned as Mara stepped out from around her throne. "What does it want?"

"This Guardian claims to have an introduction."

"I will take it," Mara said as she slid onto her throne languidly.

Uldren did his best not to scowl and turned back to the Guardian, holding out a hand. "Let's have it," he ordered sharply. The Ghost dropped a sealed letter onto his hand. He stalked back to his sister. Before handing it to her he used his own knife to pop the seal to save her having to do it. Then he handed it to her, unopened.

Mara delicately opened the paper introduction and her ice blue eyes scanned it. 'Aldrix Soshohl cannot be trusted,' Mara's voice drifted across the front of his mind. Uldren struggled to remember who that was. He couldn't recall. A nobody of import then. But a Reefborn if Mara knew them. All Uldren knew was Aldrix had given this Guardian an introduction and he was no longer welcome near the heart of the Awoken. Whatever asteroid he'd called home would be where he died.

Mara finished reading the introduction and casually tossed it onto the throne, unimpressed by the introduction. "It doesn't know how to be polite in front of royalty. Soshohl said it was," Mara said dismissively.

"Pardon, your... Majesty," she said slowly. "We don't have royalty on Earth-

Uldren couldn't help the choked laugh that escaped his lips. "Isn't that what your Warlords were?" he sneered.

"Well I don't know what those would be either. Is it the helmet?" Then quieter, almost too quiet for Uldren to hear, she said, "Lightless so weird about the helmet." She pulled it off with a hiss of her suit decompressing.

Uldren wasn't the only one who flinched when 'Rhyla,' ripped through his mind from Mara all searing iron that for a moment left him unable to talk. The two Corsairs also flinched away and shivered as the name echoed through their own minds. This name Uldren did know and it was one of the few times Uldren had ever seen his sister angry. So angry not even Sjur had been able to soothe her. It had been a foolish mistake but one that had upset many of her plans and left her humiliated. He couldn't even try and tell Mara she was wrong, mistaken. It was Rhyla. Or the woman who'd been Rhyla. Now there was a dead thing walking around in that girl's body. He was sure her mother would be beside herself if she knew. There was no disputing the purple eyes or the pale cerulean skin. So much like her aunt and yet not nearly as useful.

"I didn't mean to insult. I'm here for help," the Rhyla shaped thing said.

"And what help do you think you need?" Uldren asked, yellow eyed narrowed.

"I need to get into the Black Garden," once-Rhyla said.

Uldren didn't flinch visibly but his mind recoiled at the very name. "Why?" he asked and it almost caught in the back of his throat.

The once-Rhyla frowned and looked at her Ghost. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Do you know where it is?"

Uldren laughed. Laughed off the dread curled around his shoulders. Laughed off the red flowers that sprang to his mind. "Everyone knows where it is. The hard part is getting in."

"Well I was told you could help me."

"By who?"

"Look, can you help me or not? If you won't then I'll just stop wasting both our times," she huffed. "I didn't come to play games. I am here on business. Help me or I'll just leave."

"And why...would we...do that?

"Brother," Mara said making him turn and look. "A word," and she stared into him.

He cast a baleful look at the Guardian and went back to his sister. He took a knee by her throne. "You don't think we should help that thing, do you?" he asked her quietly, nearly at a whisper.

Mara had turned from him and was looking at once-Rhyla. Staring at her from her throne like she wanted nothing more than for once-Rhyla to drop dead for the second time. "If it goes into the Black Garden it may never come out. If it fights a Gate Lord it will probably just kill it," Mara whispered back.

"If you feel that is wise," Uldren said.

"How dare it show its face to me like this," Mara said, tight lipped. "I would send it to its death for the humiliation. Tell it what it needs to know," her blue eyed met Uldren's briefly.

"Yes, that's good. That's good. Why not?" he stood up from where he knelt and faced the Guardian, stepping down from the dais. "We'll make you a key...how's that? All we need is the head of a Vex Gate Lord."

The Ghost and Guardian-that-looked-like-Rhyla shared a look before looking back at Uldren. "Why do you want a Vex head?" she asked.

"Oh, we don't...and I doubt we'll get one either. But it's your only hope of getting into the Black Garden," Uldren said with a slow smirk.

Once-Rhyla sighed. "More fetch quests," she said more to her Ghost than to him. "Fine. We will return," she nodded at him, overly confidant.

"Or die on Venus. Either way," Uldren said and his least charming smile.

"I don't do that," and then with that she turned on her heel and walked off, he waved the Corsairs off and they followed the Guardian to make sure she returned promptly to her ship.

Uldren looked back at his sister. "Are we really going to help that thing?" he asked her mildly, hanging limp before the dais like a puppet on loose strings.

"Who's killed a Gate Lord?" Mara asked instead.

"Alone? No one. Not even one of those Guardians," he scoffed.

"Then we will not see it again," Mara stood up from her throne.

"But if we do?" Uldren asked.

"Heh. Let the Garden kill it if the Gate Lord couldn't. Lightbearers are weak, fragile things, tied to their Ghosts."

"Should we tell her parents their daughter is dead?"

"They know," and Mara left. Uldren stood there after she was gone for a few more moments before he too went to tend to his Crows.

[deanwax]

If you wanna build a world where a certain class of people is privileged enough to feel comfortable doing just about anything and you want that to be a bad thing, consider someone in broad daylight in a public place, pissing into the bushes from the footpath. They hear someone approaching on the path, turn, see them, scowl, turn back, adjust their footing slightly and then continue pissing. They put their genitals away and then turn and fix the stranger with an angry glare as if they have invaded their private space by the act of using the footpath for walking instead of pissing.

'Cos that's exactly the cunt I just passed on my walk today. The reality of privilege is not always glamorous. It can, and should, be disgusting to everyone involved at times. The ignorance of the privileged isn't that they don't know they're privileged at all, it's that they know they are doing something disgusting and they still have the gall to be defensive about their actions and act as if the other people are the problem.

[nanbookinsp]

Am I actually writing the climax of my book?? I can’t believe I’ve gotten this far, when I was convinced I’d never be able to write again. Speech-to-text software is a lifesaver, literally crying about it every day.

[celestiachan]

raise your hand if you're tired of every protagonist being a high schooler that gets bullied by blonde people with californian accents

[cheerfulmelancholies]

I felt like trying to make a really unlikeable character for fun. I tried to make him a typical self–righteous prick who thinks he's somehow above everyone else. Just a total douche canoe who can't see the irony in his attitude towards other people. The kind of guy you can't wait to see get his comeuppance.

I think I succeeded lol.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!"

***

Michael wasn't at fault for the accident. Not in the true sense, anyway. Yes, he had run the light. His aging Durango didn't have the acceleration it used to, having been bogged down by delayed oil changes and a general lack of care. The loss of power meant he was nowhere close to making it across the intersection on an amber, and as such he barreled through the red and into the side of a minivan that was turning left. An inconvenience for sure, but not one he couldn't handle. After all, he knew this was nothing more than a test in patience and logic.

The woman driving the minivan had short black hair styled boyishly, pierced brows, and a nose ring. She looked to be in her twenties, although the damage she'd done to her face would likely give her an older appearance in a few years' time. She was unharmed, albeit shaken up from the ordeal.

Michael couldn't see how. He was the one who had suffered the harsher blow. He was fortunate to be coherent enough to exit his car and walk over.

"Oh my god... What the fuck..."

"There's no need for such language, Miss..." He trailed off, knowing full-well he was on thin ice with such a term. Despite her 'style' she appeared to be a woman, but he was all too aware that anyone could call themselves anything these days, and be insulted if one didn't read minds.

The young woman snapped her head to him, eyes wide and mouth agape. "You... You fucking ran the light and hit me, you asshole!"

"You turned in front of me. You should really be more aware of your surroundings." Nevermind that he'd taken the impact head-on. Young people these days were so self-centered, only concerned with their well-being and no one else's.

"Well, I'm sorry I don't expect pricks to run the light everywhere I go."

By now, a small crowd had formed and the police had already been called. Neither party was injured, the Durango not going fast enough to do any real damage to anything other than itself and the Pacifica. She'd need a new rear door and he would probably need a new car. A nuisance, sure, but nothing too difficult for him.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "It wasn't my intention to hit you."

She said nothing as she got out of the minivan, refusing his help. "I can't believe this," she said as she inspected the damage. "I just got this thing and I'm going to be late for my first day."

"Maybe take it as a lesson in patience and don't be so hasty to turn," he sighed to himself.

She whirled to face him so quickly she briefly lost her balance. "Patience?! Coming from the guy who ran a light in a hurry like a dumbass?! Funny you of all people should say that!"

"Hey, hey!" One of the witnesses propped his bicycle against a nearby pole and walked over. "Let's just stay calm and let the police handle it. I saw the whole thing; he's at fault here. Not you."

She groaned and went to sit on the curb. The other man helped her settle down.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just upset. I need to call my job and let them know what happened."

As she did just that, the man focused on Michael. "What you did was unbelievable. You were way too far back to make that. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking perhaps people would be more alert, but I suppose that was a bit much to expect from kids these days." He gave his Durango a once over. The front end had followed its safety design and crumpled on impact. A large puddle of oil sat beneath the old Dodge while faint trails of white smoke faded into the morning sun.

A new car was certain, though the worst of the inconvenience would come from having to decide which new model he wanted to buy.

Eventually the police showed up, assessed the damage, took statements, and guided traffic as both vehicles were towed away.

Despite his best efforts in calmly explaining the situation, the harsh screeching of the woman's side of the tale won out. It didn't help that a few passersby stuck around to back her up. Nevermind the fact that the shiny new Pacifica had turned rather quickly for a fresh green light.