themysticpages

[themysticpages]

The Writing Tool That Will Save Your Book!

We’ve all been told to use less adverbs. We’ve all been told not to use passive voice. We’ve all wondered if we’re writing in overcomplicated sentences that the reader might not be able to understand. 

But by god it’s hard to spot these things in your own work. 

My writing was forever changed when I was introduced to the Hemingway Editor. 

Not only is it free (no one time payment, no monthly fee, no adverts everywhere), but it is also incredibly useful. It highlights every adverb you’ve used, all of your passive voice and all of your complex sentences. It even tell you the lowest grade (in relation to the American education system) your work would be readable by (just don’t use this to try and make your writing as complex as possible, some of Hemingway’s ‘adult’ work is at a grade 5).

[ID: The Hemingway editor homepage]

When I found out about it, I was shook and I have never looked back, so reblog to save a writer friend. 

[themysticpages]

Thanks for the tag @gloriafrimpong

Rules: bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people.

AIR

i have small hands / i love the night sky / i watch small animals and birds when i pass them by / i drink herbal tea / i wake to see dawn / the smell of dust is comforting / i’m valued for being wise / i prefer books to music / i meditate / i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE

i don’t have straight hair / i like to wear ripped jeans and overalls / i play an organized sport / i love dogs / i am not afraid of adventure / i love to talk to strangers / i always try new foods / i enjoy road trips / summer is my favorite season / my radio is always playing

WATER

i wear bracelets on my wrists / i love the bustle of the city / i have more than one set of piercings / i read poetry / i love the sound of a thunderstorm / i want to travel the world / i sleep past midday most days / i love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs / i rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia / i see emotions in colors not words

EARTH

i wear glasses or contacts / i enjoy doing the laundry / i am a vegetarian or vegan / i have an excellent sense of time / my humor is very cheerful / i am a valued advisor to my friends / i believe in true love / i love the chill of mountain air / i’m always listening to music / i am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER

i go without makeup in my daily life / i make my own artwork / i keep on track of my tasks and time / i always know true north / i see beauty in everything / i can always smell flowers / i smile at everyone i pass by / i always fear history repeating itself / i have recovered from a mental disorder / i can love unconditionally

I hear by tag: @lumierezi @kpopfan63 @sonrlsa @highlycosmic @blivarmageddon-blog

(I don't really know 9 tumblrs.... Sorry 😅)

[themysticpages]

Friends? 👉👈

hi if ur active pls rb or interact bc my dash is so dead and i wanna make more writeblr friends :-)

[themysticpages]

It was inevitable that he'd end up in a cell.

The Great Finnick North, the infamous sellsword, bought from the fighting pits of Ober to serve as bodyguard to the head of the prestigious Jusantó family, one of the ruling houses of Constane. Small wonder the rebles wanted to kill him.

Of course he'd slain quite a few of them before his untimely incarceration. They had the audacity swarm the Jusantó family manse in the dead of night, at the goddamned Witching Hour no less. How they even got past the inner gates was lost to him. So he woke to the sounds of dying men and clashing steel. Not the worst way he'd ever started a day but still quite bothersome. He was outnumbered... obviously, that's the only reason he wasn't a free man currently... and so they put him in chains and dragged him to the dungeons beneath.

And that's where he remained for four fucking days.

There were others too, in separate cells, yelling obscenities at their captors. He didn't bother. He'd once been taught that men accept their fate with at least a modicum of dignity. So he remained silent, counting down the days till he was tried and executed for doing his bloody job.

It eventually grew quiet. As the others gave in to despair one by one, the only sounds that could be heard were the occasional whimpers of the more emotional inmates.

Once the heavy wooden door had closed behind him he'd been plunged into complete and total darkness. He couldn't even see his own hand in front of him, which was profoundly unnerving. To quell the feeling, he'd taken to pacing and trailing his hands across the walls of his cell so as to at least have a mental image of his place of confinement.

The cell was maybe six by six feet made of course brickwork. No wood save for the thick door that served as the only opening. A bundle of straw in one corner, possibly as a bed, and and old bucket for a chamber pot. At least he wouldn't have to shit on the floor.

By day three he was sure they were going to starve him to death when a guard opened his cell and tossed in an old wineskin...filled with water, disappointingly.

On the night of day four he was thinking of what he would say if he was offered any last words when he heard a soft CLICK and the door swung inward.

Standing at the doorway was a petite figure in a black cloak that stopped just at their feet, a heavy hood hiding their face beneath it's shadow.

Blinking his eyes back into focus from the sudden brightness of the outer torches, he asked, "Is it time for me to die already? "

"Even in this situation you still have something clever to say?" The figure replied, seemingly amused. The voice was definitely female but... strange. Smooth as velvet yet unaccented, as if it didn't belong anywhere.

Finnick frowned. "Do I know you?"

"No. But I know you."

"Of course you do. Everyone knows me."

"Does everyone know about you and the Princess Lyanna?"

Fin blinked. NO ONE knew. He was sure of it. And she wouldn't have told anyone. "How did you-"

"I know a lot of things, Finnick North. I know that you won't die here today." She stepped away from the doorway. "Now, are you going to ask questions or are you going to escape?"

"I can do both thank you very much." He said scrambling up from where he sat. To his left and right, the hall stretched out into darkness punctuated occasionally by flickering torches mounted on brackets in the walls and doors leading to separate cells. Not bothering to see if he'd follow, the cloaked woman started right, for what he assumed would be the exit, at a leisurely walk.

"You don't seem to be in a hurry." Fin said.

"Why would I be?"

"Well.. there are guards... "

"If simpletons with swords bothered me then I wouldn't be very good at my job."

"And what job would that be?"

"Whatever I'm assigned."

"That's rather vague."

She cast a glance at him, allowing a glimpse under her hood. She had dark hair shorn close to her jawline ... and brown eyes. "You talk a lot."

"I thought you knew that." That earned him a smirk.

They were ascending the steps leading to the upper level when they passed a guard sprawled on the steps, his throat a gory mess, his lifeblood coating the front of his chain mail armor. It was the same with the next guard they passed. And the next. And the next. They all had expressions of shock on their faces. It was as if they didn't even see her coming.

He decided to stop patronizing her.

Once they got to the inner keep he dared to ask another question. "Why did you just free me? What about the others?"

"The others? They're not you."

"And what's so special about me?"

"More than you know Finnick North."

Other rebels were sprawled along the hall here as well. None of their weapons drawn. All with ruined throats. One was lying flat on his belly, a jagged and bloody hole on the back of his neck. Apart from remnants of the carnage of the day before; unweathered patches on the wall there priceless tapestries once stood, no doubt looted, torn cushions, overturned couches and bloodstained carpets... Nothing seemed out of place. That got him thinking... Black cloaks... Precise killing...people who know things... It was all something he'd heard before... Something dismissed as non existent...

They passed through the Great Hall out into the open air, countless stars twinkling in a moonless sky, the smell of the nearby sea mingling with the smell of horses and shit from the city below the hill they were on. The rebels must have imposed a curfew. He'd never seen Pirateswarf look so abandoned.

The woman started downhill. "You can pick a horse from the stables, I'm sure you know your way around. It would be best if you left the country. Your charge is dead so you have nothing here. My advice, find a ship and head West. Noble houses over there are always fighting one another so I'm sure you'd find work. Try not to get caught would you?"

"Hold on now. You never answered my question. Why did you rescue me?"

She turned to look at him, the gentle breeze playing with the hem of her cloak. "Because you are a very important person Finnick. You have a role to play in the days to come." She raised her hands to her head, adjusting her hood. "This won't be the last we meet either," she said before walking away.

He would have asked her her name, how she one-way all she did, but he didn't bother. He already confirmed his suspicion...when she fixed her hood he caught a glimpse of her hands. Slim, feminine and pale. Except her right hand. That was their defining trait of course. Some say that they are perfect assassins, others that they don't exist... A sect that hides the world's secrets and shapes the very course of history. What many are sure of though is the mark that all their members bear. The same mark that she had.

A Black right hand.

(Hello there again. Just another scene I randomly thought of. I might use it in my book A Tale Of Monsters and Men when I finally get the plot sorted out. As always, feel free to give me feedback so I can improve my writing. Thanks :))

[themysticpages]

On the Search for Writeblrs~!

Heyo folks, my dash has been pretty empty of original content lately, so you know what that means!

I’m not very picky, but here’s a few points I’m especially looking for! Reblog if your blog fulfills one or more of these and I’ll check you out and possibly give a follow!

Reblog other’s original wip content

Post your own original wip content

Especially if it’s fantasy, sci-fi, action/adventure, and/or historical!

Especially especially if it has LGBTQ+, disabled, and/or culturally diverse characters!

(And I really really love pirates/mermaids/oceanic themes, but that’s not necessary at all!)

Are completely okay with sheer unfiltered enthusiasm as I go ballistic with my (strictly positive and encouraging) comments on your original content

(If you don’t get a follow notification, it’s more likely that I’m ALREADY following you more so than I didn’t want to!)

I would also love if you introduce me to your wips, either by brief description or links, but it’s not necessary!

Boosts by mutuals is wonderfully appreciated!

[themysticpages]

(So, hi. I've kinda been out of the writing scene for a while but I had this scene nagging at me for like the past WEEK so please give it a read and tell me what you think:))

After what felt like weeks trudging through through nothing but forest woodland and dense undergrowth, he finally found a settlement.

The correct term for it would have been "town" but he'd been alive long before the humans began putting sticks together let alone living together so he really didn't see the need to use the word.

His horse, a chestnut brown stallion he refused to name simply to avoid sentimental attachment, uttered a distressed whine and pulled on its reigns. But he'd long sensed that something was amiss long before the animal did.

He dismounted and secured the animal to a nearby stable before beginning to explore. If there WAS anything dangerous he doubted it could hurt him. Few things did as it were. So there wasn't any need to draw his Fae forged short sword currently sheathed at his hip.

He moved through the small yet sturdy white washed buildings, passing open doors and empty alleys, noting the lack of people anywhere. The mid morning breeze wafting new scents towards him. The scent of rotting fish from an open air stall a few yards north of him, stagnant water from yesternight's rain...and the stench of blood.

Blood and death.

Barely keeping up with the clumsy grid lock system the place had been designed with, he made his way to what he assumed was the town square. A space more open than he'd seen so far with a wooden platform at its center. Probably where religious fanatics made their pretentious sermons. Or where criminals were publicly executed. Petty, these humans were. Together with the gray stone cobbles and moderate standard buildings surrounding the place, it probably would have given the....... fine, he was going to just say it, town......... some semblance of organization.

We're it not for all the corpses.

Littered all round the what must have been the 30 foot square area, were bloodied bodies, similar to any battlefield. They weren't all civilian. Most were armored, helmets and breast plates decorated in the deep burgundy and gold of their feudal king. All had weapons, be it swords or rakes .... crude machetes or butcher's knives, but they were all Armed. They couldn't have been dead long. The scent of rot and decay wasn't all that strong yet. He didn't have to wonder what, or rather who, killed them all, for on the platform sat a brooding figure covered in blood. His head was down so his long lanky hair, darker than deepest night, hid his face. Whether in sleep or in deep thought, he didn't know.

So why not try his luck?

"I assume you're to blame for all this?" He asked. The man probably wouldn't have looked up if he didn't have his accent, slight over emphasizing on most the syllables of this regions language. His eyes were blue, but dulled by..... Something. Regret? Despair?

"You're Fae." he remarked flatly. He wasn't from around here too.

"I noticed. Now. All this?" He said gesturing with a wave of his hand.

The man sighed. "Because I'm a horrible person. But they were worse."

"Always a reasonable excuse." He shrugged. He was probably going to turn around and leave, he'd only bothered out of curiosity, he wasn't actually going to DO anything about it, but then he noticed the man's sword lying beside him. At a glance it was nothing out of the ordinary, until you noticed the way it caught the light on its edge. Unlike the dull sheen of grey steel, it was bright....piercing even.....silver.

Ethereal Silver.......

Only one kind of person hauled around a blade of that caliber. An almost mythical sect trained in the harshest conditions, dedicated to hunting the most vile and dangerous of the gods' creations.

"You're one of them aren't you? The Dragon Hunters."

"Yeah. What about it?"

For the first time in a while, the Fae smirked. "I just became a whole lot more interested in your story mate. "

............................................................................

(I appreciate any and all feedback in the comments. Reblog if you like the story and if you'd like to see more :))

[themysticpages]

So I found this uncomfortable piece enjoy....

[themysticpages]

when fall out boy fans shit on mania and say it made them appreciate how good american beauty/ american psycho was 

[themysticpages]

whats the point of having a cat if it doesn’t commit crimes

[themysticpages]

someone: i like chris

me:

[themysticpages]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1lngzDopk4)

I am literally imagining this as Skulduggery in a suit with the Scepter of the Ancients. and I can’t. 

[themysticpages]

I regret rubbing ketchup in my eyes.

But that's Heinz sight for you!

[themysticpages]

Math should be like this

Fall Out Boy - Novocaine

[themysticpages]

Yeet for yat

did you yeet today or did today yeet you?

[themysticpages]

I've finally figured ot out.....Why galaxies move farther apart from the center

It's COSMOREGULATION

[themysticpages]

Your mom

What’s its name, huh?

[themysticpages]

Try me

Everyone who reblog this will get a photo of a random member of MCR in your submission box.

Every. Single. One.