Plz Add Me To Your Taglist, This Is Awesome!!! :oooo

TO EVERYONE SAYING THEY'RE INSECURE ABOUT THEIR WRITTING:

I've been seeing a lot of people reposting their insecure about their writting and its really sad because ik for a FACT most of you write BEAUTIFULLY. So I just wanted to send some motivation because writting is hard, and writers deserve love. You guys are literally creating ENTIRE REALITIES with your imaginations . Wether it be fan ficts, short story writers, etc., You are giving us a key into experiencing the world from a different perspective. Your craft is an escape, your craft is inspiring. Its always good to want to be better, but please appreciate the work you're doing RIGHT NOW. It may not seem like much, but your stories are so much more than just words in a page. Its the adventure we never experienced, its the worlds we never got to see. Writers please, whatever you write, I want to assure you today it IS good enough. Because you bled your thoughts into the page, because you were brave enough to create. Writting doesnt have to be perfect, for perfection is nothing but a myth, writting just needs to exist. Insecurity is normal but let me tell you today, your writting is worth it, your ideas are worth it, your work is worth it.

Writers, keep your heads high, continue to poor your soul into your words and know you never have to punish yourself for creating

Much love for all of you

Last Line Tag

Thank you @bitterwitchwrites for tagging me!

Here is an excerpt from the first draft of my novel that I’ve been blandly referring to as LL. I doubt this will be in the final version of the book but whatever!

An electrical hum stuffed his ears with cotton balls, silenced the jagged wind clawing at the trapdoor. When he called back to it, he was muffled out too.

Tagging: @memories-written-in-words @writingwithhotchocolate @writingisbae @raevenlywrites @yanittawrites @writingwithaddie @loki-writes

ok but the murderyness makes this update so interesting?? I also loved the poetic excerpts, they're stunning !!

Land Mammal | Feeding Habits Update #7

Hello! We are back for another Feeding Habits update, but this time we’re chatting chapter 8, aka Land Mammal.

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline & excerpts under the cut because this one is a long one! If you missed previous updates or are new to the project, check out the novel intro page (which links all the updates) HERE!

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed): @if-one-of-us-falls @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @ev–writes , @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories , @august-iswriting, @berinswriting​​

Keep reading

Foreshadowing, agreed! But also—

Queue those random eating scenes and insufferable monologues. Can’t forget the matching character’s mood to an ornate object or cloud pattern.

I’ve come to realize that I’m an underwriter. Hbu?

Ok, but who else is drooling over this prose???

HOUSE PLANTS, CHAPTER 20: GLASS, DIVERTED

DISCLAIMER: this is my original writing, do not use / repurpose / plagiarise the excerpt in any form or way.

hello i was feeling very proud of this chapter— wrote this at one am, too! what a vibe!! who needs a stable sleep schedule anyway!!!— and wanted to share it + also you guys have never actually gotten a full chapter excerpt before so enjoy!! also this is one of the vignette chapters™ so that’s why it’s so short + is told in present tense and in the fictive present. i hope you like it as much as i do! [transcript + taglists under the cut]

Keep reading

I want to read this :oo

[TRANSCRIPT/TAGLIST AT END OF POST]

W.I.P. (re)Introduction:

TINY FLEA

[OLD INTRO]

GENRE/S: Speculative, horror, dystopian pandemic, soft elements of sci-fi & supernatural.

SETTING: The fictitous town of Tiny Flea, New South Wales, Australia; 2024.

AUDIENCE: Adult.

POV/TENSE: Third person limited (multi POV), past tense.

STATUS: First draft.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Horror themes (incl. psychological&body horror); violence and gore; bugs/parasites; murder/death; alcoholism/smoking; unreality; paranoia; religious themes; portrayals of bigoted beliefs; discussions/mentions of abuse; references to grooming & coercion. (Note: may be updated later).

CONCEPT: In the year 2024, a parasitic disease breaks out in Tiny Flea, a fictitious town in NSW, Australia. In an attempt to control the spread of the parasite, the town is closed off from the rest of the country. The story follows several perspectives, showcasing how each person deals with their newfound circumstance. Some band together in order to survive, to try and restore order and to discover the true nature of the parasite. Others, however, have more sinister intentions...

SYNOPSIS:

Returning to his hometown of Tiny Flea after serving a twelve-year prison sentence, thirty-six year old Gavin DeRossi is eager to redeem himself. However, any hopes Gavin had of going back to a normal life are dashed when he finds his hometown in the grips of a parasitic pandemic. Worse still, both of his parents, the people he considered to be his only allies left in the world, are dead—killed by the mysterious brain parasite which plagues the town.

Banding together with a ragtag group of survivors, Gavin is determined to save the town of Tiny Flea by learning more about the true nature of the parasite. The answers he finds, however, are far more bizarre than he ever could have anticipated...

TRANSCRIPT 1: In the eyes of Gavin DeRossi, Tiny Flea had been aptly named. Hovering somewhere between being classified as a town or a city, the place he had grown up was a blood-swollen parasite. It had latched onto the surface of his youth, sucking dry his aspirations and potential, leaving him nothing but a bloodless, lifeless host for the countless memories it had left him with. But oh, how he’d missed it.

TRANSCRIPT 2: Gregory wasn’t entirely sure what Graham’s condition was. Lying on his back on top of the bedcovers, he didn’t look obviously unwell. He wasn’t injured. He hadn’t thrown up. His face, however, was contorted in pain. He struggled and thrashed about in a pathetic sort of manner, like a weakened animal making a last-ditch effort to fight off its attackers. It was his eyes, however, which told Gregory that his father-in-law’s death was at hand. His eyes, normally a lively grey, were dull, staring lifelessly ahead at nothing. His body protested against his fate, but Gregory recognised that his eyes belonged to someone who knew that they were facing death head-on. He had seen those eyes once before.

TRANSCRIPT 3: He checked his wound one last time before going to sleep, and was satisfied. It no longer looked inflamed. Without a doubt, it would heal without much trouble at all. But the wound had already done its damage, regardless of whether it was infected or not, regardless of whether it healed cleanly or left a ragged scar. Unbeknownst to Craig, the larvae had already begun to move beneath the skin.

TAGLIST (ask to be added or removed): @aetherwrites @ljscrawls @chloeswords @avi-burton-writing @kitblogsthings @ravens-and-rivers @writerlywonders @alicewestwater @bookpacking @theelectricfactory @ryns-ramblings @alexsidereus @kowlazovdi @ezrathings @sunwornpages @bijouxs @pamsdrabbles @melpomeny @peepos-prose

i should really do a proper intro

while you're reading this, go listen to Marche Slave by Tchaikovsky, so you get the vibe while reading the rest.

oh BONJOUR GLORIOUS PEOPLE OF TUMBLR

hold onto your tea and coffee -black, no sugar naturally- and delve into....

this really shitty intro post!!!

*enthusiastic cheering fills the air*

(jk i respect all types of coffee and tea)

about me:

I'm an aspiring teen writer and occasional anarchist. I started writing because I had developed 23 characters in my head and didn't know what to do with them.

Additionally, I've always read books (bibliophile from a young age) and I thought:

"wow, all these people express their worlds this way, let ME try it"

so i did. and I love it. It's the only thing keeping me together. I've gone clinically insane over people and worlds that don't exist.

more under the clip

5 random facts:

• I'm left handed!! so i use special pens which don't smudge!

• I acquire passports like America acquires oil.

• I like Polish stuff and patterns because Poland is COOL! I love the food and the folklore as well! If anyone wants to tell me anything about Poland, go ahead!

• My cat's name is hard to pronounce:

- Rudy (means ginger): [ɣoʊdi]

• I love PIGEONS

am open to asks and instructions on how to build a nuclear bomb (no joke I've had them before)

↑ I look like this ↑

My hobbies are playing the violin (I like Yiddish tunes and Allegro pieces), reading, writing OBVIOUSLY, looking at memes, planning murder, and ascending to a higher form obviously.

My favourite thing to do on a Sunday is to summon the ancient spirit of IKEA, and scream in Swedish🇸🇪 and watch the Grand Budapest hotel for the 51st time.

*cries in Eurovision ✨

I'm always open for tag games!

About my current WIP:

I am currently writing some sort of mystery, psychological steampunk thing? with an inkling of murder?? chocolate factories? I don't know where to begin.

also:

ITS TOP SECRET because I want to get it published.

i may post snippets though. mayyyybe

happy birthday!

i don't know who needs to hear this, but 'perfect' writing is a trap. all writing is subjective. what we create today, we may see as flawed tomorrow. what we see as flawed today, we may see as perfect tomorrow.

writing is the act of transmuting the human experience through words. and the human experience? it's a messy, chaotic thing filled with rough edges and uneven lines and mistakes and failures. you can erase all of that. you can. but then you're left with something sterile and artificial. you've effectively squeezed the soul out of your work, and i can think of nothing less appealing.

this isn't to say don't edit your work. please do. but keep it within reason, and make sure you're moving forward and not backward. momentum is key.

don't sit on an idea for three decades waiting for that dance with inspiration, or that dynamite first line, or that eureka plot twist, or the words to flow like magic from your fingertips. because it won't happen. and if it does, it'll strike like lightning and disappear twice as fast. the only surefire way to finish a story is to start.

so write. for the love of god, just write.

along the way, things will fall in line. i promise. and if they don't? then they already have. the magic of art is that everything we create is a snapshot of who we are at the time of creation. it's like a time capsule of human experience, and there's a beauty in that authenticity-- in the mistakes we make and the wrong turns we take. don't run from them. embrace them.

let their lessons flow through you and channel them into something tangible. if it's hard, then start with one word and keep going. don't erase it. don't start over. don't let yourself believe your story isn't worth telling because if you don't tell it, then no one else will. and that'd be a damn shame.

so one word a day. one sentence a week.

whatever it takes.

it might be tough letting go of the idea of perfect. silencing your inner editor. your inner critic. it might be tough realizing that your story will never meet your standards, not completely, but it won't be half as tough as looking back and wondering where all the days, weeks, and years went; that in the pursuit of perfection, you forgot to ever write a story at all.

so leave perfect behind. readers don't want it. why would they? they can't possibly relate to perfect-- none of us can.

instead, give readers a window to your imagination, stormclouds and all. you'll be surprised by how many stick around for the rain, how many relish the sound of your thunder, and how many cherish the worlds that only you could bring to life.

Excerpt #1: The Waiting Room

    Seated in the doctor’s office I peeked over my magazine, causing the collage of perfume bottles to distort until they resembled vague, pastel coloured light-bulbs clustered at the brim of my vision. Across me slouched a woman with a house shaped cage on her lap, a string of drool snailing down her chin as she snored. I made a face at her green-cheeked conure as it inched down its tightrope towards me, bobbing its head. The middle-aged man a few seats down, his cowboy hat flipped over his eyes, fanned himself with a lung disease brochure even though the air conditioning had been set to blast. My eyes followed their thought bubbles as they bounced off the oily walls and popped. The severed letters puffed up to the ceiling in a cloud of confetti, mundane details they’d already forgotten. The parakeet’s thoughts were less entertaining, a string of staccatos that fizzled out before they could even form. 

     When the secretary, a bullnecked woman with streaked green hair grated down to a pixie cut, waved her faux quill pen at me, I placed my magazine back on the rack and followed her down a hallway tiled with domino doors. She kept glancing back to confirm I was still on her heels and hadn’t wandered off like a sneaky child. Once we reached my cubicle she finally left me alone, her black heels clacking against the shiny floor as she trotted off. I crunched down on the paper spread out over the bed, dizzy from the reek of iodoform. Fortunately the doctor arrived quickly, tapping a clipboard against his palm as he asked why I’d come. I lied that my back had been killing me and we both shrugged and nodded at the hardships of old age. 

dreamy/physcedelic atmospheres, descriptions of cake omg, unlikeable narrators, flowery af prose, sexy skies, gritty alleyways with prowling raccoons, platonic love, sisterhood, isolated individuals who ramble about vague philosphical concepts and art,,,,,

attention writers

i’m very curious about this so reblog in the tags with the recurring things in your wips that make up your Writer Brand™