Nomen Mihi Non Scio Sum

Eleanor Tal, she/they, writer in theory, Here to whisper into the void and share prose infp • bisexual • neurotypicance under questioning • “gifted kid” • ask me about my ideas

[prophetic-writer]

Just saw one of your posts on pinterest

Don’t know if you knew it but congrats nonetheless :D

I did not know that! That's very cool. Do you remember which post it was?

[a-miniature-sun]

The one with the dialogue!

[straightcharacteroftheday]

todays straight character of the day is: nobody

[makerturnhisgaysuponyou-deactiv]

I’m calling bullshit Odysseus is clearly bisexual

[comtessedebussy]

This is a quality joke

[a-miniature-sun]

If i have to collect the heavens’ fires like fruit

So you can surrender yourself with jewels,

So be it.

And if i have to capture rainbows from the skies

So you can decorate your rooms with all the colours of the light,

So be it.

And if i have to tame the hurricanes and cyclones and tornadoes

So the wind will gently play with your hair,

So be it.

I do not fear the elements of nature,

After all, i have you,

Their rightful queen.

[a-miniature-sun]

We sit together,

Side by side,

Adding memories to the fire.

We tell stories

So they can be forgotten,

Finally dissolve into the void.

We dig up together

Our past and wrongdoings

From the soils of our hearts

So we can arrange a proper funeral

And leave it all behind.

We walk this path together,

The path of healing,

Learning to be.

One thought is on my mind:

I am truly glad

That you are here with me.

That we are both together

Hunting for peace.

[a-miniature-sun]

“I want” *blocks an attack from my nemesis* “drama.”

“I want” *tries to stab my nemesis but misses* “action.”

“I want” *is getting pinned to wall by my nemesis with a sword to my throat* “homoeroticism???”

[a-miniature-sun]

I have a friend that is a forest.

Day by day i sit down by their lake.

They leave me berries by the water,

I leave some flowers for their deers.

And day by day i watch them dying,

As the hunter comes to collect.

They tell me not to worry,

Because the hunter is also a friend.

And as i watch i too am dying

With the rabbits and the trees.

But what can i do to help?

The hunter was there before me.

One day i ask them,

Tell them to be sincere.

“Why would you let the hunter

Roam free?”

My dear then looks at me bizarrely,

Not knowing of what i speak.

They hold me closely,

And whisper:

“The hunter was here before me.

It was they to plant my woods,

To turn my nothingness green.

I own them my life,

So it is life that i will gift.”

Tears start to form and fall down freely.

I don’t want my friend to be killed.

But what can i do to help them?

The hunter was here before me.

[writeblrfantasy]

periodic reminder that i offer beta reading services on fiverr! i'll read pretty much anything, any length, and i offer general feedback plus any specific questions you have (no limit)!

you'd be supporting a queer indie author while getting yourself some honest and constructive feedback. it's 10$/10,000 words! hire me!!

[a-miniature-sun]

Float slow, my cloud.

Give rest to those who need it.

Ignore the complains of the rest.

- -

Glow bright, my star.

You will still shine,

If everybody here is determined

To only look down.

- -

Fly high, my bird.

The world had already decided

What to call you.

I thought we had already noted

The world to be dumb.

[a-miniature-sun]

Everybody congratulate me, i’ve added a lot to my wip after not touching it in weeks.

[prophetic-writer]

I started feeling a little guilty earlier for not having done much writing lately. But I reminded myself that I’m not a machine in a factory, I’m a person. And to write you also need to just experience living a bit. Creation can’t happen in a vacuum.

[boycritter]

this sucks so bad i need to [remembers suicide jokes only worsen my mental health] put on the best talent show this towns ever seen

[a-miniature-sun]

I don’t quite feel like a tapestry,

Woven tightly with love.

With each thread being emotions

And every type of yarn a thing I adore.

Nor do I relate to the wooden figure,

Fiercely made through determination.

With each cut symbolic of strength

And containing the proudness of the creator,

Even though their fingers are rough and hurt.

No, I am something both and neither,

I am a being made of clay.

Be gentle with me as I’m fragile,

Moulded by everyone I love.

I can feel myself hardening,

Though I don’t yet know

Whether it is good or bad.

I know it to be scary.

[bebx]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[a-miniature-sun]

Psss

Wanna see something… cool?

A hummingbird!

[a-miniature-sun]

My heart is a night storm.

The wind roughly pushes and shoves

Every feeling that dares to open its mouth.

The clouds overhead seem to fight

Desperate to be the only emotion remaining.

They all lose.

My mind is a dying forest.

Each thought slowly decays,

Every idea rots in a river somewhere.

I am a stranger to this grim place,

But we decompose as one.

My soul is a graveyard.

Haunted by all the people i’ve wronged

And all the mistakes i’ve made.

Underground is my past,

Though i cannot help but dig the earth up.

All the tombstones are dedicated to my future

And the floor is littered by my sins.

[a-miniature-sun]

The moon is bright tonight,

Silver and big.

Listen to the poets

As they compare it love.

Old and distant,

Always changing,

Forever remaining.

- -

The sun is strong today.

Hot and scorning,

But gives life.

Notice the poets

As they compare it to love.

Warms you to the bones,

As long as you are careful

Not to be burnt.

- -

The stars are bright tonight.

Little they are but many,

Always sprinkling and sparking.

Hold dear the poets

As they compare them to love.

Always overhead,

No matter how few,

They are the reminders of light.

[a-miniature-sun]

How does feel for you to create art?

I was talking with a friend recently and the topic of the conversation was, quote-unquote, self abuse through art.

And i noticed.

We feel our creation processes differently.

For her, it was like turning frustrated tears into a river from which drink thirsty deer. It’s pouring out resentment and loneliness and anger at how she was wronged.

For me, it’s more like reopening healing wounds and turning the blood beautiful. I use more sadness and mourning and fear. Almost like an apology. Almost like a quiet story told at dawn. It feels like pleading.

And it all got me curious, artists and writers and poets, how does it feel like for you?

Please don’t hesitate reblogging your experience, i want to know all.

(Also, it doesn’t have to be about everything you’ve ever written, just a general vibe or a theme you find yourself returning to often)