sweet nectar

venus. xv. writeblr art has seduced me [be back in 10 minutes]

[moldstars-deactivated20230721]

hello world! you’ve severely disappointed me! i’d sound like my mother if i went on about your mistakes, but i’d rather spare you the grief! save room for me in my unlikely return, even if you’re a hard place to call home! ciao!

[lizard-is-writing]

How to Get Back to Writing-

Now this is straight from experience. If you haven’t written anything in a little while it is hard to get back in the swing of things. Everything you write feels a bit contrived, a bit desperate, but you know what, that’s okay. I had to take a few weeks off while traveling and when you go from writing every day to not writing at all, trying to get back into it just does not happen easily. But here’s how I got back into it in the quickest and least painful way I possibly could: 

Don’t work on anything you’ve been working on before at first. Likely you’ll have a standard for your writing that goes into your ongoing projects and if you have taken a long enough break from writing, you won’t return right away at that standard. You’ll just get more frustrated. So instead, pick a prompt and write something new. It can be a short story, a few scenes, something to go alongside of another project - anything like that. 

If your first sentence sucks, don’t delete it. The second one might be better. This goes for scenes too. The first scene was just meh… the next one might be eh - okay.  And it will improve from there. If your writing is just sounding horrible to you, just keep writing. Going back and editing and fixing it will not help you here. Just keep writing. Write 100 words. If it’s still eh… then write 200. I wrote 2,000 words just the other day before it started looking alright again. But, you know, it worked. 

Anything that sounds terrible just needs to be edited six months from now. Use that as your golden rule in times like these. Just until you get your mojo back. Just keep saying, yeah, I know it’s bad, but I can fix it later.  Believe it or not, that helps a lot. Just get to the story and keep telling the story. 

Work in sprints. Don’t let yourself stare at a blank screen for hours. Write for 15 or 30 minutes and then take a break. I do 15 minutes on, 15 minutes off and I get a lot more writing done that way than a solid 30 minute session and can keep that pace up for hours.  Maybe read a book in the 15 or 30 minute break. It helps to see good writing and to let yourself be just a little bit influenced by another writer. I don’t recommend this as a permanent solution, but a temporary aid. 

[whorizcn]

* cosplay  wave *  hey , , ,  so  uh .  guess  who  started  a  new  wip  ahahah .  it’s  dark  academia  time  lads  😏👉👈

tagging  my  general  because  i’m  an  attention  whore  LMFAOO (  if  you  wanna  be  + / -  please  send  me  an  ask  or  reply ,  thank  you !!  )

@vandorens ,  @emdrabbles ,  @mshelleys ,  @mahalii ,  @apollchiles ,  @spillme ,  @piyawrites ,  @silverstqrs !!

[kaylewiswrites]

How to Love your Writing Anyway

Hi. So if you write, you’ve probably written some things that some would call ‘not good’. By probably, I mean definitely, because, you know. That’s life. Writing isn’t always good, and that’s ok! Whether it’s in drafts, you’re just getting started, or a particular story isn’t really working the way you want, all writers have these moments. But here’s the catch-you don’t have to hate it, or be upset about it, or get mad at yourself for it. Here’s how to love your writing, no matter how well you think it’s turned out. 

Step One: Separate Yourself From Your Art

I’ve talked about this about a million times, and I’ll talk about it a million more at least. You are not your art. When you think of your art as ‘bad’ or when someone else says your art is ‘bad’, it does not make you bad. You are not your art. This is super important to being able to have an objective view of your work, so you can properly critique it and receive criticism. 

If you notice that you feel critiques about your work deep in your own gut, take a step back. Practice thinking ‘this is not an insult to me. I am not my art’. That’s your new mantra. 

Step Two: Mistakes are not a Bad Thing

Ok, so we have to stop thinking about making mistakes as a bad thing. They’re not. They’re objectively neutral. I know it’s disappointing when you discover a  giant plot hole that means you need to completely rewrite a story in the third draft (when I say I know, I really know), but this isn’t a bad thing. It’s not a good thing either, don’t get me wrong, but we have to recognize it as just…a thing. You didn’t do anything wrong. Your morality isn’t at stake. Typos, passive voice, dialogue tags not properly formatted, these are neutral things that exist until you fix them. That’s all. 

Step Three: Abandon Perfectionism 

“Oh, sure, Kay, great advice. I’ll just stop being a perfectionist, easy.” Listen, I hear you. This could be an entire book on its own, let alone a tiny paragraph on a writing post, but here we are. Purging yourself of perfectionism is a difficult, lifelong task, but the only way to ease up on any of your perfectionism at all is to try. 

Practice making ‘terrible versions’ of scenes you’re having trouble with, or lists of ways you know it won’t happen. Lower your standards and expectations of yourself in your drafts. Define how ‘rough’ your rough drafts are allowed to be. When you see a mistake, smile. Like, physically smile. Which actually takes us to our next step…

Step Four: Learn to Laugh at Yourself

You know ‘fake it till you feel it’? That’s how you do this. Being about to look at a mistake and smile or laugh makes the writing process so much more enjoyable. At first, you won’t feel like it, but move those muscles anyway. Tell a writing buddy, hey, look at this ridiculous typo I made. Post it on Tumblr. Celebrate your mistakes! Your a human, everyone already knows you make them, why not revel in it? Own them, so they can’t own you. 

Step Five: Appreciate how Far You’ve Come

You know what will always be there to cheer you up, even in your darkest, self-loathing moments when you feel like you can’t even look at your work? Recognizing your progress. It’s great to read old stories, laugh at the passive voice and weak character choices, and know, ‘Wow. I really have gotten better.’ It’s easy to let yourself drown in all the mistakes your making now. Remind yourself of the mistakes you’re no longer making. You are constantly improving, no matter how much it sometimes feels otherwise. Take some time to appreciate yourself. 

I hope these help you find more joy in your writing. No matter how good you get at all of these, there will still be moments of self-doubt or loathing. We’re human! Don’t be afraid to reach out to a writing buddy, a friend, Tumblr as a whole, or to me! 

[bookmania]

Seven years after, I see you again 😚

[scripturient-manipulator]

Guys this completely changed my writing, heed it. I often do an entire draft just looking at sentence variation and oftentimes the results are absolutely transformative in the difference.

[pens-swords-stuff]

The speed at which you write has no bearing on your skill as a writer.

Can you hammer out 100k in a few weeks? That's awesome!

Did you take 10 years to finish your first draft? Great job!

Writing is not a race. It doesn't matter how quickly or slowly you make progress; making the progress itself is what is important.

So take a deep breath, and don't compare yourself to others. You're doing a fantastic job, and I'm so proud of you!

[laarne]

no offense but the soft uncertain kiss followed by a pause where the people look each other in the eyes and then fucking pull eachother back into a more passionate kiss will always be the most soul destroying trope , catch me lying on the fucking ground sobbing and rewatching The Scene™✌🏼✌🏼✌🏼

[archived-aquiniawrites-deactiva]

– the first paragraph of the 1st chapter from NOVA GENESIA’s 1st draft.

[archived-aquiniawrites-deactiva]

{TAGLIST} @bbabyapollo @stardustscribes

[ghostschemes]

happy STS!! do you have any tips on making your characters feel more real?

i project all of my issues onto them

i really like going into their history! everybody’s personality/perspective/habits/etc is influenced by their history. cause and effect. my fave question to ask is why why why

i also am a firm believer that actions don’t have to be consistent as long as the characterization is. how many times have you given yourself a goal and not do it? how many times did you complete it? not all of our traits are active at the same time. my priorities are my general wellbeing and academics. sometimes i neglect sleep to finish an assignment. sometimes i straight up skip two classes in a row to get myself a hearty meal. let your characters change their mind. let your characters change it back. we are in a constant state of learning and unlearning. 

i rp sometimes so i have practice with creating a completely biography for characters. some ocs needs it because it’s easier for me to get into their head that way. but some ocs just have a really strong personality. i really love traits that are both flaws and strengths. i also love subverting expectations. most times, my ocs Aren’t what it says on the tin (well, that’s the goal anyway.) 

voice! i think is a great way to add some life to your characters. ahh i don’t know how to really explain character voice?? how i approach voice is treating their thoughts as a visual board? a scrapbook page. what do they pay attention to? how would they arrange the data already in their thoughts and also the data that’s coming in from their observations?

here are some examples! from my rp lol.

Tierney found himself in a room full of plants. Didn’t Alma say something about this? Jesus fucking Christ, there were so many plants. It was approaching winter and there were so many living plants. Tierney never understood the appeal of plants in general but he would have a field day, but why the fuck were you thinking about him when he wasn’t in your life anymore— STOP. Images of wilted flowers played in Tierney’s head because he never learned— STOP. 

Tierney doesn’t really care about the plants in the room. He cannot tell anybody how they look at all. What you really get out of this is how those plants makes him feel. And that he doesn’t like it. You can definitely play with syntax and language for that chaotic feel especially if your characters fight within themselves a lot. 

She has a list of criticisms for Benjamin and it hasn’t been a minute. 

- Blood gets everywhere.  - Scared prey attack. - Nobody will trust the Kings now.- Terrible hosting. - More enemies than allies. - Overconfidence.

From the corner in the shadows, Rebeka sees flames catch onto Neve’s beloved plants. 

- Heartbreak of a daughter. - Destruction of home. - Dealing with insurance agents.

More organized! Rebeka is also in a room of plants, but she’s more focused on the consequences that the fight will bring. The list format implies that she takes a lot of things into consideration, she’s a thinker. Whereas Tierney immediately becomes stuck in the past/his feelings, Rebeka takes a step back to read the room. Internal vs. external. You can also tell she’s a linear thinker because she considers the direct consequences. 

And then there’s Paul! Who tries to take a step back, but gets stuck in his head nevertheless. He’s still listing out events like Rebeka, but the organization is different. It’s run-on. His priorities are slightly different than Rebeka’s. 

He flips the sheet over the pad and sets it down on the table. He picks up the pen, writing What to Do When You’re Ill-Equipped to Deal With Your Current Situation, and stopping there. Paul frowns and spins his pen. He has to be smarter than himself for this. Paul thinks back to all the self-help articles he’s read on Buzzfeed. He sets the tip on the paper and. Fuck. Paul puts down the pen and leans back into the chair, closing his eyes. What’s the situation? Well, Paul. You are being hunted by a gang trafficking enhanced weapons to who knows where to maximize terror brought onto the world you know. You are one man who can disappear sometimes, operative word being sometimes. Your soulmate hates you more and more each day. Might wanna get the cops into this. Maybe the FBI if they’re crossing state-lines. 

There are so many things he needs to consider. There are so many things he needs to figure out. But first. Paul opens his eyes. Nap time.

[writing-prompt-s]

In the 15th century, Death asked you out. You rejected him. Furious and humiliated, he swore to never return for you. Six centuries later, you’re still alive.

[indraaas-deactivated20200720]

“One does not need a Master’s in statistics to be able to say that, statistically speaking, your last patient should have been dead before you got gowned up. But since I have one…” Tara trails off. Next to her, Yousef snorts and continues to make thorough notes on the case in question. No doubt he’s going to attempt to have it published by next quarter in order to buff up his residency applications.

You shrug and continue to sip away at your Timmies. A lot of people say the downgrade in quality happened when Tim’s and McDonald’s switched coffee suppliers, but it’s not been the same since the 70’s, back when a cup used to keep you up the whole night as you studied for your PEO license the second time around. Perhaps that’s what you’ll do the next, just to see if the testing’s got any more difficult. Nanoengineering looks a lot more promising now than in the 80’s, after all, and there’s probably some overlap with electrical. Idly, you make a mental note to see if you have any of your old textbooks lying around in storage.

“She’s got a restraining order against Death, I swear,” Lisa laughs, and you almost choke around your bagel trying not to laugh as well. She’s not technically wrong is the thing. You’re not sure what the statute of limitations on a TRO is but yours has been going on for - you peek at the date on your phone - oh, a good six hundred and thirty odd years now. It’s either expired or going to last another four-ish centuries just to round itself off at a neat millenia. Knowing him? Probably the latter.

“What can I say, he’s like a bitter ex who thinks ghosting me like this will make me miss him,” you say dryly.

“And in true Hallmark fashion, it’s done wonders for your career,” Tara says, “I saw Spellman and Harvey getting into it over whether you were going for an ER or gen surg residency. Have you thought about it?”

“I’m going for a shotgun approach and applying everywhere for everything. Speaking of applications, we all still good for meeting up this Friday to work on those?” you ask as you collect your belongings and dump your empty cup and wrapper into their respective receptacles. Tara and Lisa nod, Yousef shoots you a thumbs-up, and from where he’s power-napping on the floor, Liam grunts. You take that as a yes as you bid your goodbyes and head to the on-call room to hand over your pager.

The hospital is as busy as ever, especially now that it’s flu season. You’ve certainly seen worse in your lifetime but with the anti-vax crowd in full force it’s like 1918 all over again. You can’t help but roll your eyes as you pass by a woman arguing with a nurse over the safety of vaccines. Idiots on misinformation campaigns seem to be the only tried and true constant over time.

Well, that and your bitter ex pouting in the shadows, a safe ten meters away from you at all times.

“The vending machine? Really?” you mouth as you walk past. Death mutters something about Snickers and stalks behind you, eleven meters away. He must be really pissed this time. Normally he likes toeing the line between 9.9 and 10. You can’t remember the last time he hit 11, but there is one fond memory from when he decided on 12 for a whole week.

You pass off the pager to Kai, who goes back to using his histology textbook as a pillow, and wave at Drs Spellman and Harvey, striding out the door as quickly as is polite. If Tara’s right this is one argument you do not want to be present for.

“He should’ve died,” Death snaps once you both enter the empty women’s bathroom. You lock the door and hop up on the sink counter, swinging your legs back and forth.

“He should’ve died,” you agree, “But since you’re so insistent on staying away from me in order to keep me alive, this is really a you problem.”

“‘This is really a me problem’ put a sock in it, this is a you problem,” he hisses, looking every bit the pissed off house-cat he is. You’ve had this exact argument start off in this exact manner almost exactly once a month since the 1800’s when you decided to dive headfirst into medicine for the first time and he realized, hey, maybe this whole ‘avoid her til’ the end of time’ thing is gonna backfire in my face spectacularly.

Of all the names, faces, and lives you’ve forgotten you’ve lived, his comically horrified face the first time you saved a patient on their deathbed while he watched still helps you sleep at night.

“I’m not the one bitter over a six hundred year old rejection.”

“That is not what this is about!” he protests, slamming his scythe down on the ground. You both watch as it sinks through the floor, and there’s an awkward beat before he mumbles, “Dammit, that’s the fourth one this month.”

“Erik from Accessories won’t give you another? Tell him I say hi and thanks for the necklace, by the way.”

“Yeah, sure. And he’s just pissed because - wait, no, don’t derail me. What I’m saying is that if you’d just accepted my proposal the first time around-”

“I’d be happily immortal and cruising in limbo?” you interject, cocking a brow. “That’s pretty much what I’m doing now minus you.”

There are a lot of things he can retort with right about now. He can bring up how your life in limbo would be a lot more relaxed than whatever you’re up to these days (weak but valid), rant about how eventually you’ll get caught (and you’ll mention how you’ve escaped detection all four times you decided to become a doctor), or maybe even say something about how nice immortality looks on you when you’re not being hunted down for being a witch or whatever century-specific boogeyman you’re accused of being (he’s only brought this up once before and you didn’t speak to him for a year afterward.)

(Six hundred years and that’s the only time you think you’ve ever heard him say he’s sorry.)

Instead, Death groans and leans against the wall, staring at you like you’re a Jenga tower he’s just toppled over. “Today’s been such a pain in the ass. First that MVA wanted me to let him stay long enough that he could see his organs were actually donated and not eaten by the, and I quote, 'underground cannibals’ Big Pharma apparently sends them off to, then that sundowner on the fourth floor kept me there for three hours explaining that there’s no white light, and then there was your patient-”

“You could’ve taken him, you know,” you say abruptly. It’s been bothering you since Tara mentioned it earlier, something about the case toeing the line of unbelievable even for you.

“Here I thought you were going to gloat over yet another big win over me.”

“There was a fifteen minute window between me running from the cafeteria, scrubbing in, gowning up, and entering the OR. You could’ve got him before I got there.”

“I could have,” Death agrees.

“So why didn’t you?” you press. He shrugs helplessly. “Why do we do anything? I could’ve gotten over this a while back and killed you. You could’ve crossed the distance between us and killed yourself. But we’re not.”

You eye him critically. There’s something there, hiding in the shadows around his face that you’ve never quite managed to get close enough to see clearly. For a second, you’re tempted to walk right up to him and force his face into the light.

But for now, you hop off the counter and stop a perfect ten meters away. You’ve don’t even need to count any more. You just wait for his breath to hitch when he thinks you’re getting too close and you know.

“Well, there’s a hit-and-run calling my name. Time to ruin Lucas’s OR success rate,” Death says cheerfully.

You scoff. “Why?”

“'Cause when it’s time, it’s time,” he says, unwrapping a Snickers and taking a bite. As an afterthought, he adds, “And he’s applying for the same gen surg residency you are. Can’t have him ruining all that fun for us, can we?”

“I could very well do ER instead. You heard Tara. Spellman wants me there.”

Death smiles at you, the first real one of the decade. It’s lopsided and sometimes he looks like he’s stroking out because he’s got his 'business smile’ on more often than not, but it’s there and he’s trying and oh, there goes your heart again.

“Oh, please. You and I both know you’ve been curating your grades and performance for a gen surg residency since you decided to get into medicine again. You’re disgustingly predictable,” he teases, catching his hand halfway to reaching for you and running it through his hair. You stuff your hands in your pockets before you do something stupid like try and smooth down the unruly locks for him.

“I could say the same about you,” you toss back easily, nodding at him. “Get going, I don’t want Harvey to start thinking of hiring Lucas instead of me.”

“Yeah, yeah, attention hog.” Death pauses by the door, looks back, and clears his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Happy birthday.”

“My birthday isn’t until-” you pause. Oh. Not the one on your driver’s license.

Oh.

“Thanks.”

“Thank me by staying away from the OR and ER for the next day or two, I need to meet my quota before The Big Man gets pissed again.”

You roll your eyes as he clips through the wall. Hopping back up on the counter, you pull out your phone and shoot off a text to Fatima asking if she’s still interested in switching places with you for the week.

[yuriyawrites]

I found this by accident and can I just say that your writing is beautiful and realistic at the same time? Wow.

[templatepsds]

。・ template psd sixty nine by templatepsds ゜+.*

-`. info .’-

+ as requested, here is a template based off the camera preferences from Seventeen’s ‘Thanks’ MV. 

+ you can have a simple image, or you can make a gif. (if you do, try not to make the gif too long or it won’t work!)

+ for the camera settings, if you’re making it for an edit or for fun, I don’t think it matters if the settings are accurate or not. I personally don’t know much about them either, I just entered some stuff.

+ not for commercial use or anything like that! just for personal use/to have fun.

+ adjust as much as you want to suit your liking.

+ please like or reblog if you download.

+ message if you have any questions/difficulties!

-`. dl .’-

[kihlorn]

— william herondale, the infernal devices 

bloodthirsty little beasts. never trust a duck.

[shriekingpyre]

seeds planted in concrete. bianca sparacino

[visuallypoeticc]

The Seer

You, this mystical land - you’re far but I can see you, quiet but I can hear you. My vision of you, it’s fuzzy, yet the spark you set alight in me is warm. In one magic moment I’m there; trampling through the damped leaves glued to the sidewalks of street avenues, I’m hundreds of feet in the air traversing across a modern majesty of gothic architecture, and I’m sitting in a cafe, watching the sunlight dance brilliantly off the streets after a thorough shower - the aroma of grounded coffee adding a nice spice to the smell of rain slowing seeping in. Now I’m taken back to where I stand, and our distance grows once more, and yes you are far, but no, not fading.

[le-immorte]

[pinespittinink]

A Message For Shy Writeblrs

The internet can be a daunting place, and tumblr has a reputation as a cesspit, but to be completely honest with you, you can create your own experience so easily on this site.

Don’t like something? Blocked or blacklisted.

Enjoy content? Followed and liked and passed around ✨

Don’t be afraid to post your work, or reblog anything at all! Writeblr is a very genial community, and you can find a lot of gems. If there’s someone who’s work you admire, 10/10 they would be thrilled to know. We’re all awkward at some point in our lives, but there’s no need to let that overwhelm you here.

[loveisbreathinghere]

let’s take stroll through the cobblestone streets of an old european city, where wafts of freshly-baked pastries mingled with a faint scent of cigarette smoke linger in the air and sounds of delightful laughter can be heard from the nearby cafes,  while we have a lengthy discussion of subtle yet slightly obvious incidents of homoeroticism in 19th century literature