Welcome to Writer's Nook! Here I will post ideas, prompts, advice and my thoughts on the world of Literature. Writing has always been my passion and I hope you can appreciate my work just as much as I do. I will also cover revision and study advice for those in school, but more deirectly aimed at those doing IGSCE/GCSE and A-levels
For School Advice: #advice #School advice #Essay writing #studying
For A-level Advice: #advice for A-level students
For IGSCE Advice:
WARNINGS: filter out #tw: gore, #tw: death, #tw: violence, #tw: cancer mentions, #tw: blind, #tw: blindness
Links:
MY OWN WRITING:
Love
Succour
Dear Hyacinth
My interpretation of Little Red Riding Hood ending
Two contrasting descriptive pieces
ADVICE:
How to write an effective essay
What is your learning style?
Advice on revision and Studying as a student
Best Advice I’ve ever Received
Famous writing tips
Elmore Leonard’s Ten rules of writing
Panic Attacks VS Anxiety Attacks
Advice for beginner writers
3 quick tips to improve your characters
ABOUT ME:
20 facts about me
My ASK BOX is open for those who need specific advice on things related to writing, school, mental health, and for those who just need an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on.
Forgive me if I reply to anything late because this account is entirely separate to my personal account so I can only access it from my computer.
There was an elephant within the room,
So bright and pink that it could not be missed.
His eyes consumed and sealed within a tomb,
Such loss, one thought, that it must not be bliss.
Alone, he wanders through the dark and cold,
Searching for hands to hold that he they love
A youth and innocence had turned to bold,
For he was thrown to darkness with a shove.
People stop and stand to look and stare
Judging with accusations so farce
A brother that shoots them down with a glare
For he now only looks through spheres of glass.
So tragic you think of it as only lies,
A boy of merely five that lost his eyes.
Every day
The world, Gaia, endures being the centre of our adorations and animosity.
And every day she, our mother, turns over a new leaf.
Like Eve birthed from the ribs of man,
She bathes in the light of the new-born sun.
Her skin, influenced by the actions of her children, incessantly shifting and changing.
With one day seeing calm rivers and a gentle breeze, then on turning
See raging seas and skies plagued by implacable flames.
And her children, born from her womb of earth, crawl out of the cracks in her skin and,
In greeting, sink teeth built of the bones of greed into her voluptuous, nurturing breast,
Leeching her dry until nothing but a desolate and empty shell remains.
And, even though molded from the same clump of clay manipulated by the hands of Gaia,
They turn to segregation, isolating Brethren birthed from the very same flesh and blood.
No matter. A chain of Adversity, wrapped around their necks like dogs, binds them together. A reminder that all children face bondage, face tribulations and calamities.
The Key? Their willingness to Succour, to stand as one. And to impart the strength that would make King Sisyphus quake in green-eyed vexation.
My interpretation of the Little Red Riding Hood ending
WARNINGS: tw: DEATH, tw: VIOLENCE, tw: GORE
Despite the alluring pull of the furs, she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t put her mind to rest. A single, flickering flame licked at the darkness and cast a gentle glow on her face as the bear pelt weighed heavily on her small form, encapsulating her in an impenetrable bubble of warmth of comfort. Red wrapped it tighter around her in a desperate attempt to find sleep yet her eyes continued to be drawn in by the orange dancer before her. Not enough, it will never be enough.
Glassy eyes watched as it jerked once, twice, then it darted towards her before resuming its normal fluid motions. Crickets chirped from somewhere outside. At some point in the night, she had lost track of how many hours had passed, eyes now dry and burning as they fixated on the still flame. Not even noticing how it no longer spread light, no longer glowed. Her eyelids drooped for a second-a second too long.
The flame flared bright until a cold wind snuffed it out, dropping the temperature in the room and sending a chill up Red’s spine. All pretence of sleep drained from her body as a low, reverberating howl echoed outside, carrying the promise of fresh blood. Although it was miles away, the threat was obvious.
Wide-eyed, she scrambled out of her cocoon of furs and raced for her grandmother’s room, kicking over the remains of the candle in her haste. No. The straw floor crunched under her hurried steps, but she paid it no mind as it pierced the soft skin of her underfoot. No, no, no, no, no! Paid no mind to the trail of red she left behind in her rush to her grandmother’s side, adrenaline and fear driving her. Not again, not again! She surged through the house to the village elder’s bedroll, satin nightgown bellowing at her knees as she collapsed to the ground next to the sleeping head. Straw sliced at her legs as her chest heaved, face red and wet.
“*Shimá sání.” Red whispered urgently, frantically rocking the elder’s shoulder to wake her up, “*Shimá sání ńdiijeeh!” She didn’t even notice the tears streaming down her cheeks until one landed on her stirring grandmother’s face. “*Yee naaldlooshii, yee naaldlooshii áko bichʼįʼ hoolzhish!” She shouted, clawing at her grandmother’s arm with dirty, broken nails.
The old woman jerked awake; eyes blurry with sleep yet alert as they focused on Red’s face in the gloom, “*Ha’át’iish, shiʼáád?”
“Yee naaldlooshii áko bichʼįʼ hoolzhish!” She wailed, throwing herself over the elder as she sobbed into the furs, “áko bichʼįʼ hoolzhish!” The elder carefully pulled her off, pushing her away to stare sternly into Red’s tearful eyes covered by her hair.
“*Diigis shiʼáád, it was just a nightmare.” The elder remarked, disappointment poorly concealed on her worn, wrinkled face, “áko is dead, łichíʼí lɪli.”
Instead of relaxing, Red cried harder as she realised her grandmother didn’t believe her. Realised she didn’t hear the blood-curdling call of a wolf on the hunt. She knew the elder watched her with disdain, muttering something under her breath that Red couldn’t catch. She let go of Red and stood slowly, rising unsteadily to her feet. Red blinked, what?
From the floor confused, Red sniffled and watched her limp to a candle, light it, and shuffle out of the room. She sat perplexed until the realisation hit her full force in the gut, cold terror washing over her body. Horrified, Red stumbled into a run after her grandmother, uncaring for the hair that obscured her vision, “dooda*!”
It was hard to navigate through the house to the front entrance but Red managed to catch up, tripping over her feet as if her body was full of lead. “Shimá sání, dooda!” But she was too late. Her grandmother had already opened the drapes and walked outside to prove there was nothing there. The elder turned to look down at her terrified face, “See? No yee naaldlo- “
A violent, hot spray of blood splattered across Red’s face, the taste of metal spilling into her gaping mouth as she stared, helpless to stop the jaw that clamped down on her grandmother’s throat. Thick, yellowed teeth sunk into the soft flesh like a hot knife through butter, unleashing a river of crimson that soaked the elder’s breast. She gurgled in pain, drowning as the beast threw her to the side like a ragdoll, laboured, choked breaths harsh and low. Red could see the way those bloody fangs turned on her.
Except, she couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot with her mouth hung open, no scream, no sound passed her lips. A deep growl rumbled from the creature, snarling to expose even more glistening canines; it stalked towards her. Muscles rippled under grimy, mangled, black fur as its shoulders rose and fell with every silent step, eyes far too human as they locked onto hers. It lasted for only a second before it lunged, time slowing down as Red stood stock still, unable to escape the jaws of death. Red twisted her eyes in anticipation, tensing up as she expected the worst. A brief thought of what came after death flash across her mind.
The beast bawled her over, winding the little girl as it landed heavily on her. Red’s head fitted perfectly between those rows of teeth and she opened her eyes. A dark abyss greeted her. It was only then, did she find her voice to scream, staring down the fleshy, blood-stained throat of the wolf.
*Shimá sání: Grandmother!
*Shimá sání ńdiijeeh: Grandmother get up!
* Yee naaldlooshii, yee naaldlooshii áko bichʼįʼ hoolzhish: The witch, the witch he is back!
Two Contrasting Descriptive Pieces I did for my English Assignment
The task was to create two, contrasting descriptive pieces of the same place/ area before and after a “storm”- focusing on movement, light and sound. I chose the same forest scene before and after the happenings of war, developing the five senses: sight, touch, smell, hearing, taste.
WARNINGS: tw: DEATH, tw: GORE, tw: VIOLENCE
DESCRIPTIVE PIECE #1
Jean meticulously stepped through the fragile foliage, skin tingling with every wet lick of the leaves against his hands. Trees towered over him, giant, looming walls of thick, bulging trunks and solid blankets of all shades of green. So densely packed together that not even the most ambitious streaks of light could penetrate through- the realm beneath the canopy forsaken to everlasting shadows. One would think this brought rigid cold and barren lands, yet the humid heat that threatened to overpower him suggested otherwise.
Morning dew dotted the deep veins of broad, wide leaves, soaking it as it ran in lazy rivulets down their faces. A weighted, gentle caress that held them down, forcing the leaves to droop and pave a terraced path to the net of underbrush below. The water pooled on a bed of knee-high, prickly bushes and plants, forming little ponds in depressions woven by their hands.
The earth ceased to exist, seeming to descend far below the projecting, twisted roots that crawled through the underbrush like thick, course, brown snakes. The stench of freshly turned and wet soil and rotting organic material was its only alibi. So soft and malleable, carpeted by threads of wax and thorns, that it gave way an inch or so with every calculated step of hardened leather boots.
A cacophony of bird calls and songs grew stronger, evidence that life could exist in this alien world, rang above his head: the staccato trill of Piqinins, the warbling harmony of Caterwals, and the sickly-sweet chirps of the Nightwing. A choir of vastly different symphonies that clashed and fought over each other, their volume near-deafening amongst the ear-piercing siren of the cicada. An ear-bleeding performance for the lustful and greedy patrolling mere metres below their perch.
And, if choice be, he could look up and see the royal blues, obnoxious yellows, and striking, deep purples of feathers dancing. That is if the birds themselves wanted to be seen, preferring the cavernous alcoves tucked into the intersections of branches.
In the centre of all this chaos was a small, circular clearing. Trees fell away to allow for light to spill in, casting a warm glow over wild, untamed grass of a rich green that rivalled that of an emerald. A single flower, no taller than his waist, grew in the middle. Resembling a jellyfish, bottlebrush like tendrils of flaming reds and vibrant oranges hung from its bowl-shaped cap, barely grazing the floor with its frayed ends. Starting tightly coiled, the tendrils slowly unravelled from the cap, unfurling and unwinding like a spring being stretched; despite their rough and bristled appearance, they were velvety to the touch and silkier than the finest satin.
A honey sweet, sickening odour permeated the air, mixing with the lingering scents of precipitation and wet soil. It left a strong, bittersweet taste of iron in his mouth, drying his tongue out as it stuck to the roof of his mouth. As innocent as it looked, the Royal Adonis’s fumes could kill even the most fearsome of creatures, making it the perfect snack for a passing Drongo*. With an extensive, and very much alive root system, it’s a deadly beauty with hidden, malignant tendencies- Killing you softly as it steals your every last breath.
*Drongo: a creature that brings death wherever it goes, taking to the scent of decay and freshly spilt blood like a cat to catnip.
(548 words)
DESCRIPTIVE PIECE #2
Snow kissed the ground. Little snowflakes of ash drifted, directionless against the inky black of the sky, and settled on barren bows. Those that danced through landed in the deep gashes that wounded the earth.
Jean stood in the middle of it, observing the destruction with blank, grey eyes, shifting his weight as ash dusted the worn leather of his boots.
Thick cracks ran deep, splitting the hardened ground as thinner, shallow cracks webbed its surface. No longer could it hold life, but how would it? As solid as cement, the blackened, bare ground was impenetrable to even the sharpest swords or the strongest hammer; they would shatter into a million pieces on impact, spraying iron, silver, and blood.
Blood. Too much had bled into the land, staining it with the greed, the cruelty of men, and the damned innocent. Crimson brown, it seeped through ancient roots systems, tainting the once crystalline, white red.
No guardians loomed over him, no protective walls of green and brown. And no loyal, gentle lick of the playful, entangling foliage. Instead, charred sticks of charcoal stood in their place. Broken and beaten, they swayed in the chilly evening breeze of June, so brittle they would crumble with the slightest touch. No longer did the water hold them captive, having no hands to shackle, nobody to bend. Just a hollow, empty shell of what used to be. The blankets of ash were their only comfort.
The haunting wails of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak sent cold dread through him, ghostly fingers tracing up the back of his spine. Its song of death a beautiful, yet fear-inducing melody: a warbling howl that gradually rose in volume before suddenly dropping into curt, cut off choked squawks. Thick, white plumage sat on a low hanging branch, a black hood stretching down to its wings as large, glazed eyes stared at him with unnerving intelligence. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought the rosy patch on its breast coincidently matched its red-lipped, bone-white beak.
Beneath it, a carcass lay- a dier*, to be precise. Its intimidating, golden antlers lay broken by its massive head, deep, fleshy holes peering up at the sky as ash sprinkled its beige, near white, fur. That was its only identifiable feature. A horrific gash stretched across its belly, skin peeled back off of bone as organs slopped into a pool of deep red. Glistening intestines, kidneys, and bladder were pulled from the opening of torn flesh and skin, littered with numerous scratches and tears that matched the ones on its head. On closer inspection, Jean could see the claw marks that shredded the flesh of its neck, jagged, messy bite marks piercing the thick hide of its flank. More blood coated its mouth and splattered on the ground, an indication of ravenous, vicious feasting whilst its heart still beat.
The stench of iron and death was strong on his tongue, lingering heavily in the air around the duo. A sickening mix of pungent, rotting flesh and freshly shed blood was something one did not scrub out so easily.
*Dier: closely resembles what you would call a deer except has a beige-golden hide with massive, majestic horns of presumed medicinal benefit.
How To Write An Effective Essay Here are some tips from Oxford on how to write an effective essay at university level. This applies for any and all subjects so it would be useful to check these points out.
Before you even begin to plan out how you’re going to revise your notes, THINK: what is your learning style? Are you an auditory listener, tactile learner or a visual learner? These are the three main learning styles and understanding which one you are will help determine what the most effective study method is for you.
However, what’s important to consider is that these kinds of things…
A-level life is hard.Its demanding, its exhausting and you just want to scream and cry all while chucking that 15cm thick textbook out the window. It’s horrible. Studying A-levels requires two years of consistent, (self) motivated, focus and independent working/learning. No more spoon feeding, no more giving you information to regurgitate at the end, and definitely no more early nights.…
If there is one piece of advice that I would strongly recommend for all writers to know is: base your writing off your own experiences.
Its very obvious when someone has written a piece based off google searches, and this is especially true for intense emotions, behaviour and or representation of mental illnesses. The best writing comes about when you use your own experiences, your own…
Famous writers: 25 Writing Tips I’ve found useful. Sometimes finding things to talk about is hard. So when those times come around, I go around gathering tips and advice (on the internet) from famous writers and compile them here so that you don't have to!
As a person who personally suffers from social anxiety and being easily overwhelmed by large crowds, loud sounds, and confrontation, I hate it when these attacks are incorrectly portrayed in books. Yes, I am aware that everybody experiences things differently, but there are general symptoms that can be used for people who don’t know what they are like.
Everybody has to start off somewhere. Nobody is going to be perfect on their first try, whether it be in sports or in academics. Your first try is going to be shit and you’ll probably hate it; don’t scrap or throw it out. It’s all part of the creative process. Keep it for later, even if it’s just a paragraph or a few sentences that didn’t work out. Let yourself process what…
