crashwriting

[thewritershandbook]

Words to Describe Pain

[crashwriting-blog]

Like if I posted an action sequence could someone give feedback? Tell me what I’m doing wrong and right?

[crashwriting-blog]

Writing a hero-based story. Think Batman.

Need advice on writing action sequences. Ready set go.

[crashwriting-blog]

Hello! I am back.

I had to ditch the writing challenge because it stressed me out and gave me anxiety but rest assured I have not quit writing. In fact I just started a new personal project last night and already have nearly 3,000 words. Likewise, I’m writing a chapter-by-chapter piece with a friend--we take turns, each writing a chapter from the perspective of our own character. Like super intensive roleplay, I suppose. 

On top of that I have my manuscript of Bound back in my hands and as the semester draws to a close will resume editing that with the intent of someday publishing it, as well.

[crashwriting-blog]

Time: 12:46 PM Pages: 5 Word Count: 1253 Listening to: x Topic: Jamie’s turning

I know I said I’d do part two of Jamie hunting tonight but Jamie had other plans.

It was a humid July night and James McMorrow didn’t know where he was in the slightest. Maybe if he’d ever learned star navigation he’d have a clue because if nothing else, he’d never seen such a clear night sky.

It was an odd occasion for the homeless boy to lose track of where he was or where he was going. Most times it was as simple as follow the road or the train tracks—but somewhere is his fatigued, hungry stupor he’d wandered from the road and hadn’t been able to find his way back.

That was a day and a half ago. Maybe more; he’d lost track, to be honest, and out here all the days ran together. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a full meal and the pain and gnawing ache in his stomach was almost crippling. Not to mention he felt feverish and ill and sometimes the coughing fits could last several dreadful minutes. He wanted nothing more than to curl up his sore limbs and sleep right there in the dust, but he knew that meant certain death. Expending the energy to keep walking meant wasting away more quickly, but staying put left him no chance of finding anything or of being found. If he kept walking he at least improved his odds.

He was in luck, though, he thought. Perhaps it was only a mirage of his starved mind, but he could swear there were lights on the horizon. He couldn’t tell how near or far they were but if he kept walking, eventually he’d have to come across something. If he could just keep pushing.

He only needed to cover that distance and pray someone would take pity on him in his malnourished state to offer him even something as simple as a slice of bread. He could work for food, eventually, once he had a few calories in him to give him strength to keep going. He always preferred to pull his own weight when he could. Right now all he wanted, though, was to collapse entirely and give up. Succumb to the growling pain and the soreness in his limbs.

His sheer exhaustion grew ever more apparent in each footstep, dragged achingly across the dusty ground. He’d lucked out in that he hadn’t been suffocated by one of this big, dark, looming storms yet—the ones from which dust seeped into every crevice and strangled the life of plants and animals alike. He was less lucky in that it seemed one such storm had already swept through here and left neither water nor edible vegetation in its wake. He’d even settle to eat prairie grass if it meant getting the throb in his gut to leave him alone for a few minutes of peace. There was nothing for miles, only dusty plain as far as the eye could see.

How on Earth his mother’s ancestors had managed living in this hellish landscape for so long bewildered him. The thought of it was enough to distract and occupy him for a few yards of movement before another hungry growl ripped from his stomach, followed by a cough that rattled his lungs and scraped against his throat until it was raw. All he could do was wrap his thin arms around himself and try to keep from doubling over. All he could do was press on.

Somewhere, behind him, he heard the shuffle of footsteps. Hopeful, maybe for rescue of some sort, maybe just for directions, he turns. “Hello?” His voice comes out as little more than a rasp.

There was no answer and also no one present. Maybe he was so desperate that he had started hallucinating. So he turned back to face those twinkling lights that promised civilization somewhere not too far from here.

Another several minutes passed, each yard covered torturously slow. He was alone and hungry and sick and hardly had strength left in him to even stand. All he had was silence and the knowledge that somewhere up there, amidst the glittering stars, God sat on his throne in Heaven watching him as the shepherd tended to their flock.

He didn’t have the strength or voice to pray out loud but at least in his head he could say a Hail Mary—if nothing else, it would occupy him for a minute.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

Our Lord is with—

Hands clamped down on his bony shoulders like bear traps, fingernails like claws sinking into his flesh. James cried out in shock as the attacker yanked down on him with all their weight. James crumpled to the ground and the assailant followed, sliding one clawed hand to James’ throat and dragging the boy into his lap.

James did his best to fight, lighting his hands to the fingers that curled around his throat. His own thin fingers pried and pulled at the stranger’s, but the grip was too strong. His fingers were like ice and his skin like granite and his grip unbreakable and the more James tried, the tighter his assailant’s grip become. He could only just choke breath in and out of his lungs and his vision grew dark around the edges.

If he couldn’t pull the hand that choked him away, he would do his best to beat the attacker. Frail hands curled into fists and pounded at the attacker’s legs under James, but the man didn’t even seem to notice.

Then there was a searing hot pressure at his neck, the base of where his throat met his shoulder. James cried out once more, in pain, hot tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Something that felt like teeth broke through skin and muscle, sinking in to flesh like James’ throat was nothing more than a juicy steak.

As time passed with the stranger’s mouth at his throat, his already weak body only became weaker. The longer the attacker remained latched at his neck, the more tired he felt. If he thought he’d been fatigued before, he’d been blissfully unaware. His limps went limp, arms resting and on the legs of the attacker and fingers uncurled.

He was dying, James realized with a start. This was what death felt like. And all he could do was lay there like a gutted fish, too weak to even look at his killer.

Silent tears leaked from his eyes as he stared up at the Heavens. His parents would never know. Their boy, their James, would die alone and in agonizing pain at the hands of another, and he couldn’t even fight it. All that time he spent picking fights and he couldn’t even manage it one last time when it really mattered.

He shut his eyes. And he waited for it to be over.

And then there was a blinding light and voices and for a moment James thought he was dead and that maybe this was Heaven, but he was in too much pain to be in Heaven. Maybe it was hell.

He felt his assailant toss him aside and he hit the ground harder than he expected. Even still, he couldn’t force a cry of pain past his lips. That’s when he knew he was still alive. He couldn’t open his eyes or make a sound, but things kept happening around him. There was a scuffle, and some of the voices faded into the silence of the night.

One voice stayed with him. James could recognize that he was being addressed, but couldn’t comprehend what was being said, nor could he find the strength to reply. Something in his gut said he should nod, so he tried—but he wasn’t sure if he was successful.

Hands wrapped around him again, this time with no malicious intent. Gentle hands lifted him off the ground and he could feel each of his limps fall to the side. Dead weight, dangling from an almost-corpse. They dragged him down and tethered him to Earth. Each rise and fall of his chest seemed to drag on for an eternity, each beat of his heart seemed slower than the last. His thoughts were fuzzy and incomprehensible, even to him--if he even had any thoughts to begin with. His brain was too clouded for him to know.

The man said something in a hushed tone and someone brushed the hair from James’ face.

And then James McMorrow was dead.

[thewritershandbook]

[crashwriting-blog]

Time: 1:38 AM Pages: 4 Word Count: 916 Listening to: x Topic: Jamie hunting / revisiting Jan. 21 writing

I stopped a bit early tonight to allocate the last 20 minutes to revisit my writing from last night. I was unhappy with it and never typed it up, so I decided to spend some time going over it and revising it. It counts because I say it does. It’s now up and available to read, if anyone is interested.

Tonight’s ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, so I’ll finish it up tomorrow.

The problem with doing things Hayden’s way was that Jamie had been doing it his own way for nearly 80 years. It was a difficult habit to break, especially since both ways of feeding took place in the same types of place and exposed Jamie to the same kinds of people.

He was starting to learn though, and all diets must start somewhere. He was learning the tricks of the trade—the kind of look these characters always had about them, how to read the body language of those around them. Sometimes the scent of perfume still distracted him, sometimes a woman with a little too much in her system would come sauntering up to him with her blood smelling thick and tasty. In worst case scenarios he’d try to remove himself and move to another bar just to get out of there and start fresh. Other times it was as simple as stepping out for some fresh air and a smoke break.

And then the hunt would begin again.

Tonight was no different. A quick flash of his convincing yet fake ID—a gift from a wealthy vampire friend who knew all the right people—was all it took to grant him access to the seedy bar with the messy conglomeration of neon lights out front. Inside the air stank of alcohol and smoke, and the speakers thumped out a booming rhythm loud enough that it reverberated in his chest and almost felt like he had a working heart.

He ordered a drink, something simple and cheap, and retreated to a vacant table in the corner to sip at it quietly while he watched the crowd. There’s something predatory in his gaze, something hungry in those dark eyes of his.

There’s a woman and her gaggle of loud friends celebrating what must have been her 21st birthday, complete with obnoxious pink sash. Happy couples and chance meetings and potential one-night-standers crowded the dance floor and daring men and women flirted at the bar in a tangled mess of suave leans and crossed legs. Nothing out of the ordinary—yet. Give it another twenty minutes and if nothing reared its head, he’d take his business elsewhere.

There—in the corner as far from both the door and the bar as one could get, there was a commotion. Nothing too big, like they were intentionally trying not to draw attention to themselves. Jamie watched for another moment before deciding it was worth investigating. With a groan, he pulled himself from his chair and slunk over to the small crowd that gathered.

“What’s the issue?” he asked, tapping the shoulder of the man who seemed to be ring leader of the disturbance—a tall, thick man with a bushy beard and mustard-stained shirt that was too small for his beer gut. Probably a trucker, probably named something ridiculous like Tiny.

“No problem,” the man grunted, but when he turned to face Jamie he revealed the presence of a tiny girl with slim fingers giving her glass a death grip. Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows downturned, an irritated glint flashing in her blue eyes.

“He botherin’ you, miss?” Jamie asked, looking straight at her and gesturing to Tiny. She only took a moment to look Jamie over and hugged in response, offering a curt nod before glancing away. The way her gaze darted across the bar told Jamie she was looking for someone—a bouncer, probably.

She smelled like peaches. Tiny smelled like rotten eggs. Why was Jamie doing this bullshit morals-friendly diet of Hayden’s again? There was nothing appetizing about the way Tiny looked or smelled.

“Why?” Tiny asked, lip curling in amusement. “You wanna do something about it? Gonna start a fight? Kid, you look like a butterfly could break you in half.”

The insult elicits a curt laugh from Jamie, one that slips past his lips as little more than a scoff. Personal insults: classy. “Wanna put that to the test?”

“Not worth my time,” Tiny laughs, a loud and bellowing sound. “I’d feel bad about snappin’ you like a twig.”

“Ten bucks.” It’s a dare said with a completely straight face. Jamie knows he’ll win, and he knows he’ll get the money either way. A corpse couldn’t stop a thief from running off with their wallet, after all, and Jamie wasn’t opposed to taking cash from a dead guy. Still, it’s a ruse, a ploy, an attempt to draw the man outside and get them out of public view.

“I ain’t takin’ your money. Not from a scrawny kid like you. Go back home to momma, kid. Quit tryin’ to play hero before someone accepts your dare and you wind up dead in a trash can.” And Tiny turns away.

That’s not good enough for Jamie. He stills needs a meal, and this is possibly his best bet for the night. It’s getting late and if he doesn’t seal a deal here soon, he’ll have to go crawling back home unfed and irritable.

“I’m stronger than I look,” he hisses, lip curling in a snarl as he grabs Tiny by the shoulder and yanks the man around to face him. Before Tiny can even counter, Jamie slings his arm back and launches his fist forward. It collides with Tiny’s jaw with enough force to knock the larger man to the ground.

Once he collects his bearings, Tiny glances up to Jamie with murder in his eyes as he rubs his jaw. “Outside, now.”

[crashwriting-blog]

Time: 12:21 AM Pages: 5 Word Count: 1482 Listening to: x Topic: Jamie’s anger

I will not be posting tonight’s writing on account of I feel terrible and this writing is terrible as a result. I don’t have the energy to type it up. But know that I did it and it is in my journal.

In summation: I promised myself I wouldn’t use this blog for roleplay purposes but Hayden (regiium) and Jamie got into a fight via kik tonight and Jamie was so pissed off he wouldn’t let me write about anything else. He put his fist through the apartment wall and then walked to the park to light a cigarette and clear his head.

I might revisit this tomorrow and clean it up for the sake of positing this.

EDIT: I revisited this on 1/23/2016.

There’s an ache in his head and a shake in his hands when he slams the door behind him and steps out into the brisk winter air. He’s not sure what he’s expecting will happen tonight. Maybe he just needs fresh air to clear his head, or maybe he’s so high-strung that he’s itching to get into a fight. He deserves to get the shit kicked out of him, anyways. Regardless, he hopes that at the very least the chill of the wind will cool his fiery veins and the icy sting of it will bring him back to his senses.

Keep reading

[crashwriting-blog]

I’m reblogging last night’s because for part of tonight’s time I revisted last night’s writing and rewrote huge chunks of it so I would be comfortable with it enough to post it.

Tonight’s writing will be up in a moment :)

[crashwriting-blog]

Ready Set Write !!

Current time: 1:00 AM

[crashwriting-blog]

what should i write tonight?

[crashwriting-blog]

I don't know if you're genuinely looking for an answer to "Why are adjective considered bad?" but the reason is largely that they're cheap shortcuts. You can say angry or show anger, you know? And sometimes people over-describe things like clothes.

I was actually, thank you!!

[coplins]

How to Write a Smoking Character

So I read this post about how to write a smoker and I’m gonna go ahead and add to this from a writer’s POV. If you’re not a smoker there may be things you forget to think about. It goes way beyond “He smoked a cigarette” if you’re writing a smoker, especially if he’s addicted. A few things to think about when building a character that smokes:

(long post below the cut)

Keep reading

[thewritershandbook]

[forficwritersbyficwriters]

hi this might be a weird question but the tumblr i used to follow doesn't have the page anymore so maybe you do. a list with words how you can pronounce things like 'say' 'whisper'. such words like that but that you have another word for it. so it doesn't get boring easily your writing

like a synonym list? here’s one for commonly used words in writing.

as for different ways to say said? well, many say said is dead and advise against ever using it, but having dialogue like this…

“yeah, right,” she groaned.“no, I’m serious!” he exclaimed.she leveled her gaze at him, but frowned. “really?” she pressed.

…is a bit much in my opinion, and you can end up with things like J.K. Rowling’s infamous “Ron ejaculated.” said is often best, yes. but sometimes you run into overusing adverbs…

“I love it!” she said happily. “you did such a great job.”they blushed. “really?” they said shyly. “I’m glad you like it.”“of course I do!” she said excitedly. 

…and adverbs need to be kept to a minimum. they can be crutches, often keeping a writer from crafting solid dialogue that stands on its own. why bother, when you can just tack on adverbs?

in the end I’d suggest keeping a balance between said and the other, more specific ways to say it. keep the flashy tags for really important lines. and, sometimes, try forgoing dialogue tags and use character action and description to identify speakers.

here’s a list of alternatives to said.

~ annika

[latenightnovelwriting]

Avoiding Purple Prose

Purple prose is writing that is excessively elaborate. 

A brilliant example comes from the winner of the 2012 Purple Prose Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, which recognizes pieces of bad writing:

“William, his senses roused by a warm fetid breeze, hoped it was an early spring’s equinoxal thaw causing rivers to swell like the blood-engorged gumlines of gingivitis, loosening winter’s plaque, exposing decay, and allowing the seasonal potpourris of Mother Nature’s morning breath to permeate the surrounding ether, but then he awoke to the unrelenting waves of his wife’s halitosis.” -Guy Foisy

While you’re writing purple prose, you may feel exhilarated by the beauty of the English language, and that is great. But your reader is going to cringe when they read. 

Here are some tips for avoiding purple prose.

Avoid using big words for the sake of having big words. Fancy words doesn’t automatically mean better writing. Now and then, a big and beautiful word will flow onto page and be natural and eloquent and lovely… but if you’re thumbing through a thesaurus to help you to look smarter in your writing, you’re on the wrong track. 

Too many descriptions. When describing, concise is better. Words are a craft and flowery descriptions have their place, but don’t make your 15-year-old protagonist constantly wax poetic about your crush’s orbs of emerald eyes.

Murder your darlings. This is a famous saying for a reason. You may be extremely attached to a phrase that in actuality is corny and much too ornate. Some of your flowery writing will be beautiful and perfect. Most of it will need to be cut. Be willing to prune away your precious sentences, at the expense of your writing pride. Samuel Johnson said, “Read over your compositions, and when you meet a passage which you think is particularly fine, strike it out.” Simplicity is often better.

Be clear and concise. Less is sometimes more. Keep the goal of your plot evident in your story. You don’t want your reader struggling to keep up with your slow pace and overly-vivid descriptions.

Adverbs. I love them and use them daily in casual writing (like this blog!), but they can harm your novel writing. Be careful how many adverbs you use. They can keep you telling instead of showing.

[wordsnquotes]

bad vs. badly

Badly is an adverb, meaning that it modifies a verb. So when you say, “I feel badly,” the adverb badly relates to the action to the verb feel. Since the action verb feel can mean “to touch things,” feeling badly can mean you’re having trouble touching things.

Example: 

I smell bad.

I smell badly. 

When you say, “I smell badly," badly is an adverb that modifies the verb smell. You’re saying your sniffer isn’t working, just as when you say you feel badly you’re saying your fingers aren’t working. 

VS.

When you say, ”I smell bad,“ bad is an adjective, which means it modifies a noun. You’re saying you stink, just as when you say, "I feel bad,” you’re saying you are regretful or sad or ill or wicked. 

Exceptions: 

Only after linking verbs such as feel, smell, and am that you use an adjective such as bad. Linking verbs are words like is, was, were, appear, and seem, which don’t describe an action so much as describe a state of being. With most other verbs, it is correct to use the adverb. For example: The child behaved badly (Fogarty 15).

[thecharactercomma]

CC's two cents on Adverbs

Let me tell you a story of last time I submitted a few chapters of my novel to my workshop group. Group members could print it out for margin notes if they wanted to, which is nice because it’s a great way to point out specific words or sentences that tripped up your reader. When one of my group members handed back my printed out draft, every adverb was crossed out. Every single one. She wanted me to scrap every single adverb ending in –ly.

And she’s not the first writer to have this viewpoint. I’ve heard it said that you can sometimes—sometimes—get away with adverb usage when you use it sparingly. Like once every 1,000 words, I think they said. Even then you’re on thin ice. Adverbs are just plain lazy writing, they said.

For those of you who don’t keep track of all those silly grammar terms, adverbs are modifiers for your verbs, usually ending in –ly. (loudly, roughly, angrily, suddenly, really)

So, is it true? Are adverbs the devil? Certainly not. In fact, some adverbs are really nice. I don’t think there should be an ultimatums in writing (all adverbs are evil!), because a lot of that chalks down to writing style and voice. Adverbs can be good in moderation.

Why people hate on –ly words:

They can be lazy writing. Some writers rely on adverbs rather than look for a better-fitting word, which makes them a favorite for lazy writers. Second, when it comes to show don’t tell, adverbs tend towards the tell side. And third, adverbs can clog up your writing with wordiness.

“Why do you have to be so mean?” he asked quietly.

“We don’t have time to talk about this,” I snapped back angrily.

He sadly hung his head. “We never have time to talk about this.”

Please tell me that made you cringe. It’s wordy, it’s repetitive, and it’s telling everything. This is, quite obviously, a good show of bad adverb usage.

Wordy: Here’s a writing pro-tip: the fewer words you have, the more weight your remaining words hold. If you can cut word(s) and have the sentence keep the same meaning, do it.

Repetitive: Hand in hand with wordiness, you don’t want to repeat yourself. Your readers are smart. They can figure things out. If someone’s yelling, we know they’re angry. You don’t need to say “she yelled angrily.” You don’t need to say “he cried sadly.”

Telling: It says right there in the dialogue tags that she’s angry and he’s sad. We have been told their emotions, rather than seeing it in their actions. Instead of “he said angrily,” try for “he snapped” or “he yelled.”

“Why do you have to be so mean?” he asked.

“We don’t have time to talk about this,” I snapped back.

He hung his head. “We never have time to talk about this.”

All I did was remove the –ly words. And look! It’s a thousand times better. This is why people hate on adverbs. Most of the time, they’re unnecessary and should be cut, simple as that. But I think it’s equally lazy to condemn all adverbs as worthless without giving the poor guys a chance. So when you’re looking through your document’s adverbs, ask yourself at each one: “Is this necessary?” Try cutting out the adverb. Read the sentence. Does the meaning change in a bad way, good way, or not at all?

Why you shouldn’t hate on –ly words:

We use modifiers all the time in everyday conversation, so why can’t your character? As long as you don’t go overboard, adverbs can make your characters sound like people, while absolutely no adverbs might make them sound like robots. It’s just part of a realistic dialogue. Of course, not every line of dialogue should have one. But try speaking it out loud and see if it feels natural in your mouth.

One little adverb can lean your character’s tone in a certain direction.

“It’s definitely more fun at night.” (adverb adds excitement)

“Trust me, they’re probably ideas I already have.” (adverb makes it more teasingly flirtatious than seriously flirtatious/creepy)

“Ghosts always have been real, along with a whole manner of creatures this so called ‘modern’ world has apparently forgotten. Standards have gone down, haven’t they?” (adverb highlights the speaker’s arrogance and dismissiveness towards others who don’t know as much as him)

Adverbs can be part of your character’s voice. On top of adding that human quality, they can be like little flavoring words to bring out your character’s feelings towards certain things. They’re also good for an ironic voice, I’ve realized.

Damn. I exhaled heavily. My fault? Really?

He’d already demonstrated his knack for things questionably legal.

He seemed perfectly at ease in a place full of dead people.

I’d have to weigh it against sitting in a room with enough lawyers to fix a light bulb and two embarrassingly overdramatic parents yelling over my head.

If he was, in fact, the strongest, because I couldn’t exactly cross-reference his information.

Of course, all of these examples would be better in context, but I don’t want to paste huge paragraphs of text into this. Basically, these were all adverbs that girl from my writing group told me to cut. Some of her suggestions I agreed with, so I did cut down on my adverb count. But all of the above examples she saw as unnecessary, while I disagree—I see them as part of my characters’ voices. They add to the story, the character, the tone.

So read through the examples—out loud, if you want. Read with the adverb, and then without. Listen for the change in tone and meaning. Then do a ctrl-f in your story doc for “-ly” and do the same thing. You will find adverbs that are unnecessary, but some of them you’ll find you need to keep! And that’s fine. Keep them.

–E