are people still mad about mixed pantheons? was that even a thing or just a handful of loud people online?
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are people still mad about mixed pantheons? was that even a thing or just a handful of loud people online?
Whether involved with the official organization or not, the unofficial “holiday” serves as a day to turn gratitude into local giving. The fe
Read last year’s Patheos post on Giving Tuesday and consider where you can put your material support today.
guy who’s never studied either organised religions or cults: there’s basically no difference between organised religions and cults
One of my favorite exercises of all time I call "bucket of words." I am 100% positive there are other iterations of it with better names, but here's how you do it:
Write a character taking an action.
Add 1 object description
Add 1 setting description
Add internal feeling (does not need to be related to action)
Add physical manifestation of feeling (ie sweating, shaking, smiling, etc)
Add setting atmosphere (this MUST be impacted by internal feeling so if your character is scared, atmosphere must be threatening vibes)
Add internal monologue, at least one sentence
Add 1 setting or object description (your choice)
Complete with sentence fragment, ideally either the completion of initial action or a repetition of action sentence.
((Important to note that these do not need to all be separate sentences))
Serena folded the laundry.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed as tall as her hip.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. If they cared even a little, they'd call.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. If they cared even a little, they'd call. Her phone lay next to the growing stack of folded costumes, screen like an abyss.
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat next to the bed, as tall as her hip. She felt resentful. She snapped her wrists hard enough the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - sounded like a whip cracking. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. If they cared even a little, they'd call. Her phone lay next to the growing stack of folded costumes, screen like an abyss. Serena folded the laundry.
Quick edited version:
Serena folded the neon spandex suit. A large pile of similarly brightly colored costume pieces sat squatly next to the bed, as tall as her hip. Resentfully, she snapped out the next piece of laundry - a nylon cape - so hard it cracked like a whip. The silence of the house chased the sound, smothering it (and her) with oppressive ease. Her lip curled as she reached for a pair of aqua leggings. They won't mention me tonight. Not even a footnote. I bet the award ceremony is over now. I asked them to call when it ended. If they cared... Her phone lay next to the growing stack of folded costumes, screen like an abyss. She felt the weight of the empty house compacting her ribs, shoving her underneath her own skin, down and down and down. As if from a distance, she saw her arm, skin still pink from healing, reach for a red undershirt. Another load sat in the dryer waiting.
Serena folded the laundry.
What some person says: You need to do research for fantasy and think critically about how your world functions. How did they domesticate those creatures, and how are they feeding them? How are your cities fed, and what happens to their waste? How are all those soldiers trained and paid? Have you googled feudalism?
What y’all think they mean: fill your book with unnecessary factual details about your fantasy world that no one cares about
What they actually mean: You need to know the way your world functions for your own benefit, to be able to create a story that makes sense and holds up under scrutiny. If you don’t research, you’ll end up repeating dumb stereotypes about Medieval England that are more based on modern biases than real history and making grotesque factual errors that will make your story unreadable for anyone that paid more attention in class than you did. Not to mention that your pool of inspiration will be entirely based in other, already written fantasies, instead of the vast, colorful and woefully untapped well of actual human history.
writing tip #3994:
first, make it exist. second, make it make sense. third, make it good. fourth, make it bad again. fifth, make it worse. sixth, there is no sixth. it's perfect. you're done
I love u angry female characters. I love u deeply misunderstood and problematic female characters. I love u cold hearted and sharp female characters. I love you prideful and reckless female characters. I love u unbeautifly destructive female characters. I love u prickly and snarky female characters. not everyone understands u but I do and I'm listening
working with Jesus be like
if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.
We had a lot of fun with this one on the discord so reblogging it here as well!
it is so relieving to enjoy being around my in-laws
side quests from my dad: hey bud, can you identify this lizard? can you research search engine optimization for my business?
side quests from my mom: I need you to go into my downstairs closet. There is a crawlspace behind the shoe rack. Inside the crawlspace there is a cardboard Crown Royal box from the liquor store. Inside the box there are a number of cardigans I have not worn since the 1980s, you must find the navy blue one from Talbots and check the pockets. Your great grandfather’s suicide note and art deco ruby ring should be inside the right breast pocket. Have you located it? Can you use the cypher on the ring to transcribe great grandpa’s final message?
Grizzled Man With Stetson: I've seen a lot in my time, kid. I've seen the ugly things war makes out of good men. I've seen the rotten workin's of evil men in all their flyblown glory. I've seen guilt hollow a fella out until there's nothing else inside him. I've seen fire, and I've seen its twisted leavin's. Only one thing in this world that scares me anymore...a really scary monster.
Putting a bloody lace handkerchief in my back pocket to indicate that I'm into Victorian tuberculosis roleplay.
Me: ok now tell me I’m going to get better, but do it in a way that lets me know you’re lying to make both of us feel better. Maybe pretend to cry when you leave the room, also.
My girlfriend: can i please just fuck you already
“American life expectancy is dropping and half a million people die of medical errors every year in the United States because Americans are fat greedy piggy fucks who love shoveling fried food directly in their gullets and drink red 40 for breakfast. It’s their fault and it’s all because they’re stupid fat idiots who love eating shit. Maybe if you didn’t drink a Big Gulp with every meal, your genetic autoimmune disorder would magically go away and the terrible and disintegrating American medical system wouldn’t be concerning to you anymore.” < what you freaks sound like
Just in case anybody can't tell, this post isn't just about the medical industry, policy failures, and ableism. This post is directly aimed at fatphobia and diet culture. The post's only tag is literally "#fatphobia." So if you read this post, agreed with it, and still think fat people don't deserve equality, compassion, and basic human decency, then you never agreed with this post to begin with.
-Mod Worthy
"You're losing blood" no I know exactly where it is. The floor. Don't ever underestimate me.
sometimes it's okay to write 200 words. or 100 words. or even just 10. sit down with the thing, give it as much attention as you can, keep the story fresh in your mind. you can still finish it, even if it's just 10 words at a time.
I've Endured, Now What?
Blue Iris - Mary Oliver / So This Is All I Will Ever Be? - Fatima Aamer Bilal / Vive, Vive - Traci Brimhall