derpple

Just a lil blog to write out my short stories, derps, drabbles, maybe some flash fiction if I can get the hang of it. I write mostly prose.I might just link to my FB page or my dA. Hope you enjoy my writing!

[maxkirin]

✿ Daily Story Seed ✿

The Red Bandana

Write about a powerful spiritual creature that was sealed within a crimson banner millennia before. Explore the point of view of this creature as they realize a teenager is wearing the remains of the banner across their forehead. Will this creature share its powers with this person, or destroy them?

Any work you create based off this prompt belongs to you, no sourcing is necessary though it would be really appreciated! And don’t forget to tag maxkirin (or tweet @MistreKirin), so that I can check-out your stories!

Want more writer inspiration, advice, and prompts? Follow my blog: maxkirin.tumblr.com!

[krem-aclassis]

i cant figure out how to change the canvas size on firealpaca so i’m left with a teeny tiny sprite in the corner of a thousand pixel canvas >B(

[derpple]

Idk if you already solved this but to make your image smaller you use the select tool to select what you want to keep. Then go to 'Edit' on the top bar and click crop. Hope this helps!

[derpple]

Story Idea

I don't really want to do this myself, but it seems like an interesting idea.

The story is set in a dystopian world where our main cast lives under an oppressive state; to make things worse, they live in the slums of this world. Only a select few can read and write, let alone have an education. The story starts with the death of the main character's male relative/father figure. Before he dies, the man gives our character a note with a list of words. The man is determined he is right and tells the character to decode the message - it will save their country from the oppression. The character is determined to fulfill the man's dying wish and gathers his friends to help him raid the main city to access the super computer to decode the message. On the way, they garner support and many people join them. The government dismisses the efforts of the slum, despite not knowing what they are doing - "They are uneducated peoples; they will not succeed." They succeed, but only for a moment. The tattered paper is actually an old, old shopping list. There is nothing to decode. The character and his friends and all those involved are persecuted. And the middle class is clueless. The world goes on, as if nothing happened.

[a-writers-help]

You constantly edit. Whether it’s while you’re driving down the street and pass a misspelled sign, or grammatical errors in Facebook posts, you fix errors constantly in your mind—and sometimes not so silently. 

You’re highly observant. And not only do you notice things all the time, but you file them away in your I could write about this later folder. 

You often ask, “How could I describe this?” You don’t ignore your life experiences—everything from walking outside during a torrential downpour, to burning yourself while cooking, to taking the first bite of a piping-hot homemade chocolate chip cookie can be used in your writing, and you often pause to think about how you would describe it in words. 

You have a hyperactive imagination. There’s never a dull moment in that head of yours—your imagination is always working on overtime to keep you entertained and give you fresh ideas. 

You feel inspired to write after reading a good book. Enough said. 

You often daydream about your WIPs. Your characters never completely leave you— they walk alongside you throughout the day and give you new ideas when you least expect it. 

You feel guilty if you haven’t written anything in a while. What a “while” is depends, but after a writing hiatus, a part of you begins to demand that you get back to the keyboard and reprimands you if you don’t. 

Grammar jokes are funny. Well, they are. 

You can’t get enough books. After all, every new book is a couple hours worth of inspiration. 

You keep doing this writing thing. It doesn’t matter if you’re not published, if no one else cares if you continue to write, if you don’t make a penny off of the words that you put on the page—none of that matters, because you’ll continue to write anyway. 

[writeworld-blog]

Ten signs that you're a writer:

Um. Hi. 

So, this is a great list of writerly things. I enjoyed reading it. 

But.

You're a real writer. No matter what. If you write, you're a real writer. Okay?

Okay.

[writerswritecompany]

As for the adjective, when in doubt leave it out.

Mark Twain (via amandaonwriting)

[writeworld-blog]

Writer’s Block

A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

[derpple]

I step into the building, my footsteps resounding. The building is empty. Yes, empty. For once, the great station, usually a hectic, busy place, is empty. The sunlight shines through the high glass brilliantly, highlighting the old cracks in the walls, the ever-present dust in the air. To my left, good old James stands by the gate. It is still early in the morning, but he is diligent as always. In a few minutes the place will fill again. Fill with people, fill with noise, fill with the music of musicians who just want to make a living. But after that, at midnight tonight, the building will be silent once again. The lights will be off, the gates locked, the trains shut down. After tonight this station will never fill again. The city is taking this famous landmark down. Tonight, there won't be any sound, any noise. Not of a homeless man hiding out for shelter over the night, not of a business man late for his train, not of a single footstep. The station, unlike the rest of the bustling city, will be silent. And now, I walk up to my old, worn stall in the far corner of the station. The buzz of life begins, and as does the last day of Hammington Station. Goodbye, old friend.

[writeworld-blog]

Word List: Alternatives to "Whisper"

Instead of whispered, consider:

murmured

mumbled

muttered

breathed

sighed

hissed

mouthed

uttered

intoned

susurrated

purred

said in an undertone

gasped

hinted

said low

said into someone’s ear

said softly

said under one’s breath

said in hushed tones

insinuated

[psych-facts]

Most of our inspirations come to us when we are traveling or doing new things. When we shift our environments and our daily patterns, our brain begins to find ways to adapt. This process causes us to think more creatively.

(via psych-facts)

[natashakline]

For all the artists out there. xoxo

[potatofarmgirl]

I agree with Natasha!  Make stuff even if it HURTS! <3

[derpple]

Don't go.

"Here, there," he whispered, wagging the vegetable in front of the small creature's nose. It hopped forward, its nose wiggling.

He smiled, glancing toward his grinning sister. It was rare for her to be out and about. The hospital always wanted her to stay the night or go get a check up or treatment or they wanted her to stay home. She was a sickly girl and she stayed indoors. The few times she was allowed out, she ended up too tired to stay out for very long. The doctors said to be prepared; that she would be gone within the week.

He shook the idea out of his head, looking back to the curious animal. He inhaled lightly before he let himself speak again, "Come, now. May, don't touch it. It might get you sick."

May nodded, pouting, "Oki." She watched the bunny hop further, almost right in front of them. She grinned ear to ear.

He smiled, petting her hair, "That's a good girl."

A gun clicked behind him.

[visualgraphc]

[derpple]

The hallway.

The hallway echoed loudly as he stepped slowly down the stairs. He smiled, seeing her shiver. "Are you cold, dear?" He asked almost hauntingly. His voice was cruel and smooth. She didn't let her guard down, though. She glared. He had done the kind act before, saying he'd let her go if she did something for him. She failed and he yelled at her. His voice was cruel now, but when he had yelled.. it was like the devil took over. His smooth voice had turned coarse and harsh. He pouted, walking over to her. "If you keep doing that you'll hurt my feelings." Her eyes widened. She now knew that despite his taunting, he was serious about being upset. She turned away, scared. The tape over her mouth made it hard for her to breathe. He tsked, coming closer, "Don't look away from me.. I know you're ashamed that you hurt my feelings.. but you know the rules. Don't look away unless I tell you to." He reached out, held her chin, and pulled roughly. He looked into her fearful, clear blue eyes. She screamed into the tape.

[derpple]

The cookie.

The red cookie marched through the paper city as the young boy screamed and garbled. His younger sister squealed, “Ah, Superderp help me!” She beamed with a silly, wide grin. Their mother came in, shaking her head with a smile, “Don’t get the crumbs everywhere, now.” “We won’t,” they chimed. They proceeded to make more ridiculous sounds, the Superderp figure saving little Ann from the evil monster cookie.

[derpple]

The man.

The baby giggled, looking up to the man. His teeth were yellow and his beard prickly. He grinned lightly, blue eyes twinkling. The boy’s mother couldn’t tell if he was happy to see the young child or hive had evil plans in store. The man was a brunette, his red plaid shirt open to show his stained white shirt. His jeans were ragged and torn. He looked gruff, but hanging around his neck was a tag. A name tag. He was an officer of the law. Was.

[derpple]

The notebook

The red binding twisted and curled around the papers, holding them together. The notebook and the papers were old; a crusty yellow and brown, wrinkled and worn over the years. He flipped through the pages, licking his lips. He had to find it. He had to find the page with the code. They needed it.

[derpple]

Smile.

He smiled, seeing the children’s eyes glimmer in excitement as they watched him play. It was a simple gesture; he played all the time for fun. He could see that for these children, having someone to play anything for or with them meant the world. It was amazing how wide their grins were. To the side, some of the mothers that came by to pick their children up were crying; in these conditions, seeing their children smile at all was… A miracle. He had come to do this because his mother asked him to over going to his best friend’s house. He didn’t regret it; these smiling children and their mothers were worth it, and he would come again some day to teach them. So they can excel his capabilities. So they could feel good about themselves.

[derpple]

The Leader

The chief smiled; the budding children were working, and they were working hard. They would soon, someday, work for him. That idea delighted him. Their muscles were still developing, but strong. And they would one day do well in the business. The majority of the were boys, but there was one girl. Allen, she said her name was. She was particularly strong and particularly cunning. She would do well working for him, he knew. She was a leader. And she was a good one.