E.J. Mars

A Writer https://linktr.ee/E.J_Mars

[ej-mars]

[chxrry-bombs]

5 Tiny Writing Tips That Aren’t Talked About Enough (but work for me)

These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.

1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.

Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of

“She walked to the window,”

try

“The window creaked open under her touch.”

Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.

2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.

Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.

“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”

sets a way stronger tone than

“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”

3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.

Instead of:

"I'm fine," she said.

Try:

"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.

It helps shows emotion, and movement.

4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.

No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.

5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”

Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.

What’s a tip that unexpectedly helped with your writing? Let me know!! 🍒

[heavensghost]

Forgive me, I am soft and warm, but cruel and a coward, I know nothing but goodbye, goodbye

[ej-mars]

I fall to fight,

I beg,

I bite.

And in the night,

words dance,

like light.

“Dream on”, goes Sky,

“come sun,

comes life.”

“Once more”, I write.

[ej-mars]

Far above the forest floor, floating aimless evermore. Formless body 'baid from fight, fearless 'spite its stolen light.

Even after each endeavor, eating out the hand that tethers. Every wish ignored and hidden, endings lost as spiders' children.

After dreams are painted night, and all alike have taken flight, a desperate cry escapes its lips, alone now jumping from abyss.

Remembering the light it gave, running now and not ashamed. Ready as it hits the ground, roots are growing-

Safe and sound.

[bitesizedpoetry]

Sylvia Plath, "Full Fathom Five"

[ej-mars]

I hold my claws to my chest, and they press into my heart, slow and agonizing.

You’ve come to pluck the thorns that worm their way into my bloodstream, but, my angel, as I reach for you, outstretched, I see you wince as you lift your freshly red-stained hands closer towards me.

Briefly, the creature in my chest stirs, and my breathing quickens.

I dread the day you become unable to save me from my own destruction, and I begin to pull away.

Your momentary pause fills me with regret that clangs my lungs like bells in towers built from every heavy look you’ve given me.

Then, graciously, my fears are brushed away with your thumb on my cheek.

“All is well, my love,” you say, and your reassurance settles the skittering thing inside of me, and as it remains so, for a few wonderful moments at least, you will breathe relief into the air we share,

“all is well.”

.

.

.

a poem from the perspective of my abuser

[em-iliart]

slowly spiraling

[j-tee]

who let this bird on the train

[museify]

[ej-mars]

This is a poem I wrote from the perspective of a character in my latest book idea. He's a royal poet who is in love with the prince.

My dear Adonis, my prince, my muse.

Must you pull me from my reverie?

Awaken me like the sunrise as it peaks into my lifeless chamber?

I was drowning in my slumber, and the heavy storm threatened to wash me away, but against myself, I allowed my heart to be taken by you, a tree with roots buried in the floors of my prison.

Captivity and loss, I've found, go hand in hand, but guilt-ridden as it makes my soul, I cannot seem to mind if it is your branches that hold me.

No, not if it's you.

I also drew Adonis when I wrote this at work. One I did on receipt paper, and the other in my notebook. I'm not much of an artist, but I wanted to attach these sketches to the poem.

[vexheart]

[ej-mars]

“Travesty, oh, travesty.” so goes my blackened mind.

I’m sitting in the city dirt

watching the hands of time.

My arms and fingers reach,

but my flesh and bones they creak,

so, “farewell,” I shout, “old lungs of mine!”

As ink from rotted organ drips down my fossiled spine.

[flowrrs4u]

I am good. I am loved.

[ej-mars]

Each day the weather drops

and my skin stings from the cold

I try to fight it off

but I can’t escape the horrors

of an earthly soul

this sickness only spreads

a corrupting plague

and the acid in my throat spreads

slow as my rage

Time stretches on

an unbearable curse

I have outgrown the enclosure

I was stuffed in at birth

Behind me, there’s a child

with a rope in one hand

they reach for their future

and I reach for their plans

I'd rather feel nothing

than keep freezing like this

Soon I'll be ready

to bleed for the abyss

[ej-mars]

Fiona Apple / The First Taste

[ej-mars]

It's April again.

And every April I drift further from that day I spent dancing in the flower field I thought I deserved, the snake I couldn’t yet see slithering beside me.

So here I lay with the curtains closed.

Even if I threw them open with the same strength I had all those years ago, no light would enter here.

I see it now, in the darkness.

I know I will never be worthy of feeling the sun on my skin.