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sheepfilms
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

★
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RMH
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Discoholic 🪩
dirt enthusiast
AnasAbdin

shark vs the universe

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

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DEAR READER

Andulka
will byers stan first human second
styofa doing anything
Jules of Nature
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
d e v o n
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@hecate-herself
instagram | photos are my own, reblogs fine, do not repost/reuse
writing is all fun and games until the scene requires a location
A non-writer asked me "but where do you get your ideas" and i genuinely did not know how to explain that it's not a place. it's not a website. it's not a folder. it's that i was on the bus and a woman was holding a paper bag very carefully and something about the way she held it made me need to know what was inside and then i needed to know why she was sad about it and then there was a whole person and then there was a whole story and the bus had already stopped and i missed my stop. that's where.
The specific humiliation of sharing your writing with someone and then watching them read it in front of you in real time. they pause. why did they pause. that was a bad pause. now they're nodding but what does the nod mean. now they look up and say "wow" and you need to know IMMEDIATELY what kind of wow that was. there are at least six different wows and only one of them is good and you have aged fourteen years waiting to find out which one.
writing tip: put words on page. hope this helps. i will not be taking questions because i have not done this
All things are dear that dissappear
~Dearest regards Pigeon-post-office
i need my novel to understand that i am just a girl
the plot is plotting but unfortunately so am i. against myself.
sometimes, the blorbo rotates you
and here, we see a writer in their natural habitat, doing daily activities, such as thinking about writing, and complaining about writing. there is no writing getting done, except when the writers have many other things to get done.
“but what if it’s bad?” babe it is bad. that’s why we’re doing arts and crafts with it
i’m not procrastinating. i’m allowing the story to ferment. like kimchi. or a crime scene
I genuinely cannot explain to a non-writer what it feels like when a chapter suddenly clicks. it's not satisfaction. it's not relief. it's this horrible specific feeling like you just remembered something you never knew. like the story was already there and you finally stopped being in the way of it. i don't know what to do with that feeling. i just close the laptop and stare at the wall for a bit.
headphones aren't enough. i need the song to stab me in the chest