Humor Me

Just the musings of a writer trapped in the wrong place, stuck in the wrong space

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

Yea, writing is weird because you can start out with this perfectly laid out plot with all these small, super significant points that you sprinkled in at all the perfect times to come full circle again at the end, but then you go to write it and everything falls apart, but kind of in a good way?

Like I just started working on my main work which is just like a summer adventure-type book and it was going great, except now all of a sudden there’s a wedding??? and I don’t really know why but I can’t move it anymore because it kind of makes sense???? like what

[buttonpoetry]

It doesn’t matter if I can remember the passage correctly, because I remember the way it made me feel.

Melissa Lozada-Oliva - “Lip/Stain/Must/Ache” (via buttonpoetry)

[amargedom]

No matter how honestly you open up to someone, there are still things you cannot reveal.

Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (via amargedom)

[onlinecounsellingcollege]

Sometimes all you can do is lie in bed and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.

William C. Hannan (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

[onlinecounsellingcollege]

One of the hardest things in life is letting go of what you thought was real.

Unknown (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

“You see,” he said, leaning in close as if to tell me a secret. “There are two types of people in this world: those who don’t do anything they don’t want to and those who make sacrifices for the sake of others.”

Looking at him, I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable, as I wondered which I might be.

“Now, don’t get the wrong idea,” he continued, interrupting my silent reflection, “Both kinds of people can be good people. Those who don’t do what they don’t want find an inner peace within that can radiate outwards and brighten the darkness. And those who sacrifice for others help nurture the cold world we live in by reminding others that they matter and that they belong.”

His eyes had begun to sparkle as he spoke, fervor and wisdom laced into each word. 

“A balance of both is, perhaps, the best way to go about life. But,” he said, raising a finger and his eyebrows simultaneously, “too much of one in a person does not do.”

He leaned back, returning to his side of the bench and crossing his arms over his chest. He let his legs straighten out as he inhaled deeply and expelled the air slowly and silently.

“You see,” he said again, just above a whisper, “they didn’t do what they did not want to and I made the sacrifices for them and their happiness. They got all they wanted and I lost myself and my friends. That is why I alone felt the pain when we parted.”

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

Eclipse

He watched as the moon faded into darkness, and never felt quite so understood.

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

Some days, you realize that it was never about him possibly being "the one." 

It wasn't about how you thought it would be if you were together- holding hands, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, singing show tunes in the car. 

No, some days, it’s about losing your best friend. And I think that hurts more than losing a lover.

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

I don't think you realize how much you've changed until you're on the floor, weeping over the person you used to be.

[kiramartinauthor]

Fun fact: no one will write your book for you

[unfocused-overwriter]

Well that’s incredibly lazy of you all - I can’t believe I have to do everything here.

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

happy birthday to me

“They never did anything for my birthday,” he whispered softly, not meeting her eyes. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’ve never looked forward to my birthday before. I never had friends close enough to really do anything for me other than be kinda nice that day.” 

She could hear his hurt in the deep sigh that escaped his lungs.

“I just thought...” his voice caught in his throat. “I mean we did something for everyone else. Dean got cake and a night at the club, Jonas got a whole hiking trip and dinner, and, hell, for Maxi, we went to a whole other country just to have his party.”

He hung his head as he shook it slowly, not realizing he was no longer whispering.

“But no,” he continued, not looking at her, “no, we were too busy for my birthday, with all the planning for the big rave the next day.”

He unclenched the fists he didn’t know he’d curled so tightly and moved his fingers through his hair as he always did.

“So, I just got a few ‘Happy Birthday’ texts and some emojis; that was it. I guess I just thought I meant a little more to ‘em than that. But I was wrong.” 

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

There will be chapters that you want to write more than other chapters. Chapters that have more meaning and more relevance. They're closer to what you really want the readers to take away from the story. So write those chapters first. Don't half-ass your way until you get to where you want it in the story. Write it when you want it and then let your story unfold in front of your eyes to link each chapter, each important piece together. It'll take several drafts and several sticky notes asking yourself why the fuck you did that, but do it anyways. You won’t regret writing the book you want to.

[wordsnstuff]

Writing Prompt

After you die, you end up in a room with a book and a pen in front of you; Your job, to write the life story of a someone just born, just as someone did for you. Everything they do, think, or experience is up to you.

Tag responses with #wordsnstuff

[sickandisgusting]

Being a writer is writing 3,000 words at 4 in the morning and then not touching your work for a month

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

Your people

That’s it, I think. 

That’s how you know you found your people, I mean. 

Your life no longer reads like a sob story. Sure, there are hiccups, but you don’t face them alone anymore. You don’t feel alone anymore. 

I think that’s all we want out of life really.

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

There is safety in the very heart of danger.

Vincent van Gogh

[innermusingsofafailedwriter]

“Do you think God gives up on us?” she asked, letting tears flow freely now, smudging her makeup.

“I’ve given up on Him plenty of times,” he answered. “But even then some part of me always hoped that He wouldn’t give up on me that one extra time.”