Aspey

writerblr of autisticmoonchild.

[pens-swords-stuff]

You don’t need to write something profound and meaningful.

While it’s really nice to eat a fancy five course meal once every so often, comfortable and delicious homemade meals, greasy fast food, some takeout from your favorite casual restaurant, some really good frozen meals… Those are all important too.

Your WIP might be the equivalent of eating a frozen pizza at 2AM, and you know what? That’s important! The pizza that I eat at 2AM is not only the most delicious pizza ever, it’s also exactly what I need. I love that pizza. I want to eat that pizza at 2AM.

Sometimes we need something familiar, comforting and indulgent. Sometimes we need something fancy and intricate. Sometimes we need something healthy and easy to digest.

So write whatever you want! There’s room for all kinds of meals and stories.

[ren-c-leyn]

You, writer, yes you, you have the capability to write someone’s new favorite story, and don’t let your goblin brain tell you otherwise. Keep going, that person/those people are probably wandering bookstores as we speak with blank expressions because they can’t find your story yet.

[universeinapen]

Writing 500 words a day doesn’t make you any less of a writer than someone who write 5000 a day. Writing 100 words a day doesn’t make you less of a writer either. Being inconsistent with your writing doesn’t change your writing worth. If you write then you’re a writer. That’s that. You’re valid

[onlywherethemidgetgoes]

how to play a character. a poem.

She, my college drama tutor Asked me to write from research Not from memory Because my poetry was too personal That I had to play a character I didn’t tell her That I am always playing a character

That I mask my anxiety By worrying about the love of a couple I barely even know So I search their Instagram at 2am For a sign they are okay

That I mask my PTSD By listening to the voice of my favourite actor To hide the worry about my father Even though he’s only been gone for 30 minutes

That I mask my depression By staying up until midnight Eating orange smarties and thinking about faraway friends And reading Sylvia Plath

That I mask my eating disorder By eating Only The orange smarties

That I mask my autism By laughing and crying And smiling and breathing

Inside my body An old dusty church A thousand souls run wild I mask the fact that I have always fallen in love But never been loved in return I never mask my sexuality Because I blush at any woman that smiles at me

You see I can’t write from research I can only write from memory Because the day I stop writing from memory Is the day I stop writing at all

- P.W.Gates (2020)

[awrldalone]

some things we should start romanticising

bike rides, especially when listening to music. the wind in your hair, the songs in your ears, every sound being quiet and living in your own bubble of lyrics. (edit: in some countries this is illegal and it can be dangerous - i had not thought of that and i apologise)

sitting in a bus. you’re going back home, maybe you’re reading a book or just looking outside of the foggy glass.

making tea. warming up the water, bringing it to a simmer and closing the gas, pouring it into a ceramic mug, the perfume of tea leaves: it’s a ritual.

buying a new book. walking in a book store, reading the first page of a book that sounds interesting, choosing a book because of its cover, never having heard of that book.

reading the last page of a book. that one doctor who episode where the doctor says he rips the last page of each book he reads, reading the last line and feeling like all the air in your lungs is gone.

that one specific moment when you are coming back from a party and you’re walking the few last steps before getting home. 

writing your name on a new notebook. scribbling messy letters or trying hard to make it look pretty.

tying shoe laces. where are you even going?

picking a flower. getting off the road and into a patch of grass just to pick a yellow wild flower, pressing it in a book, or putting it in a glass of water.

finally getting to bed. the cold bedsheets, closing your burning eyes, the small sounds of the city.

-c. 23.07.20 6.15pm

[daweyt]

If you feel like you’ve seen this alread, that’s normal. This list of recommendation has been previously posted on my first account @praestantias which has been deleted for some reasons. So here I am, reposting it. 

Hating how elitist and eurocentric the dark academia community became, I would truly appreciate that you leave some recommendation of book written by people of color, for I noticed that I am guilty of the eurocentric part, but I am really want to educate myself and read more non-white books. 

Thank you for your suggestions!

[centuriespast]

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1797–1851), Frankenstein, manuscript, MS. Abinger c.56, fols. 20v – 21r, 1816 – 1817. The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford.

[thatsbelievable]

[onlywherethemidgetgoes]

a letter to her (to louise). a poem.

There were so many things I wanted to tell you But instead I came out With the same cliché line I kinda have feelings for you

Yes, I won’t lie I have feelings for you These feelings that frighten me Like monsters that live under my bed These feelings That I tried so hard to stop Turning into love.

I’ve always believed That love is a strong word I am not strong like that trauma Is supposed to make me Believe me when I tell you That I love everything about you

I dream No, I dreamt about you I dreamt about being with you The mornings, the evenings, the nights The sunlight, the moonlight on your skin Catching your laugh in a jar with fairy lights Photographing your smile in my mind

You were the first girl I was proud to tell I crushed on The first girl I told my mother about You made me unafraid And you didn’t even know it

I took your polite rejection And cried over your kindness Rather than the pain at the loss Of not being your lover Of not being the woman in your bed Of realising that you will love someone That isn’t me

One last confession There is always going to be A part of me That will be attracted To you and your person And personality And I know it’s wrong of me But No other girl will ever match up For the love I have for you.

- P.W.Gates (2020)

[prokopetz]

Them: “Forget about that long-winded, pretentious bullshit – just have fun and write whatever is in your heart!”

Me: “Okay.”

Me: *writes long-winded, pretentious bullshit*

[onlywherethemidgetgoes]

every year upon her birthday. a poem.

Today would have been my Nana’s 87th birthday. There isn't a day that doesn't go by that I wish I could tell her all the things thats been happening. I hope that she’d be proud.

Every year upon her birthday I realise that I’m remembering less and less Little fragments about her My Father’s mother She slowly is becoming Less Nana More Maureen

Sometimes I remember Her laughter How she used to smell Of imperial leather soap And sometimes I even remember How she used to smile

Every year upon her birthday I shed a tear less and less Not that I see that as bad thing More that the pain isn’t so In my face like it used to be I don’t carry the tissues So much anymore

I don’t feel the need To write to her Like I’m running out of time I don’t light the candle With the intention Of her memory Because I know That without trying She is always around

Every year upon her birthday I see the flowers I smell them without being close I think of all things I’d like to tell her And I whisper them to the sky Less Happy Birthday Nana More Happy Birthday Maureen

I miss you more each year

- P.W.Gates (2020)

[moonlit-sunflower-books]

Write It Down

Every time you start a wip, or even if you’re halfway through one, keep a notebook or a doc where you write all of your ideas. And I mean all.

Whether it’s a writing prompt that you want to use, character ideas, dialogue prompts, moodboards that remind you of your wip, songs that remind you of your wip, a doodle you draw of a character idea, or a random plot twist that you think of while you are in the grocery store.

WRITE. IT. DOWN.

I cannot stress this enough. Keep a record of everything related to your wip and note every thought you have down in that notebook. Take it everywhere with you.

Notice the way a stranger talks and the way their lips move, see how it reminds you of your oc and jot it down.

See that flower? That looks like something that could exist in your fantasy world. Sketch it or photograph it, then print it and stick it in the journal.

Watch the way that the old man at the corner gets crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, and remember that you want your ocs to do the same. Write that down.

Hear a snippet of a conversation that could be a prompt for a scene you were stuck on? Scribble it on the corner of one of your pages.

Take pictures of places that remind of places in your story, and try to think of what colours in the world around you would exist in your fictional world.

See the half-finished cup of coffee on the table next to you - that half-finished cup of coffee could have a story. Maybe someone was kidnapped while drinking it, or maybe they had to go somewhere in a hurry - maybe they didn’t like the drink and left it. What could happen because of that? Does something similar happen in your story?

Write. It. Down.

Notice things Observe them. And keep a journal full of observances from your daily life and how they remind you of your wip. Go back to it whenever you get writer’s block, and go back to it when you’re unmotivated to write. Remind yourself why you love your story and your characters and make them more real by connecting them to your life. Keep track of every idea you have so that when you sit at your keyboard, you’re never once lost.

Trust me. Have a notebook dedicated to writing. It will help you endlessly.

[onlywherethemidgetgoes]

page 259 (after hazel hayes) a poem. by P.W. Gates (2020)

[deadpoetwilde]

i think as a society we should bring back fancy dinner parties where you listen to classical music and discuss the shakespearean sonnets and the romantics & philosophical debates held by literary societies full of dedicated students who are passionate about critical theory and aestheticism & poetry readings in jazz cafés that last well into the night and leave you with a sense of having shared an intimate experience with strangers because all of you have felt the same words echo in your soul

[999squidsss]

*zooms out of word document to admire my paragraphs*

[weltonboys]

must i proofread my writing? is it not enough to unleash it on the public, sexy and unedited?

[utwo]

‘You can never get a cup of tea large enough

or a book long enough to suit me. ‘  C.S. Lewis

© Frances