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@ryanurszay
I love you, he says. I want to hold this moment. I want to believe it. I want his love to have enough salt in it to float me. I don’t want to be swimming for my life. I want to trust him. I don’t trust him.
Jeanette Winterson, Frankissstein.
They never say, I love you with all my kidneys. I love you with my liver. They don’t say, my gall bladder is yours and yours alone. No one says, she broke my appendix.
Jeanette Winterson, Frankissstein.
I am a(n):
⚪ Male
⚪ Female
🔘 Writer
Looking for
⚪ Boyfriend
⚪ Girlfriend
🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember
*wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat*
WAIT IT’S CALLED A THROW PILLOW
here is a super helpful website for this kinda thing!
the first result isn’t always the one you’re looking for but when you press enter it’ll give you a ton of words related to your query that’ll probably have what you’re wanting, or something better
here’s some examples:
I love you the way an abandoned house might love a person who stumbled across it. With sheer desperation and a pinch of hope.
Saiber, 1/30
reminder to self to fucking GO WILD with any piece of writing. just. have FUN type absolute utter bs and abandon that planned-to-publish wip to work on something you like, turn the same daydream around and look at it from every angle and write it down no matter if it‘s fanfic, cliche or doesn‘t fit in any wip ALL OF THIS IS PRACTICING AND IT‘S ALSO FUN SO YOU CAN‘T DO ANYTHING WRONG HERE
Writing advice you're not going to like.
People sometimes send me Asks wanting writing advice. I suck at it. I don’t really know how I do the writing, or how one should do the writing, or what one should do to get better at the writing. All I can ever think to say is “write a lot of stuff and you will get better at the writing.” Which is true, but hardly a bolt from the sky.
Well, as it turns out, I do have one piece of Legit Writing Advice, and I am going to share it with you, right now. If you were in any of my writing workshop groups at a con, you’ve heard this advice already.
Warning: you’re going to fucking hate it. But if you do it, you will thank me.
If you have a piece of fiction you’re serious about, something you might want to actually shop around, or just something you really are into and want to make it as good as you can…do NOT edit it.
Repeat. DO NOT EDIT.
REWRITE.
As in, print out the whole fucking thing and re-enter it, every word (or use two screens). Retype the whole thing. Recreate it from the ground up using your first draft as a template. Start with a blank page and re-enter every. single. word.
I hear you screaming. OH MY GOD THAT’S INSANE.
Yes. Yes, it is.
It is also the most powerful thing you will ever do for a piece of fiction that you are serious about.
Now, let’s get real. I don’t do this for most things. I don’t do it for my fanfiction. But if it’s something original, something I might like to get to a professional level - I do it. You absolutely COULD do it for fanfiction. It’s just up to you and how much time you want to sink into a piece.
You can edit, sure. But you WILL NOT get down to the level of change that needs to happen in a second draft. You will let things slide. Your eyes will miss things. You will say “eh, good enough.”
The first time I did this, on someone else’s advice, I was dubious. Within two pages, I was saying WHY HAVE I NOT BEEN DOING THIS ALL THE TIME. I was amazed at how much change was happening. By the time I got to the end, I had an entirely different novel than the one I’d started with. When you’re already re-entering every single word, it’s easy to make deep changes. You’ll reformat sentences, you’ll switch phrases around, you’ll massage your word choice. You’ll discover whole paragraphs that don’t need to be there at all because they became redundant. You’ll find dialogue exchanges that need reimagining. Whole plot points will suddenly be different, whole story arcs will reveal their flaws and get re-drawn.
You cannot get down to the fundamental level of change that’s required just by editing an existing document. You have to rebuild it if you really want your story to evolve. You will be AMAZED at the difference it will make.
It will take time. It will seem like a huge, Herculean task. I’m not saying it’s easy. It isn’t. But it is absolutely revolutionary.
Try it. I promise, you will see what I mean.
*PSA: Tipsy!Lori wrote this post. In case you couldn’t tell.
maybe i should try this with my comic scripts.
This advice is real.
I reblogged this earlier on kind of a “that sounds interesting. might work, might not, can’t see it being drastically different but whatever I should try.” kind of note
I’ve got a short story due today at 5, so I decided to do this and completely rewrite the first draft.
OH. MY GOD.
This is legitimate. It’s let me completely gut scenes I was unhappy with, rewrite them entirely differently and not feel any loyalty to what I used to have.
It’s taking a long time. It’s a commitment. But heck so is writing.
This is great. Do this. It’s amazing.
I may just try this…… on I day when I have some self discipline.
Some of the best writing advice I ever got was if you’re stuck on a scene or a line, the problem is actually about 10 lines back and that’s saved me from writer’s block so many times.
I feel like I need an elaborate explanation
Often times, I find myself stuck on what a character should say next or what should happen in a scene to connect A to B or so on. When this happens, I fall into the trap of writing and rewriting the same few lines over and over, and becoming more and more dissatisfied every time until I give up.
But problem is almost never actually whatever line I’m trying to write at the moment; the issue is the stuff leading up to the line. Maybe there are structural issues with the set up, maybe I wrote a bit of dialogue that was out of character leading to a discussion that doesn’t make sense, maybe I’m missing a vital piece of exposition or expositing too much. It could be a lot of things, but the important part of the advice is to look back and be willing to consider changes to something earlier in the work (even if you’re really attached to like a piece of dialogue or a particular sentence or something) instead of trying to find a way to force out a scene that’s not working.
That makes a lot of sense. Thanks for explaining!
This is really helpful!
Woah! I never thought about that! Thanks!
hey! i made a patreon!
Drabble List #2
New drabble prompt list! Feel free to reblog!
“That’s how the story goes.”
“None of this is your fault.”
“I know it hurts.”
“Are you serious?”
“You’re safe now.”
“No one’s going to hurt you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This isn’t what I wanted.”
“My head hurts.”
“I’m right here, okay?”
“Wow, you look… amazing.”
“Are you okay?”
“Who did this?”
“I made a mistake.”
“When I’m with you, I’m home.”
“There’s nothing I can do anymore.”
“This is going to hurt.”
“That was kind of hot.”
“Please don’t let me be alone.”
“Don’t try to fix me. I’m not broken.”
“It’s never too late to get back up again.”
“What if one day I wake up and you don’t?”
“I immediately regret this decision.”
“I’m not okay.”
“I’m scared.”
“You’re the one thing keeping me sane right now.”
“Please stay with me.”
“Please help me.”
“It’s okay to cry.”
“Is that blood?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“You’re everything to me.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Are you testing me?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re beautiful.”
“I’m lost without you.”
“You have my word.”
“I’m just tired.”
“It just… hurts.”
“Do you promise?”
“I’m not drunk enough for this.”
“Why are you shaking?”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“Is that my shirt?”
“Please don’t shut me out.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“I can take care of myself just fine.”
“This is new.”
“Take off your shirt.”
“Be you. No one else can.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“Are you going to talk to me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“They’re gone.”
“Just smile. I really need you to smile right now.”
“Would you just hold still?”
“I miss the way things used to be.”
“Am I dead?”
“Look at me.”
“Can we just pretend like we’re normal for once?”
“I told you not to fall in love with me.”
“Please shut up. Just shut up.”
“Please tell me it’s going to be okay.”
“Yell, scream, cry, please, just say something, anything.”
“When you smile, I fall apart.”
“If I die, I’m never speaking to you again.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
“I just really miss talking to you.”
“I can’t do this on my own.”
“I’ve got you.”
“We’ll figure this out.”
“Please don’t say goodbye.”
“You’ve shown me what love can feel like.”
“You make me feel alive.”
“I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”
“There is nothing wrong with you.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“Be careful.”
“You owe me.”
“Come with me.”
“I trust you.”
“I didn’t want you to see this.”
“I’ve been praying for you.”
“Take my jacket. It’s cold outside.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
“Let me help.”
“Come here.”
“You’re holding back.”
“Remember when we were little?”
“We’re all a little stronger than we think we are.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
“This isn’t who I am.”
“I’m willing to wait for it.”
“Are you ready for this?”
“You can do this.”
“Your life was my life’s best part.”
“You were always gold to me.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m fine with where I am now.”
“We all want to be somebody.”
“Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I don’t know anyone else who can make me feel this way.”
“I’ve never felt stronger than when you’re with me.”
“I believe in you.”
“Nope,” I whisper as I exit out of a fic with no paragraph breaks.
No excuses, folks! Change paragraphs when:
- the “camera” moves - a new character shows up - someone speaks - someone else speaks - a new idea, subject, or topic is introduced - time passes or reverts to an earlier point - the setting changes - the mood shifts - you want to create dramatic effect
this is so so so more reader friendly, people, heed it!
Don’t let anyone tell you that writing is easy.
People oftentimes think that anyone can be a good writer because it’s just words. People might devalue writing and say that you should be doing something better and more lucrative with your time.
Writing takes effort, writing takes skill, writing takes discipline and writing takes practice.
It’s staying up until 6 in the morning because you want to get all of your thoughts down before you forget them. It’s tearing your hair out because you’re stuck, and you don’t know how to continue on. It’s rereading your writing and hating the words you’ve written because they sound so stilted and boring.
Writers, what you are doing now is an impressive thing. You’re attempting to create an entire world from scratch, create compelling characters that will capture the hearts of readers, trying to explain that brilliant scene in words when you can visualize it so clearly in your mind.
It can be a really difficult and daunting task, but you’re doing it and you’re doing it well. It’s not worthless, it’s not meaningless, and it has a lot of value.
Writing is the joy of your characters coming to life. It’s the rush that you get when you finally get to that one scene you’ve been dying to write. It’s feeling like you want to cry when someone tells you that they loved what you wrote. It’s that sense of accomplishment you get when you can look back at what you’ve written and say “wow… I actually did this.” It’s the sense of fulfillment you get when you’ve had a productive day. It’s those long days of just thinking about how your story is going to surprise you, and planning ahead 20 novels in advance because you love your writing and your story. It’s the joy of creating, the fruits of your labor, and the excitement of sharing it with other people who will love it just as much as you do.
Nothing will ever take that away from you. Let yourself be proud of being a writer. Give yourself a pat on your back and say “Hey you know what? I love writing, and I’m doing great.” Because you are. You’re doing something really hard, and you’re doing it well.
Writing is an art that can touch people’s hearts, and if that’s not magical I don’t know what is.
imo the best way to interpret those “real people don’t do x” writing advice posts is “most people don’t do x, so if a character does x, it should be a distinguishing trait.” human behavior is infinitely varied; for any x, there are real people who do x. we can’t make absolute statements. we can, however, make probabilistic ones.
for example, most people don’t address each other by name in the middle of a casual conversation. if all your characters do that, your dialogue will sound stilted and unnatural. but if just one character does that, then it tells us something about that character.
when im published and there are rp blogs for my muses if i see anyone draw ‘their interpretation of mystral’ as wearing pastel purples and blues and im gonna find a way to unpublish my book
same goes for goth punk ryan i swear to god
rhys barany came to school every day in pink. he had ‘girls support girls’ t-shirts under playboy hoodies, and he drew doodles of hearts or stars or anything else he could think of on his cheekbones before school every morning. he road the bus with his cousin slash best friend every morning and teased her the whole way to school about how he would piglet due to his pink if she was pooh bear due to her yellow. he’d make comments about how since piglet is so much smaller she should carry him, and everyone who saw them assumed he was her older brother, when he was actually four months younger and a cousin.
rhys barany was a boy with hair like a black sheep’s coat. unkept and slightly dirty due to the assumption that it was harder to tell in black hair, but the curls still like cotton candy clouds in the occurrence that he stepped away from teenage boy sterotypes and washed it. that and how he talked to those he was comfortable with were the only teenage boy sterotypes he followed, though, always quiet and never looking to make new friends because jane was enough for him.
rhys barany played the trumpet in his band class and faded in with the rest of the students. he ate lunch with his cousin while he went unnoticed another day in his life without feeling a reason to be upset about that. the first person he really talked to other than jane was a boy he met during his second year of high school in his cousin’s hospital room. it was a junior boy he grew to trust and find attractive a little too fast before he invited him over to house to do more than just talk trumpets and drums.
jane ainsley comes to school every day without her cousin at her side. she sits at lunch without wanting to ever use her voice again, and a boy with flower drawn on his arms sits across from her. a boy who put her into the hospital and was the reason she would never see her cousin and best friend again. he offers her a flower crown that he made, and she chokes on her own grief, unable to deny the gift as he puts it on her books to take with her.
February 12th, 2013.
It happens over breakfast.
They are eating sugared crepes at Aaron’s dad’s house. Erin’s eating hers with powdered sugar while they talk about her next college, “Aaron’s doing anesthesia, assuming he didn’t tell you. I’m gonna be doing geology, which I’ve always wanted to do.” She beams as she talks, but she can’t see it. It’s almost funny when Aaron notices it: she always puts him first, not from admiration or anything of the like, but rather her competitiveness.
Aaron’s got a smile on his face, but he’s silent to keep Erin from knowing. “Last I heard, Aaron was done with school.” His dad says, giving a look to his son in hopes of getting an explanation. When he notices the smile across his face, his dad raises eyebrows in curiosity.
Aaron taps his ring finger, and it clicks together in his dad’s head of why he was so happy. Erin scoffs at their silence, though. “Yeah, he’s the worst. I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you.” The two boys at the table with her snicker and her confusion becomes apparent. “What did you do?” She directly only towards Aaron, with accusation painfully clear in her words.
“I did nothing.” He states honestly. He hadn’t yet done anything -- that much was true. Yet, she still kicks him under the table in hope of getting the ‘true’ answer. “Stop that, I really did nothing!” He tells her, all while kicking her back. The two of them are smiling in a way sweet enough to make Aaron’s dad’s heart melt, and the kicking turns more to a game of footsy than anything else.
“He really didn’t do anything yet, sweetheart.” His dad says, before he gets up from his seat at the table. “Aaron, why don’t you take your girlfriend out to the yacht? The weathers perfect today for that.” He suggests as he pushes in the chair, picking up his plate.
Erin whines at the comment, “I’m not his girlfriend!” Her voice jumps an octive when she says it, though, and everyone knows that, while they weren’t official, that she was. Even she knew that.
“Dee doesn’t actually like yachts very much anymore.” Aaron explains with a complete disregard to Erin’s whining. He gets up too, though, pushing in his chair and giving his own plate he ate the breakfast snack off of to his dad. “I do want to ask her something first, though.” He comments as she gets up, and it makes her entire face twist with distrust.
“You are such a creep.” She mutters as she does the same as the other two did.
Once she’s standing, Aaron begins to talk. “For as insufferable as you are, Dee, I rather believe that you are something spectacular.” He tells her, a smile filled with more pride than love and awe across his face for her to hear. The words don’t quite feel natural to say, and they don’t sound natural either. It didn’t quite fit who they were as friends: and Erin is sure to point that out.
“Ew, stop it. You obviously did something: what did you do?”
Aaron laughs, and so does his dad as he gently sets the plates back down on the table as he watches the two love birds. “I didn’t do anything.” Aaron reassures, but she huffs. When she goes to say something, he interrupts so he can continue with why he was saying these things. “Maybe I don’t quite think of you of spectacular, just more tolerable than most people. In fact,” He pauses, and Erin only has the soft sound of his movement to tell that he had gotten down to one knee.
“What are you--”
“I’m talking.” He interrupts again, before she can even ask what he was doing. “As I was saying, I think that I could tolerate you for an eternity if I was asked too.”
Erin scoffs, “I don’t know if I could.” She claims as she brings her arms to a cross. She doesn’t put together why the word eternity would be said while he was down on the ground. Aaron wasn’t even her boyfriend, technically, so she couldn’t even begin to come up with guesses of anything. “You are an irritating, flamboyant, posh creep who--”
Aaron scoffs, “Talking.” He tells her again, and once he has her attention: “I’ll let you keep your last name if you say yes.”
“Keep my last name? What are you--” Suddenly it all clicks in her head: the snickering, the oddly nice comment, the way he was down on the ground. The mention of eternity; the mention of last names. It all made since under once specific context: Aaron was proposing to her. Her best friend since Oxford was proposing to her. “God, you’re such a creep!” She exclaims, “I hate you!”
As soon as she cuts off her question of what he was talking about, he was getting up off of one knee. He knew he needed to get up in order for her to do what she wanted to react properly. After all, her exclamation of hatred in her high pitched voice was enough of an answer for him: “You can kiss me now, since you want too.”
She puts her hands out to find where he stands, and when she finds him, she yanks him closer to him with a force that’s almost enough to make him stumble. She presses her lips against his, and she knows that she is grossly enamored with him. Especially when the kiss ends and he says something in a voice quiet enough, it was like he didn’t want his dad to hear. “My mom wouldn’t leave me alone until I ask.”
There’s a smile spread across her face as her mind already envisions signing the papers in court with both of their own names. The idea of married without shared last names or a ring was something that owned her heart in this moment: no matter how hard it would be for most people to understand. Still, she acts as if that wasn’t the case. “I’m only saying yes because my parents would kill me if I didn’t agree to tax benefits.”
It’s the most painfully clear lie she could have said, but then again, so was his.
FILE: RICE, EMME.
i listened to a poem in which the line of ‘there is a certain high to hating yourself’ appears. today, my mother also reminded me how everyone in my family wanted me to be aborted prior to me being born.
’prior to me being born’ may seem redundant next to the word ‘aborted’ however the whole time my mom kept repeating about how i have no reason to think she hates me since she was the only one that wanted me i kept thinking about how much i wished euthanasia was an over the counter drug. i wanted to stop feeling this way the whole time; wanted to feel less sad because then she’d never had a reason to bring up her proof to how she loves me. but at the same time i wanted to hate myself just a tad bit more so i could go back inside my grandmother’s house and search for anything that could kill me and finally do it.
i want to say that line is wrong, that hating yourself is a feeling that you want to carve out no matter the blood or gore that it could cause or even if you wouldn’t be able to survive it. though, when i was in tenth grade, i had panic attacks on the bus and in social studies class because i genuinely believed that if i didn’t kill myself already then my sister would be murdered. when i was in tenth grade, i hated myself more and more every day because i didn’t hate myself enough to end it all and save my sister, always wanting to hate myself more. i remember praying in the hall way mid panic attack to a god i do not believe in that i would be able to find a painless way to kill myself when i got home.
sometimes, i get offered drugs. they hide the idea of drugs from my sister, who i am blessed to be able to say that she is still alive despite me never hating myself enough to save her, but still offer me drugs. i say maybe, but every time the moment comes close i turn it down, having no desire for a high.
maybe there is a high to hating yourself like that poetry said. it’s a high that nobody wants until it’s already in our lungs making us feel as though we can’t breathe, and when we realize we can still breathe just enough to survive, we want more and more inside of our lungs.
