Shadow Ghoul

[formerlyluckymanticore]

Reblog if you will never. Ever. Use AI in your writing.

[chaos-ducks]

Absolutely never.

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

clutching at the straws and the needle in the haystack that broke my camel's back

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

but they keep slipping through my sticky fingers while i'm hanging on by a thread through the needle and eggshells I'm on alongside the angels dancing on my pin's head

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

can't put my finger on the trigger cause my sore thumb's sticking out by a mile so i crack my knuckles and a smile

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

built my castle and buried my head in the sand where i drew a line but still stand on my own two feet while the fine grains of time drip slowly to the bottom of the glass where i drowned my sorrows and drained my tomorrow

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

as the stopped clock that was right twice a day set itself back and attacked, punched in and punched out, raced against and to kill and unwind time a ticking bombs away looking for somewhere to drop or a rhyme or reason to call an open season when time flies by a long shot and we're all just sitting ducks in the muck so aim the magic bullet to bite while you set your sights on the future you kept at bay while stalking your old hunting grounds for the sound of a bell tolling out a name that you claim would be as sweet as a rose that's a fresh as the bed of thorns that you've made and you're lying upon now lay yourself to sleep in the sweet-smelling grave that you dug for yourself be careful not to cut yourself on the final nail in the coffin that you're driving home to the end of this tale *INHALE*

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

so that's all i have to say but why didn't you bail back when you had the chance that's so beyond the pale story's done but hon now that you mention it hey that brings me back we've come right around to the hay bale, that's right the straw that bro—***SHOTGUN SOUNDS***

[xyywrites]

Avoiding the “Mary Sue” trap while creating characters.

A “Mary Sue” is that charact. Perfect; bends the story to their will, faces no meaningful struggles, and often feels too idealized to be relatable. The thing I like most is when an author makes a character, a situation, a scene, realistic. I like heavy realism in my books. I know we read to escape reality, but there's a way to do that.

1. Give Them Flaws Not the checklist kind. Not "clumsy" or "bad at math" unless that genuinely bleeds into who they are and how they move through the world. I mean the kind of flaws that crack open relationships. That drive certain choices. That make you want to shake them. Flaws should cost them something. Otherwise, they’re decoration.

2. Let Them Fail Failure is the most human thing. It brings shame, doubt, growth, all the stuff that makes a character feel alive. Let them try, and stumble. Let them mess up something important. Let them hurt people and not know how to fix it. Failure opens narrative doors that perfection just slams shut.

3. Don’t Make Everyone Love Them If every side character is just there to admire your MC, you’re not writing a story—you’re writing propaganda. Let people mistrust them. Let some hate them. Not everyone sees the same version of a person. Maybe someone sees behind their act, maybe someone’s immune to their charm. That gives perspective.

4. Make Their Skills Believable A skill with no backstory is just plot armor. If they're good at something, show why. Time. Training. Failure. Maybe they’re not even the best—just someone who works harder than they should have to. That’s infinitely more compelling than someone who just is talented for no reason.

5. Avoid Overloading Them With Traits They don’t need to be smart, funny, hot, tragic, a prodigy, a rebel, and an empath who bakes when sad. Choose what matters. Strip it down to the few traits that define them, the ones they carry into every scene. Complexity is about layers, not a pile of labels.

6. Give Them Internal Conflict We all contradict ourselves. That’s the beauty of it. Your character should wrestle with decisions. Regret them. Say one thing and feel another. Inner conflict is what separates a walking trope from a person we believe in.

7. Let the Plot Push Back The world shouldn’t bend for your character. The plot should push them, break them, make them bleed for the win. Their goals should cost something. The story isn’t just their playground—it’s the pressure cooker where they get tested. If they’re never cornered, what’s the point?

8. Ensure They Don’t Eclipse the Entire Cast Other characters are not props. Give them wants, voices, limits. They don’t exist to spotlight the protagonist—they exist to breathe life into the story. And your MC is more interesting when they’re surrounded by people who push them, contradict them, challenge them.

9. Avoid Unrealistic Morality Nobody’s always right. And honestly, it’s annoying when they are. Let them justify things that aren’t justifiable. Let them fail to see another perspective. Let them believe they’re in the right—until they’re not. Give them a compass that doesn’t always point true north.

10. Make Them Struggle to Earn Trust Trust is a slow build. People remember hurt. They hesitate. Let your MC do the work—prove themselves, fail, rebuild. Trust earned over time is more satisfying than instant loyalty that comes out of nowhere.

I hate perfect characters. Especially when it’s pretend perfection. Like what do you mean he has abs when he has no time to workout? Like what do you mean she is so put together all the time? In this economy?

let's write something raw, something realistic.

[shadowghoul9719]

It's funny living with a significant other because I get to watch my BF learn how when in residence with a BookWyrm books seem to simply appear out of nowhere

[sunnydwrites]

Warm-Ups for Writers

I discovered a little while ago, trying to launch back into my writing, that the words just wouldn’t flow. It had been a while since I’d written in this project, and even though I had read the previous chapter to catch up and reviewed my outline, something was missing. 

A warm-up is extremely important for writers because it gets the words flowing again before they have to mean anything.

Here is a quick list of warm-ups for writers to use!

Write a short scene (3-4 paragraphs) using only visual description. No sounds, no smells, no touches, only what you see is happening.

Write a short scene like the exercise above using any of the other senses. (Also a great way to practice writing imagery!)

Put your favorite playlist on shuffle and write a bit of flash fiction based on the first three songs that pop up. (Use the duration of these songs as well, so you don’t get too caught up.)

Introduce a new character from the PoV of three different characters.

Write a one-page letter from one character to another, from yourself to a character, etc.

Set a timer for 10 minutes and write a story from a single sentence prompt. (Here’s a website of 99 to start you off.)

Write a monologue from any antagonist describing their plans, motivations, etc.

Create the most ridiculous character you can think of.

Write an interview of your characters reacting to what just happened in your story.

Write a quick AU about how different the story would be if one decision was different.

Create a character from a song.

Imagine your favorite character from your story acting in your favorite movie or TV show.

Write a short scene in three different emotions of your choice.

Imagine three of your characters living in the real world and build a little bit of life within this universe. Think of jobs, favorite food, favorite music genre, dream vacation, etc.

Re-write a short scene (that already exists) but now, it takes place within and follows a specific decade aesthetic.

These are some of the ones that I’ve done before that have worked for me! I have two big pieces of advice when it comes to warm-ups:

Try not to let yourself get caught up in the warm-up. Anything longer than 15 minutes is likely a little superfluous.

Once a warm-up is done, let it be. Don’t edit it or try to build off of it for another warm-up; you want these ideas and words to be new ones every time.

And that’s it! Happy writing!

[justgottafinishthischapter]

Writing Romance: Courting

Prior to the 20th century, most couples engaged in courting politics to find their partners, and there were a lot of rules about how to properly court your intended partner. So I figured I’d put out a guide to proper romancing etiquette for those setting their stories in more antiquated settings. But a lot of these courtship practices don’t work as well for same-sex relationships. So, I’ll go through some of the rules for courtship that apply to any story that wants to use courting romances, then I’ll explore ways this could work for a queer couple.

Gender Dynamics in Queer Courtships

Gender is a HUGE aspect of courtship, as the expectations of men and women were starkly different. This leaves queer couples with two choices: either conform to the gender roles, or make the roles more generalized that both parties are expected to uphold. Whichever route you take, be consistent. Not just with queer couples but heterosexual ones as well. If a lesbian barmaid can chase skirts, why can’t a heterosexual seamstress chase chaps?

If you choose to lean into gender roles and active vs passive roles in courtship, I believe it is best to leave it that the one of higher social status takes on the role of the female, as it would be uncouth for a Duke to be chasing lowly Viscounts. Those looking for a higher status husband should be the one working to win the Duke’s affections. While one could argue that the one of higher status should be the active pursuer, the thought of a queen chasing skirts simply fails to capture the regal dignity of the position when we think on it. It seems more in line with the properness and decorum of the era to have the elite have the suitors come to them.

Even if you do away with the gender roles in favor of gender equality in relationships, social status and rank would still be enough to impact the active vs passive roles. A prince looking for a spouse will always be more passive, while his knights, dukes, and counts vie for his affections. Meanwhile, a lowly Baron will almost always be in pursuit of a match. This follows the Order of Precedence, a real life rule of etiquette  that states that those of lower status are the ones introduced to someone of higher status. So before a Baron can speak freely with a Prince, someone must introduce the Baron to the Prince and never the other way around. If the Baron is being introduced to a group, they will be introduced in ascending order of rank. The Baron will first be introduced to the Count, then the Duke, and then the Prince. This is why in many court scenes, someone will introduce a character to the king before they speak to one another.

But what if they’re of equal status? What happens when a prince is seeking another prince to be his husband? While they have equal titles, a prince of a tiny, less powerful kingdom is more likely be the pursuer to the prince of a bigger, wealthier kingdom. Likewise, in a relationship between two Dukes, the one who is higher in the line of succession to the crown would be the one to be pursued by the one lower down the line of succession. TL;DR: Whoever has the bigger house is the one getting pursued by suitors.

Presenting at Court

When a young gentleman or lady had come of courting and marrying age, their parents would petition to have them present at court, though people could also be recommended by other nobility. This was an effective way for some to social climb, being recommended by someone of much higher status and impeccable reputation can skyrocket their child into an advantageous position. These events would be held at the palace multiple times per year, and were invite only. The Lord Chamberlain was in charge of going over the guest list with the utmost scrutiny, and nobody would be permitted who did not have a pristine and stainless record.

Men of good social standing would present at court at formal events called Levées. They would present before the King or Prince. In the event that there were two queens or otherwise no living males of the royal family, they might present before the highest ranking male in the line of succession, or otherwise just present before the Queen. In the Victorian Era, men wore buckled shoes and swords to both a Levée and a Presentation. They had to wear either court dress or a uniform. So, if he was a soldier, he might present at court wearing his finest military dress uniform.

Presenting at court for girls were much less imaginative, only being called a Presentation. They were expected to drag long trains behind them, to bow and address the queen flawlessly, and then leave the room without fumbling over her dress or shoes. Like with the Levées for the gentlemen, these events would be held multiple times per year, and multiple girls would present on the same day, meaning that all of the girls would be compared. The better she performs, the more desirable she will be. Some men might be charmed by a little clumsiness, but it was generally seen as extremely important for a girl to make a great first impression on the court as a lady of courting and marrying age. This is also why the presentation itself is rather short. There’s a lot of girls to get through, and the queen’s a busy lady.

Someone who was already of marrying age but marries into higher status would be expected to present at court after the wedding. As a king and queen had the power to bestow titles on people at their leisure, it was not impossible for an older married woman to be made a high enough status to make her formal debut at court, and older women had different expectations when making their debut, such as styling themselves differently, and wearing different colors. Thus if, for example, a lowly washer woman saved a nobleman’s son from drowning, she might be rewarded by being recommended for a title like Lady or Baroness and being allowed to present at court. Regardless of age, the presentation mostly serves as an introduction of a new face at court to the rest of high society.

The Rules for Men

Men were encouraged not to flirt with everyone they found attractive, as being too friendly might earn them a reputation that hurts their social image. Guidelines to courtship from the Victorian Era makes it clear to young men that not every girl will be interested in his pursuit of her, and that he should take a lack of positive response to any advances as his cue to move on, lest he embarrass himself or his family.

Never allow a woman to be uncertain of your feelings and intentions. Women were permitted some leeway with acting coy, but for a man to toy with a woman’s affections was seen as improper. Once a man is aware a woman mistakes his attention for affection, he is to quickly, yet politely, lay bare his true feelings. In a similar vein, a man should never make any declaration in jest, whether expressing love or proposing marriage, any attempt to make such grand declarations as a jest does grave disservice to the woman, and will earn him great dissent and contempt from those of good breeding and high social standing. This second rule also extends to the fairer sex, and is just universally sound advice when navigating romantic entanglements.

A man must put out his cigar in the company of women, which also meant that if a woman approaches him to engage him in conversation, he must discard it, regardless of how expensive it was.

When greeting a woman in public, a man should tip his cap in a polite manner, though if she stops to talk to him, she will extend her hand to him. In this case, he must remove his hat with the hand farthest from her, and take her extended hand with the one closest to her. If they are well acquainted, he might bestow the back of her hand with a quick kiss before letting go of her hand. He would then be expected to walk with her as they converse. If he has somewhere to be or the conversation has reached a natural ending, he should politely excuse himself, and wait for her to say her farewells before he leaves her company. If he simply cannot stop to talk, he should make his urgency clear, and apologize before carrying on, still being sure to tip his hat in a show of politeness.

The Rules for Women

Accepting gifts from a suitor is dangerous. If a suitor brings you a gift and you accept it, it indicates that you are interested in their advances. Being too accepting can also cause a man to continue to shower you with gifts, which could be seen as greedy. If disinterested in the suitor, it is advised to decline his gift. However, it’s best to try and decline his gift in a courteous manner, as a calous decline will earn you a reputation for a foul temperament, which may discourage other suitors.

An unmarried woman should never be outside alone. She should always be in the company of a companion, chaperone, parent, or legal guardian. This is a means of protecting women from being set upon by unscrupulous men.

Even while courting one another, an unmarried woman should never be alone in the company of a man outside of her immediate family. This usually meant that any sort of date the pair might go on will always be supervised from afar by a parent or chaperone, such as a lady-in-waiting or a governess. The young couple would usually be left some leeway to conversate privately, so long as they were within clear eyesight of the woman’s caretakers, and close enough for them to step in should the man act dishonorably toward her.

A man will come to call upon a woman he is interested in pursuing, meaning that he will come to her house in order to pitch woo or charm her. This is to ensure she is in the safety and protection of her family, so as to prevent her from being done ill by the man where her family cannot protect her. As such, a woman would never call upon a man or go to his residence. In a queer relationship, this is simply swapped to the one of lower status coming to the house of the one of higher status. Although, due to the role of status, the suitor will require an invitation (either specific or open) to come a-courting on the object of their affections.

Women would often have a dance card which indicated who she intended to dance with at an upcoming ball. She’d save a dance for the host, and likely also her suitor. Any special guest of the ball would likely also be afforded a dance. If she has multiple suitors, she would be expected to dance with all of them, and not to spend her entire evening doting on only one of them. It was also seen as improper for her to dance too often with the same partner, regardless of whether she was looking for a spouse or not. If she was the guest of honor, it might be expected for her to share more than one dance with the host, possibly sharing the first and/or last dance with him to start or close out the night. Sometimes at dances, the guests would know the music selection and dances ahead of time, and women would have the music or dances on their dance cards. While I don’t know if it was done historically, I don’t think it would be too unorthodox for a man to write a woman ahead of a ball (assuming he’s familiar enough for such audacity) and request that she save a specific kind of dance for him. If his Waltz is shabby, but he does a marvelous Minuet, he’d want to be sure his dance with a possible match would be a dance he’s more proficient with. A lady might fill up her entire dance card ahead of time, but she’d more often than not leave a spot or two open to allow for more spontaneity. As dance cards were only used by women, I don’t know if they’d be used by gay men in courtship or not. Queer people at a ball however might wear something to indicate their preference in dance partner. A visual cue to let the gentlemen know that the Baroness of Arendale doesn’t have much interest in dancing with men.

Courting in Public

Courtship, especially among the upper class, was predominantly undergone during the Social Season, which in the UK ran from March until September, and included a wide variety of events and activities including balls, picnics, dinner parties, and sporting events. During the social season, every personage of noble blood would gather in a central location, usually the capital. These were not the only times during the year when people courted, it was more akin to a feeding frenzy for eligible bachelors, largely due to all of their marital options being assembled for the season, making it much easier to find someone to his liking.

It was wildly scandalous to show public displays of affection. That was to be reserved for private life. As such, suitors would instead exchange gifts, photographs or locks of hair instead of kissing or holding hands. For a queer relationship, it might be allowable for suitors to give one another their clothing, jewelry, weapons, or armor, either in their entirety or a particular piece of it. However the intimacy of sharing garments would likely be reserved for couples that have been courting for some time, and would be ill-advised as a first gift to one’s admirer.

At a ball or other such party, if someone catches your fancy but you’ve never met them before, it is impolite to speak to them until the host or hostess has formally introduced you to one another. Even if you dance with them, it is ill-mannered to speak to them during and after the dance if neither of you have been introduced to one another.

If someone insults your suitor, a gentleman should be ready to act the part of a knight and defend his lover’s honor. If his partner initiated the conflict, it is advised for a gentleman to apologize on their behalf, though not so meekly as to offend their lover or besmirch their honor. If another man is looking to start a quarrel, a gentleman should not return his hostilities, as a foul temper and lack of self-control is an indication of ill manners and poor breeding, bringing you down to the other man’s level.

A gentleman should always carry his lady’s luggage, and on the sidewalk, takes the side closest to the street to keep his lady’s dress from being splashed with mud or water, or to keep her safe should a wayward horse, carriage, or car veer off the street, it is more likely to strike him than her.

A couple talking in public must speak succinctly, poignantly, and softly. Long drawn-out conversations were best for private, whereas in public, it was unwise to spend one’s entire evening conversing with a single person, unless it is well-known the severity of their entanglement. It was considered ill-manner to speak excessively or too loudly as to disturb others.

Matchmaking and Gold-Digging

Due to eldest sons getting the entire inheritance of his father, women seeking to court would seek out eldest sons who would be coming into their family fortune, while sons left out of the inheritance would be more willing to marry below their station in pursuit of rich heiresses whose wealth would keep them in the lifestyle to which they have grown accustomed. Likewise in a queer relationship, wealth and power would likely effect the interests of relationships, and differences in inheritance laws might also change the power dynamics in courtships. If a daughter can inherit the full control of her father’s mercantile empire, she’s going to be fighting off second-born suitors with a stick, regardless of gender.

I mentioned above the Levées and Presentations that young nobles would go through when entering the public sphere of the court. Parents of other noble families would often be in attendance of these parties, and if a presenter impressed them, they may approach the parents and suggest a courtship between their children. This is less of an arranged marriage, and more the parents steering their children to give each other a chance. It’s much closer to playing matchmaker than paying 5 cows and a corn mill for someone’s daughter. The children could still decline the courtship out of lack of interest or an absence of chemistry, so long as they settled things politely. 

While that was a lot of information, I do hope it is something you found helpful. Most of the rules are much harsher on upper class characters, but most people who write historical romances are more interested in the romance between the countess and the duke, rather than the washer woman and the fisherman. I will also admit this is not a flawless breakdown, as I could have easily missed something. Still, as someone who loves period dramas and historical costume, I couldn’t leave such a tantalizing topic untouched.

[ahb-writes]

Incredibly informative. Lots of good jumping-off points for organizing and stratifying courtship among the social elite (or those seeking such status).

Also, and perhaps more importantly, this serves as a good example of understanding the rules so that you know how to break them. That is, doing the research and assembling the proper foundation for how a certain worldview will function, only to veer off course and do your own thing – because doing your own thing will be, invariably, way more interesting.

How about pivoting the relational dynamics more exclusively around profession or occupation instead of established gender roles and gender expectations? Put the emphasis on favoring families who work in government, mercantilist enterprises, and the military, and manufacture varying tiers of authority therein. I’d be more interested in reading about a female lieutenant being of equivalent rank to a male taxman or lawyer, and their possible fling; or about a second-generation jewel merchant being unable to properly court a fifth-generation necromancer, because they don’t have the right clout.

Separately, if it’s improper for one to declare their romantic interests in jest, or to otherwise exhibit uncertain emotions, perhaps the one being courted reserves the right to knife their courtier in the stomach. Preserve your purity and your pride with legally permissible romantic reprisal. You deserve at least that much.

Or, what if a woman is free to wander outside alone, but it’s more dangerous for others to approach her than for her to be approached by others? What if unmarried women are trained in vigilant martial defense, either publicly or in secret, which makes for awkward or dangerous courtship? Sounds practical to me. Maybe that “older married woman” who earned a title through good deeds turns out to be a retired spy.

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

i've seen enough horror movies starring upper-middle-income white families stuck in spacious haunted mansions. gimme stories about millennials stuck in haunted studio apartments. consider the realism:

why is this protagonist staying in an obviously haunted building despite the glaring warning signs? because a week at a motel would send them spiraling into credit card debt, they'll take their chances with the vengeful spirits. why did they chose this apartment complex to begin with, despite the many many unexplained mysterious deaths that show up on the first page of a google search? hon some of us don't have the credit score to move away from high (paranormal) crime areas. how could i be so careless as to sign a soul-binding contract with a demonic entity? bitch they're called LANDLORDS

[inkskinned]

okay :)

i had gotten a dog, so the dog was a factor. dogs have to be the right size and shape. under 50 pounds. please see our restricted breeds list. he sleeps most of the time, a well-behaved menace. he's big because i'm single in the city and it gets dark here early - but i've had to trade that sense of safety for scrambling-for-housing.

cheerfully i report that i live in a hole! because humor, like vicks, soothes what-is-horrible. the windows are painted shut. the fridge sometimes just shuts off for no reason. there are only 2 working stove burners and they're not in the front. for some reason, rust is everywhere, no matter whether it makes sense for an area to rust. the door in the bathroom has a very badly-patched hole; white-yellow stark against the bad cherry vinyl.

okay. it's what i can afford. the pamphlet had said new england nepenthes(TM) apartments: a beautiful place to grow up. and yes, it's ground-floor, which isn't ideal. so we (my dog and i) have successfully secured the door with one of those big prybars that are 50 dollars. also i usually balance something heavy near any possible entrances - i want to be awake when they fall. you know, during the break-in.

for the first four months, i didn't notice. there had been so much to do in those four months. okay, our (okay, my, he doesn't pay rent) kitchen is literally four tiles wide and undivided from the other spaces. the dining room and office are also the living room (which is. also the kitchen). my bed is too big for the bedroom; i can either have it weirdly against the wall with a door (horrible) or i have to give up opening my closet all the way.

my mama raised me on martha stewart, so. it's quiet here, i love the location, and even if it's rundown, i can make it work. i buy peel-and-stick reusable wallpaper that has long lines to make it look like everything is taller. i move the plants around, trying to get them into the most sun. i put up shelves and hope that i'll have enough spackle later to cover up the worst mistakes i've made with the nail gun. and hey! the location. like the pamphlet said: a beautiful place to grow up.

it's in the middle of putting up our new wrought iron plant holders. i have adhd, time when i'm focused can pass ephemerally. oh shit, i realize. it's 9:30 in the evening. i am probably keeping people awake with all the drilling. fuck. my bad. i tilt an ear upstairs, waiting. nobody slamming the floor with a broom. nobody shouting. maybe quiet hours are at 10 and they're just waiting.

the holders are real wrought iron because my plants weigh a lot. i press the last one above my head, against the pilot holes. now i feel bad about the time. i should just wrap up this last one i'm attaching and then go to bed. if i wait, i'll forget in the morning. distracted, i look down to where i've left the screws on my desk (which is often also my dining room table and art station), and, as if the wall spat the screws out, the iron slips out of my grasp and cracks me hard against my nose before tumbling down to the floor.

fuck.

one of the worst things about living alone is when you get hurt. sparks jump in front of me. my eyes start tearing. fuck! i've broken my nose before, this feels like that. fuck fuck fuck. maybe it's not broken?

i have to hobble off the stool, trying to hold my nose while also not wanting to touch it. i do the first adult thing i can think of - call a bigger adult.

hey mama. i pant into the phone. no worries but how do i know if i broke my nose?

30 minutes later, we have decided it hurt but if i don't have a black eye, the nose is fine. it was already out of alignment anyway. i say the whole sordid story to her, and then i add i just feel bad i lost track of time, it's weird none of my neighbors complained.

as soon as i hang up, i hear the upstairs neighbors, with their quiet feet and soft, muffled voices. i hear people to the right and left of me. i hear them murmuring to each other. someone watches bad tv, i can hear the reality show music-to-dramatic-shouting.

i put ice on my face. i google nose break again just to be sure. i ask my dog if he thinks i look ugly, he responds by putting his three paws into the air and asking for a tummy rub. as part of our nightly ritual, i examine and worry about his amputation, even though it's completely healed up. i still do the physical therapy exercises with him. just in case. just to keep him warmed up.

later in bed, i am reaching to turn on gentle rain for white noise before i realize - huh. i think this evening is the first time i've ever actually heard anyone.

you ever have a thought that gets inside of you? i mean, yeah. of course you do, i guess all thoughts are inside you. but once in a while, don't you get one of those haha funny! thoughts that turns. bad. you know, when you've watched a scary movie and close the laptop and think it's not likely there's a killer in there, but have i ever really checked that deeply in the kitchen sink?

i was always the type to check. just in case. to put my mind at ease.

the thought is there when i wake up, like i'd had it for a while: i never actually see anyone coming and going.

the apartment complex is 12 buildings, staggered like spokes on a clock. i live in 6, the furthest from the road. we are spaced unevenly, but when i first saw it, i thought huh. what a nice quiet community. the grass is green and there are never any leaves. i've never seen someone come mow it. there are cars here, plenty. when was the last time you counted which cars are in the communal lot?

isn't it weird how you're always able to snag that one last spot?

i keep weird hours, is all. i laugh at the thought of it. there was a post on tumblr once that asked how long would it take you to realize the building was entirely empty. but it can't be empty, right? at night, when i can see into other people's apartments, i catch sight of the thousand ways other people decorate. blue LED lights or tapestries or nice curtains. so it is silly to think about that post, when i know other people are here. this is someone else's home.

i mention it to my sister when she comes over to help me move the couch purposelessly around before we both decide it was better where i'd originally had it. nobody, like, lives here. i say. it's weird. i've been here for five months, and i don't see anyone.

she shrugs. maybe it's too expensive for the area, or not really advertised enough. maybe most people my age keeping my hours don't like to live in apartments. who is to say.

after that, the shadows start. my dog and i go on our nighttime walk, and then i see the apartments come to life. the flickered silhouettes of them. the flash of tvs and laptops. the gauzy shape of others just-far-enough i can't quite make out their form. they walk away from the windows if i get close enough.

they must not know how to do it right. every third day, the animations repeat.

oh, i get it. i think. i'm living in a horror novel.

i'm cuban. my culture can be superstitious, yes. but it also means that i have been taught to keep my head on a swivel. we do not fuck with this shit. we do not oujia board the spirits for fun. we do not make a joke about the killer. we do not ever tempt fate, her ears are open-and-listening.

my lease is for one year. it's been five months, that's not that much longer. i can't afford to break it (or to move) at the moment. and, again, the dog factor. and i do love the location.

but once it is obvious, it is so obvious. i try to pay my rent by check just the once, but when i swing by the rental office, the whole floor of the building is dark. there is no cheerful team of realtors, only a single dark panel over door. due to unexpected circumstances, we are currently operating elsewhere. i go online and pay there instead.

no one here hosts parties. the mail truck never seems to come to any of the other buildings. my dog doesn't like going near certain places. i discover a 5-foot radius where my phone will always hang up on the person i'm talking with, even if i have service.

i watch carefully, while also pretending i am not watching. i check my mail, waiting for the electricity bill that never comes calling. in the front hall, amazon packages come with names too smudged for me to ever quite read. sanchez, maybe. then, to the same apartment a week later: tawny reed. it's different again the third week. i stop looking, feeling like i'm prying.

i mention how quiet it is here during the day to one of my bosses, and then the upstairs neighbor appears. her alarm goes off when mine does, almost like an echo. when i change my song, it takes her a few days to keep up. i had said something offhand about how i'm the only one with a dog. then, upstairs - the little patter of dog paws.

at night, i start seeing people on my dog walking route. they pace, insubstantial, something black at the end of their lead. their waving arms always bent at right angles, like they are figuring out how to navigate being 3D. i always wave back, cheerfully. i keep my headphones in. they are over there in the mist that-does-not-belong, and i am over here in the light-that-flickers-on-and-off. i do not need to make a scene about this. there are many reasons people might dissolve into nothing. it is not any of my business.

the upstairs girl smokes. i see her with her (pomeranian? poodle?) little rat-rabbit-dog (? dog in the loosest sense of the word), her legs up on the stoop. she always goes inside when i show up to our building, after giving me one of those straight side-to-side waves. i can never quite make out her features. she won't be there when i leave for our walk, but she'll be there when we get back, no matter how long my walk takes. she watching me, her eyes dark. she sits there, smoking, wearing galaxy-print leggings. the little dog running near her. (sometimes the dog is not there, until i look again, and it is. i must have just missed it, or maybe it was hiding under one of the trim little bushes. not my concern, whatever it is.)

i know she smokes, i can see the red glow and smell it on the air after. but there are no places to dispose of the butts and she never leaves behind any litter. so she must be careful with them, which i appreciate. cigarettes are bad for the environment. i am in no place to judge someone for their vices anyway. during the day, sometimes i hear her dog (a corgi? a terrier?) whine, this thin, reedy sound, like someone gasping for breath. like someone buried alive. a howl like dread. sometimes it even sounds human; garbled and anxious, bow wow wow warping into help help help.

but i'm sure my dog whines when i'm gone, too. i will not report her for this, because it's not her fault. and i don't want to get her in trouble. after all, we all love our dogs so much.

when i write a request for maintenance to help me with ants, i get a bounce-back error. three days later, we wake up, and a sea of dead ant bodies litter my carpet. an inch deep, they float on each other's backs, a black blanket.

i vacuum them up. i feel bad about their little ant souls. i tell them i am sorry. i will light a candle. i tell myself - this is no different than calling an exterminator. to remove yourself from the process is an act of careful self-duplicity - we would have been killing the ants another way, and just anticipating someone else handle the transaction.

how do i call someone about this? i cannot break the lease because i think the others here are ghosts. or my other theory: maybe the whole thing is a carnivore, and i am in the belly, already beginning to rot.

we cannot afford to move, it's only been six months. the heat and the lights stay on. i never invite others over. it feels wrong. we are alone here, the way we should be alone here. this is our place, for me and my dog and the rest of us. we are supposed to be here. we are supposed to live here, in this little hole-in-the-ground apartment.

we are not under any form of threat, anyway. i light candles and say the prayers our father taught us. we keep our distance from the mist ones, and adopt their way of waving, side-to-side. it is starting to look less like a wave and more like beckoning. come on, come on. something keeps us locking our door. we put up more wrought iron, even after it hit us so hard-on-the-face, which wasn't fun, and was very mean. maybe we should take it down - except i know it was so much effort to put up. oh the tub leaks and the freezer has begin to lock while it's shut. our boss says we look pale these days. we blame insomnia. it's just that it's so quiet here, sometimes. we like to make ourselves go very-quiet too, like a mouse. and then we turn that horrible white-noise machine on. we are so strange; we push salt down the drains and into our doorways, which is a waste and a bad thing to do. we do not look into the electricity problem. we fix the lightbulb without complaint. we do not send in new notices to maintenance, even when the rust on the walls starts running. we get fabulosa and scrub everything. we do not make a fuss. when our neighbors that have-no-jaw open the door for us, we keep our eyes on our dog and say thank you! and make polite small-talk. when they garble their responses let your welcome out, (no throat but the sound's so loud?)-we say haha yeah and scoot by the cold spot. we help others get their groceries out of the car even though the bags smell rotten. we do not use the basement laundry room with the single pale yellow lightbulb, even though it is so friendly and warm and free; we drive elsewhere for that, which might be lazy of me. whenever we leave, we take our dog, even though he would be fine alone, surrounded by the strange creep of rust. we are kind, and not frenzied. isn't that strange? shouldn't we be frenzied? there have been so many odd things here, shouldn't we be reacting? instead we sit in our apartment and say, casually - oh, i'm fine. how fun! how interesting. are we waiting for something? if we're waiting, which of us is hiding and which of us is hunting? we count our days on the lease - six months left! we can grow to enjoy it here. it has its quirks, but hey. sometimes staying for the location is reason-enough.

and we love it here. it's a beautiful place to grow up.

[folkblr]

Tumblr Folk Story

[ffluurrraxz]

the Aura of the "okay :)" direactly leading to a read more is astounding.

[ofrionstage]

I don't know what to post so this is your sign to make a shameless reference in your writing to something extremely niche that you love. No one needs to understand or recognize it. It'll be our little secret.

[nondelphic]

writing prompts but they’re unhinged

your protagonist wakes up to find their reflection in the mirror isn’t copying them anymore, and it’s pissed off.

a vending machine gives your character a random object instead of their snack… and it changes their life.

every time your protagonist swears, something inexplicable happens. no one believes them until it’s too late.

your character is haunted. not by a ghost, but by an alternate version of themselves who keeps showing up to offer bad life advice.

the sun doesn’t rise one day. no one knows why, and your protagonist is the only one who seems concerned.

your protagonist gets a mysterious letter with their own handwriting on it. it’s dated next week.

your character gets cursed with the ability to hear every thought their pet has ever had. unfortunately, their pet has a lot to say.

the local library has a secret basement full of books that are still being written—and one of them has your protagonist’s name on it.

someone keeps breaking into your character’s house, not to steal things but to leave increasingly cryptic notes in their fridge.

every time your protagonist dreams, someone else’s life changes. one day, they meet someone who claims to recognize them from their dreams.

your character buys a secondhand jacket, only to find an ominous letter in the pocket addressed to them… from ten years ago.

a mysterious voice narrates your protagonist’s life in real time. it’s helpful until it starts describing things that haven’t happened yet.

your protagonist finds an old photograph of their family at a place they’ve never been, but they’re in the picture.

every plant your character touches immediately withers, except for one very stubborn weed that keeps following them around.

your character orders takeout. instead of food, the delivery person hands them a sealed envelope marked urgent.

your protagonist finds a diary under their bed. it’s not theirs, but the last entry describes exactly what they’re doing right now.

your character attends a mandatory office meeting, but halfway through, they realize none of their coworkers seem… human.

your protagonist accidentally wins a supernatural competition they didn’t know they entered. the prize? something they really don’t want.

every time your character writes something down, it vanishes from their memory. they can’t figure out what they’re forgetting—until it’s almost too late.

[includedisco]

You are already successful as a writer from the moment when...

You get a story idea in your head. Stories can't exist without an idea

You type/write the first word for your story. Every word is a step closer to the end

You get passed the dread/embarrassment of reading your own work, and edit it

You share your story on any platform. I'm talking from experience when I say that there is a lot of insecurity, uncertainty and fear involved in sharing your story with the public.

You get the first hit or kudos. It's okay to want 1,500 kudos, but 1 counts as well. Someone read your story and enjoyed it. That's a lot. Let's practice gratitude

You get a comment on your story. Just 1 doesn't seem like much, but in this day and age when human beings are losing mental strength to socialize, any interaction counts. Someone loved your work enough to stop and write to you.

You gather courage, confidence and mental strength to reply to a reader's comment. This isn't easy for everyone, so doing it is a great success on your part

You sell the first copy of your published book. Atp it's just one copy but at least you sold something. Baby steps count

You complete your story without the use of AI

My point is that success is in every step of the process no matter what sort of writer you are. Be proud of yourself from the get-go to the very end.

[foxbirdy]

A short comic I made about my experiences as a seasonal worker, and the way places change you.

Prints & PDF

[thewatcher727]

Writing Description Notes:

Updated 9th September 2024 More writing tips, review tips & writing description notes

Facial Expressions

Masking Emotions

Smiles/Smirks/Grins

Eye Contact/Eye Movements

Blushing

Voice/Tone

Body Language/Idle Movement

Thoughts/Thinking/Focusing/Distracted

Silence

Memories

Happy/Content/Comforted

Love/Romance

Sadness/Crying/Hurt

Confidence/Determination/Hopeful

Surprised/Shocked

Guilt/Regret

Disgusted/Jealous

Uncertain/Doubtful/Worried

Anger/Rage

Laughter

Confused

Speechless/Tongue Tied

Fear/Terrified

Mental Pain

Physical Pain

Tired/Drowsy/Exhausted

Eating

Drinking

Warm/Hot

[monachofworms]

A non exhaustive list of things that will still exist under Trump.

Sunrises

Good coffee

Donuts

Movie nights with friends

Chocolate

Batman/ ur favorite media

The ability to be kind to strangers

The ability for strangers to be kind to you

Brennan Lee mulligan

Dungeons and dragons

Alex Hirsch

Good cows

Funny cats and dogs

The future

Love.

I’m studying history and if there is one thing humans are really good at it’s surviving shitty situations.

Take the small wins and happinesses.

I encourage people to add to the list.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Dinosaurs

Fossils

Bird Cuddles

The Corvid Stone Age

[shadowghoul9719]

Books

Fun stationary

Your favorite flowers

Your favorite color

[septembercfawkes]

[blue-eyed-author]

Some of my writer’s block cures:

Handwrite. (If you already are, write in a different coloured pen.)

Write outside or at a different location.

Read.

Look up some writing prompts.

Take a break. Do something different. Comeback to it later.

Write something else. (A different WIP, a poem, a quick short story, etc.)

Find inspiring writing music playlists on YouTube. (Themed music, POV playlists, ambient music, etc.)

Do some character or story prompts/questions to get a better idea of who or what you’re writing.

Word sprints. Set a timer and write as much as you can. Not a lot of time to overthink things.

Set your own goals and deadlines.

Write another scene from your WIP. (You don’t have to write in order.) Write a scene you want to write, or the ending. (You can change it or scrap it if it doesn’t fit into your story later.)

Write a scene for your WIP that you will never post/add to your story. A prologue, a different P.O.V., how your characters would react in a situation that’s not in your story, a flashback, etc.

Write down a bunch of ideas. Things that could happen, thing that will never happen, good things, bad things.

Change the weather (in the story of course.)

Feel free to add your own.

[denise-elviras]

''what if my writing isn't good eno--'' what if it's a reflection of your soul. what if it has a place in this world. what if you write it anyway

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Pssst

Hey, are you an artist or writer with WIPs?

Come here... I got a secret for you pssst come ‘ere

[kittmoon]

waiting in deep suspense

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Psst you ready here comes the secret

Here it comes

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I am also very curious about this secret

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Your time spent enjoying the creative process is infinitely more valuable that any final project you create. So stop putting yourself down for never finishing or posting those WIPs because every moment you spent creating something you loved is a moment not wasted. Your progress and talent is measured by your passion not your number of posts.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

This post went from 3k to 7k overnight and that just goes to show how many of you need to hear this so make sure you don’t ever forget it