[songsofsomnia]

Fine, I'll make a pinned post.

My name is Ollie (short of Olivia or Oliver, take your pick) and I was born in 1993. Please feel free to stop in, say hi, or just interact with any open tags I may have laying about.

I have been writing on and off since 2009, mostly fan-fiction and crossovers using my own original character, and in 2012 I got really, really into role playing with the same OC! Eventually I began to change her up a bit and pulled away from fandom writing and dabbled with original, and by 2014 I had an idea for a story. And much like my character, that story has evolved a lot over time, and twelve years later I think I am finally ready to start writing it.

While I follow from my main blog (@scarytalescometrue) I do run several different side blogs including:

@nuka-after-dark (not accepting new requests, very slow to respond to the ones I have) @the-silver-shroud-novus (fallout reblog blog) @gate-of-horn-and-ivory (roleplay blog, not as selective as it seems so feel free to interact and ask for a fresh thread!) @songs-of-an-onerote (things I would reblog to here but they aren't exactly writing related)

My current Projects are:

The Lowlies Don't Feed The Wolf (and other such tales)

Feel free to ask about either of them!

I am 100% tag and ask game friendly! I would ask that you tag this side blog, however, as my main is not for writing and I might not see where you tagged me as I don't check the activity as often on that one.

Finally, please feel free to let me know if you would like me to start tagging you in progress posts, writing and tag games, or just to check in on you now and then! My inbox is open with the anon option turned on, and my messenger should be available to everyone!

[songsofsomnia]

Me: I need to start writing with characters other than my MC. I just know people are getting tired of hearing about her.

Also me when JD Robb drops a new "In Death" novel: Oh, boy! I can't wait to see what the Eve Dallas is gonna do in this book!

[songsofsomnia]

Excerpt from a package piece: Hippity Hoppity (Your Childhood Horror Is Now My Property)

"Mommy says I look like a princess," Rosalind said as she gave another twirl, the tulle of her skirt flaring out into a circle of rainbows. When she topped, the skirt kept trying to go without her before falling back into place. "Do you think I look like a princess, Benji?"

"I guess." He looked at her skirt enviously again before looking back towards the crowd of adults that stood around the snack table the children were forbidden from touching.

That was another thing about Easter that wasn't fair; the adults wouldn't let the kids have any snacks from the table after such a long service because they might "ruin their appetite", which Benji could understand if the adults didn't then stand around talking for what felt like eternity about their plans for Easter.

"It's too bad you can't be a princess, too, Benji," Rosalind said as she began to twist from side to side until her skirt became a nauseating mix of colours. "If you could be a princess, then you could wear rainbow dresses, too."

[songsofsomnia]

I am 99% sure that half my issue is that I am not creating with my hands like I used to. The other half is just straight up burn out.

I feel like I am in constant fight-or-flight between living a day to day life (and yes, I am well aware that so many people have it so much worse than I do, and trust me the guilt of ever daring to feel a single ounce of self-pity bears upon me constantly) not to mention working a schedule that requires me to constantly change my sleep schedule to accommodate my partners work schedule even just one day a week (and no, work won't change it. Yes, I've asked. And no, changing jobs is not currently an option).

Not to mention the fear of being part of some kind of AI-witch hunt due to my writing style changing over the year (year and a half? two?) that I posted a request. If I use an em-dash, if I use the word "honestly", if I put a period where someone thinks I should be putting something different, they might point and screech and call me a fraud and expect me to try and prove them wrong so they can drag me all over again.

There is just so damned much going on and going wrong and at the end of the day, I just want to create again.

[girl-blorbo-polls]

Has your girl blorbo ever canonically seen an ocean?

Yes

No, never been near an ocean

No, blind, but she has been near the ocean

No, blind, and has never been near the ocean

She lives in the ocean

Other

Voting ended onJun 3

[songsofsomnia]

I was barely over six years old when I learned that happiness was a punishable offense.

By the time I was seven, I had learned to hide my smiles for fear of a beating disguised as love.

At eight, I had learned that it was excitement, too.

By nine, I learned to simply not feel.

By ten, I learned that it was worrying to those around me when I woke up to the happiest of days with dead eyes and a flat affect, and it was a lesson I learned with more pain and eventually with deprivation of anything except the blank wall adjacent to my bed for me to stare at all hours of the day and long into the night.

At eleven I had learned to fake my smiles and excitement, and to not let on that I was dreading the punishment to come with it because it was a little too convincing.

At twelve, I was kicked out. I was my own person, then. I was starting to feel things- but not happiness, I could never allow myself to feel that again- and that just wasn't right.

At thirteen I tried to laugh again. To be happy again. To be excited about things. But I was told to stop. I was told that I wanted the attention on me, that I was trying to garner the attention of those far too old for someone who was freshly into their teens. I was told I was flirting when I tried to be happy to meet new people. That I wanted the worst part of my childhood to happen again.

By fourteen I became bitter.

By fifteen I was apathetic.

By sixteen I learned that my happiness was meant to be used against me as a weapon.

By seventeen, I learned that my apathy was meant to be a shield.

By eighteen, I forgot what it was to smile

By nineteen, I left, but I still couldn't find it in myself to be happy.

It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I learned there was a word for it: Cherophobia. The fear of being happy.

From the tender age of being a child I was taught that I couldn't be happy. My happiness was punishable. A smile was a scolding. A laugh was a beating. Excitement meant staring at a blank wall with nothing to entertain me as I sat and thought of how horrible of a child I had been because I had tried to turn the attention onto me.

I'm older now. I still can't laugh. I still can't let myself be happy. I still feel the sharp stab of panic when something excites me.

But I wake up every day, determined to make those around me smile and laugh and feel without fear, because once I was five, and happiness was the best feeling I had ever experienced before.

[hungry-skeleton]

I think the biggest thing mascot horror things need to get a grip on is the reasonable balance of cute/creepy. The mascot in question needs to be cute enough to realistically be for children but scary enough to actually make for effective horror. Most games always lean too far in either direction and idk maybe it's just me but immersion with these kinds of games are important for me to actually find enjoyment in them.

[hungry-skeleton]

Can anyone hear me

[hungry-skeleton]

[hungry-skeleton]

GUYS...

[mavenmemnon]

[songsofsomnia]

It's just a little vent :)

It shouldn't be so difficult to write, but it is.

It shouldn't be so hard to put a letter after another letter until you have a word. It shouldn't be so hard to put a word after a word until you have a line. It shouldn't be so hard to put a line after a line until you have a paragraph. It shouldn't be so hard to do it over and over and over until the story is written.

And yet every time I open a new document, or G-d forbid one that already has letters, words, lines, or paragraphs, I find that the first letter simply will not come.

[yesornopolls]

The last character you wrote about is put in the last video game you played for a week. Can they survive?

The last character you wrote about is put in the last video game you played for a week. Can they survive?

Yes

No

See results

Voting ended onMay 29

[sender-paulson]

♪ Come with me, and you'll be... in a world of pure dissociation...

[dyrewrites]

I do more than yap about random life things, dispense ranty writing advice and write vaguely disquieting snippets based on the day's walk around my neighborhood.

I also yammer about big gay vampi--I mean I write books.

No, really. I have written books.

SO MANY BOOKS SO MANY

Look, they have covers too. Isn't that fun?

'Weald and Wen' is about trauma, terror and finding some semblance of joy and laughter while suffocating in agony.

'In Fog' is about loneliness and belonging and nonbinary monsters being erotically murderous.

'Can't You See Me?' is about a ghost who would very much like her wife and kids to know she's dead.

'Don't Look' is about a criminal lack of affordable housing forcing someone to take an apartment despite all the red flags.

'Snowblind' is about you. You're lost in the snowy wastes with a terrible hunger and a sweet voice in your ears.

'The Portrait' is about how Miriam should be happy with what she's got and stop obsessing about the portraits.

'In The Marrow' is about Hazel and how she's fine. If she closes her eyes and focuses on her tasks, everything is just fine.

'Beneath the Brine' is about loneliness and the mundane horror of being lost at sea.

'Got Your Nose' is about maybe exercising some caution before you take a clown in a drippy costume to bed.

'Not Me' is about possession and the terror of losing yourself.

[writeblr-live-again]

May Live -- Q2

Remember this is a live ask event!

What that means is I will be active for the hour, hopping into ask boxes with followup questions as I am able, while encouraging you to do the same.

Answering the questions tells me you are cool with this.

You may answer all questions via reblog, reply, hopping in my askbox or even reposting. Just remember the #writeblr and #writeblr live tags if reblogging/reposting so we can find ya.

We’re here to help rebuild interaction in the community, so get in there and have fun with it!

[songsofsomnia]

I might be a little late to this, but I actually have a lot of hybrids! Like, a lot.

I have selkies (closer to the traditional ones of Scottish/Manx lore).

I have Lycaons, which are like werewolves but better.

I have glaistigs AND urisks (goat women and goat men, respectively)

And I have Garden Gnomes. Not brownies, not red-caps, not the little men of the dirt. Garden Gnomes made of stone and painted pretty colors that walk around and fall in love. Maybe a little bit of a cheat calling them a hybrid, but they’re pretty close to one really.

I may come back and edit once I have a little bit more time and access to an actual keyboard to try and provide a real world scene, but if you’re curious in the mean time, please feel free to ask!

[songsofsomnia]

There should be a title here, but I am not clever enough to make one.

In celebration of making a little headway on some of my WIPs, I decided to slam the brakes on creativity and make this post instead. I also needed a link to put on my blog so that anyone who might be curious could actually see what I am working on without having to ask.

Putting it under a read more because it is a little bit of a long post.

The Lowlies

Basically a fairy-tale disguised as a novella.

June 28th, 2012. During the local celebration, the MacMannanán twins meet a mysterious man in the woods. Only one of them hesitates to offer up their name, and it's now up to her to retrieve her brothers name from the Otherworld, and perhaps dismantle an entire monarchy on her way through.

Don't Feed The Wolf

A collection of short stories that really, really needed a home. Please don't take them as source material, they really are all for fun.

Dive into the local lore of Old Haven and immerse yourself in tales of love, found family, and even vengeance! From a true retelling of "Little Red Riding Hood" to the untold and romantic history of Garden Gnomes, Don't Feed The Wolf is guaranteed to provide hours of entertainment for parents and children alike! *Not recommended for anyone under the age of 17.

[transman-badass]

Let's steal something from Bluesky!

Rules: share the cover (or any other art/picrew/moodboard/etc) of a published story or WIP + a sample page, then tag some people to do the same!

Tagging a few people... @dyrewrites @roselinbooks @zackprincebooks @karolinarodrigueswrites @leebrontide @a-tristan-withers @baileymcknightwriter and open tag!

[baileymcknightwriter]

I love this idea! I tag @elizmanderson and @dominiquewildauthor and also open tag!

[elizmanderson]

ooh hell yeah, thanks for the tag!

learn more about the book and find links here: The Lord of the Wood on E.M. Anderson's website

tagging @queen-tashie and @victoriacbooks if you wanna play along!

[sender-paulson]

Gonna use that open tag for evil

Little Horns (and in the future, other works of mine) can be read here

Other than @songsofsomnia I don't have anyone specific to tag, so open invitation! Show me what you for, Writeblr!

[songsofsomnia]

I feel so bad for taking so long to respond to the tag from @sender-paulson. But at least I replied first in spirit 💖

I was going to wait until the end of June to do this, but things are likely to change between now and then. This is an excerpt/opening for 'Goldie' which is one of (hopefully) many short stories* from my anticipated anthology/collection "Don't Feed The Wolf".

No links to offer since there is no where to read yet, but I guess let me know if you want to be added to a list of potential beta readers for when I do finally start getting these works from start to end?

Also, I have no one to tag since my go-to has actually tagged me, but PLEASE take this as an invite to participate! And for anyone who wants to read the block text but can't in the picture, feel free to look under the read more.

*Let it be known that the information found in this piece and the sister piece "a short history of garden gnomes" was written with exactly one (1) actual source I found online and my own imagination, and not a true history of the Garden Gnome.

There aren't many stories about garden gnomes. In fact, I would go so far as to say that, aside from a handful of children's picture books, there aren't any at all. I am both surprised, and really not that surprised at all. While gnomes themselves are far from a new or original concept, and garden statues have been dated as far back as Ancient Roman times (usually of gods like Priapus to promote fertility), garden gnomes are a pretty new concept. Well, at least the female ones are. The original Countess Roda herself was only first cast in the 1960s, only to be booed and hissed back into the kiln for the next thirty years until their plastic revival of the so-called naughty Gnomes of the late 90s to early 2000s.

But this isn't a story about them. This is a story about a woman cast from stone, a lad that fell in love, and a god that intervened.

Goldie was new to the garden. She stood a modest 26 centimeters tall from the curly tips of her brown boots to the top of her familiar red cap. Her yellow dress was covered with a white apron with tiny daisies hand painted along the edge, her pale hands with the dusty pink knuckles clutched a basket that had a spot that was perfect for holding flowers or the rain that fell in the early morning hours. On her face was a soft smile and large brown eyes, with pink and red painted cheeks and a thumbprint of red on her lips. Even among the full bloom of the Foxgloves, Bluebells, and Hydrangeas, Goldie was still the most beautiful site in the garden. This was especially true for Wendell. Because Wendell was in love.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you have skilled writer friends and you're damn proud of them

[songsofsomnia]

@sender-paulson

[void-botanist]

me: I'm not gonna need this post later me, searching through four blogs at a time: WHERE IS THE POST WITH THE POEM ABOUT THE HOUSE YOU GREW UP IN THAT COMPARES IT TO FORCING RHUBARB

[songsofsomnia]

How’s that house that raised you? “There’s a method to growing rhubarb called "forcing” where it’s raised in total darkness and tended to in brief intervals of candlelight. The plant thrives only because it’s looking for an absent sun, and extends so fast you can hear the growing pains. Forcing can weaken the crop but if done correctly can yield a sweeter, more desirable result. Not everything needs to be an allegory. All the same, I am aware that there are things that have happened in my formative years that I have no words to describe and that only God’s eyes have seen.“ — Lev St. Valentine

Was this the poem, by chance?

[purpurle-iris]

Imagine how many great, weird, awesome stories would exist if writers actually wrote instead of scrolling on tumblr