#creative writing exercise

[talecueprompts]

Creative Writing Exercise That Nobody Does

Lately I came across a creative writing exercise that really pushes me to "connect the dots".

And that's by googling random object generator.

Google asks me how many unique objects I want to generate, I choose between 2-4. It spills out something like this -

My next task is to churn out a short story that "connects" these 4 unique things in a believable way.

It doesn't need to be perfect. It doesn't need to be a literary genius, it doesn't need to be something that people will wow at.

So, i don't bother if I am vomiting words. All I care about is that the connection that I am building between them is credible in my fiction world.

And the best part is that when you choose 4 unique objects you can actually have 24 connections among them!

So, you're actually not out of connections because it's mathematically correct.

All you've to do is to use your creative muscle to link these objects, in a fictional literary sense, and make a story out of it.

Creativity is a muscle. And imo if i exert that muscle, it'll become bigger and stronger.

Also, my definition of creativity has two important facets -

How can i connect disparate objects or entities by building a literary link between them.

How can i go beyond where my thinking stops.

These are not something I've learned. This is actually a self-discovery.

And I can't tell you guys that what kind of wonders it does to your writing when you put this into work.

I look back at my writings from these exercises and i'd be honest to admit, that some of the writings are so good that I can't even imagine that I wrote them!

However, here's the brutal fact - you won't be good at it in the first 2-3 days.

No one's watching you. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. It's your personal writing time that isn't meant for audience. Write whatever comes to your mind for 10 mins in a day and stop.

Be consistent. And i guarantee, by the 10th day of this exercise, you'd notice that your mind doesn't even take a minute to conjure stories from these random objects.

Do it. It's free, it pushes your thinking into directions where your mind has never been. And in a way, it's fun.

Until next time, keep churning out the tales.

[murmarine]

Umamusume Creative Writing Exercises #1

My initial goal was to inject some life into the subreddit after they decided to go text only on tuesdays. Migrating the existing posts here from Reddit, since nobody (or very little people) seem to care about them on uma subreddit - shocking I know. But nevertheless, I hope they find favourable winds here. Contribute as you see fit. Enjoy.

It is simple task. In a few paragraphs detail your favourite character's bedroom. Go into detail, how big is it? What do they have in there? Is it a shared bedroom or a single? From what we know, are they messy or neat? Is their furniture more utilitarian, or has a certain style to it? Hand-me-downs from family members?

As a start, here is what I thought up for Bakushin and her glorious 5head :

Imagine a small bedroom. Not out of need or necessity, it is small because she likes everything to be in hands reach. It is your typical middle class Japanese teenager's bedroom, posters hanging from the wall in a surprisingly organised fashion (or as organised as Bakushin can be in her endeavours), a bookshelf with rows of racing theory books, most of them read from cover to cover multiple times by now, especially the ones detailing proper acceleration and speed techniques.

A hastily trimmed bonsai tree sits on the window sill, more so an achievement in bullheaded dedication than any sort of patience. A desk in the corner, plain, white, decorated with stickers of cherries and plums from long ago, nobody quite having the heart to scrub them off. On the desk sits a framed photo collage, first track race victory in middle school, Bakushin's enrollment ceremony to Tracen, a group photo with the girls from the Victory club, a blurry selfie with Rice Shower and Mihono Bourbon, with a set of signatures from both.

A strangely neat bed with a black and pink checkered cover, clean of most clutter, bar the occasional plush animal from childhood kept for various reasons. A standing mirror by the door, with sticky notes scattered on it with reminders of things to do, events to look out for, and short, one-two word motivational texts.

Above the bed sits a shelf, with two cups, polished to an absurd sheen, two back to back Sprinter's Stakes victories.

The walls and ceiling are both painted a light pink, almost going onto white, making the room look especially spacious, despite its modest size.

And that is it! I hope to inspire some creative spark with this (lest spark farming isn't a thing you enjoy) and would love to hear your opinions and own pieces of writing as well.

That is all. Ta-ta.

[nandawrites]

The writer

I hear the voices.

They tell me what to write.

It starts as a whisper, then comes a crescendo.

Myriads of voices pleading, begging.

They want to see the light.

It's lonely and scary to be forgotten, to never have lived at all.

It's hard to follow one, it hurts to leave the others behind.

(For now)

They shout. They want to come out. They want to be free.

I hear the voices.

I'll tell their stories.

Bleed them out of my chest myself.

Until they are silent and I

Am hoarse.

[lovablylethal]

Radblr blogger you might know and love.... Been thinking for a while about making something like this (anonymous) in order to be able to post more freely about certain topics (obtaining justice for women the only way we can, which is through preventative action). Please read the bio before interacting!

Check "#lovablylethal answers" for responses to Asks.

For the LEOs: This blog and all of its contents are works of fiction, this post included. The author of this blog's original posts is portraying a character who definitely does not exist in reality. Any similarities to real persons or events are entirely coincidental.

A bit of background:

This blog is devoted to talking about the group of incredible women who I love dearly and who have come together over our shared passion and dedication for engaging in extralegal endeavors with the intention of making the community (and someday the wider world) a slightly better and safer place for women and girls. Like many of us, I've had a dream for a while of forming a close-knit group of talented and devoted women who would pursue justice for girls and women by excising from society as many evil, violent men as we could. I just have the uncommon fortune of being closely connected to certain entities which have provided me with the skill set needed to make this happen.

The way the group came to be was actually pretty organic. I was fine doing this by myself to begin with, but when I first met my wife, I learned that she had some history similar to my own, and of course she wanted to be part of this, too. The third, who came in a couple of years ago now (I can't believe it's been that long already!!), was a woman who was a recent victim of one of these men. Someone close to us knew her and vouched for her, so we took the massive risk of telling her beforehand to allow her the opportunity to participate, or at least to get to say her piece to him without him being able to say a word in his defense. She was more or less ambivalent initially, but quickly came to understand our mission and was eager to climb on board. From there, things just kept moving forward pretty naturally.

This blog will be reblogging and posting content that highlights the reasons men are irredeemable due to their treatment of the female sex, in addition to the content pertaining to the group described above and its activities. The latter will be cautiously nonspecific for reasons that should be readily obvious. Ask box is always open, however, if you want to have a more sensitive conversation, DM me for instructions on how.

Much love, gyns. Enjoy 🥰

p.s. I don't do content warnings or anything of the sort on this blog. If you're here you should know what you're getting yourself into imho

p.p.s. This account is not for feminism, it's for misandry. Above all else, this is an outlet where I don't filter, and allow myself to express sentiments I might not actually always feel, but need to get off my chest when I do. If you expect me to show a modicum of kindness to any male here, OR to women defending them, this is not the blog for you. I stand with all women IRL and on my main, but I'm a human being and need to get mad sometimes!

[opalescent-apples]

BEST BONE TO USE AS A WAND:

GO

Oh, they all have their uses! Let's list the most easily viable ones, shall we?

Humerus: Upper arm bone. Decent for telekinesis! I would give this to a more experienced magician who specializes in high energy magic.

Radius: Sturdy. Less elegant, but it will support any number of spells! It is close to the thumb in life and retains its potential for practical magic

Ulna: More finicky. But as it was associated with the ulnar nerve, this is actually the funny bone! Not the humerus. It's perfect for illusion and mind magic.

Femur: Bone of choice for battlemages (located in the thigh) both for its power and for its potential as a blunt weapon. Bonk!

Tibia: The wider of the bones in your calf. It gives better range than any other bone, and is ideal for earth magic for its closeness to the ground.

Fibula: The thinner of the bones in your calf. Everyone wants a fibula wand because they are long and slender, and look more elegant than other wands. They are hard to sculpt, too. But a well-made fibula wand is ideal for magic over fluids of all kinds (not a stirring spoon; you want to carve those out of a thicker bone so you can make the flat scoopy part of the spoon, unless you're willing to spend magic making bones squishy like clay). Wands are usually seen as fire magicians' tools, but a fibula wand is great for water and ocean wizards.

With magic, you can make plenty of other bones into wands; I have a set of miniature wands made from a pair of clavicles in my shop. But these are the most practical for the job.

[ripeteeth]

There’s a scar on Kim’s shoulder, and he holds his breath when Harry touches it. In the line of duty, most scars are cleanly read: there are the puncture wounds of bulletholes, the long angry slashes of knife attacks, but this one is different. It’s sharp and jagged, lightning across his upper body.

He wants Harry to ask, because he wants Harry to care; he doesn’t want Harry to ask, because he doesn’t want to explain. (The sound of wheels on asphalt, the motor carriage careening through a steel barrier. A dead man’s face, floating, lit only by the moon and airships.)

He’s unexpectedly gentle in stripping the fabric from Kim’s body, pushing the clothing down off of slim shoulders and pulling it from narrow arms. Harry rubs the rough skin of his shaved chin into Kim’s throat, touching but not kissing, breathing hot and damp across the pale stretch of him until Kim shivers. He gathers Kim’s wrists up like flowers in a bouquet, pinning them above his head, and asks about each and every tattoo. Tell me about this one, he says, nosing at the May bell on Kim’s hip, at the curling serpent on Kim’s side, at the shitty stick-and-poke hidden on his upper thigh. He doesn’t ask about the scar, not in words, but his mouth finds the mottled skin in a silent kiss.

He does not ask, and Kim wonders what he might read there, written in peaks and valleys on his tired skin.

[a-smidge-bi]

Stone

Not a box of chocolates or a lovely flower.

I give you a stone. 

It’s not glamorous, like most relationships are, 

underneath the surface.

It doesn’t promise eternal love like in fairy tales.

Here. 

It’s heavy, its weight can drag you down.

It’s cold and hard,

It doesn’t immediately flood you with warmth or happiness.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a kiss on the top of a carousel or waking up in the morning with you.

I don’t dare hope to share those things with you.

I give you a stone.

Its weight is a reassurance,

It’s steady and smooth to the touch

Like our love could be.

It’s one of millions like it

The individual details so minute they blur together.

It won’t mean anything

Until you give it meaning.

If you don’t like it, throw it away

It’ll chip when it lands

But with time

it’s shattered edges will fade

It’ll be smooth once again.

And I’ll offer this stone to someone new.

[deathbyvalentine]

It was warm, like love, like summer despite the fact it was a thing of autumn. To taste it was to think of leaves on the ground, golden sunsets and brisk mornings. And of course, what else but christmas? Cinnamon in hot chocolate, in mead, in cider. In cookies and biscuits and bread. My senior school best friend's perfume had a hint of it, a smattering of warmth that caught you unawares when hugging her.

Cinnamon (a.v.p)