#creative wrtiting

[ladybugmeat]

That Shower Scene from Psycho

Shower curtains are for men, 

with scissored-edges, 

A sheet of semi-translucent

Goldfish

In her apartment, 

wait for her to comb, 

and sit, still, 

her eyeball sieved through

the plughole,

Only then, was it there 

did she see

the man, 

she never once saw

[pyrely]

i deepen these roots so much  you cannot find them under fiber strands and wooden fences where the cast iron shield protects my lungs and the steal plated breast protects my heart i am a warrior women of flesh and sin of sweet wine kisses and sorrowful endings tread on me to meet your maker she is god if god ever could be any more ancient and any more woman

s.r., any more woman than me

[femmegloss]

Creative Writers!📝 I need your help!!!

so i have this extremely important english project coming up called an IOP and i really need someone to write me a short story!! if you are really good at creative writing and want to help please message me! i also will 100% give full credit to you bc thats a really shitty move if i try to pass it as my own and im not about stealing others work😤

i will give a full description of what im kind looking for when we get in contact!

[solehalt-blog]

KIND HEARTS Hand-lettering

Kind Hearts Play School Hand lettering

[ladybugmeat]

Stolen shampoo

I have stolen, like shampoo from student accommodation bathrooms, pinches of your written work. Not to brand it as my own - I could never identify as Dove or Herbal Essences and their archives of mints and kinds of honey. But to escape my own scentless work and penniless purse. Your words adorn me with a new vista of bottles to choose.and scrub away what is dirt and what is bruised 

[skiirad]

I have plans of writing an original short novel. I am far from certain if it is up to anyone’s standard. It would be nice if someone would read it.

AHAHAH What am I talking about?!

I ain’t no writer. Or am I?

Nah...

[tryingtowriting-blog]

Amnesia, Pt. I

Prompt: The main character has amnesia (source: Write the Story, Piccadilly)

She awoke slowly, a throbbing in the back of her skull a sign that things weren’t quite how they should be. A familiar smell filled her nose as she took a deep breath in and began to blink herself into reality. As her eyes opened, a look around found her surrounded by bookshelves. She used the nearest one as a crutch to pull herself off the ground. 

As she hobbled her way out of the aisle she had awoken in. When she had located the door, she took a brief moment to take in the spot into which some past venture had dropped her.

Rather antiquarian, she thought to herself. All the books seemed to have experienced the passage of well read time. Creased spines and loose pages said these books were, for the most part, third-hand.

She finally breached the last row of shelves and put herself in the line of sight of the cashier.

“Hello ma’am! Is there anything I can help you with today?” the man asked with that tone you only hear from the owners of little shops like this who use kindness to turn positive reception into word-of-mouth.

“No thanks,” she said as she pushed herself toward the door. Then a pause. “Actually, I was wondering if you saw me come in here today? If you saw someone with me or I was acting strangely.”

“Well no ma’am, but I just recently opened shop for the day and stepped out for a smoke. I figured you must have come in while I was getting my lighter out of the car.”

“Thanks.”

The woman glanced down for a watch her instincts told her should have been there, only to find a bare wrist. “Do you have the time?”

The man pulled a phone out of his pocket. “It’s 9:35.”

She thanked the man and pushed her way out of the shop.

(This is the first part to a series of blips I will publish in the story as I write them. Feedback is always welcome.)

[tryingtowriting-blog]

Prompt: Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18, etc. Story ends with a single word. (source: @writing-prompt-s)

The building she had been looking for finally breached the field of her vision, and she now felt some hope. The journey back had been long, and she felt it might take a lifetime of telling to describe it. Her clothes hung from her in tatters, her hair was matted, and she was tired; still she walked. She thought back to how things had been before and she hoped, not for the first, they remained.

Her memories flashed back across those five years to the night he had taken her away. It was the climax of her “fun period,” full of sex, drugs and disappointing family. She had been walking home to shake the high when she heard the engine. Little had been made of it until she felt the car stop short. He was out so quickly that she had no time to react. He was a professional and she only half coherent, besides. Etches into the wall had helped her keep the time. And full details of her escape were still fuzzy. 

With every step, she prayed to find sameness. Finally to the stairs: one, two, three. An outstretched hand and another prayer. One rap, two raps, silence. She breathed in deep. The door opened. Woman’s face.

“Mom.”