#writing experiment

[syistoppedgivingafuck]

terrible writing exercise idea: ignore everything you've read about the bible, hell, etc. what is YOUR personal version of hell? what punishment do you honestly think is the worst and would actually kill you mentally and physically if you were sentenced to it eternally?

[jaylex05]

Writing Exercise

I see a lot of people saying they struggle with scenery or pretty prose. Well, I have something you can try that can give you practice!

Remove a key word.

Yes, that's it.

You're describing a beach? Sand is not longer part of your vocabulary, that's a shame. What are you going to do? Use other descriptors. Do your best to say sand without once using the word. Example here.

Use the other senses.

A lot of people rely too much on sight and sound. Mostly sight, but they add in sound because of dialog. There are other senses! Touch, smell, taste... We can tell the temperature of something based on sound! We can tell if something is wet based on temperature! If you closed your eyes and put your GLOVED hand in water, it'd feel cold, and you'd know its water. Touch gives us so much more information than JUST texture.

Another crazy thing: Look at the nearest object to you. You know what it tastes like, regardless of if you licked it. Don't question how you know this, but you DO! And you know how it would feel on your tongue. Our brain holds more sensory information than you would think.

So yeah,

Remove a word.

Write a blizzard without the word snow. Write about hearing music without the word music, harmony, or any synonym. It doesnt matter if this becomes canon or not. You can use it as practice or use it for real. I am FORCED into this exercise because one of my mcs doesn't know the full English language, and thus, if I'm writing from his perspective, I can't use certain words. Blanket? No, soft square cloth 👌

[vintage-tigre]

Some nameless threat lurked just on the horizon of the world, waiting for the sun to sleep. The feeling gnawed at her insides like a hungry cat. There was a sense of the imminent, the remorseless, the mindless; it growled like a heat maddened panther, ready to strike at the long shadows of the dying light

[fandom-hopping]

"G'day ma'am, this is Tessa frum Elliot repairs. Yep, theh heah again. Don't worry, they always make sure the delivuhries are done. I'll have em raight back in the mornin. I'll even tune em up for tomorrow's runs. 'Course it'll be free, I love these guys. You have a nice day too, thank you"

[lovethwriter]

You don’t need to have everything figured out to start writing.

A simple idea can turn into something powerful… even a full book.

But writing is just one part of the journey.

Editing, structuring, formatting, and publishing are where many writers start to feel stuck.

It’s not always about talent it’s about knowing what to do next.

If you’ve been thinking about writing something or you’re already working on a project,

where are you right now in your process?

[kuzukami]

Some brown eye descriptors if you wanna borrow some: going for a slightly romantic/enchanting vibe i guess.

Deep red brown: Their eyes were a deep reddish brown swirling like my morning tea; it warmed me from the inside out.

Dark hazel grey: A dark indecipherable mix of hues. Like the mist that clouds the woods in the early morning; Of course I got lost.

Dark/even brown: Still, and constant, the same as my favorite chocolate, the wool of my favorite sweater, like the soft garden soil where we planted roses last fall.

Golden brown: Dangerous and alive, like the sun was burning behind their gaze. If I look for too long I might catch fire, any moment would turn to ash.

Black brown: I finally understood gravity's hold. I was caught, along with time, space and light. It all was caught in their gaze and at their mercy.

Greenish brown: Alive like the forest. I remembered as a child lying in the dirt and looking up. The way the sky barely poked through the leafy treetops filtering sunlight. Their eyes were the same. For a moment I was ten again.

[anthrophilokyon]

My family has packaged the pool, it’s no longer summer, april 2025.

I hated summer, it didn’t let me sleep.

A new year has come, but it’s not Chinese new year yet.

My skin is three tones darker, I got too close to the ocean, I was afraid of it, thought it would swallow me. It didn’t, but it touched my thighs, my hands, neck and face. I am now three tones darker, my body sand marked, burned.

Came back home, forgone the ocean for many years more to come, too scared it would want another taste of me. She says I look like caramel and cinnamon. She loves cinnamon almost as much as she loves me, my mother.

I went to the pool, one car ride far from home. A month ago I had to go to the hospital because the pain would not let me move. I need it because I am sick with poor genetics. I don’t like going to the pool alone, I feel like going back to school and sitting with no friends again.

My parents built the pool, it’s summer again.

I still hate summer, I am purple under my eyes.

They say I need the pool, I hate it, needing it, something.

It has rained twice and it’s been cold, I have dipped in two times, I have to do it more.

I change into my clothes. I am eating lunch in swimwear and the breeze is cold. I play some music and I am too afraid to get into the pool, I am scared it will be too cold.

I am also scared of it not working. I need the pool, like I need a new body. I wish submerging in it would fix me, that somehow it became infinite in its depth and I was able to just— be —in it. It’s a scary notion, to know that I won’t get better because of one dip, I wish I did.

Like Achilles, I wish I was dipped in water to make me good, and for my mother to hold me down. Doesn’t matter whether it’s my heel, my neck or my hand, my thigh or my chest, it’s my mom, I wish to wear her mark like a sunburn tan, even if she wishes I did not get burned at all.

I want to get better for my mom.

I dip into this mid thigh tall pool and hope.

It’s fun, but it’s like being in gymnastics again. I like the flow, the movement, the agility, but I am spinning and jumping while everybody else is talking, I can hear my neighbors, in their own pool, playing, while I am praying to get better.

Maybe if I get better I can run again, like a horse, or a dog.

I forget about all of it at this point, but for a second I tried and ran, in the only way I know, wetting the floor and alone, but it felt like running with horses.

And I no longer am wishing.

Every step I give, front and back, becomes something new, it’s a horse until it’s not and am running something in the forest, another step, and I am back at green grass and chasing birds, another, jumping and twisting on my back, the birds are so close, the water so fresh, I have yet to stop seeing the colors every time I close my eyes, but it’s bright, and it’s joy.

I hate summer, I don’t hate joy.