One Nice Bug Per Day
roma★
No title available
dirt enthusiast
Game of Thrones Daily
styofa doing anything
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
ojovivo
Discoholic 🪩
wallacepolsom
tannertan36
Monterey Bay Aquarium
will byers stan first human second
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Keni
NASA
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
$LAYYYTER
JBB: An Artblog!
Three Goblin Art
seen from Argentina
seen from Argentina
seen from Serbia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Israel
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Israel
seen from United Kingdom
@wordsofmyimagination
Would anyone be interested in reading the first chapter of a project I’ve been working on for a couple years (off and on, but mostly off — school has kicked my ass)?
I’d love some feedback! It’s a fantasy/assassin story so I need to know about the readability. Shoot me a message and we’ll coordinate details!! <3
Impossible Year
I haven’t been able to stop listening to Panic! at the Disco’s new song “Impossible Year.” I couldn’t help imagine some beautiful, tortured love song beyond the words, so I had to write it down.
~&~
“There’s no sunshine, this impossible year, only black days and skies grey, and clouds full of fear, and storms full of sorrows that won’t disappear. Just typhoons and monsoons, this impossible year.”
A cold January morning, the first lights of the day an illusion on the horizon. The freezing rain pours down, leaving tear tracks on the window pane. He holds her tight, wrapped in blankets and each other. They don’t say anything — they just remember.
She remembers: a coffee shop in October, a lifetime ago. Thoughts of school and her future cluttered her mind, her vision, until — he was there, picking her up and never letting her go again.
He remembers: a coffee shop in October, a lifetime ago. Thoughts of the band, the music, the bills, cluttered his mind, his hearing, until — she was there, calling to him and never letting him go deaf again.
They remember: October, November, December. They remember: bated breaths, sweet smiles, hopeful hearts.
They try to forget: the fights, the arguments, the silent nights, the lonely mornings.
“There’s no good times, this impossible year, just a beachfront of bad blood, a coast that’s unclear.”
She remembers: the beach in November, the rocky shoreline, the rough waves. She remembers his warm arms, his warmer looks, his warmest heart.
He remembers: the beach in November, the sharp wind, attempting — and failing — to steal his breath, for she had already stolen it. He remembers her smile, breaking up the darkest clouds, sending fire straight into his freezing heart.
They remember: the bike rides, the movie nights, the quiet longing.
They try to forget: the disapproving looks, the hateful jealousy, the bitter words.
“All the guests at the party, they’re so insincere. They just intrude and exclude, this impossible year.”
She remembers: dancing in dresses, in jeans, in pajamas, in nothing at all. She remembers the steps, the motions, what it felt like to be held.
He remembers: her laugh, her voice her humming. He remembers the notes, the melodies, the harmonies.
They remember the songs, the music, the lyrics. They remember the duets
They try to forget the missteps, the missed notes, the flat tunes.
“There’s no you and me, this impossible year. Only heartache and heartbreak and gin made of tears. The bitter pill I swallow, the scars souvenir. That tattoo, your last bruise, this impossible year.”
She remembers — she can’t forget — the drinks, each of them drowning her love, drowning him. She remembers pouring the liquid down the drain, only to find him down another. She remembers — though she tries desperately to forget — the bottles: the beer bottles, the whiskey bottles, the pill bottles.
She remembers bottling up her love.
He can’t remember. Can’t remember her tears, her pleading. He can’t remember the pain of the needle as it traced his love onto, into his skin. He can’t remember.
He can’t forget her bruises, her misery, her resignation.
“There’s never air to breathe, there’s no in-betweens, these nightmares always hang on past the dreams.”
She remembers her decision.
She tries to forget October, November, December.
She can’t forget him.
He remembers her decision.
He tries to forget the pain.
He can’t forget his broken heart.
“There’s no sunshine. There’s no you and me. There’s no sunshine: This impossible year.”
She remembers him.
He can’t forget her.
—Lyrics and song: “Impossible Year” by Panic! at the Disco (X)
— Writing by Sam King
An original post I wrote after listening to Panic! at the Disco’s new song, “Impossible Year.” Look at the original post for more elaboration on the story in the tags :)
okay so I wrote something in this project I’ve been working on for over a year that functions as a sort of prologue and I actually found it worth typing up — the ultimate sign that I don’t find it totally unreadable — and basically would anyone like to be my sounding board and read it? It’s only two pages ( ~800 words) and I would LOVE the feedback because it’s a project that I’m pretty excited about.
It’s a fantasy series, btw.
Okay message me if ur interested kthxbye
Anyone interested? (this is my personal blog btw so it’s my writing)
Hey:) I've made a tumblr account for the mere reason of telling you; The Countdown is amazing! (is there any continuation intended any time soon?) I'll treat you a pizza if we ever meet, under the condition that you continue that beautiful story :) (okay, even if you dont).
Hi!
This is so sweet, thank you so much for your kind words! I think you saw, but I wrote 10 chapters (which can be viewed here: http://wordsofmyimagination.tumblr.com/thecountdown).
Unfortunately, I don’ think I’ll be continuing The Countdown, for a few reasons.
First, I started writing this a few years ago when I was still in high school and had free time lol. I’m in my junior year at college now, and news editor of the campus newspaper, which takes up A LOT of my time. The only writing I really get the chance to do nowadays is news writing — which I love — but it does mean that I don’t have as much time for creative writing.
Also, when I began The Countdown, I didn’t really have a vision of where I wanted it to go. It started as a quick tag on to a post, but it kind of spiraled after that. I didn’t do any of the planning that goes into writing a story with any kind of viable plot line, which I do regret, but such is life.
ALSO, my writing style has changed A LOT since I started The Countdown, so now when I go back and read it, it’s not even familiar to me. I cringe and critique it to the point where I just want to scrap it lol.
So with all of that being said, no I don’t THINK I’m going to continue The Countdown, which I realize is really disappointing for the people who followed me precisely for that story, but I just don’t have the time or the writing style to continue it at this point. Maybe one day I’ll come back to it and completely redo it.
But thanks again for your kind words. It was people like you who encouraged me to change my career path from a teacher to a writer (hence the newspaper/communication degree) and gave me the confidence to continue sharing my work. My dream is to be an author and people like you give me the encouragement I need to do it :) If you decide to start up tumblr in earnest, follow my main blog: livingmywayeveryday, where I post content and sometimes little writings that I do. You’re awesome and I hope we can be friends!
xoxoxSam
I'm leaving for vacation in a few days and I really need book recommendations because it's an 8 hour flight! Help me out! <3 (I really love fantasy books atm and love a romance!!)
Survey
Do you prefer to read books from first person perspective or third?
handwriting on point
Hey guys!
I am officially on summer break, which means exciting things. Thanks to my friend brotherjem, I learned about Fiverr.com, which allows me to sell my services. I have decided to offer short stories (750 words) of a prompt of your choosing for $5! Any prompt you send me (with some exclusions) I will write a short story about. Not only will this be a great exercise for myself and a way to help me raise money for college, but I think it’ll be a fun way for some people who have great ideas get them on paper.
So! If you have a story idea or a prompt that you would like me to write about, go here: https://www.fiverr.com/s2/d27b6d8015
(I will also write more of The Countdown if that is your request!)
Thanks!
the curse of the writer is late (early?) hours and sore wrists
The Winner’s Curse by Marie Rutkoski
Rating: 4/5 Reading level: Young Adult
Synopsis: “As a General’s daughter in a vast empire that revels in war and enslaves those in conquers, seventeen-year-old Kestrel has two choices: she can join the military or get married. But Kestrel has other intentions. One day, she is startled to find a kindred spirit in a young slave up for auction. Arin’s eyes seem to defy everything and everyone. Following her instinct, Kestrel buys him— with unexpected consequences. It’s not long before she has to hide her growing love for Arin. But he, too, has a secret, and Kestrel quickly learns that the price she paid for a fellow human is much higher than she ever could have imagined. Set in a richly imagined new world, The Winner’s Curse is a story of deadly games where everything is at stake, and the gamble is whether you will keep your head or lose your heart.” —Book sleeve synopsis
Personal review: I am finally out of my rereading rut! And The Winner’s Curse was a great book to break that cycle. I started it around 3 p.m. and had it finished by midnight. A respectable size at 355 pages, TWC really was a page turner. I was initially tentative based on the synopsis, fearing that it would just be some ditzy lead heroine faced with the woes of getting married. But it was nothing like that. I really loved Kestrel’s apparent apathy. She never spent time lamenting her situation outside of expressing frustration. She questioned society’s rules openly without seeming high and mighty. I especially respected her quiet intelligence. I’m used to heroines who are bad ass fighters with swords, daggers or bow and arrows. And don’t get me wrong, I love those gals. But Kestrel was openly poor at weaponry. Instead, she relied on her strategist’s mind, which was really interesting to see how it came through during the entirety of the book. Arin, too, was a more complex character than I was expecting. I was preparing for a openly resentful, one dimension character who spent the whole time bitching. And again, you know I love my mouthy boys. But I found that I enjoyed his transition from a quietly cunning and masterful person into a leader. But the number one thing that really kept me turning the pages with no regard to passing time was the pacing. Rutkoski does a great job of making sure that just as one event ends, another is on the horizon. Just when I started to bore of one scene, it was ending or changing in a dramatic (but not comically so) manner. It was great how even after only 20 minutes of being done with the book, I was remembering parts and being like “oh yeah! That happened and it was awesome!” Rutkoski was able to successfully world-build (this is a fantasy novel) while simultaneously bringing the reader through the storyline without drowning us in an overflow of information and boring history. It really was well written. My only criticism would be that there were certainly some parts that needed to be fleshed out. While brevity does a good job of moving the reader through the story, it also means that some passages that really should have had more attention brought to them were lacking. I would recommend The Winner’s Curse to readers who enjoyed The Selection by Kiera Cass, Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas or Graceling by Kristin Cashore (who actually reviewed TWC).
Recommended?: Yes!
Howdy, all!
I know that I’ve been really quiet on this blog lately, and for that, I am sorry.
I have been been doing some writing, which is great, unfortunately it’s writing that I am seriously looking at publishing one day, so I’m hanging onto it until I really get the opportunity to work very hard on it, and make sure it’s something I’m proud of/won’t change after reading it after a week has passed.
That being said, I am also trying to up my reading because all the best writers are also the best readers, so if you’re interested in keeping up with what I’m reading and what I thought of it, then you should consider following my book review blog, shouldireadthisbook. And who knows? You may even find your new favorite book!
Thanks for all your support!
xoxo Sam
50 Shades of Abuse
As the release date for 50 Shades of Grey draws closer, my blood starts to boil just a little bit more.
Why? Because the media is spinning this story into a sexy ideal of romance that should in no way be idolized because it’s abuse. The relationship between Anastasia and Christian is 100% abusive…Christian Grey is manipulative and controlling, and in their sexual encounters, he purposely ignores safe words and consensual sex.
And people are going to eat it up as romance.
It sickens me that impressionable young women will go see this movie and think that it’s something to admire, that this is what romance and love is like. It disgusts me that people who are already in abusive relationships and who may not realize it, will see this movie and then their abuser will later use that as an excuse for their abusive behavior. (“But you saw the movie, that’s how love is”).
And it’s not at all. Love should never be manipulating or threatening. If kinky sex is what you’re into, then by all means please enjoy yourself, but also know that if your partner says a safe word, they’re saying it for a reason. And—I can’t stress this enough—if a partner expresses that they do not wish to have sex, or do any sexual act, RESPECT WHAT THEY’VE SAID. Just because someone has consented to sex before does not mean that they always will, because every sexual encounter is different. It is their body, so they make the rules.
Let me say that again just in case you didn’t understand.
It’s their body, so they make the rules.
Just because someone is in a relationship doesn’t mean that one person is in control of the other. Love, true love, is given freely and with a great sense of acceptance and understanding.
I will be boycotting the dickens out of this franchise and everything it stands for. I know I can’t say the same for everyone, especially since it’s started such a movement. I applaud the author for taking on such a tricky subject, but I implore her to reevaluate the content of her writing and consider just how damaging and impactful it will be to the people who read or watch it.
HEY MY BEST FRIEND WROTE THIS AND NOT ONLY IS IT WELL WRITTEN, BUT IT'S EXTREMELY RELEVANT RIGHT NOW, SO YEAH
Random Scribbles
January 3, 1:55am
The girl had salt water in her veins. She had sand under her fingernails. Her breath was a cool island breeze. When she sighed at beauty the palm trees swayed in agreement. She was raised by the sea turtles, taught by the dolphins. The fish were her friends. She knew nothing of cities or bus stops. Her skyscrapers were the palm trees. Her bus stops, non-existent. Because who needed a bus when you didn’t even need shoes? She was darker than the sand, hair lighter than it. She was not just sun-kissed. Her skin had been made love to by the sun. Her body was married to the sun. And when her husband the sun left her for the night, she had her lover the moon to keep her company. The stars were not judgmental, and just as she began to miss the moon, the sun returned in a spectacular display of warmth, washing away the chill of loneliness. And on those darkest of nights when the moon became jealous and refused to show his face, and the stars seemed distant, the waves seemed to grow louder, reassuring her that if all else failed, the ocean loved her. For day changed to night, and night to day, and the moon was inconsistent, and the sun sometimes hid his face behind dark clouds, but it was the ocean— the ocean! which was constant, lapping against her golden ankles, seeming to say “I’m here, I’m constant, you’re not alone.” She had salt water in her veins, sand under her fingernails and ocean breezes in her lungs. She knew nothing but her island. And the island knew nothing but her. And they loved each other.
Random Scribbles
January 3, 1:55am
The girl had salt water in her veins. She had sand under her fingernails. Her breath was a cool island breeze. When she sighed at beauty the palm trees swayed in agreement. She was raised by the sea turtles, taught by the dolphins. The fish were her friends. She knew nothing of cities or bus stops. Her skyscrapers were the palm trees. Her bus stops, non-existent. Because who needed a bus when you didn't even need shoes? She was darker than the sand, hair lighter than it. She was not just sun-kissed. Her skin had been made love to by the sun. Her body was married to the sun. And when her husband the sun left her for the night, she had her lover the moon to keep her company. The stars were not judgmental, and just as she began to miss the moon, the sun returned in a spectacular display of warmth, washing away the chill of loneliness. And on those darkest of nights when the moon became jealous and refused to show his face, and the stars seemed distant, the waves seemed to grow louder, reassuring her that if all else failed, the ocean loved her. For day changed to night, and night to day, and the moon was inconsistent, and the sun sometimes hid his face behind dark clouds, but it was the ocean-- the ocean! which was constant, lapping against her golden ankles, seeming to say "I'm here, I'm constant, you're not alone." She had salt water in her veins, sand under her fingernails and ocean breezes in her lungs. She knew nothing but her island. And the island knew nothing but her. And they loved each other.
Hi guys!
I’m working on a research project for school, and I really need as many responses as possible. If you could PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE answer the questions and the REBLOG this, I will love you forever, AND promo you if you want! PLEASE I’M BEGGING!
plllleeeeeaaaase it really doesn’t take more than 2 minutes
PLEAAASSEEE
Hey guys! I realize this is not really related to my writing, but if you could PLEASE fill out this very quick survey, I'd be super grateful!
forever getting inspired waaaaay too late at night to be healthy….
Anyone else have these problems????
A letter to Seaweed Brain and Wise Girl: (**BoO Spoilers**)
A huge part of a writer’s life is reading. And I think we all have that ONE book series that has a huge portion of our hearts. For some of us, that book series is continuing. For others, that book series ended long ago. For me, it ended today as I closed the cover on Blood of Olympus, the final book in the Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus series. So this one’s for you, Seaweed Brain.
October 15, 1:37am I finished Blood of Olympus yesterday, and with it the entirety of the Percy Jackson Series. These stupid nerds (Percy, Annabeth, Grover, Leo and so many more) have been a huge part of my life since I was 9 years old. I have a picture of myself on my 11th birthday unwrapping The Titan’s Curse, joy and elation clear on my face. Percy and Annabeth spurred my passion for mythology and reading. Every October was made more special because it meant I’d get to visit with some of my dearest friends. Percy was 11 when he started. Now he’s 18, going to his senior year of high school (with Annabeth!!) and looking at college in New Rome (with Annabeth!!) The pages of these books (from water beds to wedding dresses to a gray streak to a crazy cowboy to an underwater kiss) have offered me so much joy and happiness. I’ve learned lessons with these idiots. I’ve learned about how to have a happy relationship, be it plutonic or romantic. Each year I got to revisit my treasured friends. Even just knowing there was another book, another adventure to come, was enough. But now they’re over and I can’t help but feel like I’ve lost some of my best friends. Sure, I can reread the series, relive their adventures. But it will be like looking at a scrapbook. Looking at pictures of past events. Past adventures. I’ll remember how it felt to read it, to experience it, the first time, but I’ll never get to create new memories with my friends. I’ll never get the thrill of beginning a new chapter, a new book. Of questioning: what happens next? I’ll continue to grow and have adventures of my own, but Percy and Annabeth are no longer in my present or my future. They’re in my past. I’ll grow older. I’ll have new adventures, make new memories. But Percy and Annabeth will forever stay as they were in those final few pages. Happy. In love. Together. Optimistic. But in the past nonetheless. So thank you, Seaweed Brain. Thank you, Wise Girl. Your adventures may be over. But you’ll live on in my heart and MY adventures. I have to battle my own monsters now. But I promise to take out the scrap books from time to time and remember the fun we had. With ALL my love and gratitude, I say goodbye and thank you.
Sam writes about: Feminism
I am a feminist, and very proud of this fact. But I came to realize that I haven’t always been one, and that childhood is perhaps the most important time to instill a sense of female empowerment among women. When I was little, I had a very active imagination. I would play games like Princess, school, office all the time. I played house and various other games of make believe. None of this seems inherently wrong until you look closer at the roles I PURPOSEFULLY put myself in during these games. When I played Princesses, I was always a damsel in distress, waiting for Prince Charming to come and save me. When I played school, I was the teacher who took orders from the Principal, Mr. So and So. When I played office, I was the secretary, answering calls and running errands for my boss, Mr. So and So. Looking back on it, in nearly every single game I played, I was always in a subservient role, working for the man. And I chose, willingly and gladly, to play these roles, and serve imaginary MEN. Now then, I’m not coming down on women who have made decisions to be these people in real life. Part of my beliefs as a feminist lie in that women deserve the right to work in whatever position they choose to— be that a stay-at-home mom or a CEO— without facing any judgement one way or another. And I don’t regret the fun I had playing these roles in my imagination back then. I enjoyed my self and was happy. But I’d like to believe that that happiness stemmed from a place of ignorance. Ignorance in that I didn’t KNOW women could be the boss. I was (and am) certainly ambitious (ambitious, not bossy, by the way) enough to have probably chosen those roles instead. But the fact remains that through either explicit or subtle social cues, all I knew was that girls were always the servants. Always the helpers. Anyone who knows me today knows that all the roles I played back then are the opposite of what I want for myself now. So it’s crucial that we expose young girls to powerful female role models. We need more female pirate captains. More female Barneys. More female characters who have the same influence as characters like Mickey Mouse. More female characters having adventures and being in charge. Because while it’s great that feminism is growing and spreading its message, it will all be for nothing if we can’t convince young princesses to save her prince instead.
(If you don’t believe this is a problem, name me some female characters from cartoon shows you watched when you were 6 or younger who were half as important to you as the male characters.)
A little piece I felt inspired to write after having a conversation with my roommates about what games I played as a kid...
