Aspiring Writer - Blog Posts

You are the air I need to breath. My body has grown dependent on you and you don’t even acknowledge my existence anymore. I’m suffocating without you. And you learned how to breathe without me.

theheartoftheplanet

I’m planning on doing NaNoWriMo in November, so expect snippets of my writing to start to appear daily 

For that second time stopped. Their eyes meeting in an everlasting moment. Breathing slowed as those pairs of brown eyes met each other for that infinite moment. Love at first sight may not exist, but for that moment those two strangers felt a magic. And cruel faith must be for their paths were never to cross again.

Me, my mind, and sad thoughts

Seeing the notes I wrote for my book and it’s like

No?? I don’t understand?? What was past mae thinking??

Writing tidbits

The way when I write with no plotting is so so SO different to when I'm plotting LMAOOO.

No plotting:

Vague idea of plotting:

PLOTTING:

LMAOO I think this is why i do NOT plot at all for my WIPS

i have had this story idea in my head for almost a DECADE. i have filled notebooks with it. i have filled my notes app with it. i have worldbuilt this world so hard. so many character and stuff. and it comes to 11,000 words only?? like what on earth. i’m so sad (-,-). i want words to be flying. i’m on chapter 3?? of like part 1 and i’ve just started and it’s already SO HARD??! ugh

anyways,,

my oc :: my main character::

lemme tell you i love her she’s hilarious and she’s not even here yet. her dad?? hilarious like i can’t wait to write him he will be so funny i alr know it. she’s like mwah but she will be going THROUGH it. my baby.

is it just me that gets random ass whole SCENES just in the middle of something. like i’ll be talking to someone or walking across the road and then BAM!

i now have a whole conversation between two characters in my head. my one (1) notes app is getting ABUSED at this point.

me: talking to my friend

brain: what if : FIGHT SCENE

me: takes out my phone and my fingers are flying trying to get this down

friend: ??? what’s going on???

like bro,,, this scene::

just came out of nowhere. no idea how?? but still like wow (sorry for the blackouts but i want this to be a suprise!!!)

like writing is such a mood i once woke up in the middle of the night with a whole scene written out and just??? went back to sleep and woke up like yeah that tracks

Excerpt from my WIP Dead above.

The book so far consists of messy notes and pieces of different plot ideas that don't fit together built up over two years. Most of them are my frantic half asleep scribblings that don't make any sense lol. Now i just need to build my Frankenstein.

Screw it , I'm going to write this book.

Former gifted kid doesn’t immediately understand her homework and breaks down at her work desk (three dead, five injured)

Help needed for a novel concept.

I have been toying with the idea of writing a novel, mainly for my own enjoyment and feeling of accomplishment, but I am quite worried it'll turn out too similar to TSH ... I would like to tackle themes of obsession with image and social prestige, but I've seen many works of fiction you can tell were influenced a bit too much by Tartt's work.. if anyone has any tips to help prevent this affect, that'll be appreciated.

I sit here and put words on a paper that I otherwise do not dare to say. I don’t know who to talk to. When I mention what I think about I get told that it’s only because things are just not going my way right now. Funny. I suppose things haven’t been going my way last year either. Or the year before that. Or the year before. I don’t remember not feeling like this. These words, there the same. For years now. I’m writing them down because I’m unable to say them to anyone.

I’ve reached out for help before. Got weird looks from people when I told them that I need to talk to someone. Got told that they wouldn’t be able to help me because I just needed to get over this. Everyone feels like this once in a while.

I went there once. Got told I felt like this because I’m not taking control over my life. The situation was uncomfortable. I didn’t go a second time. They asked for feedback afterwards. What was I supposed to say? Thanks for not listening, I still don’t know how to not hate myself. How to not cry. How to make my chest stop hurting. How to stop feeling like I’m drowning.

Now the thought of talking to someone is even scarier. I don’t like to talk to people anyway. What if I take all my courage and ask for help again, only to be told it’s my own fault? I know it’s my fault. I tell myself that every day. I don’t need another person telling me the same.

Potential

Hush

Too far, too wide, too fast

Not yet

Don’t go

Don’t, won’t

Don’t, can’t

Not now

Beware

Hush now

Haven’t done, won’t do

Couldn’t do, won’t do

What can I do?

Can’t do

And can’t and can’t and can’t

I’m scared

Don’t ask

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

Sparking Chemistry Between Characters #1

⇢ Emotional Timing ( When One Opens Up and the Other Isn’t Ready, Yet)

There’s something so devastatingly real about when characters miss each other, not physically, but emotionally. One’s finally ready to be honest, to be seen… and the other? Still hiding. Still pretending. That emotional dissonance creates a whole different kind of electricity: one rooted in vulnerability, silence, and the ache of almost.

“I trust you,” she said, voice low, eyes steady. He looked at her, and for a second, he almost said it back. But then his smile cracked, soft and sad, and he looked away like the words were burning holes in his throat.

This isn’t the moment they fall into each other’s arms. This is the moment they could have. And those moments still haunt.

Use this when:

You want slow burn that hurts a little

Your characters are stubborn, scared, or emotionally constipated (bless them)

The closeness builds from not-quite-connecting, until one of them finally breaks

⇢  Silent Support ( When They Don’t Say It, But They Show It)

Sometimes the most romantic thing a character can do is just… be there. No speeches. No dramatic gestures. Just showing up, quiet, consistent, unwavering. The kind of person who notices when your laugh sounds tired.

He didn’t say anything when he found her curled up on the kitchen floor. He just sat next to her, their shoulders barely touching, and slid his hoodie off without a word. A minute later, she was wearing it. Five minutes later, she was breathing again.

This isn’t about grand declarations. It’s about the kind of love that doesn’t demand to be acknowledged. The kind that waits. That steadies. That speaks fluent silence.

Use this when:

You want to show love without “I love you”

You’re building intimacy through actions, not words

Your characters aren’t the touchy-feely, talk-it-out types

⇢ Emotional Whiplash (When Conflict Turns Intimate Too Fast)

This is the classic “We were fighting five seconds ago and now I want to kiss you” moment. Because nothing stirs up feelings like frustration mixed with closeness. When characters clash, especially if there’s emotional history or denial involved, it creates heat. They’re already fired up. Already in each other’s space. Now throw in a little vulnerability and BAM, you’ve got magnetic chaos.

“Why do you care what I do?” she snapped, stepping closer. “Because I...” He bit the word back, jaw tight. His fists clenched at his sides. She stared, breath caught in her throat. “Because I do,” he said finally, quieter this time. “More than I should.”

Enemies to lovers. Friends to what even are we. That line-blurring, heart-pounding tension where the air is thick and the truth almost slips out, that’s where this trope lives (I Love It).

Use this when:

You want chaos, angst, and chemistry all at once

Your characters are in denial and one good argument away from kissing

You want something to break open and then immediately regret it

writing reminders

it's ok to write only for yourself

it's ok to not share your writing with the world

it's ok to want validation

it's ok to write self-indulgent stories

it's ok to write only one genre

it's ok to share your writing regardless of your skill

it's ok to praise your own writing

it's ok to abandon wips

it's ok if you don't write every day

it's ok if you write fanfiction (because people who claim it isn't real writing is wrong)

it's ok to use clichés

it's ok to have a bad day of writing

it's ok to be a slow writer

it's normal to have days in which you doubt the things you write, that doesn't mean you're a bad writer

it's ok to ask for feedback

it's ok to cringe at your old writing

it's ok to hype up your writing online

it's ok to celebrate your achievements

the waves (for tomorrow) - a song

soft sounds of the rain

i feel like a child in your presence

i wish someone had told me

that all beautiful things

may come to an end

you don’t need to remind me

it’s that time of the season

i can’t get my brain to hold it down

my mother told me

you kill all you believe in

so how come i believe in you?

As the sea I swell

I used to know myself well

Before you became my mirror,

I could see myself clearer

You’ve broken my shell

round or chords

how could we have known

words betray me

our innocent drive

that purest belief

of our beautiful youth

i want to resist

these powerful ties with the passing of time

with all of my mind i try

but instead

i will bury my pain in the shower drain

i will do my best to remember

if i am to live my life full of beauty

i will, too

live a life full of grief

As the sea I swell

I used to know myself well

Now I can feel my walls breaking

please don’t mind the shaking

and swear you won’t tell

As the sea i swell

you used to know yourself well

but as we grow with the seasons

the one thing that’s not leaving

is your spell

apples

sharing apples in the sun

i picked them,

they’re from the heart

the core is soft

as i bite, in deep

the flesh hums

and writhes a little

i’ll lap your words off the floor

where they fell, revealing

my lover’s basket

thoughts spill out like the flowers

in my lover’s basket

lovely little things, both

her mouth runs laps like a panting dog

unwilling to compromise

for existing ecstatically

flowers spill from my mouth

hanging there, still

as the presence of a dead loved one

thieves of reason are my baby and me

humming prayer into

each others mouths like poison

blinking in the mirror

confused

long night

softly bruised

a French perfume

cloth on skin

a hand

bluntly sovereign

held open unarmed

intentionally…?

softly palmed

there in the wrinkled sea

… a clementine

Mother

Mother was kind on loss today

she laid me a bed of roses

they prick lightly, almost lovingly

as the bare of flesh exposes

almost, almost

lost in the folds of skin so dark

the earth here is red and bleeding

into the leftover green of dying grass

two hands intertwined while meeting

for the first time almost believing

Mother lay me down in the deep

where the walls surround and plunder

pluck away at the skin of the living

the dog smiles with a crow, a murder

in its open mouth

almost dead, almost