Your Window to Inspiration: Seamlessly Browse Tumblr!
Writing - Blog Posts
Thank you for your participation in this survey, you may find a virtual cookie on the desk on your way out.
Reason 2 to finish your manuscript:
Because you want to read it.
It’s post random shit on tumblr hours.
I’d apologize but why would I?
Reason 1 to finish your manuscript:
You can’t read fanfiction of your work unless you, actually, y’know, finish and publish it.
So at what point in writing your book do you admit that you realized halfway through the outlining process-
“Fuck I’m writing wolfstar as lesbians.”
Ayo House MD fans I need help w something
Lowkey thinking about writing a College AU where House and Wilson are professors and I cannot for the life of me figure out what I want them to be specialized in
I don’t wanna do any STEM majors cause I don’t know shit about that so I’m thinking somewhere in the humanities but I’m struggling to pick for them
Send help, ideas, and perchance a bullet to the head idk 🤷
I hate finding patterns in my own writing bc what do you MEAN I have 3 different WIPs with scenes where person A has an “oh. Oh” moment about being in love w person B while talking to a therapist????
And once something with that type of scene gets published (either on ao3 or professionally) I CAN’T USE IT ANYMORE
This is one of many examples of writing super hell
Ok ok so yes angst that builds over the course of the narrative and ends with A and B fucking absolutely NASTY is fun and all but consider:
The arc *starts* with A and B fucking nasty once or maybe even a few times (because what else would be a better inciting incident?) and it catches the reader off guard bc isn’t this supposed to be angst? What’s the plot? Is this just self indulgent smut (which is still fine but not what the reader was expecting)
Bc A is happy about it, thrilled even. Feelings have been acted on, things are looking up…even tho they went from 0 to 100 with B it feels normal.
B on the other hand, is a disaster. Repression with a side of pride and a dash of comphet for good measure. It wasn’t until they were literally in bed with A (or a closet, or the back seat of a car) that they even considered A to be an option. At least consciously.
THATS where you get the angst, babie! The angst and the new build up comes in the same way. Arguing, distance, confusion, manipulation…but instead of it being “will they, won’t they” it’s “will they ever again” which is just so DELICIOUS!!!!
Like every time their fingers brush or there’s lingering eye contact or an absentminded comment is made it is colored even worse because THEY’VE ALREADY DONE SOMETHING! SOMETHING HAS ALREADY HAPPENED! A and B both know there’s something there because they broke the bed (or the closet door, or the car seat) so of course they wouldn’t be rejected…right?
And of course after thousands upon thousands of words of angst and slow burn and self destructive behavior they fuck nasty AGAIN but they don’t pull away from each other after
Fic over! Boom! Done! Give me your wallet!
Y’all ever just wake up from a dead sleep, craving the need to craft and/or feel productive, then realize that because of the time of night there is nothing that can be done?
Then do y’all find some stickers, a fresh, still sealed notebook, AND a pen? All in the drawers of your nightstand?
Evil writing time >:)
If people want to do self inserts in stories (OG or fanfic) you can’t just make them the protagonist or the love interest or the villain!!! (I mean you can but that’s too easy)
What you gotta do is make the self insert a silly little guy that pops up in the narrative arc like two-three times and fucks EVERYTHING up for the protagonist and co. It doesn’t have to be malicious, it could just be like an “oopsies accidentally ruined your plan my b” thing.
Cause if you really think about it, that’s the roll of the writer (you) in relationship to the narrative. Your job is to make your character’s life difficult in one way or another so that the story is interesting
PLUS if something (god forbid) is actually PUBLISHED, characters are gonna get cut anyways so the self insert needs to be just barely relevant enough to the plot that removing them would mess up the story arc
This is my first ever short story! It’s based off of a real clown who beat a child to death in the street. I hope anyone reading gets a kick out of it!
“Punchy the Clown”
Jonathan Griswald had been the butt of the joke for most of his life, but the important thing is that it wasn't his fault.
"Look at Jonny's crooked nose! He looks like a dumb old crow!"
"Y'know Jon, you've been getting a little round lately... it's a wonder your bum leg hasn't given out! HA!"
"Dad, that man has funny eyes. Why is one so big? Did he steal them?"
Yeah, yeah. He was SO funny to all the morons, all his "friends", every little damn brat on the street.
But it couldn't get any worse than that. At least, that's what Jonathan thought. His school life had been hell; why wouldn't it have been? No one cared to hear a word that came out of his mouth. They all took him for a fool. An idiot! Because they thought he looked funny! Jonathan was no idiot. He was a GENIUS. He knew it. He had to be. His parents were smart, his father was rich. He was destined for greatness.
Or he would be.
It didn't matter that he nearly was flunked out of school. It didn't matter that he couldn't write clearly, or couldn't read. And it wasn't HIS fault no one knew how smart he was. No, better to save his breath, and his ideas. Oh, the ideas Jonathan had. He'd take the world by storm, show those idiots what was so funny when he had them shining his shoes! He'd decided that he was to be a great scientist. One day. Even a genius like him didn't know everything, and how was he expected to pay much attention in school when everybody was laughing so hard? It didn't matter what subject; he knew he'd pick up anything that was ACTUALLY important with ease. They'd be tripping over themselves to sway him to be a biologist, or a chemist, or some other science branch where he belonged. All he had to do was get into a university! He had just the one in mind, a prestigious academy in the capital. But even a genius like him knew to temper his expectations; the top university might not be ready for him right out the gate. It was probably reserved for graduate level students, already on the verge of becoming masters, and naturally with an unfair advantage over him, just a few years out of high school. He applied anyway, as well as to the rest of the top ten universities around the surrounding cities. It would just be five or so years he'd have to coast along to get to greatness. He would be rich. Maybe even famous! But he paced himself, for he was nothing if not modest. It was one spring morning when his offers finally came pouring in.
"Dear Mr. Griswald,
After reviewing your application, it is with some displeasure that we cannot accept you as a student at our university..."
"Jonathan Griswald,
Our university receives thousands of applications a year, and we regret to tell you you did not make the cut..."
"Mr. Jonathan Griswald,
Unfortunately, your transcripts are not up to the standards we set for our prospective students..."
"J Griswald - REJECTED."
His life was over before it even began.
He wasn't good enough for even the least popular of the many universities he'd applied to.
They thought he was an idiot.
That he wasn't worth their time.
He could hear them laughing at him.
But he couldn't give up; not yet. If he had a flaw, he knew it would be his writing. Why else would they ALL reject him? Something must have gotten lost along the way. They didn't feel his passion. They didn't know just how smart he could be. He sat, surrounded by torn envelopes and crumpled letters.
That's it!
If his problem was his writing, then he'd best go do the talking himself! It was a mistake to think anyone would even read his essays in the first place. His apartment was just a few blocks across the city from the best of the best. Surely, they'd let him speak and show how incredible he truly was! He hobbled over to his cane, put on his coat and hat, and fled out the door into a bright and beautiful morning. Yes, he would make them understand. Today would be a good day.
Some twenty minutes later, panting and cramping like hell, Jonathan found himself in front of an office of the university. Inside, there was a billboard with news clippings and fliers on it; academic fairs, a research grant opportunity, and a calendar graced it, as well as frivolous things like an advertisement for a new automobile. There was even a poster for a circus that would be arriving soon. One day, HE would be on a billboard. He'd be on them all! No scholar would go a day without knowing of Jonathan Griswald, a genius of great renown! All he had to do was secure his place as a student. He limped through the hall to a set of double doors at the end, in which some less important meeting was happening, took a deep, shaking breath, and burst in.
"Excuse me, I am Jonathan Griswald. I have applied to be a student at this academy, but I believe I was rejected by mistake. I have what it takes to be a genius, and I beg you to allow me to be a scholar!"
He glanced around him, at the smart-looking men circled around the room. Any moment now, one would speak up, shoot to their feet, and as he spoke he could feel himself gain confidence. Jonathan went over some of his best ideas, his most ambitious projects, that he was sure could work if only he got the chance! He talked.
And talked.
And talked.
Until he was done.
Until finally, gasping for air, he gazed upon the men in the room.
And one spoke.
"Excuse me sir, but I believe you have the wrong building. You see, we are an institute of science, and we teach students. Of those, we do not accept people of your sort. I must admit, your getup is impressive. Perhaps you will find your place as a 'genius' with the circus." He smiled.
It was a wicked thing.
"I am no clown," Jonathan vehemently denied, "I am a genius! You MUST accept me, I implore you - "
But he could not get out another word. His ears suddenly filled with a thunderous sound. It was so deafening, it reverberated in his bones.
Laughter.
They were LAUGHING at him. All of them! All these scientists and professors, sat around their little table, surrounding him with their laughter.
These idiots. Stupid, idiotic fools. A clown, was he? He hurt in his chest, his heart alight with rage. There was a pounding noise now. Blood in his ears.
"Hah! Look at his red face! Now you REALLY look the part!" Another spoke up.
"You know, he could be this generation's next great clown like that!"
"A scholarly clown! What a joke..."
Jonathan couldn't take it anymore. He lifted up his cane, determined to march out the doors. Instead, he nearly fell, barely catching himself on the knob.
Another surge of laughter, battering him like waves in a storm.
He pried open the door and threw himself into the hall, down to the building's entrance, and out into the street.
They barely gave him a chance! He came to them in person! He had every right to be there among those men! Those beasts. They cackled wolfishly in his mind. He could still hear the peals of laughter through open windows.
He hated them. Just because he looked strange, because his work wasn't given the respect it deserved, that HE deserved, he couldn't be a scholar.
They were the worst of mankind, truly. Scum. Vermin. Morons who probably got by just because they LOOKED like scientists. They were probably rich too. They must've paid someone for their status. They must've felt threatened by him! By his ideas! He ought to go back in there and give them a real piece of his mind!
He could feel the blood in his cheeks now.
Jonathan Griswald fled the academy building like a crooked, crazed storm. His arms thrashed out at nothing as he tried in vain to savagely beat the air before him. He could barely hear himself think, let alone anything else on the street that morning. Except for one thing.
A little girl, standing by her mother.
"Mommy, look! It's Punchy the Clown!"
It wasn't his fault.
Who could blame him? A genius like him, a clown? It seemed everyone thought so these days. He didn't belong in a circus, damn it!
It wasn't his fault. She was practically asking for it.
He slammed his cane down. Down into her pretty, young face. Again and again, he swung down at the girl, lying in the street, as her mother sobbed and screamed for help. her face was a mess of blood and bone.
It wasn't his fault.
There was blood on his face.
No one was laughing now.
JONATHAN GRISWALD - SENTENCED TO DEATH BY ELECTRIC CHAIR FOR MURDER OF A CHILD
✨the end✨
Desi fantasy characters don't eat bread and cheese on long journeys, they eat roti and achar. Preferably mango or lemon, but any will do tbh. No, I will not be taking any questions on this subject
Hatred is thick, a red fog that clouds judgement, and hot, burning in one’s veins. Hatred is fire, burning and passionate, easily able to swallow you whole if you don’t set it aside. Hatred spreads like wildfire, rousing and loud, the clap of thunder.
Where the cinders and embers that light the fire are impatient and desperate, grabbing at whatever they may find to remain alive, hatred is patient. Hatred is a seed pod, hiding in a stagnant bog, content with discontent and relishing in it, waiting to flower and spread its venom. Hatred is a destructive thing, poisoning the one who harbors it just as it poisons the others surrounding its host.
Yet it is disgustingly sweet, to the point where it is delicious. Hatred, while clouding the mind, gives focus. It sends you on a hunt, after the object that created it. The festering bud, once awakened, sends you on the path of ruin.
Hatred is something demons love to toy with. After all, men are more likely to destroy the things they hate themselves. They won’t find excuses or search for sacrificial lambs, instead opting to take matters into their own hands.
I am far from a demon. The enduring powers in my family, fighting defiantly against the weathering of time, have taken root in me. I have very little in the way of demonic gifts, but I can light a spark. I can smell the budding seeds of hatred in one’s heart, feel the feeble heat on the palms of my hands, and I can stoke the fire.
Small hatred goes a long way.
Deep Water Prompt #3148
The farther back your demonic ancestor lived, the less of their power you had access to. I could do little more than smell hatred, thick, cloying, delicious, which was handy in its own way.
Writer’s “Have You Ever”
Rules: Tag the person who tagged you, then bold the things in this list that you have done, then tag five to ten other writers!
Tagged by @radiowrites, thank you kindly. This one looks fun.
First Person
Second Person
Third Person
Omniscient POV
Past Tense
Present Tense
Future Tense
A complete story
A story longer than 1k
A story longer than 5k
A story longer than 10k
A story longer than 50k
A story longer than 100k
A story longer than 150k
A story shorter than 1k
A story shorter than 500 words
Fanfiction
Original Fiction
Fantasy
Science Fiction
Historical fiction
Dystopian
A story in the Romance Genre
A Story with No Speculative Elements At All
Non-fiction
A children’s book
A story about vampires
A story about robots
A story with a non-human protagonist
A story with a main character based on yourself
A story with a character based on somebody you know
Male POV
Female POV
A POV character the opposite sex from yourself
Animal’s POV
Multiple Viewpoints
POV character under age 15
POV character over age 30
A story told in non-chronological order
Story with a happy ending
Story with a sad ending
Death of a minor character
Death of a major character
Death (offscreen)
Death (onscreen)
Antagonist death
Protagonist death
Villain gets a redemption arc
Kissing scene
Sex scene (offscreen)
Sex scene (onscreen)
Swears (Mild)
Swears (Heavy)
Violence (PG or under)
Violence (PG-13 or over)
Fight scene
Torture scene
A flashback
A dream sequence
A scene that made you cry actual tears (i never wrote a scene that made me cry but it was real close so i’m counting it)
A scene that made you laugh at your own joke
A prologue
An epilogue
A story with more than 30 chapters
A chapter with fewer than 100 words
A poem
A prophecy
Story that takes place in the future
Story that takes place in the past
Story that takes place in a world that is not Earth
An anti-hero
An anti-villain
A parody
Description of male character’s scent
Description of female character’s boobs
Character with eyes of a non-natural color
Thank you for the tag @radiowrites! This was really cool!
For my first chapter, I got Anne Rice, for the part I’m working on now, I got Agatha Christie, and for an older draft of the piece I’m working on now, I got Agatha Christie again. I’ve never read any of their books so it looks like I kinda have to now.
i’ve tried and failed to post about my work because the rational part shows up before i finish typing
then, Dazai lifts his head. evening sun streaming through the window paints walls of the agency in golden hues, while everyone in front of it melds together like palm trees in sunset paintings, their figures silhouetted against the light. he gazes at these people, unable to distinguish who they are; a gentle breeze tousles their hair all at once, they laugh simultaneously, and like palm trees swaying in the wind, they emit a single sound. yet he knows if he were to focus, he could distinguish each of everyones’ unique way of laughing. and if he listens carefully enough, he might hear his own laughter too because he finally understands what this is all about, what is there to laugh at. the wind, as if finishing its work with them, comes to him and caresses his head. the sun, merging their silhouettes, shines in his eyes too and the feeling is almost too much for him to bear. his eyes meets with Atsushi’s and the boy smiles knowingly. twenty-two years, he thinks. now I belong somewhere. he smiles back.
This is what made me get back into reading Manga. Kaiju no. 8, Marriage Toxin, the poetry of Ran, all fantastic works that DON’T TAKE PLACE IN A DAMN HIGH SCHOOL!
I don’t know if it’s like a bunch of people thinking your life ends at adulthood, or just pandering to a easier to please demographic, but what I need is stories that mix shit up!
I want a 35 year old woman, in a childless marriage to become a magical girl against her will! every day her Husband comes home, says “God, I had the worst day with these damn newbies” to which she’s like “…I talk to raccoons now, and their diplomacy with the foxes failed. I’m supposed to be the guardian of coexistence, but I honestly just want to torch everything past that damn tree line” And now he’s sad because he knows that she just wants to go back to her job as a floor manager at the sporting goods store, but it shut down and even if local businesses did pick up new hires, he knows the ever-cave deemed her a part of the reborn council, and now she’s one of a limited few who can calm the souls residing in the sea of trees.
more characters should be 30+ years old
In madness and in magnetic beauty, in glory and in melancholy.
''I would recognise you in total darkness, were you mute and I deaf. I would recognise you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times. And I would love you in all of this, until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion''.
- The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller
I felt something unexplainable in my chest and there were flowers growing inside my veins. My heart stopped and that moment felt like eons. Eons full of ecstasy.
-anneshwa
I call for a new tomorrow,
but hold yesterday's hands tightly,
the grip is powerful,
and the darkness is obscure to most.
I thrive in the sun,
I feel the gentle rhythms.
- Anneshwa
A dream that burned so bright,
it lit up the corners of the gloomiest alleys.
A dream as bright as the first light,
and as genial as a warm hug.
A gentle touch,
a glacé remembrance
of the sunny woods.
- Anneshwa ✨
Meet me on the bridge of glorified agony,
Afloat ; a floating incident between two grounds above water
Between a winsome arrival and a sorrowful departure.
Can we burn it, so that we don't have to cross the bridge?
Bridge will always be the metaphor for us.
It's a portal between two places,
And that's what we are.
Neither lovers, nor strangers.
- anneshwa