awriterfaraway

[awriterfaraway]

Speaking as a reader not a writer though, I know the book is good when I have multiple moments of wide eyes and "What the fuck is going on in this house? " and "what the hell is going on here? " while grinning like a maniac in my shock.

[awriterfaraway]

In case it's not common, reading is a part of your job as a writer.

Not every reader is a writer, but every writer MUST be a reader. Reading inspires you, motivates you, and keeps your creativity flowing. Make sure to read more than you write.

[awriterfaraway]

Basic writer and main character conversation:

"I've been sitting for an hour here. Don't you plan to tell me more about yourself? "

"No. "

"Why the hell not? "

"I don't know you. "

"Are you freaking kidding me? I've been writing about you for 6 months. "

"6 months minus one. You didn't write yesterday. "

"Well, I was sick. "

"That's not my problem. I don't know you. "

"... I'll make it up to you. "

"That's definitely a lie. I am not dumb. "

"I'll write extra today if you inspire me. "

"How extra? "

"Two thousand words for two undisturbed hours with a bonus of a special playlist and a steaming espresso. "

"... sounds good. "

"Yeah? So what do you have to tell me today? "

"I'm glad you asked. So, basically, I killed a whole battalion 5 years ago with a rusty dagger. And then, on the same night, I killed my siblings and swaped them for other people and threw their corpses in the basement. "

"YOU DID WHAT?! "

[awriterfaraway]

No, because I really do believe the writing community to be one of the most humans rich with sympathy, patience, and intelligence.

Artists genuinely have a strong sense of observation. The sun is slightly orange on the edges, and the tears are trapped around one's eyes.

But just as writers observe the outside, they observe the inside as well. Writers and even readers, in my beliefs, are usually able to understand those around them from mere facial expressions or a small talk.

Moreover, they have a special clarity. While other people see a certain one as evil, a writer might wonder what made them evil. A writer might even recognize the good cracks in them.

Writers are so sympathetic and empathic. At least the majority of them. Unlike most people, they don't judge first. They know when someone is lonely or when someone is laughing but is not happy. They just know. It's like an instinct. They have some kind of a third eye that sees through the world and its people.

Because it's what we do. We have to see through the world to express the world.

[awriterfaraway]

Exercise the writing muscle every day, even if it is only a letter, notes, a title list, a character sketch, a journal entry. Writers are like dancers, like athletes. Without that exercise, the muscles seize up.

-Jane Yolen

[awriterfaraway]

Hypothesis or theory number three on my list explains my beliefs that our stories choose us and not the other way around.

Years before I even considered writing, I believed that every book out there was a little bubble. All these bubbles float in a dimension nobody could reach but specific chosen people.

The characters trapped inside that bubble would, for some reason, choose you out of all humans. They would whisper to you the more you write about them. They'd tell you what happened to them. What broke them. What delighted them.

The root of this belief in me is that when you open a document, you don't really have a vision of every sentence you're gonna write and every word. They just come like that. It's like someone is telling you to write them.

Moral of the theory, don't make these characters regret choosing you. In another universe, these characters are real people. Like us.

When a writer stops writing, a soul dies.

[awriterfaraway]

Hypothesis or theory number three on my list explains my beliefs that our stories choose us and not the other way around.

Years before I even considered writing, I believed that every book out there was a little bubble. All these bubbles float in a dimension nobody could reach but specific chosen people.

The characters trapped inside that bubble would, for some reason, choose you out of all humans. They would whisper to you the more you write about them. They'd tell you what happened to them. What broke them. What delighted them.

The root of this belief in me is that when you open a document, you don't really have a vision of every sentence you're gonna write and every word. They just come like that. It's like someone is telling you to write them.

Moral of the theory, don't make these characters regret choosing you. In another universe, these characters are real people. Like us.

When a writer stops writing, a soul dies.

[awriterfaraway]

"Every time you don't write, something disappears forever. "

People like to say there’s always more words, that writing is infinite. But the truth is harsher—you’ll never find another voice like yours. Not in any library, not in a blog, not in the piles of forgotten notebooks rotting in second-hand shops.

The world is soaked in words. Most of them empty, disposable, scrolling past like static. But your voice? It’s a one-off. Irreplaceable. It’s the crack in the mirror that makes the reflection real. It’s the jagged edge of glass that catches the light in a way no polished diamond ever could.

And still—we treat our writing like it’s nothing. We smother it with excuses, convince ourselves someone else already said it better. Maybe they said it prettier. Maybe they said it louder. But they didn’t say it as you.

Every time you don’t write, something disappears forever. A moment that only you could translate. A version of you that dies unheard.

That’s the brutal magic of it: no one else can do what you can do, the way you do it. Your voice is singular.

So stop waiting for permission. Stop treating your words like they’re optional. Write like nobody else will ever get the chance to. Because they won’t. ~P

[awriterfaraway]

Only a few people talk about how hard it is to be a perfectionist and a writer at the same time.

To decide not to drafts because you know you wouldn't live up to your expectations. To write for hours then question every word and cringe at it. To be your own meanest and worst critic.

The most horrifying part is if you abandon a masterpiece thinking it's medicore literature.

[awriterfaraway]

H...E...L...P!!! 😭😭

[awriterfaraway]

What do you mean I can't read every book that has ever been written? What do you mean my lifetime is not enough? Don't joke with me like that, man. Not nice. Not cool.

[awriterfaraway]

Hypothesis or theory number three on my list explains my beliefs that our stories choose us and not the other way around.

Years before I even considered writing, I believed that every book out there was a little bubble. All these bubbles float in a dimension nobody could reach but specific chosen people.

The characters trapped inside that bubble would, for some reason, choose you out of all humans. They would whisper to you the more you write about them. They'd tell you what happened to them. What broke them. What delighted them.

The root of this belief in me is that when you open a document, you don't really have a vision of every sentence you're gonna write and every word. They just come like that. It's like someone is telling you to write them.

Moral of the theory, don't make these characters regret choosing you. In another universe, these characters are real people. Like us.

When a writer stops writing, a soul dies.

[awriterfaraway]

When you’re writing a scene so emotional that you start to feel the characters emotions and start crying???

[awriterfaraway]

Successful people don't live up to their expectations, but they get close to them as much as possible. Don't overthink it and don't pressure yourself. Set the goals and walk the steps. If it was easy everyone would be doing it. Don't forget that.

[awriterfaraway]

Your Inner Editor Is a Jerk, and He’s Probably Right

– Learning to love-hate the critic in your head

Every writer has an unwanted roommate living in their skull. The inner editor. You know him. That smug bastard who leans over your shoulder and whispers:

“That sentence is garbage.” “That metaphor? High-school cringe.” “You call that poetry?”

Most people hate him. They try to evict him with affirmations, silence him with self-help blogs, drown him with booze or playlists. But here’s the dirty secret: your inner editor is a jerk… and he’s probably right.

The Jerk’s Job

Let’s get one thing straight: the inner editor isn’t there to make you feel good. He’s not your cheerleader. He’s the bouncer at the door, checking your ID, making sure what you’re writing can actually get in the club without embarrassing itself.

Without him, you’d be up on stage spitting lines nobody should ever hear. With him, you might actually sharpen the blade before you swing it.

But because he’s an asshole about it — because his timing is garbage, because he never shuts up long enough for you to just get the words out — you hate him. You think he’s the enemy.

He’s not. He’s just terrible at boundaries.

Why He Sounds Cruel

Your inner editor doesn’t know how to speak in encouragement. He only speaks in negation. That’s why everything sounds like an insult.

“This sucks.” “Try again.” “Don’t show this to anyone.”

But underneath the cruelty, he’s telling you something important: you can do better. He wouldn’t even bother showing up if he thought you were hopeless. The very fact that he critiques means he knows you’ve got more in you.

The jerk is cruel because he’s impatient. He sees the potential before you do, and he wants you to cut to it faster.

The Trap of Listening Too Early

Here’s the danger: if you let the inner editor run the show too soon, you’ll never write anything. He’ll kill every sentence before it has a chance to crawl. You’ll end up with a graveyard of false starts, a hundred first lines, and no finished piece.

The trick is timing. Drafting and editing are two different bars. You can’t drink in both at once. Drafting is chaos, noise, the drunken ramble. Editing is the hungover morning after, when you clean up the wreckage and see what’s worth keeping.

Let the jerk in too early, and he’ll shut down the party before it even gets fun.

The Trap of Ignoring Him Completely

But the opposite is just as bad. If you ignore him completely — if you banish him to the basement — you end up pumping out self-indulgent sludge. The stuff nobody but your cat would care about.

The inner editor is the part of you that demands clarity, precision, honesty. He’s the one who stops you from lying to yourself. Ignore him, and you risk mistaking your diary for literature.

Learning to Love-Hate Him

So how do you deal with the jerk?

Give him his own time slot. Draft first, edit later. Tell him he’s not allowed in the room until the words are on the page. Then, once they’re there, give him full reign to tear them apart.

Translate his insults. When he says “this sucks,” hear it as “you can sharpen this.” When he says “don’t show this to anyone,” hear it as “this isn’t ready yet.”

Remember he’s you. He’s not some outside enemy. He’s the part of you that cares about the work being as true as possible. The jerk is brutal because he’s invested.

Why He’s Probably Right

That’s the bitter pill. Most of the time, your inner editor’s criticisms have teeth. Maybe your line is cliché. Maybe your dialogue is flat. Maybe that poem reads like a bad knock-off of something you read last week.

And that’s okay. That’s why you have him. To drag you higher than your first draft laziness wants to go. To keep you honest when ego wants to coast. To remind you that you’re capable of more than your comfort zone.

The Bottom Line

Your inner editor is a jerk. He’s loud, abrasive, mean. But he’s also the reason your writing ever makes it past the draft stage. Without him, you’d never improve. With him, you risk paralysis if you let him speak too soon.

The real art is in the balance: letting yourself write recklessly, then letting him carve the recklessness into something sharp enough to cut.

So don’t kill him. Don’t worship him either. Learn to live with the jerk. Learn to love-hate him. Because he’s not your enemy. He’s your proof that you give a damn.

[awriterfaraway]

There's a beautiful theory I have that says thriller and crime writers are just telling the crimes their past lives committed.

HOW MANY PEOPLE DID YOU KILL? LITERALLY BE ASHAMED.

[awriterfaraway]

A writer was either a psychopath or a unicorn in their past lives. Or a politician. You tell me.