roomsofangel
449 posts
that one writer that somehow always incorporates metaphors, death & angst
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apologies to anyone who ever thought i was cool and reached out to me only to discover i am just a weird little hermit who can't carry on a conversation to save my life
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"What are you reading right now?" My own wip because apparently I forgot my own writing style
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Hi!!! I’ve been off tumblr for a while and I forgot to tell you that I caught up on lavender blood! I’m seriously obsessed with it!! I saw that you’re taking a break for a while and I want you to know I’m sending you all the loving, healing, most sincere wishes to you. Take all the time you need and please take care of yourself. ❤️
-🦋
i’m just now getting to this </3 but thank you so much! i’m so glad you enjoy lavender blood, its truly my first ever baby and i cant wait to pick it back up again with everything i had planned for it! but thank you so much, i’m sending all the love back! ♥️
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Non-writers don't understand how much of writing is just googling things like "when was the croissant invented" for worldbuilding reasons and staring off into the distance.
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sometimes your brain really just offers you one banger of a sentence and then that's it for the entire rest of the day. creativity expired, the ability to think has clocked out for the day, context for as to how we even get to this sentence? sorry we're all out. this one sentence is all you get.
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writing is hard. you’re doing it anyway. you’re basically a god. a really tired, under-caffeinated god in pajamas.
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17 June 1926 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov
[ID: Date — 17 June 1926. Text — my darling, my tenderness, my happiness. END ID]
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hi my loves! as of right now, all my works are on pause as i focus on my mental health after possibly going through the worst breakup that has me spiraling due to what took place as well as grieving my grandmother all at once. thank you for all the love while i was managing to get out my slump and active again, its always so fun to do so and see it all but right now i truly cant stomach anything. 🫂
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i chose the wrong time to dye my hair red again its so hot and im feeling like heeseung with the way im stained as hell
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oh don't mind me. i'm just pacing around my room reading my scenes out loud to judge their worthiness.
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writing again after months is like summoning a demon you forgot how to control. suddenly he’s got a tragic backstory and you’re crying at 3am.
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Me when I have to delete a chunk of my writing for some reason:
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Sometimes I re-read what I write and get annoyed at the way the author is speaking to me.
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Going back to old writing is either just like:
1. “Who wrote this masterpiece?! It was ME?!”
2. “Who wrote this absolute shit? Oh fuck my life, that was me, wasn’t it?”
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