#Aspirantus Writes

[writer-aspirantus]

A rant about inspiration, writers block and damning them both

So often have I stared at a blank page and thought, I don't know what to write, words have left me, and my muse is somewhere far away. And while I have had moments where I genuinely did not know what to write, more often than not, I was lying to myself.

Because I did know what to write. But if I have ideas, why can't I write?

I had entire stories, worlds and novel series planned out that will never see the light of day because of this. And there is one (simple) reason for this, which, up until a few years ago, I didn't even realize.

And yes, in my career as a writer, spanning a little more than a decade now, I have heard the phrase: 'You can edit a bad book, but not a blank page', thrown around more than I care to count, but nine out of ten times, it still didn't really help me write. And then, a few years ago, it hit me. As soon as the reason became clear to me, I really wondered how I never saw it before because it seemed so damn obvious.

I had been sitting around with my friends, laughing, and telling stories and stuff when one of them just finished explaining a detail of their story and ended with: 'if that makes sense?' And without even knowing it, they really opened up a world of explanations for me. For all those writer's blocks, slumps, and my inability to put a word to paper when I was practically bursting with ideas.

I always want to make sense. Always.

It doesn't matter if it is just a cute short story or a fully fleshed out novel I am trying to write, I need to make sense. And I realized this is also why the saying 'you can edit a bad book, but not a blank page' did not do it for me at times. Because my ideas weren't bad! Some of them might have been able to become a damn summer block buster if I could just put the pen to paper. But I couldn't.

Because when I tried to put it down, it made no sense.

The seemingly unbreakable wall I had been facing for years when it came to writing suddenly showed its first crack. And this realization caused me to come up with a new motivator.

'You can't make any sense if there is nothing to be made sense of.'

Though I will admit I am probably making this sound easier than it is. Ever since I picked up on this concept, I have been trying to put it to use, but sometimes you really can't avoid a writer’s block or writing slump. And that is okay.

They may seem long and unending, but they are temporary. About three years ago I hit the longest block I have had to face in my life so far and it took the wind out of me. For six long months I couldn't put a word to paper and the frustration was practically eating me alive, but it ended. Maybe because I kept returning to that frustratingly empty document that was supposed to be something of a story right now, or because of something else, but it ended.

But there is another thing I want to tell you.

Not every piece of writing needs to make sense. Sometimes it is best to let any feeling of sense and logics go and put the words to paper, regardless of how messy the end result might become.

Sometimes I think it would be a good idea if we followed the principles of a painting toddler. Does an outside audience know what the painting means without explanation? I bet you good money they don't. Do they make sense to the toddler? Good chance it doesn't. Is the end result a mess and is the toddler indistinguishable their canvas? They are and they're having the time of their little life.

My goal with writing is to be like that toddler I just described. Do the words I wrote make sense to anyone but me? Maybe, maybe not. Does it make sense to me, the writer? Good chance it will unless I wrote it on a drunken, sleep deprived stupor and I reread it later. Do I find joy in telling stories that are sometimes the most ridiculous, 'has more holes than Swiss cheese' stories ever? Hell yes.

Trying to make sense of something whilst also having fun has simply proven impossible to me. It sucks the joy of writing right out. I simply can't do both on a conscious level.

So, to me sense is just for editing, the rest is about having fun.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Writing Blog Recs

A list of blogs that I've seen here on Tumblr that are out there creating prompts, helping out with advice and overall encouraging and inspiring everyone who wants to write. If you'd like to be added or to be taken off, please send me a message!

Writing Prompts

@a-u-prompts

@creativepromptsforwriting

@deepwaterwritingprompts

@dialogue4urocs

@gingerly-writing

@givethispromptatry

@just-plenty-of-prompts

@livi-the-writer

@love-me-a-good-prompt

@lyralit

@mangocherri

@myeekyoban

@notyouraveragepromptpage

@pianowritesstuff

@pettyprompts

@promptsforthestrugglingauthor

@prompts-in-a-barrel

@screnwriter

@seaside-writings

@theworldofprompts

@wordsforyourwip

@writer-aspirantus

@writing-challenges-and-prompts

@writing-prompt-s

@writing-prompts-re

@writingprompts

@writingprompts365

@writingraven

@writintheprompts

@writingpromptsandjunk

Writing Advice and Resources

@asparklerwhowrites

@bluebxlle-writer

@coffeebeanwriting

@coffeewritesfiction

@creativepromptsforwriting

@deardragonbook

@heywriters

@howtofightwrite

@inky-duchess

@just-plenty-of-prompts

@livi-the-writer

@lyralit

@myeekyoban

@pianowritesstuff

@skylerchase29

@wordsnstuff

@writer-aspirantus

@writingraven

@writerthreads

@writingquestionsanswered

@writingwithcolor

The Script Family in general

Writing Encouragement

@coffeewritesfiction

@creativepromptsforwriting

@dailywritingpositivity

@screnwriter

@sourpatch-encouragement

OC Prompts

@characterbabble

@develop-your-oc

@ocmagazine

@ocresourcecenter

@some-ocs

@some-oc-ask-blog

@some-oc-questions

Give all of these blogs your love and get inspired!

[nikkywrites]

WIP Line Chain Game

I was tagged by @amberskywrites @dontcrywrite and @notwritinganyflufftoday so because of that I'm going to do the last three lines in one post.

Rules: Write the latest line from your wip and tag as many people as there are words in the line.

The girl wanders from the town that has been built from the ground in the distance, a bump on the horizon, backlit by setting sun like a halo of wrath.

She has been tense, waiting for a siege to start march, for humans to come with their fire and their fury and burn her just for living. What arrives, though, is a girl with a basket and round face and soft hands; a human Keithia does not believe could be a threat.

That's... 82 words, oh boy. Tumblr started breaking once I got to the mid forties, so I'm tagging 41 people, 2 for each word. I hope that's alright.

Tagging (with no pressure as always): @drbibliophile @gwens-fiction @goblingraveyard @reeseweston @spencecreates @possibledreamswriting @sinish-tem @axel-writes @jovialmisterfox @my-mild-ginger @all-ringils-blazing @gotchaocha @lostdarksoul13 @daddyissuesmademe @writer-aspirantus @nightmaresorpromises @northernrosewritings @ranpo-owns-me @writerdee1701 @thatrandombitch @campcampfanfan @xxtakechancesxx @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @sued134 @coalmine301 @decodamalion @fact-fictionx @imjustalonesomewriter @moonlightcrazyphoenix @vintage-vamp @rebel13lion39 @pinesprings @icannotreadcursive @akindofmagictoo @ziezie13 @little-stories-by-lilly @oxytocin-deprived @beedragony @writtendevastation @talesfromaurea @spockmyashayam

[crowandagger]

Sooo... I have a writing blog

Which is @writer-aspirantus

I would love it if you guys wanna check it out

[writer-aspirantus]

A trip to Obernhal

I wrote a little snippet on how my favourite trio began their trip to the capital of Krisia!

Silence hung over the half-frozen tracks as three small figures made their way between the parked carriages that would leave in a few hours. As one of the search lights swept over the terrain, the trio quickly hid under one of the trains, narrowly avoiding being found out.

“Sweet Miraya, why is does the winter have to be so bloody cold here?” one of them half whispered, shivering and pulled his worn wintercoat tighter around his body.

“Shut up Lachin,” one of the others bit at him in the same half whisper tone. “If you keep yapping like that, they’re going to find us.”

“And I sure as hell don’t want to spend any time in Nishitan justice system,” the other of the trio added their two cents as they all kept scanning their environment. The conversation came to a halt as two guards approached, their lights lazily searching the ground, as the trio soundlessly hoisted themselves up into the wheelframes, keeping steady breaths as they strained their muscles, hanging from the thin bars that carried the wagon on top of it.

From their position, they could vaguely hear the guards chat, though neither of them understood the heavy dialect they spoke, and lights kept lazily sweeping by the carraiges. When the trio was certain they were out of earshot, Hiru slowly lowered herself onto the gravel and took a sweeping look over the nearby perimiter, keeping half an eye on both the searchlight and the guards.

“Move.”

Swiftly the three figures rolled from under the train and hurried to the next, only for Hiru to jump on the metal that was used to cover the gap between platforms and the tracks it stood on and start picking the lock. Within a minute, the lock gave a satisfying click and she worked the door open enough for her friends to wiggle themselves through before she followed them and locked the door again.

The inside of the wagon was dark, but Hiru’s eyes adjusted quickly and was able to distinguish towers and towers of crates.

“We’ll have to get out of here before we reach the Krisian border, they tightent their security,” Hiru spoke, her voice at a normal volume.

“Why?”

“Some punks thought it was a good idea to smuggle explosives with the royal food supplies.”

“Bloody hell.”

Naoi chuckled. “That it sure would have been if those bombs hadn’t been found. How many stops do we have for this one?”

“None, this a direct supply run as far as I know, so we’ll have to count our hours. The border is about ten hours away at regular speed, so that gives us a nine-hour ride.”

“You want to jump? Do you even know what the terrain there looks like?” Lachin protested but Hiru was quick to silence him.

“Listen, in the ideal situation I would get off in Obernhal but given the new boder ristrictions and the contents of this cart, we’ll have to. Besides, it is not like we’ll be jumping into a ravine. The last hour before we reach the border is all grass lands anyway, so we’ll land softly.”

“That is going to be a looong flight,” Naoi moaned as she got comfortable against one of the stacked crates, her backpack serving as her pillow. “Now, I am going to catch some sleep, so please keep it down if you want to keep talking.”

“How much budget do we have left?”

“Enough to get us a warm nest and good food for a few nights in Obernhal.”

“Good.”

Not long after they stopped talking, they felt the train pull away, and Hiru fished an old, beaten up timer out of her backpack and set it to nine hours and watched the numbers drip away before her eyes. To freedom, she thought as she closed her eyes, barely registering the wood digging in the back of her head. For where the wind takes me, there I will be.

[writer-aspirantus]

Fuck opening scenes is it not enough to plunge my reader in to the story with no context?

[writer-aspirantus]

Jason Snippet

Alone at night. When the wind is but a whisper and the only one awake seems to be oneself.

Melachony? Reverence? Neither term seems to fit the feeling. So wonderous, yet so sad.

Sleep seems to be the furthest thing from my mind but a yawn escapes me anyway. Above me I find the moon and the stars, ever indifferent to me. Heavens know what they'd do if they decided to punish me.

The noteblock burns in the back of my mind whilst the crack of gravel resounds like gunshots off the alleywalls. It didn't matter now if someone saw me and yet every sound that wasn't made by the stone under my feet had me on edge.

Maybe it was my healthy fear of being followed or perhaps it was that realisation cropping up again. Of what I had left behind in exchange for this life. I cannot say if I regret it or not, yet I long to see them again. Somehow I can never shake that desire.

Or perhaps it was the growing guilt I felt that caused it to rise again. The guilt that I should have know earlier. Not that it matters now… and yet… All that matters is that I have the black mail. All that matters is that he will pay.

[writer-aspirantus]

Masterlist

Short Stories I Threw A Wish In A Well A Trip To Obernhal A Thief In The Night Jason Snippet

Writing Advice Writers block, Inspiration And Damning Them Both

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