#Writing Classes

[thephilosophyofsuns]

Nothing is stopping you from writing fanfiction for college assignments

I have a class where I have to write creative assignments all the time, and let's be honest, I don't always have the motivation to write something super original.

My solution? Write fanfiction and change names and specific details. And you know what? Most college teachers won't even know.

I definitely just wrote a shortened version of a MHA Vigilante!Izuku Dadzawa fanfic and changed names and ages and genders.

I've done it before, and you know what? I got full credit. She didn't even notice.

In conclusion, work smarter not harder. This way, you still practice your writing skills, you practice plot conventions, and you don't have to world build. Plus, if your teacher does notice, you can be like:

So, yeah. Write fanfiction, do crime.

[writingtheother]

📣 Now Open for Registration: Writing Revolution

Instructor Helen Gould will cover real-world examples of political resistance, discuss the morality of issues like the use of violence, and explore what kind of characters you might need in a story about revolution.

When: Saturday, July 12 | 3PM-9PM BST (GMT+1) Where: Online — Zoom Classroom Join us live OR get the video after!

Price: $150 (live class), $75 (recording) Scholarships Available

💖 #WritingCommunity 🙏🏾 share & help spread the word! 💖

[adastra-sf]

Summer Speculative-Fiction Writing Workshops

Looking for a workshop to ramp up your speculative-fiction writing skills? Award-winning authors and long-time creative-writing educators Kij Johnson and Chris McKitterick are taking applications for the Ad Astra Institute's annual Science Fiction Summer right now.

Christopher McKitterick's Speculative Fiction Writing Workshop runs June 16-29, and his "Repeat Offenders" Workshop for alums runs June 30 - July 13. This year's special guest instructor is experimental particle physicist and SF expert Phil Baringer! Spots are still available in both - full info here:

Kij Johnson and Barbara Webb's "Novel Architects" Writing Workshop runs June 30 - July 13, and their "Repeat Offenders" Workshop for alums runs June 16-29. They still have a couple spots open if you act fast! More info:

If you can't make it but know someone who might benefit from a professional SF writing workshop, please help spread the word.

Attendees of these workshops have gone on to publish tons of stories, novels, and nonfiction, plus win awards, start magazines, and much more. The alum network is strong and vital, and has spun off multiple small workshops and writing groups.

The Ad Astra Institute is a registered nonprofit educational organization, and we've been offering writing workshops since 1983.

Limited scholarships are still available.

Ad Astra!

[penna-nomen]

Spent this weekend in a two-day online writing class: Write Lore Your Readers Won't Forget. It was excellent!

Instructor Stant Litore had soooo many great examples to share. His depth of knowledge was impressive, and he was gracious about answering our questions. I think most of us came away with new inspiration for our stories.

Doesn't look like the class is scheduled again in the near future, but he does have several writing books that sound very helpful. I'll also rec the other classes from @writingtheother! Next up they are offering a class about getting inspiration from K-Dramas. It's another great class that I can highly recommend!

[renaultphile]

Ever been to a writing class? Billy Collins 'Workshop' will make you smile

I was chatting about writing classes and it made me think fondly of this poem that a poetry tutor shared with us many many years ago. So relatable! And what an infuriatingly brilliant poem!

[filmcourage]

Free Story Structure Training - Corey Mandell

[tetsunabouquet]

EVERYONE I HAVE GOOD NEWS!

Remember how I said my writing studies are pretty flexible classes? I follow regular writing classes with children's literature being the extra class I follow because I specifically want to go become someone in children's entertainment. Remember how I said I already finished my children's literature textbook and went for my exam earlier this week? I passed it with near perfection, getting 23 of the 25 points. All the points I could achieve with my tests were a 115 in total, and I scored a 85 score! I PASSED CHILDREN'S LITERATURE! WOOHOO! Now, I'm officially qualified to be the pretentious bitch roasting bad children's media with the badge of 'I studied for this'.

[sapphireginger]

Chapter #26

Summary:

“He showed me how to love. He showed me how to trust. He showed me how to believe. He showed me how to hope. He showed me how to dream. He showed me how to desire. He showed me how to be content. He showed me how to feel safe. “Nearly eight years ago, I thought I knew, believed, understood, comprehended and meant everything. Nearly eight years ago, what I knew, believed, understood, comprehended and meant shifted. Nearly eight years ago, I met…Him. “Today. Tomorrow. Forever. It all means something because he means everything.”

AO3 Link

Peter can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, that something is going to happen and admitting such a thing to others has never been his strong suit. Peter is usually extremely reticent when it comes to revealing how he feels to anyone but himself. However, Stiles isn’t just anyone else and the amber eyed man he promised to keep the wolf updated. He trusts his mate to do so and that makes all the difference. 

Weirdly enough, as he steps outside, the sky begins to darken. The alpha wolf’s brow furrows at the sudden change. He figures he should get going or he’ll be late.

Allison is looking forward to spending some time with the SO of her boyfriend’s brother. She and Peter haven’t interacted as much one on one. 

When he pulls up, she smiles and gets in the car. “Hello.”

The man nods with a smile. “Hello. Are you ready?”

“Born ready. What about you?” she teases.

He sends her a smirk. “Same.”

✶ 🔎 ❤︎ 🔍 ✶

If anyone had asked Peter whether or not he would attend a writing workshop he would have laughed and said: ‘Absolutely not.’ However, when Allison brought it up, knowing that Peter is an avid reader, he couldn’t say no. Now that he’s here he’s actually really enjoying himself.

The woman leading the workshop smiles. “All right. Pencils down. Who wants to read their work first?” she asks, looking around the room. “How about you?” she says, pointing to Peter.

Peter swallows thickly and nods. “Sure.”

Allison gives him an encouraging nudge as he stands. He clears his throat and looks down at his paper. With a deep breath he begins. 

✶ ❤︎ ✶

“Definition. Define. Defined. I used to believe that the definition of happiness was having everything I wanted or at least making people believe I did. I used to believe that if I couldn’t hold it in my hand, then it wasn’t enough to keep me happy. I used to believe that I had to see it, touch it, hear it, smell it and taste it. If I couldn’t do those things…I didn’t include them in my definition of happiness.

“Meanings. Mean. Meant. I used to mean yes when I would say no. I used to mean no when I would say yes. I used to say I’m fine when I was anything but fine. I used to say I meant what I said and said what I meant. I used to apply meanings to things when they didn’t mean anything. I used to believe that I could use a million words, and everyone would either comprehend their meaning or have no understanding at all. If they couldn’t comprehend…I didn’t have any intention of letting them mean anything to me.

“Understandings. Understand. Understood. I used to understand my thoughts. I used to understand my actions. I used to understand my feelings. I used to believe that what I thought mattered more than what anyone else did. I used to believe that my actions were always right. I used to believe that feelings were weakness. If such things were a weakness…I didn’t give them any weight beyond furthering my desires.

“But then all those definitions, meaning and understandings, what I would define, mean and understand, how I defined, meant and understood…they changed. They changed the day I met him.

“No longer did I believe that the definition of happiness was having everything I ever wanted. Because everything I ever wanted was him. No longer did I care whether or not others believed I was happy. I still believe that I have to see, touch, hear, smell and taste my happiness. 

“Every day I see the moment his eyes open, and the sunlight catches them making them shine like gold. Every day I see his lips curl up in a smile and his mouth open in a laugh. Every day I take his hand in mine and slide my hands under his shirt, just to feel his bare skin against them. Every day I take him apart piece by piece beneath the sheets and put him back together again. Every day I worship his body from head to toe, not an inch of him left unclaimed by my lips. My ears relish the honor of hearing the echoes of every single sound he makes. Every day I hold him in my arms, and I am content because I smell the scent of his shampoo, the sweat so uniquely him, the sweetness and saltiness of his breath after eating his favorite candy. Every day I unite our lips and as the petals dance together, joined by twisting tongues…I know true happiness.

“With him I say what I mean and mean what I say because the idea of not being honest with him, of lying to him is unthinkable. He understands me in ways that should scare me, but I am not afraid for him to see all that is me. I am not afraid for him to know the man and the beast down to the last cell in my body. I am not afraid because I am safe with him. I am not afraid because I trust him. I am not afraid because I love him. With him I have no secrets, no lies, nothing kept, nothing to hide. There is no part of me that he doesn't see. There is no part of me that he doesn't know. There is no part of me he hasn't touched, inside and out. There is no part of me that does not belong to him. My head, my body, my heart and my soul…they are his, forever, in their entirety.

“I once believed I understood my actions. Yet, I didn’t understand why I got him flowers. I didn’t understand until I saw the pleased smile on his face as he cradled them and brought them to his nose. I once believed I understood my actions. Yet, I didn't understand why I ironed his shirts and pants for work. I didn’t understand until I saw tension bleed from his shoulders as he pulled the crisp fabric over his shoulders with a grateful tilt of his lips. I once believed I understood my actions. Yet, I didn’t understand why instead of shutting him out, I threw the door wide open and let him in. I didn’t understand until I watched him sleeping, with eyelashes fanning his cheeks, pink lips parting with each breath, expression smoothed out, peaceful, perfect and mine.

“I once believed I understood my feelings. I once believed I knew what happiness was. I once believed I knew what love was. I once believed I knew what contentment was. I once believed I knew what trust was. I once believed I knew what safe was. I once believed I knew what commitment was. I once believed I knew what home, hope, dreams, desire, and love were. My past naivety still astounds me. 

“Because now I know what I did not truly know before. I now know what happiness is. I now know what contentment is. I now know what trust is. I now know what safe is. I know now what commitment is. I now know what home, hope, dreams, and desire are. I now know what love is.

“Happiness is…Him. Happiness is what I feel when he laughs and when he smiles. Happiness is what I feel when he tells me about his day and when he opens up to me. Happiness is what I feel when I make love to him and when I married him. Happiness is what I feel when I look in the mirror and hear his words reciting everything that he loves about me, from my blue eyes to my neck, my strength to my touch, my smile to my smirk, my name to my wolf and my everything in between. Happiness is what I feel when he cooks for me and when he curls up on the couch with me. Happiness is…Him.

“Contentment is…Him. Contentment is what I feel when I look at the home we’ve made together. Contentment is what I feel when I trace the ring on my finger. Contentment is what I feel when I rest my ear on his chest and hear the steady beating inside. Contentment is what I feel when I hear the thump, thump, thump of his heart. Contentment is…Him.

“Trust is…Him. Trust is what I feel when he listens to what I say. Trust is what I feel when he comforts me after nightmares. Trust is what I feel when he stands up for me. Trust is what I feel when he gives me advice. Trust is what I feel when he gives me his heart. Trust is what I feel when I look into his amber eyes. Trust is what I feel when he knows what I need without me telling him what I need. Trust is…Him.

“Safe is…Him. Safe is what I feel when a storm rages outside and he kisses me gently. Safe is what I feel when the power goes out and his hands cup my face, his thumbs rubbing back and forth along my jawline. Safe is what I feel when anniversaries come bearing grief and he wraps me in a blanket and makes me a cup of my favorite tea. Safe is what I feel when the world is dark and cruel and he holds me close, his lips caressing my forehead. Safe is…Him.

“Commitment is…Him. Commitment is what I feel when we got our marriage license framed. Commitment is what I feel every time I unlock the door to our home. Commitment is what I feel when we get groceries together. Commitment is what I feel when we talk about children. Commitment is…Him.

“Love is…Him. I love his golden eyes like liquid molten melted gold. I love his pouty pink rose petal lips waiting and begging to be kissed. I love the beauty marks splattered all over his body, the ones on his face like the constellation Orion’s Belt. I love his pale, milky white skin and tracing the definition of his muscles. I love how beautiful and ethereal he looks in the moonlight. I love how gorgeous and breathtaking he looks in the golden rays of the sunlight. I did not know love before I met him. Love is…Him.

“Before I met him, I thought I knew everything. Before I met him, I thought I understood everything. Before I met him, I thought I defined everything. Before I met him, I thought I meant everything I said.

“Yet when I met him, I realized I knew nothing. Yet when I met him, I realized I understood nothing. Yet when I met him, I realized I defined nothing. Yet when I met him, I realized I meant none of what I said.

“Now that I’ve met him, I know, understand, believe, comprehend, mean and define…Home. Now that I’ve met him, I know, understand, believe, comprehend, mean and define…Hope. Now that I’ve met him, I know, understand, believe, comprehend, mean and define…Dream. Now that I’ve met him, I know, understand, believe, comprehend, mean and define…Desire. Now that I’ve met him, I know, understand, believe, comprehend, mean and define…Love. He is my home. He is my hope. He is my dream. He is my desire. He is my love.

“People say that there are days they will never forget. People say that there is one event that becomes so central in their life, it becomes before and after that event. I will never forget the day I met…Him. I will always see my life as before I met…Him and after I met…Him.

“I never believed in soulmates. I never believed in the one. I never believed in fate. I never believed any of those and if I had I never would have believed such a thing would happen to me, that such a person would be mine.

“But on June 5th, nearly eight years ago I met my soulmate. On June 5th, nearly eight years ago, I met the one. On June 5th, nearly eight years ago, I began to believe in fate.

“On May 31st of this year, I claimed my soulmate. On May 31st of this year, I claimed the one. On May 31st this year, I claimed my fate.

“On July 31st of this year, I married my soulmate. On July 31st of this year, I married the one. On July 31st of this year, I married my fate.

“He showed me how to love. He showed me how to trust. He showed me how to believe. He showed me how to hope. He showed me how to dream. He showed me how to desire. He showed me how to be content. He showed me how to feel safe.

“Nearly eight years ago, I thought I knew, believed, understood, comprehended and meant everything. Nearly eight years ago, what I knew, believed, understood, comprehended and meant shifted. Nearly eight years ago, I met…Him.

“Today. Tomorrow. Forever. It all means something because he means everything.”

✶ ❤︎ ✶

No one said a word the entire time Peter read his writing and when he looks up everyone is watching with wide, awed and emotional expressions. He glances at Allison who has apparently been recording the entire thing on her phone.

Suddenly, after what feels like ages of silence, the group erupts in applause and oh if Stiles saw how dark the wolf’s cheeks turned at their applause, he’d never let him live it down. 

“That was phenomenal,” the woman—Ivy—says. She looks around at the rest of the writers and gestures to Peter. “This is why we do these workshops because the possibility of finding someone who weaves together something like that is intoxicating.”

Peter takes a seat and feels his phone vibrate. When he checks it, he sees it’s the video Allison took and shoots her a smile. ‘Thank you,’ he mouths.

‘Welcome,’ she mouths back.

[shades-of-orange]

saving mostly for myself but might be useful for others. writing classes (vast majority of these are not free):

Citylit

Grubstreet

Hugo House

Professional Writing Academy

The Writer's Center

The Center for Fiction

The Loft

Lighthouse Writers

[ruthwritesalot]

This is why I so wary of writing classes. I love whe. people give me constructive criticism on my work, because it helps me improve as a writer and it also shows the person cared enough to think about my work. What I don't like is when advice is given definitively. I think all art should be critisized from the perspective of 'I personally like this or think the story would be better if you changed this'. There are certain things a lot of people can agree on make stories better, but at the end of the day, creativity is subjective. I can read a book and absolutely hate the plot structure, and someone else might love plots that aren't as linear. As a writer, you get to evaluate the criticism and personally decide if you want to implement it or not.

alright, I’m annoyed with the class that I’m taking. it’s about writing novels, and I thought it would have cool stuff about balancing your narrative and developing themes etc, but instead she spent the first class talking about how every book fits into the Hero’s Journey (the monomyth template). and I was somewhat of a contrarian, and said “can you give us examples of books that don’t fit into this template?” and she said “no. because all books fit.”

but I dunno man, I just finished reading this Korean book where the plot is just the character having a string of hookups and reflecting on them without changing in any way. I don’t know if it’s possible to contort that into the Hero’s Journey.

[writingtheother]

Now Open for Registration: Diverse Narrative Structures 2.0 Online Class

Discussions in the West around diversity in the arts often focus on the identities of characters and creators while ignoring other key aspects of narrative. In this completely overhauled class, author Henry Lien offers an introduction to Eastern structures and storytelling that opens writers’ minds to radically different ways of telling a satisfying story.

Date: July 11th - August 10th, 2025 Where: Online — Available everywhere and at your own pace Price: $350 Scholarships Available! Application Deadline: June 21, 2025

Please help us reach more writers by sharing this class far and wide on socials, in emails, in group chats, and anywhere writers gather. Thanks! 🥰

Click here for Details and Registration

[exhaustedwerewolf]

this is so rogue but does anyone have the poetry template that went semi-viral on twitter a while back? it was designed for kids but someone gave it to their mother who has dementia and she wrote a really moving poem about her experience.

[these-summer-nights-in-december]

Announcing my private writing workshops for Winter 2025!

In the Landscape of Contemporary Poetry. Wednesdays, 6:00-8:00 p.m. ET. 6 weeks, starting February 19. We’ll read recently published poetry from literary journals and books, generate new poems with the help of prompts that I create, and spend the bulk of each class in a fun, inspiring poetry workshop. In this course participants will write and receive workshop comments on five original poems. Writers at all levels are welcome. I teach In the Landscape of Contemporary Poetry often, and every time the readings are all new, so you can take it again and again!

Short-Form Creative Nonfiction Workshop. Thursdays, 6:00-8:00 p.m. ET. 6 weeks, starting February 20. In this class I’ll provide craft talks, original writing prompts, and we’ll take recent micro and flash literary essays apart to see how the writers achieved their astonishing effects in condensed forms. Then we’ll workshop your own short-form creative nonfiction essays. I teach this class often, and the readings are always different. If you’ve taken it before you can always take it again and the class content will be new. Writers at any level are welcome, including poets and fiction writers!

Registration is now open, and it closes on Sunday February 16.

Details & registration available at: https://christophercitro.com/private-classes/

Register soon as spaces fill quickly! 

[cedence]

Brandon Sanderson is back with recorded writing classes for scifi and fantasy <3

[hatsbuckets]

Imagine Ghost accidentally conditioning the 141...

Ghost is busy. Always. Too much paperwork, too many reports, too many logistics to handle before training. It’s 1400 before he realizes he’s skipped lunch. Again.

Not a big deal. Not the first time. Won’t be the last.

But he is hungry.

His eyes land on the bright pink bag of Valentine’s Day mini Snickers that’s been sitting, untouched, on his desk for a week. They were part of a bulk shipment to the base; some gift or something.

Not exactly lunch. But it’ll do.

He grabs the bag and heads for the training field. He’s two minutes late, not that it matters much because Soap and Gaz already have the unit ready.

"Where’s Price?" he asks, tearing open the bag as he walks up.

"Got pulled away. You’ve got this one, Sir," Gaz replies, raising a brow as Ghost lifts his mask just enough to pop a Snickers into his mouth.

Ghost doesn’t react, just grunts.

Today’s drill is a simple infiltration exercise. Hell, it's something Ghost or Price hardly have to be here for. Their presence would be more of a formality. Gaz leads the attackers. Soap leads the defenders. The teams get ten minutes to plan, to prep.

And then Ghost sounds the time up, and the groups move.

Ghost watches, leaning against a crate, chewing another Snickers, barely paying attention to one of the new guys—until the kid steps right into a trap. Ghost sees it before he does.

Blue powder erupts into his face.

Soap’s defenders descend, but the kid doesn’t go down easily. Blind, but still fighting back, holding his own until his team pulls him out.

Soap's team wins. Barely.

When it’s over, the teams regroup. Ghost is still eating Snickers.

He turns to the recruit, still dusted blue.

"What 'appened?"

"Didn’t see the wire." The kid shifts uncomfortably.

Ghost turns to the unit. "Who set it?"

One of the defenders raises a hand. Ghost considers him for a moment before reaching into the bag.

He tosses a mini-Snickers at the soldier.

The guy catches it. Looks at it. Looks at Ghost. Eats it.

Ghost turns back to the newbie. "Held your own. Tha' matters. Surprises happen. Don’t let ‘em get you again."

And that’s it. Training’s dismissed. Ghost pockets the rest of the Snickers and moves on.

...

The next day, Price is still gone. Ghost doesn’t skip lunch this time, but he still brings the Snickers bag.

They run the same drill.

Same recruit. Same route. But this time, he checks everything. Quick. Efficient. Finds the wire. Disarms it.

No blue powder today.

Gaz’s team wins.

Ghost eyes the recruit and flicks a Snickers at him. The kid catches it mid-air.

...

By the end of the week, Price is still gone. Ghost keeps the pink bag of Snickers on him during training. Like it's just another part of his kit.

One or two mini snickers get handed out every session. And nobody really notices at first. But the team starts moving differently.

They work harder. Smarter. More ruthless. More efficient. No one wants to be the guy who doesn’t get a Snickers.

Even the veterans sharpen their tactics. Gaz and Soap notice. But no one says a damn thing. If Ghost is going to give them snickers, then shut the gel up and let him give them snickers.

...

They're sent on a mission. High stakes.

They don't lose a single man. Not a single injury.

At the end of it, back on their transport home, Ghost pulls the pink danm bag from some unassuming pocket and hands out the snickers.

The men take them without question. They earned it.

But Ghost is running low. The bag nearly empty.

...

At the next training, Ghost doesn't hand out a single snickers. Not on purpose, but the bag is empty, so there's nothing left to do.

But the others notice. Gaz squints. Soap looks like a confused dog. Head tilt and all. The newbies glance at each other, shifting.

...

Two days later, Ghost swings his door open at 0600 sharp—and pauses.

Sitting just outside his door, neat as you please, is a bag of mini Snickers. Not the Valentine’s ones anymore. Just regular.

Ghost blinks. Hums. Pleasantly surprised, he picks up the bag, inspecting it briefly before stuffing it into his tac vest like it’s just another piece of gear.

He doesn’t think much of it. It’s a good snack.

At training, he does as he always does. Watches. Observes. Evaluates.

And then, without thinking, he tosses a Snickers at a recruit who clears a building faster than expected.

He snaps to attention as he catches it, eyes shining. Ghost does not question it.

The pattern continues.

And when he starts running low, Ghost finds a fresh bag of Snickers waiting for him.

Somebody—somewhere—has decided that the Snickers will not run out.

...

At training, at drills, in the field, there is a silent expectation. A new, unspoken rule. Do something exceptional? Get a Snickers.

The machine of the 141—the deadliest operators in the world—now snaps to attention at the crinkle of plastic.

They move with a ruthless kind of precision, bodies coiled, eyes sharp—waiting, anticipating.

Even Gaz and Soap are part of it now—though everyone refuses to acknowledge it outright.

But the moment Ghost hands one of his men a Snickers, he takes it.

Silently. Gratefully. Like a goddamn reward.

Ghost does not acknowledge this. Not out loud. But he keeps handing them out.

And they keep earning them.

They'd quite literally kill for a Snickers. (imagine what they'd do for an expensive piece of chocolate)

...

And then Price comes back three weeks later. He walks into the training area and pauses.

Something is off.

The unit is too sharp. Too focused. The newbies stand stock still in their group, as if waiting for something.

Gaz and Soap exchange a look. Soap refuses to meet Price’s eyes.

But he doesn't acknowledge it, until he begins unwrapping a plastic sleeve holding a new pen. The plastic is thick and loud. And half of their fucking head snaps his way. The hungry eyes of three dozen of soldiers latching on him.

Ghost, standing at the edge of the group, tears open a fresh bag of Snickers.

And now the entire fucking unit reacts. Subtle shifts in stance. Focused attention. Expectant silence.

Price squints. Frowns.

Ghost flicks a Snickers at a recruit. He earned it today.

The recruit catches it like it’s a holy offering and eats it immediately.

Price’s frown deepens. Slowly, carefully, he turns to Ghost. “The fuck did I miss?”

more

[somanyfandomsorkinafs]

(I am ~buzzing~ with ideas…. Allow me to release some)

Once Danny was an adult, he decided to join Ellie in her ‘permanent world tour’. It’s better than staying in Amity where the opinion of Phantom hasn’t gotten much better. Besides, the portal caused the veil to get weaker, allow ghost to wreak havoc where ever they want.

He’s met a lot new ghost cause of this too. Old as Mycenaean Greece to non humans who came to Earth and died there. Danny’s learnt so much from them that he’s basically a walking in Encyclopaedia.

So, Danny’s decided “fuck it.” and has it became a part-time history teacher. It’s fun! He knows the details by heart and is able to make it more fun than just droning on about the same old wars and whatever. He enjoys it, the kids enjoy it and the ghosts having their stories told!

Of course, this does cause some problems when people try to correct him. Danny’s argument? “I got them correct sources.”

And when anyone asks him how knows his sources are correct? “My source was there when it happened.”

Cue the dc world thinking that Danny’s just some immortal guy whose decided to use his immortality for good(TM)