#writeblrcommunity

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

🎺 request for beta readers 🎺

Hear, hear, fellow peeps. 'Tis I, your humble scribe, once again. Seeking for... 🥁 beta readers. This time for True Devotion that Remains Constant a.k.a TDRC's first draft.

This is my third search at beta readers. And suffice to say, throughout my search in 2021-2022, only one (1) reader managed to complete it. Readers have dropped out bc they were busy or the story wasn't for them, which understandable. I need people to be clear in whether they're capable of being up for it or not. 'Cause it's dang long and is probably a lot of pressure for some.

If you’re in, you can approach me in my inbox. And we can hash it out in DMs or discord. i don’t mind either way, and there’s pointers you have to check before reading. bc i did have some feedback, I’m aware of a few issues, which is slowly fixed in draft 2. I'll have to prepare the links before delivering it to you.

My simple goals are just: grammar mistakes, any inconsistencies, whether things make sense, and all the basic details I'd have missed. Just know I’m not publishing the story bc I might read it only for me. I guess for ppl interested in it too but not publicly. just a private link for them to read in.

I'm not expecting you to complete beta-reading within a month or so, you can complete it at anytime. It’s over 100k-ish words and 40 (i took out some chapter bc i changed it and removed some already in the second draft) chapters. I want 5 (five) beta readers at most. That way, I can have enough varied responses.

Boosting would be appreciated, i guess. :3

- ✨️ Enchant or Enc

[21stcenturyvoice]

It is never easy to be an immortal, seeing all your loved ones spend their lives in your presence and then disappear like dust as the years goes by… no. It’s never easy, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. I can’t count the many days I’ve spent watching my grandchildren play at the park, so many that now it’s their grandchildren playing instead. And you know, my dear? Each of them is as beautiful as you were. Not all of them have the same eyes, but they all sparkle of the same joy and mischievousness, or maybe I see it because I crave to see yours one more time. It’s unbelievably funny knowing that I’ll win the “Youngest Passing Uncle” every year for eternity. Do you know what is also funny? That I’ll always be able to play with my nieces and nephews no matter how old I get or how hyper they are, I will always be able to pick them up, make them fly over my head and catch them right in my arms. I’ll always have a little something to give on their birthdays, that little something that belonged to someone that came before them that truly loved it just like they do, sometimes that little something was yours. It’s also exhilarant to see my descendants struggle with their teenage children and come begging for advice, how could I ever leave my family? They each make me so proud, just for existing. Each of them is a miracle that gets the chance to shine bright in the span of a lifetime and then disappear, beautiful like stars in the sky that brighten the darkest nights. Each one of them is, has been or will be a star in the beautiful constellation that has been this family tree. Their light shines so bright compared to my own bleak existence lived as a spectator of their greatness. I truly am blessed to see their own possibilities, their dreams come true, watch them fall in love and show just how life is supposed to be lived. But being an immortal is never easy. Not when you see the pain of your children when they can’t find it in their hearts to get out of bed in the morning, to try it just even one more time, one more day. Not when you hear the pain in their voices as they cry their souls out, when they tell you oh-so-tiredly that they can’t do it no more. So no, being immortal is never easy, but at least I can hold all my children and grandchildren in my arms when they die and they don’t have to feel cold and alone even if I can’t follow them. I know that caring of the living is my job, just as yours is to take care of them when they’re out of reach, my betrothed, but for once I wished I didn’t have to part with them like I had to do with you.

Most immortals become the angsty “everyone I have ever loved is gone” kind of immortal. You, on the other hand, instead took it upon yourself to be a loving presence to entire generations of your chosen family, because they are descended from someone you once loved long ago.

[carelinewrite]

Late bloomer

Certain petals burst in August,

when others’ leaves are well and green,

while trees begin to pop in color -

end of summer begs to be seen.

- Caroline Wright

[lauratwrites]

♦ W R I T E B L R      R E I N T R O D U C T I O N ♦

Heya everyone. It's been a while, a long while. I joined Tumblr for my writing years ago, and posting has been hot and cold since I first joined. As such this is my reintroduction into all things writeblr. 

♢ A B O U T     M E ♢

Laura T

24 Years Old

Australian

Wattpad Creator & Ambassador

I enjoy writing as a hobby but I do upload chapters of Wattpad semi-regularly

You can find me on Wattpad, Instagram and TikTok under the username LauraTWrites.

My writing changes quickly with each of my moods. I usually stay close to romance as a subgenre but can write anything from murder mystery to fantasy. And because of this, I have a very large number of current works in progress. 

For this introduction, I am going to introduce two of my most prominent Works In Progress. 

♢ W O R K S   I N    P R O G R E S S ♢

P r o j e c t    S n o w  || YA Urban Fantasy

In a world overtaken by werewolves, humans have been tightly restricted in their day-to-day life. They fell quickly from the highest point on the food chain to a spot that's left them scavengers in the world they used to rule. When a female human is out past curfew she finds the world is a darker, horrible place she never could have imagined. 

Project Snows Introduction Post | Tags

S k a t i n g    O n   T h i n   I c e    || NA Murder Mystery

A university so engrossed in the school's Ice Hockey Team and a journalist student who won’t let them run the world any longer. As she tries to bring the injustice of the team to light she finds out something much darker and way scarier at play. Will she survive the coming of the Hell Hounds?

Skating on Thin Ice Introduction Post | Tags

[winterandwords]

📝 Open tags, always

I'm going to get better at saying this on individual posts because of course there's no reason for anyone to assume something I don't actually say, but please know that any time I do a tag game, you are absolutely welcome to jump on and do it too.

Please consider my writeblr game activity to be a perpetual repository of open taggery, an endless and inclusive invitation to anyone who wants to join in. Do the thing, @ me, say I tagged you. It's all good.

This place is all about community and I know it can be super hard to start getting involved with things if you aren't being personally tagged or you're new or you've been away for a while or you just don't know a lot of people.

So, for what it's worth, I want you to get all up in my tags. I want to see excerpts from your WIPs and read about your characters. And if you're new to all this and are worried about tagging people you don't know very well, you're welcome to tag me. You can also just do your post and say it's an open tag.

I feel so lucky to have landed in this welcoming little corner of writeblr and if you're seeing this I want you to feel those good vibes too 💗

[21stcenturyvoice]

“I wish I wasn’t like this, I really do. I’m trying so hard to change but no matter what I do, I always end up feeling the same way, drowning in sadness, and I can’t take it any more. I want to live my life instead of watching it as if it was someone else’s. I just wish I could talk back to that mean voice in my head that insists I’m worthless, but I can’t. Because it’s right… What can I do? I’m so tired”. And that, is the hardest part of my job. As a therapist, I see way too many people suffering this way, some for self esteem issues, others because of past trauma. Nonetheless, that sensation is one and the same. I used to sit and listen, trying to ease their troubled and hurt minds, until I realized: what if there is an actual voice in their head? What if it is true that there are demons born out of human suffering? What if the solution is not compassion, kindness and rest? No, demons only understand one thing: pain. “It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. I will help you as long as you need. Please lay down here, we’ll start with some light hypnosis in a minute. Do you remember how it works?”. I get closer to my patient, laying down on the sofa, and sit on an armchair. “Yes, I do. I always feel better afterwards. I just have to close my eyes and relax, right?” “That’s right. Just leave the rest to me”. Just like that, their eyes close, and so do mine. It’s dark, as usual. There is no real up or down, no ceiling or floors, but I find myself walking on something, like a thin veil of water, but thicker, darker, sticky. My shoes get stuck with each step, going forward gets harder and harder and a hideous smell finds his way into my nostrils. There are memories flowing around, all with a younger version of my patient in them, like black and white movies directed by ghosts. I hear their pleas for help, their cries, but I strive forward. It pains me to see these memories, but these aren’t the cause of my patient’s suffering. Or rather, yes, they are, but they’re not the origin of the voice that haunts them. No, that voice is much more cruel: it feeds on these thoughts to build a case and then strikes down my patient’s confidence acting as both the lawyer and the judge, arbitrarily pleading the defendant guilty, deserving of torture. I immediately recognize it, it would be hard not to. A huge black blob of the same sticky liquid that spreads on the not-floor, eyes glued to an old TV, most likely one my patient had in their childhood, but the screen is static and the sound is scratching my ears in the most torturous ways possible. When I approach, the demon faces me, its yellow eyes empty and disturbing, his voice barging into my head somber and malevolent.

“You should not be here.”

I can’t help the evil grin spreading across my face as I start walking around him.

“Well, neither should you. But I have to say, I quite like this form you’ve taken. You see, most demons choose strong bodies and put up a fight, a real hassle you know”, I shake my head unbelievably annoyed by the memory of one of my most recent fights, and the consequences that those demons bring to my patients. “But you? Oh no, you chose the smart approach. A big, big guy made of, what is this, oil? Do you make my patient feel so sad that they can’t breathe? Do you fill their lungs with this disgusting, sticky feeling of being imprisoned? And the TV? Does that help you channel how helpless they feel in their life?”. I keep walking around him, his eyes never leaving me, not even for a second.

“You think flatteries will save you in my domain? They will not. You puny and insolent human”. His form suddenly becomes larger, imposing and I can’t help a sadistic smile from creeping up on my face. “Oh yes, I’m a puny and insolent human and you’re a big and scary demon”, the tone of my voice grows increasingly mocking with every single word, “but there is one tiny thing you didn’t consider”. I stop and conjure a lighter in the pockets of my pants and light it up right in front of my eyes. “The bigger you are, the faster you burn”. My patient stirs, their eyes still closed, but their expression suddenly much calmer as they fall into a peaceful rest. I’m just a therapist with no power over demons in the real world, but the human psyche is my domain… and the Heavens shouldn’t be the only ones capable of bestowing eternal damnation.

A therapist who literally goes into people's subconscious to battle their demons--- literal demons.

[ettawritesnstudies]

Is this a thinly disguised excuse to ramble about my favorite PCs? Absolutely.

You never really shut off the storyteller brain. I'm sure I'm not the only player who completely disregards mechanics in favor of making characters with arc potential. Does this mean I'm often That Person learning how to code so I can make a novel-length web serial about AI-Lia Antares? Also yes, but this advice boils down to "have fun, go crazy." Check out the link to learn about how I build characters out of motivations and contradictions, and how game timing breaks writers block and perfectionism.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Chapters: 2/12 Fandom: Original Work Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: artist/his muse, Younger Man/Older Man - Relationship, eager and outgoing young man/shy and overlooked older man with hidden depth, Original Male Character/Original Male Character Characters: young male artist, older male handyman who becomes his muse, handyman's young niece who is in need of magical healing Additional Tags: Older man/younger man romance, but everybody’s an adult, Magic, Mysteries, desire at first sight, love’s not far behind it, artist falling in love with his muse, Some angst, Pining, Resolved Pining, First Kiss, First Time, Painting, Found Family, because the original family sucks, trying to save an injured loved one with magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, True Love Conquers All, my spouse says this reads like a Hallmark movie haha Series: Part 13 of Dannye's Original Queer Romance Summary:

A shy older man with magical abilities becomes the muse of a beautiful young male artist.

24-year-old painter Ty gets his first break when a local gallery agrees to show his work. He’s fortunate that the gallery’s maintenance man, Chance, is there to reassure him in his nervousness. But Ty’s feelings for Chance soon surpass friendship. Chance is Ty’s type— older and handsome— but there’s also something mysterious and almost magical about the man. As Chance’s secrets are slowly revealed, Ty finds in him the muse he didn’t know he was looking for. But could a capable, quiet, talented man like Chance ever fall for a flighty young artist who doesn’t even know what he wants to say to the world?

Updates Fridays

[awritingcaitlin]

June Writing Prompt #1: Pride

“Hey, kid,” Adler called.

Lodgepool looked over at him.

“Seen any combat yet?”

“Does running through the city five days ago chasing Ms. Edgewing’s kidnappers count?” Lodgepool replied.

Adler thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, it counts.”

“Then that would be the first actual combat I’ve seen,” Lodgepool explained. “The last spat we had with the Yurels ended literally when I was in boot camp. Though, honestly, it wasn’t more than a couple-month spell anyway. Mostly I’ve done typhoon relief and hunting parties. I’ve been on the embassy gig for three years now, and, admittedly, it’s a cushy job.”

Adler nodded in agreement.

“It’s weird,” Lodgepool said, shaking his head. “I think I’ve learned more about being a Marine in the last half-a-week than I have in the last several years.”

“Funny how that happens.”

“What about you? Have you seen combat?” Lodgepool asked.

“One whirlwind tour in the trenches of Perinathia during the latest grainbelt war,” Adler said with bitter pride. “During what everyone considers the shittiest drag because it was after the war had reignited halfway through oh-five, and also after the patriotism that persisted through most of oh-six. No, I got to be there from the end of oh-six until the armistice in oh-seven.”

Lodgepool grimaced. “Oh man, that sucks.”

Adler shrugged.

“To be honest,” Lodgepool said. “I don’t even like the idea of trench warfare.”

Adler laughed. “I’m Schmiedish, I’m used to it.”

@nosebleedclub

[beanenigma]

Three ways to finish a scene

Statement. Counter statement. Example: And so we had a mission: keep safe. Needless to say we weren’t going to fulfill that mission. 

Don’t. Pretend it’s a movie and you just cut the scene, because nothing else interesting is going to happen, or if you want whatever comes next to be implied. Example: He sat down and looked out of the window. 

Dialogue. Finish it with a very heavy sentence that will predict what comes next. Example: “Quit the blabber you two. You are going on trial!”.

[naorisososo]

Darkness

Talon-like nails tapped impatiently against the wooden desk, as the princess leaned back in the chair. She spread her knees, sliding lower into the seat, looking like a spoiled child, as she glared at me with piercing green eyes.

“I’m being chased by darkness,” she said. “And you keep putting obstacles in my way.”

“Princess, I would rather you sit up while you address me,” I sighed, standing straight with my hands neatly folded over the handle of my cane that had been carved to resemble the head of an owl, the smooth curve of the head resting just underneath my palm.

She groaned, rolling her eyes at me, as she pushed herself up, correcting her posture. “Why are you so set on my failure?” she insisted, crossing her arms in frustration, snapping her gaze away from me and out the glass-paned window where the moon sat across the horizon accompanied by thousands of small specks of light.

I followed her gaze out the window, as I sighed, reminding myself that this child was not to be like the ones that came before her. She had to succeed. 

“I’m not set on your failure, princess. I am simply pushing you. Challenging you to be greater because I believe in you.” The air in the room grew cold, like her feelings towards me. I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t my job to be kind and coddle, no. I was to prepare her for the countless battles that were to come. To give her a fighting chance against the evil that lurked in the dark corners of the world. The evil that had grown stronger, braver, ever since her birth. The Dark Ones.

She stood abruptly, causing the chair behind her to scoot roughly against the wooden floors, as she snorted. “Because you believe in me?! What a load of-” 

“Princess, language.” I interjected.

“Why shouldn’t I just let them take me?! I mean, it would save the kingdom supposedly, right?” A strand of her jet-black hair fell between her eyes, as she blew at it, brushing it back to its proper spot with her hand.

“That would be neglect. You have a duty to your kingdom. Who would rule in your stead?” I asked, playing devil’s advocate. I didn’t enjoy these thoughts she had of giving up. Submitting to the enemy’s will, but it was something that had been questioned before. When she was younger.

“Let them take the damned child! The Dark Ones will be tearing down our door soon enough!!” shouted a tall red-haired man with a braided beard that fell to the middle of his chest, as he slammed his fist into the wooden table. The other council members gasped, whispering amongst themselves. Some agreed, “Take the child away. She’ll only bring hell to our lands!!” While others looked to the King and Queen, knowing better than to speak of treason, despite the dangers the child would bring.

The Queen covered her mouth, in shock, as her voice wobbled, “Dekystra…brother…”

The King stood, addressing the room with a booming voice, “Silence!! My daughter will not be given away to the Dark Ones. Duke Dekystra, how dare you suggest this!” His green eyes flashed in the candle light, as the council members watched on. “She will be protected behind city walls! I will increase security! The kingdom will rema-

“Our bloodline has been tainted, dear sister! This kingdom has been cursed the moment he led you to his bedchamber. You, King Kastonell, have doomed your own daughter. What say you?!” he exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at the dark-haired monarch, cutting off his words to condemn his excuses.

I shook my head at the memory, remembering the divide that caused throughout the kingdom. Duke Dekystra took nearly half of the city with him to the north, where their kingdom sat isolated on top of a mountain. The remaining tenants of the city were loyal to their King and Queen, risking life and limb to protect the nascent princess from the evil that tried to force its way into the capital, Imoyestra.

The first few years were rough on the kingdom. Farmers who lived outside the city walls were the first to encounter the wrath of the Dark Ones. More and more people were reported as missing until the remaining farmers fled to the sanctum behind city walls with their livestock and tools. The bodies of their families and friends were never to be found, as their fields grew barren, crops wilting away, a cemetery for the once fruitful harvests. 

There were guards on watch duty all around the clock, but the Dark Ones grew brave, rising from the shadows in the night, slicing the necks of the ironclad soldiers, leaving their bodies to be found the next morning.

The Queen was desperate, bringing in mystics, soothsayers, and healers to watch over her daughter, hoping they could protect her from incantations and spells to ward off the evil, but it wasn’t enough.

I was hired a few years later, insisting that it was imperative for the princess to have the ability to control her power. After being cast away from society for the same cursed power running in my veins, I implored them to let me teach their child, and not a moment too soon.

The Dark Ones made their way into the castle one fated night, sneaking into the bedroom of the King and Queen, murdering them in cold blood, as their screams echoed through the stone hallways of the castle. The shadows had planned on the princess being with them, but I hid her away, knowing they would come for her.

She was just a toddler at the time, barely a few months past three, as she lay asleep in a cradle, unaware of the deaths that had just occurred. Unaware that she had just become the ruler of Imoyestra.

[madammuffins]

Chapter 4 Snippet

“My legs are getting tired.” Chelsea groaned, blinking furiously at the tears in her eyes, throwing herself down in the mud. “And my head hurts-” Her voice wobbled as she pulled her mud covered hand up to wipe at her face, stopping to stare at the muck that coated her fingertips.

She glared down at her feet, one shoe missing now.

“Look at me, Chells.” Puck knelt, green eyes glowing brilliant against the darkening sky. Violently she ripped her other hand away from him to cross her arms over her knees, hiding her face in the sleeves of her varsity jacket. Chelsea could smell his sigh rather than hear it. “We can rest for a minute. It’s not like the party will end before we get there.” She heard him through her muffled sniffles. “I’m not going to sit with you though.” She heard his feet shlop from the mud.

“It’d be easier if you’d let me ma-”

“No!” Her head shot up, all red and swollen and pounding to glare in horror.

“It’s okay-” His fingers were in her hair as he hovered just above, pulling and twisting the strands out of her ponytail. 

“Hey!” She hissed in a sharp breath as careful prods kneaded delicate skin.

The protest died as his lips pressed to the knot swelling beneath the soft locks. She sighed, eyes closing, body drooping into the contact. A coolness filled her where heat had been before.

“I remember the last time we traveled like that. How sick it made you.” He whispered between his lips, fingers locking her in place; gentle, unmovable.

Tag List:  @vhum @donovyn–nox @thelastoftheflyinggraysons @nemothesurvivor

If you’d like to be added or removed from to the tag list please comment/message me

I’ve been stuck for a while, eking out words and I realized - I’m writing the wrong story. I’ve got a lot of family crap I need some catharsis on and this is a great outlet.

[21stcenturyvoice]

We were there, you know, every little step of the way. We remember when you first came home and called your best friend to tell her that the cutest boy at the coffee shop served you your beloved latte. You were so excited, and brushed it off as a little crush you wouldn’t even remember. But the next day you went out at the same time and came back with another cup you threw away. And you did it again the next day. We saw you opening your piggy bank and counting some coins to make sure you’d be able to buy more, and you went out again. Some time later, the piggy bank came out empty and you had just a few bucks in your wallet, you looked so sad we wanted to hug you. But when you came back you had your usual cup and you didn’t throw it away, no, it sat there on the counter for days.

We heard it, the young man’s voice, when you picked up the cup and dialled on your phone. And we saw the way your cheeks reddened up as you ended the call. You were adorable, jumping with happiness as you screamed into the pillow. Did you ever tell him that? Some days later you went out, prettier than usual, and so nervous, but when you came back you had a huge smile plastered on your face. You were so happy, and we were too.

Some more time went by and you would always stand by us, near the window, as if you were waiting for something. You were so sad, all day, everyday, sometimes you would barely leave the house. Your friends came over to cheer you up, and we all spent time together, but you would only ever smile and shake it off as if nothing bothered you. One afternoon, though, you lightened up: we saw the young man approaching our house with a huge bouquet. We had never seen you so genuinely happy.

And that was almost three years ago, because you’re leaving now. There have been boxes in the living room all week. The few times you came back home, you’d leave with something. At first it was just a toothbrush. Then some clothes. Then a little suitcase. And now… everything but us.

We know you have found your happiness and are moving towards a new life, but, really, what about us? Don’t you need us? Didn’t we share wonderful memories? We just want to see how your story continues… but it seems another set of curtains will keep you company on your rainy days.

A love story as told by the living room curtains.

[thewritingmidwife]

The writing-midwifery combination

Those who have been following me, or know me in person, know I have two big passions: writing and midwifery. Some would say this is a weird combination, but I’m here to tell you it’s more logical than one might think. As I’m dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on Desperandum, this moment would be as good as any to explain the inevitable connection between my two favorite things.

For starters, both being a midwife and being a writer require having a creative mind. And as my fellow artists would know: inspiration strikes in the weirdest and most unexpected moments. It wouldn’t be the first time I was in the middle of guiding a baby into this world when I thought of the beginning of a story plot or a good first line of a short story. Of course, I wouldn’t use someone else’s life story for my own writing without them knowing it. But being in a tricky situation at work, or hearing a terribly bad joke an anxious birth partner blurts out make my writing-brain-senses work overtime.

Writing and midwifery have a lot of similarities. With both, you get lack of sleep (because with both, you simply don’t stop until it’s finished), you’re close to a nervous breakdown regularly and go through about 35023498 emotions before wrapping it up. Maybe that’s the kick of it: you never know what you’re getting before you’re done. And when you finish, you can hardly wait to start again.

[bacarterwriter]

Lazy

So I’ve probably seem like I’ve been lazy on Tumblr since I haven’t posted my own work in the past few days. During the weekend I was out of town in Nashville (woot woot - fun times) - I was legit a bit lazy then. But why I haven’t posted anything since I got back is because what I’ve written recently, I haven’t felt confident enough to post here/haven’t liked anything until now. So you know, that’s a thing. 

Anyway, I’m posting an original poetry work tonight. I hope you guys like it. :) It’s titled “Bold.”

[winterandwords]

Is anyone else doing NaNoWriMo but not really? I guess I'm technically doing NaNoEdMo (editing, rather than writing) because I'm here for the big project energy and have to do something about writing in November because it's the law.

My goal is pretty nebulous, which is weird for me because I'm usually very numbersy about goal setting. But nothing about this book is my usual, so here we are.

I'm aiming to work on the book every day, or at least most days, and get through a major editing pass in a month. No word count or hour count. Just untracked obsession and manic activity doing the thing at a sensible pace and enjoying it.