#creative writing

[saraswritingtipps]

Signs of Attraction

Mirroring your movements unconsciously.

Frequent light touches on your arm or back during conversation.

Persistent eye contact, with pupils dilated when looking at you.

Quick glances at your lips while talking.

Frequent, almost nervous laughter in response to your jokes.

Finding excuses to start or extend conversations.

Revealing personal details in hopes of creating a deeper connection.

Sudden interest in your hobbies or activities.

Adjusting clothing or hair when they notice you looking.

Offering compliments not just about your appearance, but your qualities or achievements.

Standing closer to you than to others in a group.

Making plans for future meetings without a specific reason.

[the-modern-typewriter]

"Your blood is so, so special," the vampire murmured. They stroked their fingers, oh so gently, along the trembling curve of the human's jaw, nudging their limp head up so that the two of them could look at each other. "Do you think that makes you special?"

The human squeezed their eyes shut. Their fragile breath fluttered out of them. They were smart enough not to jerk away again, swaying on their knees in the vampire's grip.

"Hm?" the vampire pressed. "I asked you a question, my dove."

"No."

"No?"

"Not about me. Just the blood. I'm a sack of meat. I'm nothing."

The vampire smiled at that. Their thumb caressed up and down again, just above the bloody bite marks on the human's neck. "Look at me."

The human shook their head.

"Look. At. Me."

The human's jaw clenched, but they opened their eyes once more. The vampire's smile grew a little more as it hazed in and out of the human's vision.

"My darling," the vampire said. Their other hand rose, until they were cradling the human's head proper. "My dearest." They leaned in, pressing a claiming kiss to the human's lips, drawing blood. "That's exactly right!"

Then, just as quickly, the vampire was on their feet by the door.

The human crumpled without the support, hitting the ground with a thud. Panting.

The vampire sucked the blood off their fingers with a wet pop. The smile fled their face. The light left their eyes.

"You don't ever pretend you have power over me in public again."

Then, they were gone.

[writers-potion]

Let's Scare Your Readers!

Combine the techniques below with the techniques for building suspense to give your readers a palm-sweating sensation!

Darkness

If absolute darkness doesn't make sense in your story, aim for semi-darkness: dusk, a single lantern/candle, heavily curtained windows, a thick canopy of trees, etc. Flickering lights that create confusing shadows can also be effective.

Let the darkness pool gradually around your MC. Show the night or fog rolling in, the camp-fire subsiding, or the candles burn down one by one.

Examples:

The candle sputtered. The light wavered.

The lamp cast its smoky light on the brick walls.

The night was silent, but for the dry rustling of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees.

Sound

Of all the senses, the sense of hearing serves best to create excitement and fear.

the clacking of the villain's boots on the floor tiles, the ticking of the wall clock, a dog barking outside, the roaring of a distant motor, a door slamming somewhere in the house, water dripping from the ceiling, the chair squeaking, the whine of the dentist's drill, the scraping of the knife on a whetstone, a faraway siren wailing the heroine's own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

When the surroundings are dark, your MC will grow to be more aware of the surrounding noise, even if it's not relevant to the plot.

Chill

Make it uncomfortably cold for the MC, and your readers will shiver with them.

powercut cutting off the heating, nightfall naturally bringing in lower temperatures.

winter, evening, a cool breeze that chills everything, survivors running our of fuel, the ceiling fan is over-active, stone builindg/caves/sbuterranean chambers tend to be cold.

Describe how the cold pinpricks the MC's skin, stunting their thinking and making them shiver.

The opposite can also be effective: turn up the temperature using a stove, an overheated motor, or the sweltering sun to make the MC sweat.

Isolation

This is a common technique: let the MC face the monster alone with no external help. It's also easier to limit the resources and escape routes available for the MC.

an abandoned factory, remote mountaintop, the depth of an unexplored cave.

It can also be more everyday locations: a construction site, the sewer, a malfunctioning bathroom.

Meet the Monster

When describing the threat, spread out your descriptions so that (1) the scene has constant action (2) you have material to build up later.

Good details to show:

hands, fingers, nails, talons, claws

the sound of the voice, growl, roar

the smile, teeth

the texture of skin, fur, scales.

Get Visceral

Never tell your readers that the MC is scared. Describe the fright using these physical effects:

the skin crawling, breath stalling, scalp pricking, clenching of the chest, stomach curling, heart thudding, sweat tricking down, clogged throat, pulse in the ears, cold sweat, chills up/down the spine, stomach knotting, breathless, etc.

The Gory Bits

Instead of describing everything, limit yourself to particular details, keeping overall description short. Non-stop gore doesn't shock - its bores.

Create a contrast: the child's mutilated corpse still clutches the doll. The brains from the baby's plt skull spill across the fluffy pink blanket.

Use similes, comparing gruesome buts to something from ordinary life. The intestines look like spaghetti in tomato sauce. The blood spilling from the mouth looks like lipstick.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

💎For early access to my content,  become a Writing Wizard 

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

[poetrybyonur]

“We’ve met before, in another time, another place…”

(Music by Whitewildbear)

[vasopv-blog]

When doors open to an unknown world, the soul bursts with excitement.

[novlr]

Practice makes perfect

Don’t only write when you’re motivated. You’ll never get anything done that way.

It’s important to make writing a part of your life, so even if you’re not in the mood, you’ll still make progress. It’s a skill that takes practice, and practice isn't always fun.

While there's nothing wrong with enjoying the act of writing, if you're serious about improving and finishing your projects, then you need to write even if you're not feeling it that day.

[writingwithfolklore]

Monsters and Creatures

              I love a good monster—who doesn’t? Monsters can be easy antagonists in survival, horror, fantasy (or really any genre) to pose a threat to characters and incite conflict to keep the plot plotting. So how do we create a believable monster? The key is in consideration of the creature’s biology.

Before we get into it, I have an important point:

1. Yes, make them monstrous—but don’t vilify human features

One trend I really hate right now is analog horror using “fake humans” as dangerous, horrible monsters. While I love a doppelganger, what this genre has unfortunately really leaned into is using physical deformations and other natural human features to distinguish between the “good, safe” people and the “bad, dangerous” people.

I’m sure you can see why that’s not okay. Good, loveable, safe, kind and real people have physical deformities, and by only portraying them as evil or monsters in media, these tropes perpetuate harmful thinking towards disability and deformities. Media has never really made progress in being rid of this stereotype, and unfortunately it seems we’re going in the complete opposite direction we should be.

Don’t vilify normal human features. Please.

Okay onto the actual creation:

2. What, how, and how often do they eat?

Likely the first thing you’ll consider when creating a monster, and usually what determines if they’re a threat to humans or relatively harmless.

Is your creature a carnivore, omnivore, or herbivore?

How much do they have to eat? Don’t be fooled by bigger=more, hummingbirds have to eat up to 3x their body weight in food per day because they burn calories, and lions can use one hunt to sustain them for several days.

How do they consume food? Do they have sharp teeth, or tear apart with their claws first? If they’re an omnivore, they need flat, strong molars for breaking down plants as well as sharp front teeth for meat. Do they consume via mouth, tube, or other appendage?

Determine their usual diet when there are no human characters around to hunt.

How do they hunt? Do they have the ability to "clever girl" their prey? What do they use to their advantage in their environment?

2. Where do they live?

Were they grown in a lab? If so, where were the scientists intending to put them, or what were they built for?

Are they supposed to blend in with their surroundings or others of their species? (Think many types of fish, or zebras) Or are they made to stand out (such as brightly coloured fish that are poisonous)

A creature who lives in a green, lush forest that gets heavy rain often is going to look a lot different than one who lives in the desert. Consider how they’d be built to survive their environment and climate.

3. What are their social instincts?

Do they have pack instincts? Or are they solo?

If they do have pack instincts, will they bond with humans? Or other creatures of different species?

What do they do with their young or family?

How do they find a mate to reproduce?

What do they do if they come across another of their species? Or an animal of another species?

4. What do they use to defend themselves?

Are they poisonous to their predators? Do they have a hard shell or quick reflexes?

Consider what might pose a threat to them in their environment, and what they’ve developed to defend themselves against that threat.

If they are the apex predator, consider what they have that makes them so effective in their environment.

5. What are their vulnerabilities?

Or another way to put it--how can they be killed?

Do they bleed? Is chocolate or another food poisonous to them?

Do you need a specific weapon or technique to harm them?

Anything I missed?

[byoldervine]

Why No Writing Advice Seems To Work

There’s millions of tips out there for writers, but so much of it just doesn’t apply, and it often feels like nothing ever works because you have to wade through a million failures before you find a success. But why is that, exactly?

1. Implicit phasing. Seeking advice while in the drafting phase of your writing can be difficult when many popular tips are more important during the editing phase. It can build on perfectionism struggles that a lot of writers have, but a lot of people genuinely don’t realise that this advice will suit them better for editing rather than drafting. If it’s about improving what you’ve already got, or just improvements in general, don’t touch it until you’re editing; you can’t improve on something that doesn’t exist, so you’ll just be going over the same draft a gazillion times without making progress. What you need to look for are tips for brainstorming, getting out of a funk, etc

2. Concept to blueprint. For me, literal thinking has kept me from understanding a lot of writing advice and, even when I’ve got the gist of it, I struggle to figure out how to take it from a general phrase (e.g. “Show don’t tell”, “Make it a habit”) to something actionable that tells me what I need to do. If you’re misunderstanding what the advice is saying, or you don’t know what actions it’s implying that you take, of course it’s not going to be helpful. Sitting down and dedicating a minute or two to considering it can really help, and if you’re still unsure then always feel free to ask other writers; there’s bound to be others who were in the same boat that can share their own interpretations and the actions they took that helped them

3. Hobbyist approach. If you’re only writing for fun, and especially if you don’t consider yourself a ‘real writer’, it’s easy to think that some of the advice doesn’t apply to you. For me, I always thought that the whole “Write every day, make writing a habit” thing was just for people who were super serious about it or on a schedule, not for people who were just writing for fun and didn’t mind it taking forever. But after trying out NaNoWriMo, I realised I actually quite enjoy having a set routine that allows me to see consistent improvement, and even after NaNoWriMo I experimented to see how often I could write without it feeling more like a chore than a fun activity. It’s definitely worth it to at least try out tips that you think may not apply to a hobbyist just working for fun; sometimes you might learn something else about your writing style, even if the tip doesn’t work for you

4. Unique takes. Ultimately, we’re all different people with different experiences, habits, interests, styles, physical abilities and neurotypes; not everything will work for everyone. And that’s a good thing! Yes, it’s frustrating when we try a popular tip and it just doesn’t work for us like it does others, but that’s one more thing we know about ourselves and how we work, and maybe it’ll lead us to a new discovery that makes it easier going forward. If everyone was the same, all our writing would be the same, and that would be boring. You’ll stand out as a writer by working differently to achieve unique results. And if you find something that works for you, make sure you share it in case others benefit, too!

5. Customise. Finding your own tips and sharing them can lead others to you, and it all starts with experimentation; try new things, mix and match existing tips you’ve tried and figure out what can be adjusted to make your writing process better. I can’t keep to NaNoWriMo’s 1667 words per day demands, it’s too much work in too little time, but I can do 1000 words every week and be much more consistent than I used to be. Or maybe watching your word count all the time demotivates you? Try changing your measurement from X words to writing for Y amount of time - or you could even try both and say you’ll write for a max of Y minutes unless you can reach X amount of words beforehand. Even if it’s not something that was originally intended by the tip, can you find a way to customise it to work better for you?

[unboundprompts]

Random Prompt #152

"When you look at me, what do you see?"

"I see you. I see someone who is perfect."

"Yes, but what does that mean? What about me is perfect?"

[thepenultimateword]

Writing Challenge!

Hello, everyone! As I mentioned a few days ago, I am hosting another writing challenge! I loved reading what everyone came up with in the last challenge I hosted, so I’m excited to see more cool stories this time around!

What is the challenge?

The premise for this challenge is fairytales! In this challenge I will assign everyone who decides to participate two fairytales! You then must write your own adaptation that combines the two stories together. This can be done anyway you like—for example you can keep it in its original setting, tell it in a fairytale style, modernize it, change its genre, swap character roles, etc.—but the fairytales must be at least somewhat recognizable

Is there a deadline?

To make this more of a challenge, there will of course be a deadline! That deadline is July 1st, giving you until the end of the month to write your story! Because this challenge is individual, there’s nothing wrong with going over the deadline; meeting it on time will just give you a sense of accomplishment. It will also just be fun to flood the feeds with fairytales that day!

How do I join and is there a time limit for joining?

If you would like to join the challenge, send me a message, and I will start sending out fairytale combos (which I will choose through a randomizer) sometime in the morning of June 11th (Mountain Standard Time).

The individualness of this challenge also means that anyone can join at any time throughout the challenge, just know that you will still have the same deadline as everyone else.

Does this challenge have any conditions?

This challenge is open to anyone who wants to join whether this is your first time writing or you’re an established writblr.

There is also no specific word-count requirement for this challenge. It can be as short or as long as you like as long as you get your fairytales across.

I’m also not going to restrict what people choose to write, just make sure if you write something with themes that could cause someone discomfort that you tag it appropriately, that way everyone knows which stories they feel comfortable reading.

Other Details

In order to make finding everyone’s stories easier, when you post your story on July 1st, use the tag #ficsandfables. That way, even if you aren’t being followed by all the participants, everyone can find your story.

Also, feel free to reach out to me if you have any issues with the fairytales you are assigned. If for some reason you just really aren’t vibing with your given fairytales, we can see about switching them out. But please only do this if you are really struggling, not just because you have a preference, part of the fun of the challenge is writing an adaptation you might not have thought of doing otherwise.

You may choose for yourself whether you want to keep your fairytale combo a surprise or not. If you don’t mind people knowing ahead of the deadline, feel free to brainstorm with others if you need to!

Most importantly have fun with this!

P.S. Because I don’t know how many participants we will end up with, and there are a limited number of fairytales (at least immediately recognizable ones) some people will probably end up with one of the same fairytales as another, but I will try to avoid anyone getting the exact same combo.

[saraswritingtipps]

Advanced Synonyms for Your Novel

Cold - frigid, icy, chilling

Hot - sweltering, scorching, torrid

Small - minute, diminutive, petite

Big - vast, colossal, gargantuan

Smart - intelligent, astute, savvy

Dumb - obtuse, vacuous, dim-witted

Fast - swift, rapid, fleet

Slow - sluggish, lethargic, dilatory

Old - ancient, decrepit, venerable

Young - youthful, juvenile, fledgling

Good - excellent, superb, stellar

Bad - dreadful, atrocious, abysmal

Strong - robust, sturdy, formidable

Weak - feeble, frail, flimsy

Funny - humorous, witty, comical

[haley-harrison]

[writers-potion]

Techniques for Building Suspense

Pose a Quesion

Plant a question in the readers' mind for which they want an answer. This will motivate them to read on.

What is going to happen?

What has happened? Dark pasts, unrevealed motivations, good for mystery plots.

What is happening? Mystify the POV character and the reader for a few paragraphs, making them wait for the moment when it all falls into place.

The Ticking Clock

Give your protagonist a time attack for their goal to be achieved.

Show how time passes with each step, the stakes rising with every hour spent.

The sun sinking into the horizon, the digital watch blinking out of battery, the distant church bells chiming with impending doom.

Pacing

Generally, fast-paced action scenes with have little description, allowing the reader to feel the exciting rush of immediate action.

When the suspense is great, you can increase it even more by slowing the pace. Keep the reader waiting for the big blow that is definitely coming.

Works best when the MC is unable to do anything (e.g. tied to a chair, trapped in the attic, etc.)

Insert sentences of description to slow pace. (e.g. upstairs, a toilet flushed, and water gurgled through the pipe in the wall.)

The Door Opens

Put a door between the MC and the danger. It serves as a psychological barrier, the last chance to turn back.

Use any kind of door: a front door, entry arch, trap door, garden gate, stile, ave mouth, etc.

Describe how the door looks and opens. (e.g. The door's white paint was flaking, revealing previous costs of scarlet and black. The door whined inwards on its hinges.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

💎For early access to my content,  become a Writing Wizard 

[seraphinitegames]

Hey quick question do you know when the save function will be added to book 3 because I finished one of routes that I was playing on from the hosted games app and the option to name a save did not pop up?

Hosted Games require the sequel to be a good deal done before adding the save system into the previous game.

So I'll let them know when I'm 80-ish% done (I think that was the limit set, iirc) and they will hopefully add it in then.

I'll make sure to let everyone know when that happens!

Hope that helps! Thank you so much for the ask :)

[poetrybyonur]

You will always be the light in my darkness, my constant Northern Star.

A haiku from a while back.