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Osbecks bokskogar, Sweden - by Göran Ebenhart

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Hi! So I recently discovered removing the word 'that' from 90% of my writing actually made it more fluid and hardly impacted the readability. Tiny achievement but very proud of myself as a novice writer ^.^ I was wondering if (other than the up/down one) there were any other tiny tricks for removing superfluous words? Thanks!

Great question! Honestly, there are hundreds, but here are a few to get you started.

Words You Can (Usually) Safely Cut from Your Writing

That

Then

Start

Begin

Suddenly

Down

Up

Kind of

Really

Just

Basically

In general, look out for adverbs (actually, really), “hedging” words (kind of, sometimes), and ambiguous words (nothing, everything, someone). Some can be cut; others will need to be revised or swapped out. “That” is a classic offender. “Then” can usually be changed to “and.” It’s only necessary to qualify that an action was “started” if the action gets interrupted, otherwise it can be cut. (”She started to cry” becomes “She cried”).

I have a detailed, exhaustive list of words like this (with explanations!) in my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, which will be done soon :)

Nice to hear from you & hope this helps!

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A day in the life of a Psychic

- A. Arcane 

Darla squinted at the passing mailman, trying to decipher if he was actually there or not.

“What are you glaring so intently at?” her sister, Shayna asked, looking out the window over Darla’s shoulder.

Darla squinted harder. “Is the mailman really there?”

“Yeah. He’s there in all his hi-viz glory.”

“Oh good,” she sighed in relief. “I’m going to check the mail.”

The outside air was crisp and cool and Darla was quite happy that her parcel had arrived. She hurried back inside, lugging the package under her arm.

She ripped open the soggy, cardboard box and pushed away the bubble wrap to reveal a beautiful crystal ball.

“Come look, Shayna. It’s gorgeous,” she called out.

The glass had almost invisible, smoky patterns etched into it. It came with a three-legged stand that Darla propped on the lounge coffee table, a perfect accent to the room styled with purple draperies and beaded hangings.

“It’s pretty, I guess,” Shayna said, holding two dead rats in her hand. “But I don’t get why you want it so much. You know stuff like that doesn’t work. It’s not like you need any help either.”

“I know, I know. But I like building atmosphere and clients seem to like the added immersion.”

Darla smoothed a hand over the crystal ball. It was cool under her fingers and in blink, she saw bubbling hot, liquid glass being poured down into a spherical mould.

“I reckon you’ve got enough atmosphere as it is.” Shayna’s voice jolted her out and Darla looked away from the molten glass, letting it fade away.

Shayna was picking at the thread of an old, black and gold tapestry of the zodiac constellations. It was a beautiful thing. Bloody expensive, yes, but definitely worth it.

“But a crystal ball makes me feel like the real deal,” argued Darla.

“You are the real deal,” said Shayna, swinging her rats at Darla for emphasis.

Before Darla could reply, the doorbell rang.

“That’ll be your client,” Shayna sighed, “I better clear out and give you the room.”

Darla went to open the door and found a young man with vibrant eyes and wildly curly hair.

“Hello, Lucas,” said Darla, moving aside to let him.

Lucas didn’t move staring at Darla with wide eyes.

“You – you really are a real one,” he murmured.

Darla furrowed her brows and the confusion must’ve been evident as Lucas proceeded to explain.

“I’m not – I – I put down the name Andrew when I booked the appointment. Lucas is – well it is my name but – I just – I haven’t used it for a long time. But I guess you could’ve just researched my background – but I didn’t even give a last name!”

He was rambling and Darla just stared at him.

That was her mistake. She knew her client’s name was Andrew but when she opened the door, she suddenly thought ‘Lucas is here’.  

“I, um, I didn’t mean to,” she tried to amend before stopping. “Um, how about you come inside first.”

He saw down on the divan with its big cushy pillows, embroidered with stars and moons.

“I can’t believe – I mean I was hopeful but the other one was a hoax and-”

Lucas kept mumbling so Darla decided to cut in.

“My name is Darla and I’ll try my best to aid you in whatever way I can today, Lu- Andrew.”

She held out her hand and Lucas shook it hesitantly, still off in his own head.

“So you’re really it. The real thing – that is – you know. Psychic.” He whispered that last word like it was something rude.

“Yes,” Darla said truthfully. “Though since there isn’t a stable dictionary definition for Psychics, I can’t say I fit exactly into that category.”

“Can you help me find my sister?” Lucas leaned forward intently.

“Marcia,” Darla said automatically and then snapped her mouth shut. She needed a brain to mouth filter.

Lucas’ eyes were wider than before.

“This – this is amazing! You – you’re amazing!”

“Thanks,” Darla said hesitantly, “But I don’t actually know anything about your sister. Her name kinda just popped up – possibly because you were thinking it.”  

“Can you tell me where she is?” Lucas asked, ignoring her explanation.

“I can’t. I only saw her name. Oh and that she rode bikes with you as kids,” Darla added, though that was most likely because Lucas was thinking about it.

Lucas looked mesmerised. He opened his mouth to speak but the doorbell rang again. Darla hadn’t been expecting anyone and Shayna definitely did not expect people – living ones anyway.

She got up to open the door.

“Where are going?” asked Lucas.

“To answer the door.”

“You can even tell when someone’s there?”

“Er, no? The doorbell rang. I can’t see through the door.”

“Doorbell?” Lucas frowned.

“Oh,” said Darla, realising. “It didn’t ring.”

She sat back down and sighed.  

“A lot of people think having these, uh, skills makes life more convenient since I can see into the future and all that but it’s not that simple. Half the time, I can’t tell what year it is.”  She didn’t know if she actually bought eggs in the supermarket or if it was just a vision of her buying eggs. Sometimes she’d try to walk around someone only to find out that person isn’t even there yet and she’d been having a vision of that person ten minutes into the future. “I get muddled up between what’s real and what’s not. It’s very, very inconvenient.”

“So you can the future?” prompted Lucas.

“Kinda? I can’t choose and I can’t tell if it’s future, past or present.”

“Wow,” said Lucas.

Abruptly, a pair of no-longer-dead rats came scurrying into the room, being chased by a red-faced Shayna.

“Come back here, you ungrateful, little vermin!” she screamed.

Lacus jumped up in horror. “Why are there rats here?”

“My sister was experimenting with necromancy again,” Darla explained.

“It was a success. But then those nasty, little creatures bit me and ran away! I’ll kill them!”

“They were already dead until you brought them back,” said Darla.

“I don’t care!”

Lucas watched them the scene unfold with increasingly wide-eyes, even though they’d been quite wide already.

“I, uh, I think I’ll head home,” he muttered and scrambled off the divan, sprinting for the door.

Darla was about to call him back when, in a few blinks, she saw the mailman drop a large parcel at her doorstep. She blinked and realised she was staring out the window.

She breathed out and sighed heavily, squinting at the mailman. Was he real this time?

“What are you glaring so intently at?” Shayna asked from behind her.

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‘Linda saw it, the night she disappeared,’ Lana whispers, rubbing the chill from her arms. ‘She told me she saw it. In these very woods. She told me and then, that night…’

Agatha listens with half an ear.

The fear is so tangible she can almost feel it on her skin. Things that go bump in the night. Something there that no one is quite sure of.

It’s the fear of the unidentifiable ‘something’ that strikes the heart. Because a mystery isn’t all that scary when you know who the murderer is. Yet when that information remains in the dark, when it could be anyone or anything, that’s when it hits the hardest.

Macy is trembling beside her but Lana doesn’t stop spinning her tale. And that’s all it is. A tale. A fairy story. Because monsters in the dark don’t exist. Or at least, that’s supposed to be the logical, reassuring explanation.

But Agatha knows that it’s not so simple.

Cassie hugs her knees to her chest and says ‘what happened next?”

Because if there’s anything scarier than the unknown, it’s curiosity.

They’re all afraid, Agatha knows, even Lana as she tells her story. She scares herself with her own fantastical notions, because she wants to believe in them, or at least, the possibility of something similar. Wouldn’t it be great to have something to fear, something much bigger and scarier than anything else? Because that way, they can run and leave everything behind, focus on their fears and hide.  

Agatha hears the wind whisper nonsensical things under its breath, adding another layer to the already creepy woodland. What a night to camp outside. Lana has chosen well.

Macy shivers as Lana’s story gets vaguer. After all, that’s what keeps the story interesting. A conclusive ending is satisfying but it’s not scary. But when things get more confusing and those dark shadows creep closer, yes, that’s what people want.

Agatha watches Cassie kindle the bonfire, not wanting their source of light to leave them so soon. The darkness is far darker when there’s a tiny flicker of light. It only adds to the fun.

But before Lana can end her story, Macy steps in.

‘I think we should go back now.’ She’s had enough.

At least some people know their own limits.

‘But if we leave now, it might get us,’ Cassie whispers.

‘That’s not funny,’ Macy says but no one is laughing.

All of them are too scared to leave now.

‘I haven’t finished the telling you what happened,’ Lana protests but Agatha knows she’s scared too. Scared enough that she thinks it’s better to brave the night by their fire than wander the woods in the dead of night. ‘It was hard to get permission for the three of us to camp here, you know. It’s reserved land.’

‘The three of us,’ Cassie says with furrowed brows.

She looks down at their plates. There are four.

Macy sucks in a breath.

‘I probably put down an extra accidentally,’ says Lana but she knows she didn’t. They all know.

Agatha laughs and they startle.

But of course they can’t see her.

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Villa Cora  Inst @vicceridono

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I dream with my eyes open

I dream with my feet on the ground

I dream as I walk

I dream as I talk

I dream, I dream, I dream

I dream of the ocean

I dream of the sky

I dream of never having to say goodbye 

But a dream is just dream

Not matter how much I try

It’ll always be out of reach 

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Kloten, Switzerland

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World Of Creative Thought

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Her hair drips on the pavement, creating damp spots against the eggshell cracks.

But no one can see it. No one can hear it. She’s alone.

The skin is wet, slick with an oily sheen from the river, a dumping ground for all unwanted things, like rubbish, like old tires, like her.

Every time she breathes, water dribbles out of her nose and mouth, wheezing out of her burning lungs. There’s too much inside her. Too much bloating her organs and crinkling her skin.

People pass her, not sparing a single glance to where she’s sitting by the riverbank. Her hair drips and her bare feet scuff invisible marks, cold on the ground, yet no one turns to look. Even when she coughs out her lungs or squelches down the road, trying to catch someone’s eye, no one gives her the time of day.

There are no flowers waiting for her. No visitors. No one.

No one remember the girl that drowned in the river.

And the loneliness stings so much worse than the water in her lungs.

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Writeblr Secret Santa - post one

Okay! So, I think that I’ve figured out the how’s and why’s and when’s of the Writeblr Secret Santa! I’m super, super excited!

Let’s see if I can’t answer everyone’s questions!

 The Basics

*it will be done in the style of a traditional secret santa. I’ll put together a form for everyone to fill out, either on a free polling site or on google forms, and use the information collected there to match everyone up.    you’ll fill out the form, i’ll give you a giftee. you can’t contact that writeblr until the Publishing Day, to stay in the season of anonymity! 

*because @deadlyessencewhispers is putting together an event to help review published works, we’re not going to be including that in this gift exchange. the idea is for it to be all about creativity and spreading positivity, without having to spend money!    (though if you do want to buy some published books from your local writeblr, do check out her event! it’s cool, and i’ll be submitting one of my anthologies to it shortly!)

*because December is often a busy month, the deadline will be set for After The Holidays. i’ll talk more on this in one of the other sections.

The Gifts

i want everyone to be able to participate, no matter what they feel like the excel in! as such, the following gifts will be open for exchange! 

*moodboards *edits (only if several people sign up for it) *fan art *fan stories

if you have an idea of something that should be on the list, let me know! i’ll be putting together “limits/requirements” for the above gifts soon! i’m thinking a word count goal on written works, all art must be completed, and something to ensure that all of the moodboards created end up being totally awesome.

The Time Frame

i’ll start accepting applications for this on the 20th of November! they will close on the last day of November. 

i’ll have everyone paired up by the second day of December - and then here’s the fun part. all the gifts are going to be posted in the same time frame, to make a gift bomb of sort! i’m thinking between the 30th of December and the 1st of January? 

The Questions 

and here’s where i’d like some of your input!

*should i make a side blog dedicated to this, rather than run it straight from my main? 

*does that time frame work, or should the gifting date be more like the 5th-7th of January?

*is there something else that should be added as an option for the gifts? 

i’m going to put the tag list under the cut. i’m going to try and tag most everyone that commented and said they were interested in the original post, but that’s over 50 people so i might miss a few! wish me luck!

Lees verder

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You bring the candles

I’ll bring the roses

Turn off the lights

Set the scene

Tonight is the night

For demon summoning  

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You’ll want time to stop when you fall in love

Or so all the tales are told

In books, in movies, in real-life stories

I hear it, again and again, age-old

I didn’t get it

Time waits for no one

Wishing won’t get us anywhere

But I look up at the open, blue sky

I feel the breeze on sun-warmed skin

I hear the cicadas and the bees hum

And I think

Yes, I want time to stop

Is this what it feels like to be in love?

So then

How do I tell the world

I love you

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Ullswater Lake, England - by Dom Reardon

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Loneliness stings on the top of my tongue

Sweet, sour, a savoury burn 

Even ice can't blunt it's taste 

A tang so strong, so sharp, so wrong

Even with people flowing around me like lemonade 

It's stark on my lips

Flavour so bright

A clawing lonely bite 

In a room full of others, of chatter and glee

Where laughter wafts like the potent smell of blue cheese

Why is it that 

Loneliness stings on the top of my tongue

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She can feel the keyboard hum

But the words don’t come

Clogging in her brain

And now writing doesn’t feel the same

 She wants to

She wants to

 The desire is there

But it’s caught in a snare

The document blinks blank

An empty motivation tank

 She wants to

She wants to

 But what are stories made of

What is the trade off

To get something on the page?

To dance characters on the stage?

 She wants to

She wants to

 But in her way is

Writer’s block

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There's blood on your fingers

Sticky, icky blood

It seeps from my heart

Drip, drip, drop

There's rope in my hand

Winding, binding rope

A noose around your neck

Choke, choke, croak

I'm bleeding

You're hanging 

But who's lying?