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[cathartic-writing-things]

Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

Writing Specific Characters

Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

Playing a rebellious character.

How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

Playing characters with memory loss.

Playing a pyromaniac.

How to write a mute character.

How to write a character with an OCD.

How to play a stoner.

Playing a character with an eating disorder.

Portraying a character who is anti-social.

Portraying a character who is depressed.

How to portray someone with dyslexia.

How to portray a character with bipolar disorder.

Portraying a character with severe depression.

How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

Playing a character under the influence of marijuana.

Tips on writing a drug addict.

How to write a character with HPD.

Writing a character with Nymphomania.

Writing a character with schizophrenia.

Writing a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Writing a character with depression.

Writing a character who suffers from night terrors.

Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

How to play a mentally ill/insane character.

Writing a character who self-harms.

Writing a character who is high on amphetamines.

How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

Playing a character who is faking a disorder.

Playing a prisoner.

Portraying an emotionally detached character.

How to play a character with social anxiety.

Portraying a character who is high.

Portraying characters who have secrets.

Portraying a recovering alcoholic.

Portraying a sex addict.

How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

Playing a character who struggles with Bulimia.

Illegal Activity

Examining Mob Mentality

How Street Gangs Work

Domestic Abuse

Torture

Assault

Murder

Terrorism

Internet Fraud

Cyberwarfare

Computer Viruses

Corporate Crime

Political Corruption

Drug Trafficking

Human Trafficking

Sex Trafficking

Illegal Immigration

Contemporary Slavery 

Black Market Prices & Profits

AK-47 prices on the black market

Bribes

Computer Hackers and Online Fraud

Contract Killing

Exotic Animals

Fake Diplomas

Fake ID Cards, Passports and Other Identity Documents

Human Smuggling Fees

Human Traffickers Prices

Kidney and Organ Trafficking Prices

Prostitution Prices

Cocaine Prices

Ecstasy Pills Prices

Heroin Prices

Marijuana Prices

Meth Prices

Earnings From Illegal Jobs

Countries In Order Of Largest To Smallest Risk

Forensics

arson

Asphyxia

Blood Analysis

Book Review

Cause & Manner of Death

Chemistry/Physics

Computers/Cell Phones/Electronics

Cool & Odd-Mostly Odd

Corpse Identification

Corpse Location

Crime and Science Radio

crime lab

Crime Scene

Cults and Religions

DNA

Document Examination

Fingerprints/Patterned Evidence

Firearms Analysis

Forensic Anthropology

Forensic Art

Forensic Dentistry

Forensic History

Forensic Psychiatry

General Forensics

Guest Blogger

High Tech Forensics

Interesting Cases

Interesting Places

Interviews

Medical History

Medical Issues

Misc

Multiple Murderers

On This Day

Poisons & Drugs

Police Procedure

Q&A

serial killers

Space Program

Stupid Criminals

Theft

Time of Death

Toxicology

Trauma

[cathartic-writing-things]

we’re all so beautiful from a distance. our self-important flaws blur out of focus and with them gone the big picture can be seen, and suddenly all that’s important is that we’re here, now, together, all of us wildly different and all of us the same.

[cathartic-writing-things]

“Bilingualism strikes me as a kind of synesthesia. Instead of seeing colors associated with letters and words, instead of hearing melodies, what I hear with language is the play and echo of the other language. The option to say it differently, and thus to live it differently. Language is not only a means of communication or description. It’s a framework in which we process existence. Yi writes: “It is hard to feel in an adopted language, yet it is impossible in my native language.” As every bilingual person and translator knows, there are certain words—a feeling, a way of being—that is absent in one language but perfectly brought to life in another. A word that, by existing, gives permission to be. What if you need that which does not exist in your language?”

— Yoojin Grace Wuertz, “Mother Tongue”

[cathartic-writing-things]

everything i do, i rush through so i can do something else.

but then i think to myself, would it really be so bad to stop and just do something to enjoy doing it? not to kill time, or to fill the spaces in my head so i don’t have to think about what i’m avoiding. because that’s what i’m doing, isn’t it? avoiding. i’m programmed to be doing two things at once, minimum, always, and i’m learning to recognize that about myself, but i’ve turned it into an unhealthy coping mechanism, so i can turn my days off locked in bed into something in the name of self care, but it’s not self care anymore, is it? it’s morphed into something more dangerous.

would it really be so hard, or so bad, to just slow down and breathe? to enjoy what i’m experiencing while it’s here and not worrying about the next thing and the next and the next and the next and the next, always writing to-do lists in my head, filling time with tasks that are necessary, and healthy, yes, but the fact that i am now using those experiences to avoid turning around and facing the things that are difficult? the things that need to be done? things that aren’t all that hard, really, they’re not that scary, at least to the rational mind, to the normal people out there it really would be easy. or maybe things wouldn’t be so freaking hard if i was normal, if i was normal normal normal normal normal.

what am i afraid of? a lot of things.

but why? why am i so afraid? i wish i could tell you.

it’s bigger than something simple, or something irrational like anxiety or arachnophobia. it’s far more abstract than that, and yet i convince myself that it’s not there, that it’s a minor thing that can be dealt with later, later later later, not now, i don’t want to now, put it in a box and shove it in a dark corner of my mind in a cupboard under a shelf behind a bookcase to be looked at later later later not now.

i need to work on that.

i know that.

but i dont want to work on it. i don’t want to, i don’t want to open the box, i don’t want to open the door, i want to leave it alone until it goes away on its own but things don’t just go away on their own. they sit in the dark and fester, until they seep out of the box and make the whole house smell like mud, like lost time and deadlines ignored and things left alone to die in a corner but they won’t, they refuse, they refuse to be shut in and locked away, they need to be dealt with now. soon. and if they are forced to stay behind that cupboard door, you lose your chance.

so maybe... if taking the box out, and opening it, and having to face the reality of being an adult, alone, for the first time in my life, and adult who has to do things like carry all the groceries home and cook every goddamned day and plan and work and remember deadlines and exist unharmed... if that’s too much, right now, then maybe it’s okay to just start by opening the cupboard door.

just for a start.

[cathartic-writing-things]

Rare words we should use more:

Aurora : Dawn.

Supine : Lying on your back.

Eloquence : The art of using language in an apt fluent way.

Petrichor : a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

Ethereal :  extremely delicate and light in a way that seems not to be of this world.

Apricity :  the warmth of the sun in winter.

Drowsy :  causing sleepiness. 

Primaveral :  relating to early spring.

Frisson : a  sudden, passing shudder of emotion or excitement.

Biblioklept : The one who steals books.

Meldrop :  A drop of mucus at the nose, whether produced by cold or otherwise.

Agelast : a person who never laughs , humorless. 

Minute : Tiny. 

[cathartic-writing-things]

*vibin down the street*

Brain: He who fills his mind with heavy thoughts walks with head bowed, and so, preoccupied as he is with that which has passed, is taken off-guard with that which lies ahead

My thinkin thoughts: beg pardon

Brain: Lerntern McQuern

[cathartic-writing-things]

i love storms. they're like natural concerts, and the whole sky lights up in roaring applause. it makes hair stand up on the back of the head, and shivers go down the spine.

i like the aftermath better though.

the earthy scent of wet grass, the sound of crickets and other bugs starting to sing again after the rain stops, birds skittishly coming out of their nests.

the way dogs shake water off their fur, and the sun peeks out of the clouds like a fawn checking a clearing from behind the trees before stepping in.

the way summer rain makes you want to go out and dance, catching droplets in your mouth and laughing.

the way winter rain makes a fireplace feel like a soothing balm over your cold skin, the creaking of wood lulling you to sleep as the warmth embraces you.

the way spring rain whispers about blossoming flowers and rebirth of nature, while autumn rain thunders with cosy afternoons spent reading by the window.

[cathartic-writing-things]

Why are you so funny?

When I was a toddler, I remember when I was upset and started to cry, my mother would run a finger over my lips so that instead of tears, all that came out was brbrbbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbb, and it would sound so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but laugh, no matter how upset I was.

Laughter is a powerful, beautiful thing. It can cover up our failings and soothe our injuries and sway enemies to our side; it can deceive and attack just as easily as it can encourage and heal. In this way, laughter is like a knife- sharp and cutting and smooth and harmless all at once, a tool and a weapon and a shield at the same time.

Life is painful. It’s wonderful, but it can hurt. 

Once, my mother told me, “Sometimes we have to laugh, or else we’ll cry.” 

So I figure the more you have to cry about, the funnier you can be.

It’s not a sad thing, though- it’s mushrooms out of logs and flowers out of corpses.

And there really is so much to laugh at in this world!

[cathartic-writing-things]

watch the way a man opens and closes doors. pay attention to the way he puts down his cup after taking a sip of his drink. the way his steps announce his coming and going. if you look closely those things tell you a great deal about who he is. is he considerate enough, for example, about someone sleeping and strives to make as little noise as possible? or does he think no matter where he is or what he does he has every right to declare his existence to others?

[cathartic-writing-things]

Rural Boys Watch The Apocalypse (rough draft) by Keaton St. James

[cathartic-writing-things]

i will defend improvised storytelling till the day i fucking die i think stories told by people under pressure to do it fast, stories told in collaboration…. that shits gorgeous and ALIVE. have you ever gone to a writing workshop and someone writes the rawest shit in the entire world during a ten minute free write? playing dnd and some dialogue is so moving it makes you wonder how it came from your dumbass friends? got really into one of those ‘one sentence at a time’ campfire story games and ended up making something— totally unrecorded, lost except to the people who were there— that should have been in the fucking moma?

people are full to the BRIM with stories and honing that storytelling into a specific practice (ex. writing) is for sure a learned skill that takes tons of practice to do effectively but…… it’s there. it’s there and anyone can tap into it if they’re given opportunity and an audience to say it to.

look, the point of telling stories is to connect with other people. and all we’ve ever done throughout human history is connect connect connect so is it any wonder when you put a human being in front of an outlet and you say ‘tell me a story’, no one stays silent? 

[cathartic-writing-things]

this place was never meant to be our home this land was in possession of no one from fields of green grew towers made of stone it breaks my heart and all that I have known

silently I walk among these concrete landscapes rupturing our roots so we will leave or fade away watching my surroundings being ravaged by their greed replaced by someone’s vision to create the concrete dream

this place was never meant to be our home

[cathartic-writing-things]

the year 2020

[cathartic-writing-things]

This idea that you are harming, destroying, wasting, or like otherwise abusing books by dog-earing the pages, highlighting things, writing on them, etc. is really whack and makes no sense and literally no one should be beholden to it when they own books.

Literally every single humanities/social science teacher or professor I’ve ever had has books that are covered with sticky tabs and notes in all the margins. Books are meant to be enjoyed. You make a book yours by covering it with your thoughts.

That’s just a part of reading. I don’t know why there’s this aversion to enjoying them but like... books are t decorative. Who are you “preserving” them for by not leaving marks on them?

write in your books!

[cathartic-writing-things]

Definitely not writing these down 🤐👀

[cathartic-writing-things]

las vegas: “things I forgot to tell you: That I love you.” - anaïs nin

new york: “I burned so long and so quiet, you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do.” - annelyse gelman

amsterdam: “love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like a religion. it’s terrifying” - richard siken

antwerp: “i care for you still. and i will forever. that was my part of the deal.” - frank ocean

new york (went they inevitably “settle down” together): “love is vivid. i never wanted the pale version. love is full strength. i never wanted the diluted version.” - jeanette winterson

[cathartic-writing-things]

I realized why the idea of constellations has always swayed me. constellations are so very human.

our wonder of the stars is bone-sunk; we’ve been thinking and dreaming and watching and watching and watching since the beginning of time, and we looked for so long that we started making connections. 

we played a celestial game of connect-the-dots; trying to find order in something so vast and trying to show that the stars are in everything and everything is in the stars.

we plucked pictures out of the infinite; there’s a dog, there’s a bear, there’s a lion, see? look, right there; the stars hold and mirror back everything. 

but then it went a step further. instead of everyday things, we stopped picking out the cups and the bears, and instead we saw stories. 

look, there’s Andromeda, chained to a rock and waiting to be devoured by Cetus. there’s Orion, and Hercules, and do you see Orpheus’ lyre? Zeus sent an eagle to retrieve it after Orpheus’ death and he placed it in the sky. 

we did the most human thing imaginable: we wrote our stories into the stars. we filled the night sky; previously so vast, so unknowable; with our history. we forged connections to the stars and made it so our children will always know where they come from.