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Spawned out of a response to a writing prompt, my first try at fanfic. An exercise in understanding and recreating a very distinct personality that’s dear to my heart. Would love any feedback!

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NaNo Prep: How to Make a Timeline

As we dive into NaNo Prep season, we’ve talked to some participants to get the inside scoop on how to best prepare for November. Today, participant Juliana Xavier shares how to plan out your story, even if you’re a committed pantser:

When you think about NaNoWriMo, do you find that your palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms… heavy? If so, congratulations, Rabbit, you’re in the process of panicking about the grueling (yet fun!) month of noveling that is fast approaching (sans spaghetti, I hope).

Not to worry, I––a six-year veteran of NaNoWriMo––am here to teach you everything you need to know. I even succeeded in reaching the 50k goal during my very first year.

Here’s what my prep the week before November 1st looked like that time:

Denial (that I could ever write a novel)

Anger (that I’d set myself up to fail)

Bargaining (in hopes that 50k words would magically show up in my word document)

Depression (just, uncontrollable sobbing)

Acceptance (might as well get it over with, since I set up a profile and everything)

Keep reading

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Sometimes

Sometimes we want what we can't have. Sometimes our heart is our own worst enemy.

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Hello Tumblr

I've missed you <3

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Haiku

Vicariously-- Through the eyes of others seen Never mine to hold

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Here is a list of words other than “said” for my lovely writers

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So glad I'm not the only one who things so!

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Yes please!

Chocolate Mousse Torte

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mixes me up all the time...

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Which book publishers are doing social media best?

"Since we originally published this post, we’ve heard from several publishers about social media efforts we hadn’t reported on in the initial blog post. We apologize for the oversight. We’ve added these great publisher tumblrs, and other new data, to our charts."

Click here for the rest of the article

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Carnival (recently published in Forum Magazine!)

           As my voice faded away the ride slowed to a stop.  I stood for a few moments, disoriented as the door lowered, letting the light ooze in.  I cast a frantic glance around, but all the kids were just as frozen as they had been when I first entered the ride.  I exited the Vortex, shielding my eyes against the sun.  The clouds had shifted, freeing up the sunlight, but no breeze blew.  Instead, dead air filled the dead spaces around the dead people.  Residual shakes raked my body as the last of my heightened emotions dissipated.  I ambled around aimlessly, calling out into the nothingness.  No response.  I yelled for Skittles, expecting to see his curls bouncing off in the distance, beckoning me towards better delights, but everything was silent. 

            I wandered in between the rides and games.  I passed by a wayward balloon and poked at it with my finger.  Nothing happened.  I jabbed it harder, expecting it to explode.  Instead, a hole the same size as my finger formed but no air passed through.  Fascinated, I explored the inside of the red sphere, pressing my eye against the hole and exploring its insides.  All I could see was empty space and an expanse of red.  I poked another hole near the first, combining the two to make one larger incision.  The balloon continued to hold midair in its defunct state.

            My curiosity peaked, I walked up to the nearest frozen man.  He was a big guy, easily six foot three, who looked like he could break me in half on a good day.  Unlucky for him, today was looking to be one of his bad days.  He wore a blue and white, checkered shirt unbuttoned over a white tee, khaki cargo shorts, and his tube socks shone brightly in the afternoon sun. 

            I waved my hand in front of his face, looking for any sign of a reaction.  Inexplicable things had been happening all day, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if he suddenly started to move again.  But to my relief, he stayed immobile.  My courage building, I began to poke and prod at him, starting at his face and working my way down.  I tried closing his eyes with my hand, like they do in the movies when someone dies, but the lids refused to budge, leaving the glass-like pupils dilated, exposed.  I quickly moved on poking first at his nose, then his cheekbones, and finally moving to his lips.  The feel of his skin mesmerized me as it molded under my fingers.  It felt like I was touching one of those life-sized, all too real dolls that you find in a wax museum.  

            I got creative and tried to rip his shirt, but all I succeeded in doing was knocking him to the ground.

            “Sorry!” 

            The silence discreetly ate my words as I struggled to catch him before he fell.  I watched as he rocked back and forth, like a plastic molding, laying there on the ground.  He didn’t even scratch or bruise, he just lay there. 

            I tried it again, this time singling out a young woman in a red and yellow polka dot dress.  As I pushed her I observed as the cottony fabric fluttered around her dead weight before she clattered to a halt.  I felt a giggle rise in my throat.  I wished I had an oversized bowling ball so I could bowl them all over and watch them topple like pins.  I ran around looking for more targets, keeping a sharp eye on the lookout for any balloons close enough for me to reach.  As I passed by I punched holes in them, willing them to deflate and make their jagged way up and into the beyond. 

            A particularly big, yellow balloon caught my eye.  I approached it slowly, tiptoeing, a hungry smile on my face.  I took a quick look around.  Despite the fact that the people were stuck, it still felt like they could see what I was doing, though I was beginning to care less and less.  I gave it a quick finger jab, letting it know who was boss.  I punched my arm through the other side, feeling the rubber give way under my fist.  I laughed as I picked at the loose pieces that flapped, ripping the balloon apart.  I pulled at the pieces faster and faster until my hands were just a blur of motion, little bits of yellow gummies gliding through the air.  As the bits and pieces settled around my feet I whirled, looking for the nearest target.  To my right was a little girl, no more than eight, standing at the edge of a small garden fountain.  A man, who I assumed to be her father, stood a few feet away posed to take a picture.  Ignoring his presence I ran at her, arms outstretched, sending her flying into the water, shimmering droplets flitting noiselessly about.  As I watched her form float on the reflective surface, my laughter became louder, reaching up, grasping to hold onto something, until she gave way and sank to the bottom.  I ran around and in between parents and their children, couples holding hands, kids eating cotton candy; pushing, pulling, heaving, hefting and releasing, until I was too tired to move. 

            The only sound was that of my desperate gasps for air in between my fits of uncontrollable laughter as I sank to my knees among the many colored limbs strewn limply across the ground.  My head swiveled wildly as I struggled against the urge to fill the silence with my cackling, my arms pressed tight against my stomach as I made an effort to drag air into my lungs.  The more I looked around, the more things seemed absurd, the harder I guffawed until I found myself hunched over, hands scrabbling at the ground as my voice rose to a high pitched screech.  I tried strangling the sound, cutting myself off mid-scream, before collapsing onto my back.

            I gazed at the clouds as they floated through the air, surrounding the sun.  The incessant silence grew steadily thicker, as deafening as it was heavy, feeling as if a large pressure were weighing against me.  I hummed a few bars of some unknown song, just enough to take the edge off the quiet, though the reprieve didn’t last long as my voice had long since been on its last hurrah.  I tried tapping my fingers, a dull thudding sound mimicking the beats of a drum.  I occupied myself in this manner for a time, until it dawned on me that I was playing percussion on what used to be a living, breathing human being.

            I stood, dusting the lingering dirt off my pants.  I felt sorry for this frozen place and its lifeless inhabitants.  It didn’t matter that they probably weren’t real; life of any form deserves to be lived.  The bodies littered among the pebbles and the dried up gum didn’t help the picture much, and I regretted my previous actions.  I returned to the fountain and looked down at the little girl, lying at the bottom.  There was just enough water to cover her face, leaving only the tip of her nose exposed, but no bubbles that would imply air coming from her nose disturbed the water’s gleaming surface.  I stepped into the fountain and gently lifted her out. I was hoping the sun would dry her quickly and that when she woke up – if she woke up – she would be okay. 

            She remained rigid and her pink capris and white tee clung to her as I laid her out to dry.   As I sat beside her, contemplating the droplets glistening on her skin, I felt my eyes grow wet.  I no longer cared about appearances, there was no one left to see, so I ignored the tears spilling down my cheeks and let them be.  I cradled my head as I let them come, falling silently as I sat there.  I let them mark me, as their trail grew colder, until all that was left was the lingering echo of their path.  

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City College of San Francisco's Literary Magazine

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what an asshole.  Please reblog!

So this guy started talking to me on kik and it wasn’t that nice really. As you can see he called me all sorts of stuff as fat, told me to cut my wrists and to go back being anorexic. I told him I’d post our convo on my tumblr and he begged me not to since he was afraid he’s gf would see it, and I don’t want to ruin their relathionship but I’m not gonna be silent about this either. So when i told him id post it he posted a little bit of our convo instead where I called him a bitch, so now I’m getting shit for it. And not just this, he even called his own gf horrible. I’d be very very happy if you could spread this, apparently I’m not the first one.

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<3

Reblog or like if you think Christopher Eccleston was a good Doctor.

My friend thinks that “whoever let him be the Doctor is on drugs”. Please prove him wrong.

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Yay it's me again!

Prompt idea by Egregious-D:

Write a story from the perspective of an imaginary friend of someone who is not a young child anymore (over 12). But they only exist while the person is thinking of them, lately there have been many other things on their mind.

Read followers’ works inspired by this prompt:

Old Friends by mnmommy123 

Lola by Eloise Sims

The Business by inkstainsblue

Daily Prompts in Your Inbox | Submit Your Story | Yeah Write!

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yes please!

Chocolate Candy Cane Cake Pops!