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Just because you aren’t published doesn’t mean your writing isn’t worth reading. It was worth writing to you, and that’s enough.

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A dating service where matching is based on people’s search history exists. You’re a serial killer. You go on a date with a writer.

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Bongo Circulation

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Are fedoras really that bad?

YES YES THEY ARE

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HELLO I JUST FOUND THE BEST FUCKING WEBSITE FOR WORKING ON CHARACTERS AND WORLD BUILDING YEET FUCKERS SEE YOU IN 8 YEARS

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HELLO I JUST FOUND THE BEST FUCKING WEBSITE FOR WORKING ON CHARACTERS AND WORLD BUILDING YEET FUCKERS SEE YOU IN 8 YEARS

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The older I get the more fiercely protective I get of younger girls. I was heading into work yesterday and I saw that 12 year old (I mentioned her before, the one who wore makeup) talking to this older man. She’s normally really bubbly but she looked a little more subdued talking to him so I go over and loudly say “Hey sweetheart, who’s this?” And the guys just glares at me and she says “oh um his name is Justin.” And I’m like “Hi Justin, how do you know her?” And he gets nervous and is like “I just saw her jogging and thought I’d give her pointers.” So I just kinda tilted my head and looked at him for a minute. He literally asked me “are you a cop or something? I haven’t done anything wrong.” So I took her to the McDonald’s near by, bought her something and had a talk about not talking to strangers. Low key I’m debating the next time I see her parents (they drop her off at the gym and leave her there for hours) to maybe have a talk with them or something. Idk if it’s my place tho

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Farewell online privacy

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My friend did come out as transgender several years ago. I was more worried about keeping my pronouns correct and minding my own business otherwise, than whether or not I wanted that friendship anymore. I don't understand that mindset, honestly. Just be a good friend.

Reblog if you’d be okay if your friend came out as transgender

let’s see how many transphobics we can weed out

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Untitled WIP

There wasn't much else to do after work since Eliza was broke and on the bus.  After work last Wednesday, her car's engine just refused to start.  Not that it wouldn't turn over, mind you.  It just didn't turn on.  The lights came on, but the engine did not.  It was a simple concept.  So simple, that it kept Eliza's attention far better than the music here or the people.  The only dim light in the whole place came from the Christmas lights lining the walls, the lamps at the bar, and the tiny disco strobe lights in the corners.  

“Are you gonna babysit that shit all night, or you gonna drink?” prodded Justin.

Everybody else at the table chatted away about their weekend warrior adventures in nature-seeking or nerd culture activities.  Eliza expressed an interest in Justin's extra-curricular life, but he never invited her to anything outside of a dinner or watching a movie at his place.  These were all Justin's friend; they only knew of Eliza via Justin's social media. Justin was her last, real friend in this city, but Eliza felt that once tight bond slipping further and further each year.  By now, it was a hair's width.  By next year, he might just be another internet friend, and the thought of losing her last connection to the real world whipped through her like an electrical current introduced to a puddle of water.  It burned, causing her chest to seize then release, until depression took over and did the main work of disrupting her thoughts with assurances of her uselessness.

But Eliza cared about Justin's friendship.  She just needed to be interesting and fun.  She just needed to learn how to make videos or paint or draw or write or sew or whatever it was that would regain Justin's attention.  Eliza wasn't looking for a lover, as Justin and her never vibed like that, and he was already in a relationship with a nice boy.  She just needed a friend.  One good friend.

“Sorry,” she said finally.  “I just don't really drink that much anymore.

“No need to apologize.  You want a soda or something?”

“Nah, I'll finish this up.”

“Cool,” he replied, smiling.

And that was it.  That was the extent of their conversation with each other that night, as Justin and the others remembered hilarious old stories of their times together, whether it be at meetups, road trips, conventions, or holiday get-togethers.  All of these things they shared together, while each person recounted their favorite story to Eliza.  They were all great people.  Each of them were sweet and unique in their own way, with winning smiles and great physical statures as well.

Eliza gulped down her drink after the third story, getting up from the table.  She rubbed an unsure hand across her bare, brown arm.  “I'm gonna get another one of these.”

“Cool,” said Justin.

Giving a quick nod, Eliza rushed to the first bartender she saw.  Without much money she couldn't order many drinks.  They were almost ten dollars a pop, and her rent was due in the next week.  One more drink, and then Eliza was cut off. While the rest of them seemed to have few money issues, cars with a down payment, and nicer apartments in better parts of town, Eliza couldn't even buy a third drink.

“Feelin' blue, honey?” asked the bartender.  He was a slender guy with high cheek bones and skin the color of polished oak.  If Eliza had to take a wild guess, he could have been Belizean or Nicaraguan.  

“Feeling broke, actually.  But I guess I'll take another one of these.”

“You like shots?”

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this is the offical ‘i care’ symbol this is how it works: basically you reblog this and your followers know that you care and that they can message you about anything anon or not and you will reply back or at least look at there message. if you care about your followers please reblog

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my characters and my stories are my heart..

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Recently, I’ve been talking to other writeblrs and have come to the conclusion that a book collaboration would be really cool and fun. So, for anyone interested, I’m opening submissions for not just writers, but any type of artist wanting to submit their work. In fact, I want as many genres, as many different drawings and poetry as possible.

All the submissions will be reviewed, and then made into a book to be published–most likely on CreateSpace.

The theme? Art. That’s it. It must in some way be related to the theme art–whether it be about drawing, painting, music, writing–it’s up to you.ar

Anyone can submit something to @thatsmybluefondue or my email thatsmybluefondue@gmail.com.

Rules: All genres allowed.

Short stories must be under 10,000 words.

Maximum of three submissions per person.

No mature content.

Submissions end August 31, 2018. (This may be subject to change.)

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