jadedwriteblr - Tumblr blog

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(charges directly at my avoidance of writing while battle screaming) 

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SCRIVENER 3.... 

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I need scrivener3 for windows n o w 

(I appreciate all the work and time being put into it so I’m not blaming the developers, but hOOOOO THE BETA IS SO NICE and i want to write confidently screams)

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Hello! I’ll replace this with a proper writeblr pinned later on down the road, but for now...

First and foremost, as an important note, do not use my writing directly as a prompt. Of course, I’m honored if my writing inspires someone. Just don’t use the words directly. Secondly, do not repost my work anywhere without my permission! Thank you. <3

Don’t follow or interact if.... You’re Racist, Fascist, TERF, LGBTQ+ phobic, a MAP/NOMAP/PEAR/Whatever else y’all are calling yourselves, ableist, or are a thi//in//spo blog. I have the right to block whoever I see fit, but please don’t be offended if you’re not on my DNI and I block you. It’s usually just a self comfort / safety thing.

I won’t be trigger warning consistently, except very big common triggers. Please take care of yourself and tread carefully.

I am: Mentally ill, deal with chronic pain, and my ability to post consistently is fairly erratic. Still, feel free to message! I don’t mind in the slightest, just keep in mind I might not respond right away.

— Deer.

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Keep reading

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“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

— Louis L’Amour

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Sing me a song of a lass that is gone… 

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Ugh. Everything is tangled passion and pain in a snared mess inside my mind. How do I write when there's nothing but nonsense coming out, and nothing but complete, utterly painful clarity within?

Eugh.

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thinking about how if they were real my guardian angel would have their work cut out for them

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why must i Write Words? is it not enough to imagine, passionately,

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The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd–The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.

—Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet (Pantheon, 1991, originally published in 1982)