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Borders are violence.

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The Ship to Thaumatourgia

As I walk along the shore of the beach one night, looking at how the pale moon reflects in the water, I notice a ship on the horizon. This isn’t the small boat that always sails here, it’s a ship as big as a house, like a pirate ship! As it gets closer, I notice something impossible: it’s flying! Not even flying just a few inches above the water, it’s flying about five feet above! As it gets closer to the shore, it also gets closer to the water. By the time it arrives at the beach, it’s resting on the ocean like a regular boat. Intrigued, I walk over to it.

“Yer a few minutes early,” a crew member tells me when I get over there. “But yeh can board now if yeh want.”

“Get on?” I ask. “Where are we going?”

“Why, Thaumatourgia, o’ course!”

I give him a blank look.

“...The magical world? The place where witches an’ wizards live?” He looks at me closer. “Yeh are a witch, righ’?

I hesitate. Witches and wizards? Magic? If the boat weren’t hovering above the water, I’d think he was just a crazy drunk sailor. But this magic looks real!

“Of course I’m a witch!” I lie.

“Then climb aboard!” the sailor says, moving aside.

I get on the ship and wait while other people—most of them looking like their wardrobe is stuck in the 1600s—follow shortly after. After about fifty people get on, the ship sets sail again.

I hold onto the side of the ship as it rises again, expecting it to toss me around, but it’s smoother than any car ride I’ve ever been on! After a few minutes of staring at the water we’re flying away from, I walk away from the side of the ship and over to a young man—apparently about seventeen—that stands out from the crowd. His clothes and hair look much more modern than the others’—a black suit styled like the one Beau Brummell made popular in the early 1800s and his jet-black hair slicked back.

“Hey,” I say to him, hoping to find out some information about the place I’m about to visit.

He raises his brows, slightly startled by my attempt at conversation, then gives a kind smile and says, “Hello.”

“I’m Ruby,” I say, holding out my hand to shake. He takes it, and I continue. “I’m a bit new around here, and I was wondering if you could teach me a few things about this place.”

“Of course!” he says, smiling. “On vacation?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, I’m Lettle Manson. There’s not much to show you on here, it’s just a typical boat, but I can show you around once we get back in Thaumatourgia.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“I’m just getting back from a trip myself,” he tells me. “My parents had to go on a business trip to Erste.”

“Erste?”

“One of the sections of Thaumatourgia in Britain.”

So Thaumatourgia has multiple sections, at least one of which is on another continent. This must mean Thaumatourgia is some sort of hidden world for wizards. The sections are probably like different countries.

“What kind of business are your parents in?” I ask.

He hesitates. “They’re magical creature rights activists.”

“Cool,” I say.

“What do your parents do?”

“They’re… you know… magical… florists…” I stumble, my hands getting a bit clammy.

Lettle nods his head politely. “Fascinating.” He looks around the ship. “Are they here?”

“Um… no,” I say nervously, trying to think of a good explanation. “I’m staying with my aunt while I’m on vacation, so my parents didn’t come.”

“Oh. My parents are over there,” he gestures to the man and woman I saw him come on with. The woman is tall, thin, and so pale it looks like she’s never even seen the sun. She has long, jet-black hair the same color as Lettle’s. The man is tall and semi-muscular—strong enough to hold his own in a fight, but no Hercules. He also has hair the same color as Lettle and has it slicked back the same way, too. The man is looking at everyone else as if he’s royalty and they’re scum. The woman looks like she’s trying to mimic her husband’s condescending attitude, but she has a twinge of guilt in her eyes.

We talk for about another hour until, just as the sun is starting to come up, Lettle looks ahead, and his eyes light up.

“We’re almost there!” he says with a smile.

“We are?” I ask, looking for an island or something.

“Yeah! Right there!” he points at something near us that I can’t see.

“I don’t see it…”

“Really?” He gives me a sideways glance. “It’s pretty close.”

I stand there craning my neck trying to see something in the far distance. There’s nothing for miles.

“You’re not really a witch, are you?” he asks in a half-concerned, half-interested voice.

I hesitate.

“If you’re not, you should still be fine with getting into Thaumatourgia since you’re being allowed by wizards—though not knowingly.”

“So non-magical people can’t see it?” I ask.

“No. And they can only go in with the help of a witch or wizard because it has a magical dome around it.”

We apparently go through the dome because one second I see nothing but the open water, the next I see land and buildings. Well, “land and buildings” is an understatement.

We come in through an enormous passageway in a mountain. The mountain surrounds the land and water. It goes on for as far as I can see, the sides covered in grass and trees. A lot of the trees are painted with the most brilliantly bright oranges, reds, and yellows. Upon closer look, I notice that what I previously thought were leaves on some of them are actually butterflies that fly off the branches in flocks. The mountains are painted with these and other magical trees. There are some with faces on them and some with snakes creeping up them instead of vines. Among these, there are also non-magical trees that I’m used to seeing every day, but even those have a magical glow about them. On the land, there’s a dock made of birch—I assume that’s the one we’ll be docking at—and, beyond that, a town bustling with people.

I stand wide-eyed and gaping at the view before me. Lettle smirks at the sight of my amazement.

The ship lands in the water and pulls up to the dock. Lettle runs over to his parents, tells them he’s going to show me around—to which they scowl—, grabs my hand, and drags me off the ship.

“So,” he says after we’ve gotten off, “where do you want to go first? We could go to Stadtville, the mountains, there are some magical creatures in the lake…”

“Stadtville?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“That’s the town you saw when we came in. Follow me!” Lettle runs off, the tails of his suit flapping in the wind.

I follow him. We soon arrive in the town, and I’m immediately amazed. The streets are filled with colorful one- and two-story buildings. To my right is a pink shop with a sign on it that says “Dragart’s Sweets.” On my left is a two-story pastel-yellow shop that says “Rumpelson Spinnen,” a few houses ahead is a pastel-green shop that says “Stadt Cocoa.” In between the shops, there are hundreds of houses that are also painted in various pastel colors. All of the roofs have the wavy-triangular structure you see in fairy tales, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of hot cocoa, lollipops, and maple.

Lettle turns to me and smiles once again at the amazement on my face.

“We can go into Dragart’s if you want,” he says. “Or we could get some hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate sounds good,” I tell him.

Once we get a table and our hot chocolate at Stadt Cocoa, Lettle can no longer resist the urge to ask questions about my world.

“I’ve never been in the non-magical world,” he tells me. “What’s it like?”

“Not as exciting as Thaumatourgia,” I say, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. “People dress a lot differently.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says flatly, looking at my outfit with a slight frown. Then he perks back up. “I mean, what are your schools like? What jobs are in your world?”

“The schools are hell. When you get to college, you go into debt for going through more hell. The only jobs I’ve gotten so far are at fast food places, and they don’t pay much.”

“That sounds dreadful,” he says with a frown. “Our schools teach magic, so that can be fun sometimes.”

“Do you still have to learn math and English?”

“Yeah, but we only have one class a week in each of those subjects unless we want to take more classes. My parents got me really interested in magical beasts, but I’m not as extreme as them. And my friend, James, has a brother that’s fascinated in magical carpentry.”

“What’s that?”

“How to build with magical wood, how to enchant tools to do some of the work for you, how to cast spells to hide buildings you make, things like that.”

“Cool,” I say, finishing up my hot chocolate with one last big slurp. “You said earlier about going to the mountains?”

We walk to the mountains and go into the forest covering them. Not much sunlight can get through the leaves of the trees, but it’s not dark. Some of the trees have leaves that glow different colors: red, purple, green, and orange. The ground is covered with dark green and golden moss that glows. The forest has a musky, evergreen smell, and the snapping of twigs and branches can be heard all around.

“This is incredible,” I remark, looking around wide-eyed. “Are there any magical animals in here?”

“Of course!” Lettle says, a huge grin on his face. “Although, most of them are dangerous, such as trolls, yetis, and dragons.”

“Dragons?” I say with a small jump.

“Not many. No one’s seen any in years, but they’re probably still here. There are also imps, but they’re not the kindest, either.”

“Are there any animals that aren’t dangerous in here?” I ask with a nervous laugh.

“There are chrysos,” Lettle says with a smile. “You’ll love them!” Lettle whistles an odd melody, and not even thirty seconds later, a deer with glistening fur as white as snow and antlers made of gold comes dashing out of a bush. Lettle carefully walks over to it, reaches out the palm of his hand for the chryso to sniff, then gently strokes it on the head. He gestures for me to come over.

I slowly walk over to the animal. I reach my palm out, just as Lettle did, and let the chryso sniff it. Then, I stroke its head. Its fur is so soft it feels like a fuzzy blanket.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“They’re almost extinct,” Lettle tells me with a slight frown. “They’re hunted for their golden antlers. They can sense whether or not someone is friendly and run if they’re not, but it’s still hard for them to survive.”

Sorry this story ends right here, but I’m writing it mainly to work on some backstory for a series I’m working on and that’s all I need to write for this part of the backstory. I’m still really interested in hearing your feedback and would love for you to stick around for other pieces of my writing.

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Please read this!

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Farid’s Quest

Farid ran into the woods behind his house. Stolance Manson, the woman raising him and his brother, had just yelled at him for an unjust reason—or, at least, that’s what Farid would call it. The sun was setting, but the young wizard didn’t care as he walked into the woods. This was the only place Farid would be able to calm himself down. He wasn’t sure why walking down this dark and twisted path calmed him down; it would frighten most other people. After a few minutes of strolling, he came to a screeching halt as a small man jumped out in front of him.

“Hello, young man,” the man said in a high-pitched, sing-song voice to Farid. “What are you doing out in the woods at this hour?”

“I just needed to distract myself,” Farid explained. “Who are you?”

“Betruger is my name,” sang the man, hopping up and down. “If you need distracting, I have the perfect way!”

“Are you an imp?” Farid asked curiously.

“Yes!” Betruger exclaimed, hopping around in circles again. He started humming the tune of “Ring Around the Rosie” as he hopped.

“What do you mean you have ‘the perfect way’ to distract me?”

The imp stopped hopping and humming and said with a smile, “I can give you a quest.”

“I’m not really the quest type,” Farid told him dully.

“But this one will give you a prize! A very rare prize,” Betruger exclaimed. At the wide eyes and lifted brows of Farid, he gleamed. “Ah! I see you are the prize type!”

“What kind of prize?” Farid asked excitedly.

“What’s the fun in it if I ruin the surprise?”

“And what’s in it for you?” “Why, your happiness of course,” the imp said in a mock-sincere voice.

Farid raised his eyebrows.

“And a golden egg,” Betruger said with a smirk.

“Okay,” Farid said. “What do I have to do?”

“Just follow that path, and you’ll see soon enough,” Betruger said sinisterly, pointing to a path covered in brittle leaves that was so narrow that Farid had never even noticed it was there. “Good luck!” the imp sang as he hopped away.

“What an odd creature,” Farid mumbled to himself as he looked at the path. Should he travel down that path to see what lie ahead, or should he just turn around and go home?

The sun had vanished entirely, and the only light he had was the eerie glow of the moon. The path that the imp had pointed him toward was so overgrown with half-dead shrubs and withering trees that Farid found it hard to believe that it went anywhere. Still, Farid was curious what the prize for completing the imp’s quest was. Against his better judgment, Farid started down the path.

After about ten minutes of creeping down the spooky path, Farid heard the cracking of branches. By the sound of it, something colossal was nearby and getting closer.

Farid stood, frozen, as a yeti as tall as a one-story building stomped towards him. It had long, matted fur the color of dirt and smelled like mold. The yeti looked down at Farid and growled.

Farid pulled his wand out, his face getting paler by the second. But before he was able to shoot a spell at it, the yeti took its ginormous hand and knocked him over.

Farid scrambled back to his feet and ran behind the largest tree in sight. He pointed his wand at the yeti and shouted, “Unconsciate!” The yeti fell over, crashing into trees and bushes as it came down. It was fully unconscious.

Farid ran back to the path and continued on his journey, significantly more frightened than when he started.

After another fifteen minutes, Farid came across a stone-bridge covering a small creek that the full moon was reflecting in. As he was about to cross the bridge, a short, fat, puke-green colored creature jumped in front of him.

“Who are you?” the troll grunted in a deep voice.

“I’m Farid.”

“Leave!” the troll grunted.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Farid explained. “I need to cross this bridge.”

“Too bad. I haven’t let a human cross this bridge in over a hundred years; none of them were able to solve my riddle.”

“What’s the riddle?” Farid asked.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

“...To get to the other side?” Farid answered, confused.

The troll bent over, laughing uncontrollably.

“No one’s figured that out in a hundred years?”

“You’re the only human that has tried to cross this bridge in the last hundred years,” the troll told Farid, still laughing.

“So… Can I cross?”

“Sure,” the troll said, moving aside.

Farid crossed the bridge, slightly amused at the troll’s idiotic joke.

Farid continued on the path. Although he was starting to get sleepy, he was enjoying his quest.

“Wonder what’s next,” Farid thought aloud. “Maybe it’s a kelpie that can’t swim! Or a blind gorgon!” As he talked, he noticed enormous flames and giant roars coming from a clearing in the trees up ahead.

A high-pitched, sing-song voice came from behind him, “Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea!”

Farid bolted around to see Betruger dancing in circles behind him and laughing.

“You!” Farid shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me this quest involved a dragon?”

“I wanted to see your face!” snickered the imp.

“Why, you little—”

“Not so fast!” cried the imp. “You wouldn’t want to make me angry before you get your prize, would you?”

Farid’s face turned red with anger. “Do you honestly think I will fight a dragon just to get a prize when you won’t even tell me what that prize is?”

“I think you will,” Betruger replied. “I also think that your curiosity is much stronger than you believe.”

Farid took a deep breath. “I won’t be able to slay a dragon. I haven’t learned many spells yet.”

“Then I suppose you might need this,” replied Betruger, pulling out a sword.

“A sword?” Farid said disbelievingly. “How am I supposed to slay a dragon with that toothpick?”

“With the power of Merlin you shall defeat the beast!” the imp said in a mockingly gallant voice, raising the sword into the air. “Or something like that. The point is, it’ll work.”

“Fine,” Farid said, taking the sword. “I’ll give it a go.”

“And I look forward to the time when you come back a conquering hero!” Betruger teased.

Farid slowly drew nearer to the dragon, his legs trembling. What was he doing? What if the imp didn’t even have a prize and was just tricking him?

When he was about twenty feet away, the dragon lunged at him. Farid darted behind a rock as the one-hundred-foot dragon breathed fire towards him, lighting up the jet-black sky. The flames pounded against the rock; Farid’s heart was beating so fast that he feared it might jump out of his chest. He needed to come up with a plan. His eyes darted around the terrain. About fifteen feet away, there was a tall rock Farid could climb to the top of. If he did that, he could jump at the dragon and stab it. The problem was getting to the rock.

Farid took out his wand and pointed it at the stone he was hiding behind. “Bergwerk!” A ray of red light burst out of the tip of his wand. He drew a circle in the stone with this light and the circle fell off the rock. Farid put his wand away, picked up the stone he’d just cut and used it as a shield to protect him as he ran towards the tall rock. As he ran, the dragon spat flames at him, but his makeshift shield protected him.

Sweating, Farid climbed the rock. Once he got to the top, he held up his sword with both hands, pointing it directly at the dragon. Holding his breath, he jumped off the rock toward the dragon. The sword pierced the dragon’s hide near its throat and sliced downward as Farid fell. When Farid reached the ground, the dragon collapsed, dead. Farid let out a huge sigh of relief.

Looking around, Farid saw what the dragon was protecting: a giant golden egg. Farid ran over, grabbed the egg, and brought it back to where the imp was waiting.

“Here’s your egg,” Farid said to Betruger, breathless.

“Excellent!” the imp cheered in his high-pitched voice, reaching for the egg.

“No,” Farid said, pulling the egg out of the imp’s reach. “I want to see the prize first.”

“Very well,” said the imp, pulling out a golden stick and handing it to Farid.

Farid handed over the egg and took the stick. “A wand?”

“Yes,” Betruger said, looking absolutely delighted at his egg.

“But it’s made out of gold. I thought all wands were wooden.” Farid examined the wand closely. It was the purest gold he’d ever seen. It had intricately crafted golden leaves woven around it, attached by a strand of gold so thin it looked like thread.

“Most wands are wooden,” Betruger said. “But this is not most wands. It once belonged to a very powerful creature.”

Farid looked down at the wand, puzzled. He tried casting Bergwerk with it. The jet of red light that burst out of the wand was so strong that it completely exploded the rock he was pointing at.

“That could take some getting used to,” Betruger laughed.

The sun was rising, and Farid knew that he needed to get home.

“Have fun with that, Farid Rumpelson,” Betruger cackled, running into the trees and out of sight.

A ray of sunlight shone through the leaves of the trees and onto the wand, making it glimmer. Farid smiled, put the wand into his pocket, and ran home.

Hey guys! I’m working on some short stories to build the characters I’m working on and to improve my writing. Any feedback you can give me on any part of my story would be much appreciated.

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I finally got Grammarly Premium! The only reason I was able to get it was because I had a 40% off coupon, but I love it so far. 😍😍😍 I’m just telling you guys this so you can be expecting better grammar in my posts for the next year. I’m not sure if I’ll renew it after, but hopefully I’ll be getting better at grammar by then.

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Shut your mouth; open your eyes and ears. Take in what is there and give no thought to what might have been or what is somewhere else.

C.S. Lewis (via purplebuddhaquotes)

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Worst Day Ever

Before I start this prompt, I should give some background. In fifth grade, I wrote a book called “A Little Bit of Magic.” I decided to revise one of the chapters for this prompt. Here’s a summary of up until this point:

This book takes place in a town that was cursed so that nothing ever changes. Everything stays the same until one day when a new girl moves into town (Felicity). The main character’s best friend (Julie) hates change and does everything she can to avoid it. When the main character starts changing too much (namely getting a new pair of shoes), Julie goes crazy.

Okay. So here’s the prompt:

“It’s typical in stories and manuscripts to use variations on the verb “to feel” to express emotion: He felt mad. I feel scared. While these practical expressions of feelings are not necessarily bad, you can invite your readers more deeply into the experiences of your characters by demonstrating those feelings. Try it with one of these “feeling” prompts. Write a scene based on one of the phrases, allowing the character to express the emotion without using the word feel or felt. Or if you’d like, comb through one of your own pieces looking for the words feel or felt and expand on that feeling with more depth. (Hint: Avoid thoughts; stick to action, dialogue and images.)”

My response:

Worst Day Ever

The last fight I had with Julie still haunted me as I walked into school. Another argument was the last thing I needed, but that didn’t seem to matter to Julie.

Julie marched over to me. “I see you don’t care at all how I feel, you still added onto this mountain of change that’s been rising.”

“And I see you’re ready to throw away our friendship over me getting new shoes. Are they really that ugly?” I said, trying to cover up how I was actually feeling with a smirk.

“It’s not about the shoes, it’s about the change,” Julie said with a glare. “But yes, they really are that ugly.”

I was hoping the teacher would hear us and come over to break up the argument before it escalated, but she didn’t. The only ones that came over were a few girls who wanted to hear some drama. I was getting tired of this; I just wanted things to go back to normal.

“Can we not have this argument here?” I asked. The more attention we got, the quieter I became.

“Embarrassed of how quick to change you are?”

“No!” I shouted, then flushed and went back to my hushed voice. “I just don’t like to make a scene. If we’re going to argue, can we at least do it somewhere else?”

“That’s not what’s going to happen,” Julie said calmly. “I don’t like change, but it’s clearly going to happen whether I like it or not. Since that’s the case, here’s the next change: I don’t hide anymore. I don’t get told where I can and can’t have arguments anymore. I don’t spend time with you anymore. Got it?”

I stared at her for a moment, then whispered in a choked voice, “If I’ve bothered you that much, then we never should’ve been friends in the first place.” I marched away before I could embarrass myself by crying.

When I went to math class that day, I sat next to Felicity instead of Julie, hoping I could make a new friend. When we chose partners for our next project, I paired up with Felicity and invited her over to my house to work on it.

After school, Felicity came over. We worked on our project for a while, but, eventually, Felicity had to bring up my unusual silence.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“I know something’s wrong, you’ve been quiet all evening.”

I sighed. There was no reason to keep hiding how I actually felt. “Julie and I have been friends since first grade,” I began, “but now she’s being a jerk, and we’re not friends anymore.”

Felicity hesitated. “If Julie’s being mean to you now, do you think she was ever really that good of a friend?”

“I guess not,” I said. “But she was always so nice to me before.”

“Sometimes people change.”

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Summaries Made Easy

you know when someone asks you what you’re writing and you really have no clue how to explain it well and by the time you’ve actually gotten to the important stuff nobody’s paying attention?

well friends

i have a solution

basically, you can use an infographic website like piktochart.com and put all the important stuff people need to know about your wip on it and make it all pretty and stuff like this:

so instead of going into a long and distracted summary whenever someone asks you what you’re writing, just send them your thing! fun!

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Don’t suppose there’s anyone out there who knows about Arabic naming? I’m coming up with a character and I could use some help.

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honeymoon is an interesting term because an actual moon made of honey would imply space bees which is pretty horrifying

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Why I’m Proud to Be an American

Today when I logged in to Twitter, I noticed something sad. No, it wasn’t the trending misspelled hashtag—though that also bothered me. Among the thousands of Americans celebrating Independence Day, there were also plenty saying that they weren’t celebrating today because they weren’t proud to be an American. Why? Because they weren’t happy with our current leadership. I’m not going to state my opinion on our leadership—that could take an entire essay by itself—but I am going to explain why I’m proud to be an American. I love the history of our nation, how we still fight for the things we believe in, and how we stand united even in the darkest of times.

Two hundred forty-two years ago, the United States of America declared independence from Great Britain. Each of the fifty-six delegates who signed the Declaration of Independence would’ve been killed if their thirteen colonies couldn’t win the war, not to mention all of the casualties the war would bring. If all of those men were willing to sign that document, the odds must’ve been stacked in their favor, right? The colonies were fighting for their independence with a bunch of farmers who wanted freedom. Whom were they fighting against? The most powerful navy in the world. The odds of winning were not good, but these men signed anyway. This was because they didn’t want to be ruled by a tyrant anymore and they were willing to die for their freedom. Somehow, they won. Because they were able to stand up for what they believed in, the United States of America will forever be a symbol of freedom to the rest of the world. I believe this is a gorgeous foundation to build a country on.

The United States was founded by people who were willing to fight for what they believed in, and her people are still fighting. Over the years, we’ve had many issues to deal with. To name a few, we’ve had to fight against slavery, sexism, and racism. These were not easy fights, but Americans still fought them. Eventually, we were able to end slavery, get equal rights for women, and protect the rights of all races. Granted, not all sexism and racism are gone, but I’m not sure that’s possible. The bright side is that we have made huge progress in both of these areas and we’re still fighting. America was founded on fighting for what’s right, and she’s still fighting for what’s right.

Though we've had a lot of successes, we've also had a lot of tragedies. We've had devastations such as Pearl Harbor, 9/11, and more recent events such as the shootings in Orlando. These were all horrible, but we came together as a nation with all of them. Police officers and firefighters rushed to the aid of victims, families helped other families who suffered losses, and our entire nation did its best to remember everyone and everything that happened. Many nations fall apart when tragedy strikes, but America grows stronger and more united.

The Americans who aren’t proud of their country usually aren’t arguing against these points, they’re usually disappointed with our current leadership. I won’t try to argue whether or not we have a good president, but I will argue that we shouldn’t base our patriotism on him. America has had both good and bad leaders over the years, but we’ve survived both. We should base our patriotism on what our country stands for and fights for as a whole, not what one man stands for. America stands for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. She stands behind the idea that all men are created equal. Who the president is does not change this.

I will always be proud to be an American; no matter who our president is. Our foundation, our willingness to stand up for what is right, and our ability to unite during tragedy are what define us, not the president.

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I started using Google Docs a few years ago and I keep loving it more and more. I want to try a few programs that I have to pay for, but I don’t have any money right now😂

Okay writers, quick question.  What program do you like to write your documents on?  Microsoft Word, Google Docs, Wattpad, etc.  I’ve always used Microsoft Word but lately I’ve been using that and Google Docs.  Just curious to see what other people use!

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something I noticed

What I notice is that a lot of people in this community don’t get much feedback or anything in their inbox when they reblog questions, when they post a story etc. Feedback to any work is highly appreciated because we work incredibly hard to write these pieces. The reblogs are basically a writer’s way of saying “it would be amazing if one of you interacted with us! We’re bored or we want to interact with some of you so please send us something!”

Often, the writer gets little to no feedback and no asks, which deals a hard blow to their self-esteem. I cannot stress this enough; writers love you and want to interact with you. You’re not annoying them by sending something in. They love it!

Something I also noticed is that it’s only when a writer admits that they feel like quitting or is feeling upset do people begin sending asks.

Now, that is not wrong. In fact, I admire people who take the time to send asks to those in need to cheer them up. You all are doing so wonderfully and you should keep doing that.

However, when a writer openly states that they’re upset, that means they’re at their limit. I want to prevent that, so this is me saying that we have to do whatever we can to keep a writer’s confidence up.

Send more feedbacks. Interact with them! Drop a random ask saying how much you appreciate them/how much you love them! Let them know you love them and love their work! Because these messages keep a writer’s confidence up, motivates the writer and keeps them happy. A lot of times writers don’t feel that pleased with their own work, I know some who have a record low self-esteem and I know for a fact that they aren’t the only ones in the community.

So let’s not just send things in when a writer has reached their limit. Take a little time to send something in to make sure they don’t reach that point. They devote so much time and effort to their blog, to their stories and to you, and it’s all for you, their followers. We should take a minute to send some love in return for the countless hours they give us.

[mlwonderful-blog]

History of ‘Ye’ and ‘Thou’

Have you ever wondered why sometimes in historical text ye is used instead of the and other times it’s used instead of you? Maybe you were confused why sometimes writers used thee and other times they used thou? Well, wonder no more because I am about to answer these questions.

The first word we’re going to tackle is ye. Up until early-modern English, a common letter to use in replace of “th” was a letter called “thorn” (þ). By the time early-modern English rolled around, people started using “th” more often and how they wrote þ became less distinctive. Eventually, misreadings turned it into the letter y, hence the being read as ye. As for ye replacing you, this was simply grammatical correctness of the time. During this period in the English language, people would use ye if the subject of the sentence was multiple people. If the object of the sentence was multiple people, they would use you.

A similar grammatical situation to the ye as opposed to you debate was thee and thou. If the subject of a sentence was one person, people would use thou. If one person was the object of the sentence, they would use the word thee.

I found the history of these words fascinating, so I thought it may be helpful if I made this paper about them. Please let me know of any other suggestions you have for me to write about or ask me questions about this topic.

Work Cited

"Thorn (letter)." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 27 June 2018. Web. 30 June 2018.

"What Is the Origin of the Word 'ye'?" Oxford Dictionaries | English. Oxford Dictionaries, n.d. Web. 30 June 2018.

[mlwonderful-blog]

Introducing Me.

Hi! I’m a new writer (I say new, but I’ve been writing my entire life. It’s just that “my entire life” isn’t actually that long). I wanted to start Tumblr to get an audience to help me improve my writing. I have a lot that I think about that I’m not really sure how to get into the world, so I guess this will be my outlet. Feel free to give me constructive criticism on any of my work, I want to improve my writing as much as possible. I don’t think I’m going to give myself a schedule for posting; I’ll just post when I can think of something to say. I hope you like my work.

–M.L. Wonderful