#Writing Sample

[devoting-waters]

My Expectation vs Reality

“I’m not here to steal your father away,” Poseidon said. “I’m here to help him, and hopefully, help you. Grief doesn’t go away because we ignore it; it’s a part of you when it happens, and it’s something we have to live with. But it’s also something we can heal from."

----

Telemachus swallowed hard, and then, before he could even fully comprehend it, he took a small step forward before he wrapped his arms around the god. The gesture was hesitant at first, a simple clasp of his hands around the god’s torso. But then, it tightened, and Telemachus buried his face into Poseidon’s chest, his body trembling as he finally let out a sad, strained cry.

[jayvikismylife]

idk wanted to write some jayvik divorce (may turn into a fanfic, who knows)

Leaving Jayce had been... a road-block. (Horrific. All-encompassing. The worst thing he'd ever done, a feeling so deeply etched in his bones that it felt like wrenching a part of his own soul from his dying body-) Wrapped up in Jayce's arms, fresh from a fate he still didn't quite understand, Viktor had mulled the idea over. Rolled it around against his teeth until the taste was acidic on his tongue. Jayce himself had been nothing but welcoming - still the same, overbearing sort of love wrapped up in a more injured package. Still reaching to touch Viktor as if his skin wasn't humming with another, second heartbeat just under the surface.

Jayce hadn't even questioned his state. A few startled glances at parts smoothed over with skin, perhaps, but there was no accusation. Just a quiet, awed 'you're alive...' mumbled to the air.

Viktor was glad for that.

Almost. His emotions felt sandpapered to smoothness - rubbed up against grit so hard they'd gained an iron sheen. There was no depth to the metal there.

He also knew, however, that despite Jayce's understanding - something Viktor had had so much fragile hope in gaining - that there was a betrayal. The request had been simple - break the Hexcore. Shatter it, smash it, whatever it took to kill the thing for good. Viktor had seen what came out of it when it functioned of its own accord. And now, instead of laying in broken, metal fragments on the ground, it was inside him. Humming with a vengeance that demanded him outside, far past PIltover's golden towers and into a place he hadn't visited in so long.

Had Viktor been given free reign of his emotions, in that moment, he would have been... more than upset. He was alive, yes- but death had been a long time coming. And gaining more years on his stack at the cost of keeping the Hexcore alive, *in him*, the thing that had ground Sky up into nothing more than a pile of dust and ash, was unacceptable.

[jesperweidemann]

Writing Engaging Introductions and Compelling Conclusions Part 3: Understanding the Intention of Conclusions

The Purpose of Conclusions

Conclusions are the final opportunity to leave a lasting impression on the reader. They serve several critical functions:

Summarizing Key Points: A conclusion should succinctly summarize the main points discussed in the piece. This helps reinforce the information and ensures that the reader leaves with a clear understanding of the key takeaways.

Reinforcing the Thesis: The conclusion should restate the thesis in a new way, reinforcing the main argument or purpose of the writing. This helps to solidify the reader’s understanding and agreement with your perspective.

Providing Closure and a Final Perspective: A strong conclusion provides a sense of closure, wrapping up the discussion neatly. It also offers a final perspective, leaving the reader with something to ponder or act upon.

Elements of a Strong Conclusion

An effective conclusion typically includes the following elements:

Restating the Thesis: Paraphrase the main argument or thesis statement to remind the reader of the central point. This should be done in a way that feels fresh and not repetitive.

Summarizing Main Points: Briefly revisit the key arguments or points made in the piece. This summary should be concise and focus on the most important aspects.

Final Thoughts: Offer insights, implications, or a call to action. This is your chance to leave the reader with something meaningful to think about or do.

Techniques for Effective Conclusions

There are several techniques you can use to craft a compelling conclusion:

Echoing the Introduction: Refer back to the introduction to create a sense of symmetry and closure. This can be done by revisiting a story, question, or quote used in the opening.

Including a Call to Action: Encourage the reader to take specific action based on the information or arguments presented. This can be particularly effective in persuasive or argumentative writing.

Ending with a Quotation or Provocative Thought: Use a relevant quote or thought-provoking statement to leave a lasting impression. This can add depth and resonance to your conclusion.

Reflecting on the Broader Implications: Discuss the broader implications of your topic, considering its impact on a larger scale. This can help the reader see the significance of your writing beyond the immediate context.

Common Pitfalls to Avoid

When writing conclusions, it’s important to avoid common pitfalls:

Introducing New Information: The conclusion is not the place to introduce new arguments or evidence. This can confuse the reader and undermine the sense of closure.

Being Redundant: Avoid simply repeating what has already been said. Instead, aim to synthesize and distill the main points in a fresh way.

Ending Abruptly: Ensure that your conclusion provides a sense of closure. Avoid ending too suddenly, as this can leave the reader feeling unsatisfied.

Examples and Analysis

To understand what makes a conclusion effective, let’s break down some examples:

Example 1: Echoing the Introduction

Introduction: “When I was ten years old, I discovered a dusty old book in my grandmother’s attic. Little did I know, that book would ignite my lifelong passion for history.”

Conclusion: “Just as that dusty old book sparked my passion for history, I hope this piece has ignited your interest in the past and its lessons for the future.”

Analysis: This conclusion echoes the introduction, creating a sense of symmetry and closure. It ties back to the initial anecdote and reinforces the main theme.

Example 2: Call to Action

“Now that you understand the importance of daily exercise, I challenge you to incorporate at least 30 minutes of physical activity into your routine. Your body and mind will thank you.”

Analysis: This conclusion includes a clear call to action, encouraging the reader to apply the information in a practical way. It’s motivating and actionable.

Example 3: Quotation

“As Albert Einstein once said, ‘Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.’ Let’s keep moving forward, embracing change and growth.”

Analysis: This conclusion uses a relevant quote to leave a lasting impression. The quote is thought-provoking and ties into the theme of the piece.

Example 4: Reflecting on Broader Implications

“The impact of climate change extends far beyond our immediate environment. It affects global economies, health, and future generations. By taking action now, we can create a sustainable future for all.”

Analysis: This conclusion reflects on the broader implications of the topic, helping the reader see its significance on a larger scale. It’s insightful and forward-looking.

Crafting Your Own Conclusion

When crafting your own conclusion, consider the following steps:

Restate the Thesis: Paraphrase your thesis statement to remind the reader of the central point. Ensure that it feels fresh and not repetitive.

Summarize Main Points: Briefly revisit the key arguments or points made in the piece. Focus on the most important aspects and avoid unnecessary details.

Offer Final Thoughts: Provide insights, implications, or a call to action. This is your chance to leave the reader with something meaningful to think about or do.

Create a Sense of Closure: Ensure that your conclusion provides a sense of closure. Avoid ending too suddenly and aim to leave the reader feeling satisfied.

Revise and Refine: Review your conclusion to ensure it is clear, concise, and impactful. Don’t be afraid to make changes to improve it.

Additional Tips for Writing Conclusions

Be Concise: While it’s important to provide a thorough summary, avoid being overly verbose. A concise conclusion is more likely to leave a strong impression.

Stay Relevant: Ensure that all the information in your conclusion is relevant to the main topic. Avoid tangents or unrelated details that might confuse the reader.

Use Clear and Simple Language: Avoid jargon or overly complex language that might alienate the reader. Clear and simple language is more effective in conveying your final thoughts.

Create a Smooth Transition: The conclusion should smoothly transition from the main body of the writing. Ensure that the last sentence of your main body leads naturally into the first sentence of your conclusion.

Engage the Senses: When using descriptive language, engage the reader’s senses by describing sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures. This can make your writing more vivid and memorable.

Reflect Your Personality: Let your personality shine through in your conclusion. Whether you’re writing in a formal or informal style, your unique voice can make your writing more engaging and relatable.

Remember, the conclusion is your final opportunity to make an impact, so take the time to craft it carefully and thoughtfully.

< Part 2 ||| Part 4 >

[tt40art]

“Why Do You Still Own and Use an MP3 Player?”

I will admit that modern music streaming is incredibly convenient and “cheap” — at least for the consumer. Spotify lets you trial music before you buy, lowering buyer’s remorse if you snag something you end up hating. However, that’s about all I can say for it.

While I am not a digital minimalist, I am a firm believer that music should be played without interruptions. If I’m listening to something, I don’t want my phone to mute it or lower the volume for an alert. Likewise, I would rather eat my own eardrums than listen to some irrelevant ad between my songs.

More importantly, I want to own my music. I want to have it even after some upper-level management type decides the label is no longer profitable. I want to play it wherever and whenever, and I want absolutely zero ads. (Apparently, free Spotify shows pop-up ads when you’re playing your own locally-hosted content.)

Also, they keep removing headphone jacks from phones. :(

[shewolfofvilnius]

One moot tagged another moot in a "Last Line" tag game.

I'm always weird-feeling about tag games, but I just wrote an all time hall of famer couple of paragraphs about my blorbos I need to share. ====== From Chapter 38 of The Sorceress of Ramazith's Tower. (POVs: Narrator and Lia)

"When faced with the choice between a wizard’s ambition and unquenchable desire to study more, learn more, do more - and to do so from a seat of prominence and respect vs. the unmet needs and sorrow of the woman he planned to call ‘wife’; Rolan had chosen his fiancée. Rolan had chosen love.

“My brother loves Tavaria more than he loves magic.” As her face tried to blend into the warmth of the pillow once more, a slow but joyous grin crept across her face - she nearly wanted to kick against the bed in delight. Lia had never been prouder of the grump.

brb gonna cry

[thebellekeys]

Sharing the Personal Statement that got me into my master’s at Oxford

This is a copy of the Personal Statement I submitted to get into my master’s at the University of Oxford in England. Yes, I got accepted into my dream master’s programme and preferred college at Oxford. No, I will not be attending Oxford in the fall despite receiving an offer for a variety of financial reasons. I recently took up a funded master’s offer elsewhere.

I’m sharing my Personal Statement as a sample for any of you younglings hoping to study at Oxford if you want an idea of what they may be looking for in the Humanities Division for graduate admission. Online resources were a great free help for me during my own application process. Do not plagiarize my shit—they’ll know. Shout out to @amchara for giving me feedback on this document during my writing process!

[fablesuntold]

"writing sample! " + Kat Mikaelsen

send me " writing sample! " + a character's name for me to write an example/drabble of how i'd write that character!

Why had Dylan opened her big, stupid mouth..?

Out of all the people she didn’t want finding out about her illness, her new group of friends were top of that list. Around them? She could be normal. Free. Unburdened by the possibility of a death sentence hanging over her head. With them, she could be anything she wanted to be. A normal teenager goofing off with her friends.. not the sick little sister who everybody pitied. But what had Dylan gone and done? Ruined everything yet again, by spilling the beans after she’d collapsed unconscious during Bloom & Rage’s very first concert gone terribly wrong. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. They were supposed to sing their hearts out, laugh at the horrified gasps their ‘offensive’ song provoked.. and run away before the cops showed up to apprehend them for noise complaints.

Unfortunately, life had decided to screw her over again. Nothing new there.

Already on the brink of a mental breakdown with her parents constant fussing and the stalking from both Dylan and Corey every time she left the house, Kat didn’t know if she’d be able to cope or handle one more person looking at her as though she were a kicked puppy. The last thing she needed was the sorrowful stares starting up from Swann, Nora and Autumn too.

She hadn’t left her room since arriving home that night; her argument with Dylan that’d sparked up the second she came to, still playing on a loop in her head.

‘UGH, I FUCKING HATE YOU! YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!’ Fury boiled over, tears streaming down already puffy cheeks.

‘Stop it, Kat! I’m just trying to help you!’

‘Well don’t! Just leave me and my friends the fuck alone, otherwise you’re DEAD to me!’ Accompanied by the thunderous slamming of her bedroom door after.

Had she been too harsh..? Thoughts that were swiftly halted, brought on by another coughing fit. Great. Finally regaining her breath, Kat reached for her landline phone and began to dial the only number belonging to the only person on her mind right now; Swann Holloway. Out of all of the girls? She always knew what to say, albeit in a dorky manner that always made Kat smile. Breath held until that familiar raspy voice sounded on the other end of the line, Kat slowly exhaled a deflated sigh, attempting to keep the shakiness out of her tone when she finally spoke herself. “Hey, Swann.. can we meet up..?”

[venus-cow]

Need to finish all my fanfic ideas (or start them...)

At least started a SpinnerDabi fic but it's like...a year old or so I think...

What I have of my fic below the cut.

Almost all bad behaviors are learned behaviors, learned from someone or something, maybe a parent drank heavily, maybe a show advertised violence in some way, maybe a friend smoked. Whatever it may be, there is a source and the source is like a pretty venom, unexpected but tempting and often resulting in a violent and gruesome life ahead. Which may be precisely why Dabi had this problem, hunched over, his eyes locked on a screen with dark circles under his eyes, deep blue and almost luminescent with the way the bright screen reflected into their glazed-over pupils.

A tug at his pinkie sent a strange shiver down his spine. He hadn't even noticed it at first, but now it felt… different. A quiet tug, soft, like a whisper of something unseen. He shrugged it off, it had been happening all day. The string of fate, a constant, unnoticed presence, had always tugged at him once a month, a gentle reminder of the soulmate he never wanted to meet. But today? Today it felt too strong, too insistent.

Shivers ran up his body as he sat up, moving out of his seat with the sound of the wheels rolling across the wooden floor, stopping when it hit a carpet in the way of its path. His bare feet slide down to touch the cold floor, sending even more shivers up his body and leaving lingering tingles in his fingertips. His ribs ache unpleasantly and as he straightens his back, a sickening crack is heard, ankles making little pop sounds as he lifts one foot after the other and walks across his lonely apartment. All the while, his body continues to shake as if he were freezing, but the room was anything but overly chilled.

Dabi's feet slide past the thin sliver of light that hit the floor, the curtain slightly parted to show the bright sun outside, beckoning him to come outside, threatening him, tempting his luck and daring to expose him to the dangers of the world. He paused, feeling another sharp tug at his pinkie. His feet felt warmth for a second under the light but as quickly as the warmth appeared, it faded as he wandered back into the dark shadows of the empty room. He journeyed until he reached the mattress resting flat on the floor, no sheets, only a barren pillow and a single blanket. His breath hitches as he bends down and squats to try and sit, plopping down finally and reaching his delicate, thin, boney fingers into the basket right by his bed. His fingers hooking onto a blank t-shirt as he tugs it off slowly, before bringing it over his dark spikes stretching taut temporarily as the fabric caught hold of the black hair and pulled until it reached properly around over his head and down to his neck, his hands slither up the bottom of the shirt and wiggle their way through the sleeves. His stomach grumbles and his body aches in more places than just his ribs now. He sits there for a long time, staring at the wall contemplating his next move.

He’s by the window now, approaching the rails to talk at a cigarette that illuminates, smoke emerging from it. He places the item between his chapped lips, old burn scars etched across his jaw and under his eyes. His fingers twitch and the cigarette drops from the window, hitting the first floor down below, ash bouncing off from it and hitting the pavement, making that gray color slightly blackened under the heat. With a lighter in his pocket, Dabi turns, a stuff motion that forces him to strain to close the window, chest hurting painfully.

The tug came again. It was stronger this time, insistent.

His steps wander towards the entrance of the apartment, trembling as he opens the door and heads towards the stairs, untrusting of the old elevator. He grips onto the railing tightly, stepping down slowly with aching joints and sweaty palms. He’s rather pretty, if one didn’t acknowledge how the burns warped his face, traveling across his neck and down his torso, skin twisted unhappily like a tree trunk, a mixture of pure white and fleshy pink in some places. The burn made one of his blue eyes foggier than the other, his vision completely blurred in that eye and also slightly focused too much on one side, never able to stare straight ahead like the other one.

He finally makes it down to the first floor and he walks, passing by the pool of the apartment, leaves covering its surface and it was slightly browned. He ignores the pool he, or anyone for that matter, never uses, the burn traveling down his right arm and stopping just below his palm and stopping under the knuckle turning his hand over. He quickly flees the pool and leaves out of the grouping of buildings, walking down the path where cars quickly speed by on the road. Dangerous. Warning signs. He quickly makes his way down the sidewalk, needing to hurry up and grab his groceries he’d ordered, the apartment, unfortunately, didn’t permit deliveries like that, packages and pizza were allowed because they get dropped at the front building, but groceries were bound to get taken and the owners of the motel were not afraid to take them themselves without telling any of their tenants.

With this precarious situation, he has to dive out into the dirty water that is the public and carry everything home, owning no car and not being allowed to drive due to his seeing impairment. Luckily for him, He gives him money every month due to his inability to get a job, but oftentimes he blows it all and has to crawl back to his "poor" father, begging for more so he won’t starve like any old mutt in the back allies of long since gone-out-of-business restaurants no longer leaving scraps for them to survive off of. His thin eyes glance around, not at all paranoid, just scared for this irrational reason, scared because of his inability to talk to people like anyone else. The best he could do in terms of conversating is in the online scene, where he could be anyone else except himself. Dabi liked that, that true anonymity it gave him. It was safe and there were no consequences.

It’s never easy carrying home several plastic bags full of food eager to melt at any given moment in the unrelenting sun, somehow even his own food was flying too close. His arms ached, the hand bearing his burns feeling an almost fiery pain after carrying the bags for so long. He could’ve just called an uber to take him there and back but he didn’t trust people enough to get into a vehicle with them, especially with all the horror stories he hears about these kinds of things.

He passes by a few people, receiving very pitiful looks or uncomfortable ones at the state of his body, no one stops to offer help, though, so he marches forward, six bags total as his whole body seemed to hate the exertion he was putting it through. He really needs a new place that allows deliveries, a new place that would allow him to hide and not be forced to leave the safety of his room for more than a second to stick his arm out to drag everything through the doorway.

[lunaxmar]

Writing sample of mine:

“After he realized that he was daydreaming and gawking at a stranger, he lowered his gaze down to the table. For a moment, he stared at the graded papers and empty mug before shifting his gaze back onto the window. His eyes widened and his breath hitched in his throat as he saw the woman had stopped on the sidewalk, looking back at him.

Although he could barely see any of her, he thought she looked pretty. She wore thick black sunglasses that hid her eyes completely. Her nose and mouth were covered by the collar of her coat. He could only see her pale skin and dark, thick brows. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes, he felt as if she was staring back at him through that same window. Without thinking, he smiled and raised his hand toward the window as if to say ‘Hello’. He felt a pang of embarrassment, wondering if he would scare her away. Wondering why he cares what a stranger thinks of him anyway.

Throughout his time as a professor, he had become much less of an introverted social-recluse. He began speaking loud and confidently because he needed to in order to get through to his students. Yet, when he felt her gaze on him, it was as if he had reverted back to the quiet boy he had been for so many years before he became a professor. To his great surprise, she tilted her head ever-so-slightly and waved at him. Then, she disappeared around the corner of the street across from him.

He blinked repeatedly as he processed that tiny interaction. He then realized that he was still smiling, his smile having grown bigger. He quickly turned away, feeling as if he was a sheepish, crushing schoolboy all over again. As he looked around the cafe, he realized that the rest of the guests were gathering their laptops and bags as they stood up and walked out of the tiny cafe. He looked down at his navy-blue watch, his eyes widening as he realized it was 5:58 P.M: Only two minutes before closing time. He always tried to leave at least five minutes before closing time so as not to be a bother to the people working their closing shifts there.

He quickly shoved the stack of papers into his black cross-body. Then, he pulled out a shiny black case and carefully placing his navy-blue pen into the indent of the black cushion. He closed the case, savoring the satisfying sound of it shutting, and slid it into his cross-body. As he packed his things to leave the cafe, he was reminded of his days as a highschool student. A lot of things reminded him of that time of his life. Even though he was miserable in high school, he did love the routine and stability that came with being a student at the time. He nearly missed those days. He picked up his mug before standing up and walking towards the front of the cafe. He placed the mug on top of the counter before he made his way out of the cafe.

“Goodbye, Laurie! Have a goodnight!”

“Bye, Delmar! You, too! Get home safe!”

He smiled at Laurie, the brunette barista with freckles and tattoos for days, before leaving the cafe. He pushed the door with one hand, savoring the cute chiming of the bell above him, while shoving the other one into his warm pocket. While he loved the fall, and even the winter in some ways, it was getting to be a bit too cold for his liking. As he made his way towards the parking lot at the end of the street, he noticed the sky was a slightly deeper shade of blue than it was when he was staring out the window. He began to ponder who that woman was, where she was going, and what she looked like underneath those thick sunglasses. He always wanted to know everything about everyone he met. Partly due to curiosity, partly due to his paranoia.

As he walked home, he watched as the clouds in the sky shifted ever so slowly to the right. He loved how slowly and steadily the sky changed overtime. It was peaceful. He often dreamed of being apart of nature. Not an animal that hunts or is hunted, but a part that simply exists and moves with the flow of time. Like a cloud or a flower petal. As he stared at the sky and walked on the grey sidewalks toward his home, he began to think about how his life had almost always been busy or filled up in one way or another. With studying, homework, grading, chores, all the awful things that happened, or simply the memories of those awful times. He wondered how it would feel to not experience any of that and to simply exist within the Earth.”

(Writing commissions are open!! 🤍 Check my pinned post and message me if interested!)

[namzii-rocks-grief]

"Stay Another Day"

©️namziirocks

[caktusjuice-draws]

pokey HATES that paul matthews is destined to fall in love with emma perkins in every universe so he just says "screw destiny" and fights tooth and nail to get his human

Pokotho paced the tile floor of Miss Retro's. The human feet that he was now much accustomed to anxiously clicked back and forth across the floor in a rapid albeit hypnotic beat. Holloway picked at the piece of good ol' cherry pie on her plate, lazily breaking it apart with a fork. Otho wheeled around, angry that she hadn't yet said anything of use to him. She knew what was happening, of course she did, she always knew. She was Miss Holloway after all.

Now that he had stopped his anxious teetering about the diner was quiet, save for the gentle click from Holloway's fork and plate, or the loud buzz of a yellow streetlamp outside. He breathed angrily through his nose and his hands clenched to turn his knuckles white.

"It isn't fair!"

"It seldom ever is," Holloway confirmed, smiling softly. Her expression read that while she was trying to be understanding, she found the irony in this situation grating rather than, say, humorous.

"I've been doing so well," Otho argued with no one in particular, words choked through gritted teeth. "I did everything right! I courted him! I showered him with my attentions! We live together for fuck all's sakes! I did everything right and now this! And because why? Because he and Emma are ... They're... simply just..."

He couldn't bring himself to say it. His shoulders had begun shaking and his breathing became loud and shuddery. But he didn't have to say it, because Miss Holloway was not sparing him the sword.

"Inevitable." She finished for him.

Otho choked on a sound that threatened to rip through his throat like hot iron.

"Don't say that," he whispered, his voice full with undeniable defeat.

[devoting-waters]

Chapter 9 is finally out after procrastinating for a day! Yayy. And guess who's visiting Odysseus?

Chapter 9: fear drives in those who care for such things

A breeze stirred through the cage, his eyes suddenly opening as he felt a cold rush on his skin. A flicker of golden light sparked in the corner of his vision. Odysseus turned his head, seeing a god that he was familiar with, but hadn't seen much since he was returning to Ithaca.

It was Hermes. His dark golden hair swayed as he floated in the air in front of Odysseus like a curious animal. He was the size of the mortal, not giant like the other gods, but he guessed it was because he chose to be inside the cage. The god’s golden eyes twinkled with amusement, his usual smirk in place.

“Oh, ho ho ho...Ohh dear,” Hermes drawled, tilting his head as he looked around. “This is a bit dreary, isn’t it? I would’ve at least given you a nice view—maybe a field, a nice orchard. But no, it’s just gold walls and bad lighting. Very dramatic, though.”

[ttwkyasks]

— if only

He appreciates Eva for what he does. It’s kind of him. It’s sweet. He clearly sees something in Jay that Jay himself cannot see, because Eva sees this entirely erotic thing, this entity, this rich, thick body worth consuming. Flesh upon flesh that hungers for tongue and teeth and hands. Jay can only imagine.  As it is, he’s just a very limp, very pathetic rag doll lounging on a queer college student’s cat-scratched couch, accepting his offerings with a dull performance of enthusiasm. He moans when he should, offers his affirmations when it’s necessary, and touches Eva where he wants to be touched. It’s perfectly fine. As it should be.  He wishes Annie were kicking the shit out of him right now. 

full nsfw text on the blogspot

[jesperweidemann]

Master the Comma

The comma, a seemingly simple punctuation mark, holds significant power in shaping the clarity and flow of written language. Its correct usage can transform a piece of writing from confusing to coherent, making it an essential tool for any writer. Understanding the various roles of the comma and how to apply them effectively is crucial for enhancing readability and ensuring your message is conveyed with precision.

The Role of the Comma in Lists

One of the primary functions of the comma is to separate items in a list. When you enumerate three or more items, commas help to distinguish each element clearly. For instance, consider the sentence: “For breakfast, I had eggs, toast, and orange juice.” Here, the commas separate the items, making the list easy to read. The comma before the conjunction “and�� is known as the Oxford comma. While its use is optional, it often helps to prevent ambiguity. For example, “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey, and God” is clearer than “I dedicate this book to my parents, Oprah Winfrey and God,” which could imply that Oprah Winfrey and God are the parents.

Setting Off Introductory Elements

Commas are also used to set off introductory elements in a sentence. These elements can be words, phrases, or clauses that precede the main clause. For example, “After the meeting, we went out for lunch.” The comma after “After the meeting” signals a pause, helping the reader to understand that the introductory phrase is separate from the main action of the sentence. This use of the comma enhances readability by clarifying the sentence structure.

Joining Independent Clauses

When two independent clauses are joined by a coordinating conjunction (such as for, and, nor, but, or, yet, so), a comma is placed before the conjunction. For instance, “I wanted to go for a walk, but it started raining.” This rule helps to avoid run-on sentences and maintains the flow of ideas. Without the comma, the sentence might feel rushed or jumbled, making it harder for the reader to follow the writer’s train of thought.

Nonessential Information

Commas are also used to set off nonessential information—details that add extra context but are not crucial to the meaning of the sentence. For example, “My brother, who lives in New York, is visiting us next week.” The clause “who lives in New York” provides additional information about the brother but is not essential to the main point of the sentence. Removing it still leaves a complete thought: “My brother is visiting us next week.”

Avoiding Common Mistakes

Despite their importance, commas are often misused. One common mistake is the comma splice, which occurs when two independent clauses are joined by a comma without a coordinating conjunction. For example, “I love reading, it’s my favorite hobby.” This can be corrected by adding a conjunction or changing the comma to a semicolon: “I love reading, and it’s my favorite hobby” or “I love reading; it’s my favorite hobby.”

Another frequent error is the overuse of commas, which can disrupt the flow of writing. For instance, “The cake, was delicious” includes an unnecessary comma that interrupts the sentence. Conversely, omitting necessary commas can lead to confusion. Consider the difference between “Let’s eat Grandma” and “Let’s eat, Grandma.” The first suggests cannibalism, while the second is an invitation to dine.

Advanced Comma Usage

Beyond the basics, commas can be used in more sophisticated ways to enhance writing. When two or more adjectives equally modify a noun, commas are used to separate them. For example, “She wore a bright, colorful dress.” If the adjectives are not equal, no comma is needed: “She wore a bright summer dress.”

Transitional phrases such as “however,” “therefore,” and “for example” should also be set off with commas. For instance, “I wanted to join the team; however, I was too late.” This helps to clarify the relationship between ideas. Additionally, when addressing someone directly, commas are used to set off their name or title, as in “Thank you, Dr. Smith, for your assistance.”

Conclusion

Mastering the comma is essential for effective writing. By understanding the basic rules and avoiding common mistakes, you can use commas to enhance the clarity and flow of your writing. Whether you are listing items, joining clauses, or setting off nonessential information, the comma is a powerful tool that, when used wisely, can significantly improve readability. Remember, the key to mastering the comma is practice and attention to detail. With time and effort, you can become proficient in using this versatile punctuation mark to enhance your writing.

[adrowsypirate]

Writing Sample One

The morning had not been kind to Dr. John Watson. He had rushed to Baker Street upon hearing news of a murder.

At 2:15 a.m. on February 13, 1891, a man named Ernest Thompson discovered the body of Frances Coles, a 31-year-old prostitute, lying beneath a railway arch at Swallow Gardens in Whitechapel.

John Watson was a middle-sized, strongly built man with tanned skin, a square jaw, and a thick neck. His sandy blonde hair was neatly combed, and his mustache was well-groomed. He wore a black coat over a white button-up dress shirt, paired with a black vest, black trousers, and brown leather shoes.

As he approached 221B Baker Street, John had a feeling that his old friend, Sherlock Holmes, would be thrilled to be called in to investigate the latest crime of the Whitechapel Murderer.

Stepping into the sitting room, he was met with the usual mess. The red sofa was covered with boxes and scattered papers, as was Sherlock's cluttered desk. The stone fireplace held a fire that was slowly dying, casting long shadows across the dimly lit room.

Sherlock sat in his armchair, holding a note between his long, thin fingers. He was a tall, gaunt man, his extreme leanness making him seem even taller. His pale, eager face was framed by curly black hair, and his sharp, piercing gray eyes held a steady intensity. He wore a black tweed suit, slightly wrinkled from long hours of study.

"If they had stopped lollygagging, they would have caught this madman a year ago," Sherlock said, his voice laced with irritation as he set the letter down on the dark oak table beside him.

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes.

John, sensing his weariness, watched him with concern. "You all right, old friend?" he asked.

Sherlock let out another sigh and continued to stare into the dying fire.

"Too much to do, too much to think about, my dear Watson."

Then, as if only now remembering, Sherlock turned to him. "And how is Mary Morstan?" he inquired. A flicker of warmth crossed Watson's face.

"She is well. In fact," he said, a hint of a smile forming, "she is with child."

Sherlock's sharp eyes studied Watson for a moment before he leaned forward, reaching for the letter. "Then let us ensure that this child is born into a world with one less murderer roaming its streets."

[onthatbkdkbs]

"Holy fuck," Katsuki blurts suddenly and rather loudly, because for all that he's been a fucking ace at everything he's tried since he was old enough to walk, he somehow still hasn't mastered the art of volume control, "I'm in love with that little shit.”

From across the library table that they're (reluctantly, on Katsuki's part) sharing, Todoroki barely reacts. He scribbles down a few more meticulously crafted notes on the bullshit hero politics course they're being forced to take and says, quiet and distracted, "I should hope so. Haven't you been together for awhile now?"

"What??? No?”

Katsuki screeching at near-maximum volume is apparently enough to actually get the bastard's full attention, as heterochromatic eyes deign to lift away from the neat scrawl on his notebook paper in order to level him with a look that's more flat than anything, but skirts the edges of annoyance all the same. Guy's a freak like that, and Katsuki can't figure out how he does it. "Come on, Bakugou. I'm not blind. Or deaf. He gushes about you and your supposed 'manliness' all the time."

"WHAT," Katsuki shouts, because seriously, what. The librarian shoots him a nasty look and he just barely resists the burning urge to give her the finger. That hag has some serious pull around here, as he unfortunately learned the last time he pissed her off and received two full weeks of detention for his efforts—most of which he had to spend being one of Dominatrix-sensei's personal bitch boys. And if that wasn't bad enough, Ball Head had served almost as many detentions as Katsuki had. He still shudders just thinking about that whole fiasco. Not fucking worth it. He manages to lower his voice to hiss, "are you actually talking about Kirishima right now," right at Todoroki's stupid, blank face without causing any more of a scene.

"Well, yes. Who else would I be talking about?" IcyHot pauses with a blink upwards, as though an alternate answer will drop from the ceiling and bash him over his stupid candy-cane colored head if he thinks about it hard enough (likely not, but Katsuki might hit him anyway. On principle). None is apparently forthcoming, so he glances back at Katsuki with a shrug. "But from your reaction, I'm assuming I'm off the mark. So…Kaminari?"

Shit, now that's just insulting. To both of them, even. Katsuki would be willing to bet serious cash that they'd both rather drop dead than somehow fall in love with each other. This idiot, he thinks. What a goddamn joke.

"NO, dumbass. Not Dunce-Face.”

"...Sero?"

There comes a flash of something that could be interesting to consider in Todoroki's mismatched eyes as he mentions the Human Tape Dispenser, or would be if only Katsuki wasn't preoccupied with NOT leaping across the table to strangle this dumb bastard with his bare hands. Instead, he very calmly says, in his calmest voice, really, really calmly, "ARE YOU STUPID. NO. IT'S DEKU, YOU FUCKING HALF-N-HALF WIT.”

"If I'm a half and half wit, doesn't that actually imply I'm a whole wi—”

"For fuck's sake," Katsuki cuts him off with a groan, letting his forehead drop against the cool wooden grain of their study table with a thunk. He'd rather glare a hole through the tabletop right now on the off chance he suddenly develops the ability to explode people (Todoroki, namely) with his eyes. He can't afford to add a manslaughter charge onto his current list of problems. Being in love with Deku is problem enough.

Actually, it's probably the biggest problem he's ever had.

"Are you….okay?" Turd-oroki asks him, seeming curiously wary but looking more constipated than anything. The words sound strange as they pass through the space between them, strained and sour as though Strawberry Shortcake is having some sort of sudden internal crisis about the idea of trying to comfort Katsuki, of all people. Can't really blame him. Katsuki doesn't know how to comfort himself, either. Never has. "You seem…off."

"Off." Katsuki huffs, though he doesn't bother denying it. "Brilliant fuckin' analysis. Screw being a hero, you should be a goddamn therapist.”

There's a pause, like either Todoroki is actually considering a career change or maybe just considering bashing Katsuki over the head with his textbook to put them both out of their misery, and then he says, quietly and with palpable concern, "you seem really off. You didn't even tell me to go to hell just now."

"Go to hell," Katsuki mumbles after the fact. Any vitriol that would otherwise sharpen his voice is tempered by the way his cheek is still smushed morosely against the table. Even Katsuki can't remain intimidating while feeling so pathetic, though he can't bring himself to care much. Not when he feels like this, sick and hot and twisted up inside. "Eat shit and die. Shut the fuck up and get out."

Todoroki ignores all that, which…fair. "Do you…want to talk about it?"

"No.”

"Are you sure?" As Katsuki finally sits up, all the better to glare at him, IcyHot leans forward a bit and gives him the single most horrifying look of commiseration Katsuki's ever experienced in his shitty life. He's obviously trying to empathize with Katsuki in some way, and even seems to be managing it, and this is… Well, it's too pathetic to stand any longer. He doesn't want to have this conversation. He can't believe he'd been stupid enough to open his fat mouth and blurt this shit out in the first place. Why can't he ever keep his fuckin' mouth shut when it counts?

He does keep it shut, now. He can't think of a thing to say. Nothing that doesn't make him sound like a lovesick loser. Instead, he meets Todoroki's probing gaze and shrugs. He can't be sure of anything, anymore.

Under the table, Katsuki's hands ball into tight fists, fingernails digging savagely into his palms. It eases some of the tension in him as the skin breaks, as though the confusion and longing and misery he's stubbornly holding inside is escaping through the cuts little by little, like air from a sad, deflating pool toy.

He feels a bit like that, right now. Collapsing into himself and wilting from the steady force of gravity. Inescapable. Inevitable. Inexorable. A weight that doesn't push, but pulls—a force that reels you in so gently that you barely even notice it's happening. Not until you're already falling.