#creating writing

[includedisco]

Fellow fanfic writers, do you ever see a piece of advice on writing...

and then just defiantly reject or ignore it because for some strange and random reason you feel like adopting it will interfere with your enjoyment of writing?

Or because you've just temporarily reached your ceiling in learning?

Yeah that's me a lot of the time. Sometimes I even ignore writing tips because I can.

Learning never stops until we die, but damn sometimes I'm overwhelmed by how much is left to learn out there 😅

Fanfic-writing is as deep as it gets, but it's not that deep. I think my readers will be fine even if I don't know how to correctly place a quotation mark inside a sentence.

Like, I promise I'll learn tomorrow(or July of 2026) but tonight can I please just get away with misplacing that comma?🙂

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

I was wondering, since Rev has Six and the other prowlers he takes care of, what would he think of a Legend S/o who takes care of Prowlers, Spiders and Flyers for the games? Like they own some and they usually go to World’s Edge, Kings Canyon and Storm Point before they are in Rotation to check on the animals and they all really really like s/o when they drop by.

Okay I sort of took the vibes of this and absolutely ran with it. This is basically a plot point skeleton for a first book in a multi-book fanfiction at this point:

You never noticed Revenant between games before, as Bloodhound was always more your pace with a commonality in caring for beasts, until one day you were running behind.

The Flyers were upset that day, as were the Spiders. You ended up having to spend way more time to feed both, and you didn't even get a chance to get close to them in order to check their condition.

By the time you reached the Prowlers, you understood why.

Nothing quite like a 6'7" tall metal maniac holding a young, injured dinosaur like a beloved puppy to get you to pay attention.

He was not pleased to see you.

He was immediately accusatory: why weren't you there sooner? Something about how bad this could have been, and how he can't stand the use of prowlers as fodder for entertainment, and that they deserve care or to be let go.

Oddly enough, you agree with the oversized villain character of the Apex Games.

You interrupt him to ask what exactly is wrong, since it needs to be addressed immediately.

"Blood scale" is no sooner uttered than you jumping over the prowler in his arms to try to find the lethal bleed.

He shoves you away, and you hear him say it.

"I took care of it, skinbag."

He... he did?

He flicks a bloody, hollow scale in your direction. Most of the blood has drained, but it clearly was a blood scale.

You spent eight years in school to become a veterinarian with a focus on neozoology and exotic animals, became a specialist in some of the most dangerous fauna on this side of the Outlands, and pushed the present understanding of medical knowledge on these species youself just for some simulacrum at work to "take care of it" himself.

He reels back a bit as you stare at him, letting the prowler leap from his arms while panting happily, letting it's tongue loll out.

After that encounter, Revenant could not escape your notice, much to his annoyance for a few months.

You would seek him out to present questions about prowlers aloud near him, much like you would with Caustic for the spiders. Like Caustic, Revenant would often sigh loudly in frustration while answering the complex question like it was elementary knowledge.

He became an invaluable resource.

Caustic never came around to liking you, but Revenant got used to you.

Finally, Revenant would start "appearing" when you would make your usual rounds to the battlefields' prowler dens.

You are surprised to find that Revenant's presence does not upset the prowlers, but rather calms them down.

He started by just watching you take care of the prowlers: taking blood labs, treating small injuries, providing meat fortified with necessary vitamins and minerals, administering basic medicines to the sick, and tagging newborns for tracking.

Then you tried checking on a prowler with a broken leg, which would usually call for careful euthanasia due to how dangerous it can be if the prowler lashes out in pain.

You thought you could help, but trying to set the leg proved too painful.

The bite would have killed you instantly, if it reached you.

Revenant took the bite with his own body, holding the snout in place around his leg to give you time to set the break, splint it, and hard cast it.

He began stepping in to help you after that, and it became an unacknowledged standard for you to give the prowlers better and more in-depth care in exchange for his invulnerablility, knowledge, and strength.

It started to become the best part of your job.

You began getting to the prowlers first, and spending a bit longer with them.

Eventually, he started following you to take care of the flyers and spiders too, although he clearly was a bit more out of his depth in those situations.

He was able to adjust to the flyers fairly easily, but the spiders and him seem to have a respectful hatred of one another.

The spider eggs are no problem for him, and even freshly hatched spiders do not affect him much; but the massive, drop-ship sized adults are a different story.

Given their venom is caustic and turns his body to a rusting, oxidizing mess: fair enough. You agree with him, but moreso because of the fangs that are almost as tall and wide as you.

Thankfully, so long as they're well-fed and it's the daytime, they don't have much interest in you.

Revenant, however...

If the spiders become aware of Revenant, they will either threat pose at him until he backs away or gently approach him to reach for him.

He's not fond of the latter behavior, likely because he's not fond of having younger, smaller males trying to attach a spawning web to him.

It's funny, to watch his smaller frame hiding in a crevasse from a massive spider who has mistaken him for a possible mate.

Revenant rapidly became the prettiest (and most docile) bachelorette at the ball, likely on account of not killing and eating the males like the females normally would.

At the same time, he plays the hardest to get, leaving you snickering back at the dropship to handle paperwork.

He hates it, obviously, but he sticks around anyway.

Finally, one time a male managed to attach a ball of spawning silk to him, and that was the first time you got to help Revenant back.

Back at the facility, after a very uncomfortable and sticky ride back from Storm Point, you were able to carefully use acetone and a paint scraper to get the webbing off of him.

Revenant was about as cooperative as the prowlers, growling and complaining with each long scrape.

Some of his paint comes off with the webbing, but he doesn't seem to care so long as his evidence of being the target of a male spider's love and affection is gone.

You promise in the privacy of his living space that you won't tell anyone about it, and thank him for always being around to help you

He immediately shoots down your thanks verbally, insisting it means nothing to him

"As long as the prowlers are taken care of, I don't give a damn"

He mumbles about wishing they weren't a part of the Apex Games, right as you scrape off the last clump of webbing

He tries to get up to leave, but you stop him to wipe him down with acetone, just to be sure the adhesive slime isn't lingering.

He's sticky beyond compare, and the acetone-soaked rag strips off paint with the adhesive.

You have to carefully hit every crevasse to clean, which rapidly reveals he's...

Ticklish?

As the paint is stripped from the metal plating, Revenant contorts, jerks, huffs, and gasps randomly as you gently rub the rims and edges of his chassis.

He's clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable, causing you to instinctively apologize while insistently cleaning him.

He reminds you of most of your patients: large, able to kill you in a single motion, and yet vulnerable in some way.

And that's when you got fully attached to sticking close to him.

He invited you to sleep on his couch for the first time, especially as long as it took to finish cleaning him.

You insisted you "couldn't" because you needed to stay up until he was fully taken care of, which included repainting the stripped areas.

Honestly, you were completely exhausted and not all there at that point, but he let you help him repaint his chassis.

Between the paint fumes, sleep deprivation, and exhaustion, you passed out in his room.

After that night, Revenant wouldn't stop sticking to your side. You caught his attention, and you weren't getting away from him.

[frodothefair]

Welcome back to Nisilë's writing wisdom. You get two episodes in one weekend this time!

Today's installment is brought to you by a discussion my friend and I had about her POV character not being in the best sort of headspace, and thus not feeling up to describing her environment.

But then I realized -- not all description needs to be positive or admiring. What's more, description can be a vehicle for conveying a POV character's emotions and mindset.

Think of it this way. When you are sad or ill or irritated or angry, you do not cease to see and experience what's around you. But the way you see it is different. If you see the world through "rose-colored glasses" when you are happy, you see it through gray or brown-colored ones when you're sad. Depending on your mood and attitude, the things you notice vary, the words you choose to describe them may vary, and the associations and metaphors you invoke may vary as well.

Let's take a look at a description of Rohan through Lothíriel's eyes, when she is generally not in a good headspace, and resents being there.

A few of the streets of Edoras – the centrally located ones – were clean and stately enough, with grand wooden mansions graced with proud, intricately carved facades. But compared to any place in Gondor, this capital city was still a ramshackle village, and the floor of the Golden Hall was grimy with mud, while the air was dank, and in a woefully rustic fashion, the same sizable space was used for ceremonies, meetings, leisure, banquets, and all sorts of talks, with roughshod warriors treading in and out in their straw-covered boots, singing in their rough voices so loudly that the roof threatened to collapse, and falling beneath the tables insensate with drink, as enormous beasts were turned on skewers before a feasting populace. (TGH Ch 1)

It's not a very flattering description, though it still conveys a vivid sense of place. There is a brief nod to the positives, but it is readily dismissed with the words "clean and stately enough." The other images are all things that offend Lothíriel's sensibilities as a pampered Gondorean princess: grime, dank air, roughshod boots, sloppy drunkenness, and loud singing that shakes the rafters, creating a sense of threat and precarity.

Contrast this to how Lothíriel feels about the same exact setting several chapters later, when she starts to feel more at home:

Instead, the impassioned, sonorous ballads – punctuated by clapping, chanting, and the stamping of feet – began to feel downright touching, almost pleasant, like the pounding of rain on a wooden roof. (TGH Ch 6)

Not only does she use the words "impassioned" and "touching," but she likens the singing to rain pounding on a roof, a soothing, cozy feeling.

[ghostcaterwaul-doesnt-write]

This is my first tarot prompt of the year! I decided to use the image on the card for inspiration so I’m including a picture of the card, as well.

This was written in about 5 minutes, stream of consciousness.

All of these will be unfinished snippets, as I plan to limit myself to a certain time frame for writing, starting at 5 minutes and adding a minute on every week.

I’m going to try and use these to help with my worldbuilding as well so you’ll get to see a peek into the dark fantasy world that I’m brainstorming too!

Constructive feedback or words of encouragement are always welcome.

Deck used: Joseph Vargo’s The Gothic Tarot

Card: 7 of Cups

Visual prompt from card: Skeletal demonic creatures

Skeletal creatures with horned skulls and feathered wings circled overhead. They seemed close enough that Alice felt the need to duck, afraid they’d collide with her head, or even get caught in the silver chains from her butterfly barrette that held her waterfall braid in place. And, yet they also seemed farther away than the rainbow colored stars and sometimes even faded into the dark teal and purple clouds, or circled the lavender moon, yet also seemed to be able to manipulate the greyish-purple fog that levitated a foot or so above the glowing mauve and olive green cobblestone road and blue and purple bioluminescent weeping trees. Once she realized they didn’t seem interested in harming her, she moved forward along the path, the chains from her jewelry jingling as she walked and her gray handkerchief skirt flowing behind her. Her sage green winter sweater, matching legwarmers, and fingerless gloves shielded her from the chilly night air of this strange world she’d found herself in.

[decadentstegosaurus]

i would love to write a story but i am obsessed with logistic details. Even when when with creating completely new Earth i would need to start with pangea and work out the movement of tectonic plates to be absolutely sure that placement of continents is logically possible. Every detail needs to be accurate. I used to write a fanfiction from some game and all the time i was searching for exact words characters would use when they interact with every object.

I would love to dive in my own world create and everything but doing this with being 100% consistent with laws of everything and researching about every little detail would consume a lot of time.

Even creating new planet would be hard bc it needs to be able to exist, so i would have to make new logic system by changing data from our planet to new one and being sure that my characters are capable to live in that environment

[plottwiststudios]

So, as a writer always thinking of very human interactions and dialogue, this obviously translates to my dreams, too. Most times the dialogue is bonk and nonsense. But othertimes, I feel like I'm invading a personal moment. Even if the conversation IS between Donald Duck and his son...

Donald: I'm listening . Son: Every time I get to the limit, you don't listen. So The one time I did not listen, you say you're listening. Why do you only listen when I don't?

In no waking world would I put "listen" down so many times within two lines of dialogue. But my dream did, so I kept it. I don't think I'll have a use for this exchange. I do, however, really like the general tension in the dream.

[chiconisroc]

I wonder, what do you think of those who say redeeming Philip even in fanon doesn't make sense because it "goes against his character?" or say that doing that is writing him very ooc (out of character)?

Some even say he'd rather die than admit he's wrong or grow as a person and that's the whole point of him. He's a bigot who doesn't want to better himself or can't be redeemed.

I'm glad you're making the "impossible" possible by writing your story by the way. It's kinda made me see him in a different light.

I believe it is reasonable to suggest that Philip may prefer death over admitting he's wrong or evolving as an individual. It is possible that is who his character is, o.o.

However, when it comes to asserting that such behavior contradicts his character 100%, I find myself uncertain. Perhaps I tend to perceive fictional characters as if they were real people while writing stories about them.

To those who claim that my portrayal of Philip is out of character, let us remember that the show has only exposed a fraction of Philip's persona, a merge glimpse on who he is. In reality, even therapists cannot instantly discern the true essence of their clients without ample time and exploration.

Some fictional characters tend to follow a linear trajectory. Philip, in my story, does not conform to such things as my narrative aims for a touch of realism and explore the possibility of a profound change within him. The touch of realism in the story have been noted by some readers while reading it.

Humans are complex beings. All individuals possess the capacity for change, given specific circumstances and considering their personal attributes. Moreover, one's experiences and mental state can significantly influence the extent of such change. I believe that believing in the immutability of fictional characters limits the creative mind's exploration of the infinite possibilities characters can embody. Furthermore, if one maintains the conviction that real humans are entirely incapable of change, even in the slightest sense, it obstructs personal growth as well.

Fanfiction stories serve as alternate universes, embracing the boundless potential of what a character can do or become. They create a space where all possibilities are welcomed and explored with open arms. These stories should be cherished and experienced purely for the joy they bring, rather than being confined by notions of what is deemed possible or impossible.

So, yeah, that concludes my response, hahaha.

And I'm glad you enjoying the story : ).

[purgatorypoetry]

My secret: sometimes I get afraid of my own hunger and desire

felt that through the hollow bones,

my echo-chamber chest and all the rest of those dark spaces where nothing dare grow -

I know,

nothing is enough

whatever shape my mouth takes when it makes those words, open arms and closed heart and

nothing is enough

closed arms and open heart and the stillness like satin on my saturated skin,

my inundated tongue, my seams come undone

bursting

nothing nothing nothing

is enough

[sgt-cookie-2]

We are both old, and it is our final fight. A word, a fist, a slam with an errant oxygen tank. We fall over to our knees, then onto the floor. I am clutching a mask of air, taking deep, solid breaths. My enemy falls close. Close enough I could just reach out and... No... I've just no strength left. I am very old.

I take off the mask briefly, my opponent breathing steadily. "How long you old bastard? How fucking long?"

They reply:

"For as long as we've known one another, I suppose. Children, in school. Or maybe, even younger."

I laughed: "Children, younger, yes, our mothers lived next door to each other. Then it was school, yes then it was when we had to divide into a class team, then when we went into separate teams permanently. And then political sides, then wars, then atrocities. Then this."

My foe spoke solemnly: "Always in different places, touching, but never... being on the same side." They laugh. "Damn Alice and her looking glass." I respond, regretfully:

"It was the first time we fought. Not with bullets. Not with swords. Not with fists. No, the first time. The time we fought with words. I made a promise, no, an oath that I would be."

They laugh even harder: "I scan't remember every tussle we had. Our first being mere debate, foolishness. But, I suppose it brought us where we are now."

I turn my head and look at my rival, my breathing getting heavier and faster: "I didn't mean it, it was just after one of our poetry lessons. I suppose my heart developed into a muse of wrath and beauty, and thought to make use of it." They smile

"Sounds like you. Spinning the greatest of words into the noblest threads of the most ignoblest deeds ever to grace a tapestry of beauty and time."

I laugh at my equal's words again. Hacking a cough.

"I believe it was your trick first, I copied it just to piss you off. It worked, so I kept doing it and you didn't."

They look back in time mounfully. "We spent too much of our lives trying to kill each other. Even today, after all this time. We passed each other every day, so why today did you decide to end it once and for all?

I think back to them, my equal, my opposite, my... reflection.

"I think... we both knew I was going soon. And I think... you couldn't let me die that way."

We are both the oldest we have ever been. And almost the oldest we will ever be.

My friend hacks a cough, as I did. Passing them the oxygen mask is not difficult, not yet.

"Thank you. I'll pass it back when you need it," they say, lifting the mask as I did, before putting it back, taking a deep breath and asking again:

"If one of us had just ever... won. Even just once. We've lost, both of us, plenty of times. But, even then the other side only ever just... didn't lose. And it was never satisfying."

I hack, the mask is passed back, I talk again: "But one of us did win once. And you hated me for it. It's why it started in the first place. It was love. Real love. I hope, at the end, that's enough?"

They think for a moment. "No. Of course not. It never was. But I will have to make do. The oil will last 7 nights." they say, biblicly.

They hack again, I pass it back.

"I think I've got two more passes in me." they say. "Or rather... takes."

I laugh "Because whoever doesn't have it dies first. And you intend to make me break one last oath?"

Everything was starting to go white. I could hear their breaths, their shallow, weak breaths, making the rattling plastic sound of an oxygen mask not held down.

"I had an oath to keep you fucker!" I yell out. With herculean effort, I reached over, grabbed the oxygen mask, pulling it to my face. I can barely see anything, but the intake of pure gold scented air stops the light from coming closer.

I keep taking deep, slow, oderous breaths, as my compatriot's breathing gets weaker, dimmer, slower. At a certain point I feel a hand, grabbing the mask back. I fight against them, but I fail. The mask is torn away. I never know if it makes it to its destination. But for just a moment, the breathing seemed to improve. But then was back to normal. My breathing slows, the oxygen in my blood transforming and being ejected.

I purchased two syllables from my air supply"My... oh...". Inexcusable, but the encouragement seemed worth the price. But the light keeps getting closer. My soulmate, oh, what of you?

I listen over. The light is getting brighter. My soultwin's breathing gets weaker as the light in my eyes gets brighter and brighter. Eventually, the breathing gets even weaker. Slower. Further away. Until eventually, the breathing stops, just as the light turns to nothing...

With the last molecule of air I have left, "Lo?"

[the-golden-comet]

✨🏴‍☠️Find Lines Tag🏴‍☠️✨

Alright, Jamie. I see you! 👀✨thank you @tragedycoded 🏴‍☠️💛✨

Rules: Click the blue link above, and roll a six-sided die. Pick any of the six prompts that are listed there, and choose 3 or more to find lines for

(Rolls die) 🎲

Not accounting for repeat numbers, I got 1, 3, 4, and 5.

A line describing the weather

A thunderstorm clapped and boomed as the Captain’s eyes widened. The electricity in the air made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, goosebumps shivering down his arms as the familiar smell of ozone lingered. A gentle rainfall began, causing Captain Hart, still only in his boots and pants, to rush to the helm and take the wheel.

The gentle pitter patters of rain turned into a heavy rainfall, which turned into torrential downpour. Peter stayed gripping the wheel as he attempted to navigate the ever-angering sea, determined to steer his crew out of danger.

A line with/about anger.

When they were a safe distance from the port, hiding in the nearby forest, Benjamin looked out of the evergreen’s wake towards the harbor. It seems the crew lost the guards….for now. Benji let out a gentle sigh of relief, but quickly sucked the breath back in as he turned to see a crowd of VERY livid pirates leering at him. Their eyes were as fiery as their temperament as Peter crossed his arms and glared at the prince that caused them so much trouble.

A line about a scent.

A fresh scent of sea salt tickled the captain’s nose and sat on the back of his tongue. Every moment, he cherished, he commemorated. Soaking it all up, like the seawater on his clothes.

A line about friendship.

“ENOUGH. We’re not torturing him, nor killing him, NOR are we marooning him!” The look of dismay and disgust on Captain’s Hart’s face sorted out the naysayers quickly. “Have you all forgotten our pledge? No crew gets left behind.”

+open tag if you want to play along! Click on the blue link above to choose your lines to find! ✨

[willowiswriting]

wrote 1694 words yesterday

hate them all

[amindthatbreathes]

I hope that we learn from this. Someday, when we've come to hate so much, we hope to forgive as well.

[eldrytchcryptid]

yesss this is exactly what I need

10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

New Part: 10 Lethal Injury Ideas

If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain, here are some ideas: 

1. Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility. This is useful because your characters will have to experience a mild struggle and adapt their plans to their new lack of mobiliy. Perfect to add tension to a chase scene.

2. Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult, helping you sneak in those ragged wheezes during a fight scene. Could also be used for something sport-related! It's impactful enough to leave a lingering pain but not enough to hinder their overall movement.

3. Concussions

This common brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment heavily. It can also cause mild amnesia.

I enjoy using concussions when you need another character to subtly take over the fight/scene, it's an easy way to switch POVs. You could also use it if you need a 'cute' recovery moment with A and B.

4. Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills. This would be perfect for characters like artists, writers, etc. Or, a fighter who brushes it off as nothing till they try to throw a punch and are hit with pain.

5. Road Rash

Road rash is an abrasion caused by friction. Aka scraping skin. The raw, painful sting resulting from a fall can be a quick but effective way to add pain to your writing. Tip: it's great if you need a mild injury for a child.

6. Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation. Good for torture scenes.

7. Deep Laceration

A deep laceration is a cut that requires stitches. As someone who got stitches as a kid, they really aren't that bad! A 2-3 inch wound (in length) provides just enough pain and blood to add that dramatic flair to your writing while not severely deterring your character.

This is also a great wound to look back on since it often scars. Note: the deeper and wider the cut the worse your character's condition. Don't give them a 5 inch deep gash and call that mild.

8. Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma. Like the previous injury, the lasting physical and emotional trauma of a burn is a great wound for characters to look back on.

If you want to explore writing burns, read here.

9. Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, offering a window to force your character to lean on another. Note: I personally use muscle related injuries when I want to focus more on the pain and sprains to focus on a lack of mobility.

10. Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted. When exploring tendonitis make sure you research well as this can easily turn into a more severe injury.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. This is inspiration, not a thorough guide. Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[milkcryptid]

do people have no shame anymore?

[chiconisroc]

Do you need to write everyday in order to be a good writer / does writing everyday show that you love writing more than someone who doesn't write everyday?

I don't think so : o. I think to get better at writing for sure needs time investing on. But I don't think every day is necessary, unless I guess maybe it does, who knows o.o. I just write every day cause i'm obsessed... hahaha

And also yeah, i don't think writing more than others is stating that they love writing more than the other person. Maybe it does? who knows, hahaha. I'm just obsessed with writing so yah... x.x

Idk, what do other people think?