#whatarewords

[who-even-is-mathing]

I forgot the word for broom and called it ‘floor brush’.

[deepestkittenstarlight]

Dear Moon

Don’t tell that narcissistic Sun but I love you so much more. Your gentle glow is much less blinding than the Sun’s egotistical manner. Your gentle light shows your humble manner of self-esteem. Sure sometimes you get a SuperMoon, but it’s well deserved and a fun time.

My dear Moon, my favorite thing is staying up all night and writing line after line inspired by you. Under your silky soft gaze, the words pour out in an inadequate attempt to capture your beauty, grace, and talent into words.

Handsome Moon, your music is so beautiful. The crickets chirping and cicadas screaming. A gentle breeze rustles the trees and whistles in the air. A true symphony conducted by you, Moon, unable to be stolen by man.

Love,

An Admirer

[fanofmanythingz]

Me sitting in silence: omg I have so many ideas for this fic I wanna write. I should write this down.

Me: *gets laptop and opens word*

Me: *forgets every word in the English language.*

Also me: ....well....fuck.

[cazmayauthor]

My Sunday arvo-editing book 2 of the Mackenney family saga with Kaden (MC of Hearts Don’t Steer us wrong-always only you Bk 4) DA coming soon-who can guess the title? #cazmayauthor #cazmaybooks #amediting #smh #whatdidiwrite #whatiswriting #whatarewords #comingsoon #relationships #passion #countryromance #romanticsuspense #themackenneyfamilysaga #desktopwallpaper #myview #sundayvibes https://www.instagram.com/p/B9vwe77ALTA/?igshid=f5gv82uj7e56

[giordano-david-blog]

The Necromancer Plot

Midwinter, the late 1800s, rains have seized the city of Venice. FRANCISCO, a devout shop-owner of mild success, has been grieving for his dead wife ORNELLA for two years. His business thrives, his coffers are full, and he has the infatuation of the young and beautiful MAGDALENA, and yet he is not content. The story starts proper when Francisco arrives at the local church, intending on prayer. Here, he meets FATHER MICHAEL, a new addition to the parish. Sensing Francisco’s sorrow, the father brings him into confession, where Francisco confesses that while Magdalena is infatuated with him, he feels nothing for her, wishing only that his wife return to him. Father Michael tells him that there may well be a way to bring his wish to fruition. When pressed further, there is no response. Father Michael is gone. Later that night, there is a knock at Francisco’s door. He opens it, and it is Father Michael. The priest explains what he meant earlier, that he had been sent to Venice by a vision – a vision from God. He can bring his wife back, he continues, but at a price. A life for life, he tells him. Francisco, reluctant at first, agrees. He is to meet the priest on the nearby island of San Michele, where the city’s dead are buried, before midnight on the next night. After making love to Magdalena, Magdalena tells him that she loves him, and that she is aware of his grief. It occurs to him just how much this young, naïve girl truly loves him. Francisco asks her if she would do anything for him, and she says yes. He has found his target, the price he must pay for his soulmate to return to him. And so on the next night, he takes her to San Michele. He brings a mallet to her head, rendering her unconscious. Father Michael arrives and the ritual commences. It is the Father that fells an awake and panicking Magdalena, using her vitality to fuel his power. Ornella returns, but not in the way Francisco expects. It ends with the revelation that he has been deceived, and that the Father is not all that he seems.

[honeydewtmr]

Hi y’all!! We had to write a short story for English this week and I was kinda proud of how it turned out. I haven’t corrected the grammar bug if anyone would like to read it and leave a comment it would be appreciated. 😅

Things had been awfully difficult for mother. We've gotten fairly tight on money recently with King Goerge taxing us so high of a price and all due to the tempertantrom of a revolution that America is having. Mothers had to let the maid go. I don't think she's used to the house work anymore. She's been showing me off at any balls she could trying to find an eligible suitor. And by eligible I mean a young rich man. Although I don't know if my mother is certain on the young aspect. She's getting desperate if I'm honest. I saw her talking with a General the other day and he looked to be at least 50 years of age. Or so I had thought. My mother had rushed into my bedroom this morning in hysterics shoving a letter into my hands and demanding I read it all the while a giddy grin played on her lips. The letter had been from a rich young man named Laurance which I had met at a charity ball last fall. He was a charming and Handsome man and we had hit it off right away. He was from the Beaumont house hold. A successful family. The letter was directed to my father and was asking for my hand. My goodness he wanted my hand in marriage. I had expected a letter, yes but i couldn't have predicted he would reach out so soon. I was in such a state of shock I could only think of one thing to do.

I must tell Alice right this moment.

Alice is my best friend she has been since we were in diapers, she had to know right away. Scampering out of bed I pulled a dress over my head- almost tripping in my hurry- my hair tangled in a messy black knot and scrambled out of the house. I giggled as I heard a startled “be careful!” follow me out the door.

I feel a hot excitement course though my limbs as I gripped the edge of my gown racing towards the paddocks. I couldn't help but begin to overthink. I wouldn't be able to bear it if my dearest Alice isn't as excited as I am at this very moment. Rushing down the trail and towards the symmetrical worn brick building i rap hurriedly on the firm front door. MRS’s EDMANDS! OH! MRS’S EDMANDS YOU MUST OPEN THE DOOR!!

I hear a flurry of footsteps and an exasperated sigh before the door is swung open revealing a small plump looking woman. Her exprecian stern and her hair tied in a tight knot above her head an apron tied firmly around her waist. Her no nonsense attitude falls away into a more curious one as she looks me over.

“My goodness child would you look at the state of your dress.”

My eyes fly down to my dress. The skirt caked with mud. I feel my face flush with embarrassment.

“ Your mother will have your head if you go home like that.” She scolds turning away and starting back inside, returning moments later with a washcloth. Planting her feet firmly by the door she stares at my frozen form.

She smiles softly cocking her hip to the side.

“Well, come in now lets get your clothes cleaned up” i jolt into motion not having realised i'd been staring until i'd been caught. “um, mrs Is Alice home?” I mumble taking a step forward with my gaze downcast.

“Pardon?”

I smile.

“Er, Miss i have some VERY important news i wish to share with Alice if she's home that is.”

Mrs Edmond looks suspicious but nods non the less. “ well Margret dear your in luck today shes right up stairs but,”

“Thank you!” I interrupt rushing up the stairs turning down the hall to Alice's room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know..” Aliced sighed once i had explained the news, dropping onto her bed and drawing a blanket around our shoulders. Our excitement had died down and the air was somber and quiet.

“I'm going to miss you and awful lot” I glance over at her. Alice had always been pretty, her long brown hair tied back in an elaborate plait her light blue gown rumpled and clashing horribly with the yellow blanket that was draped around us. But there was a sad sincerity in her eyes accompanied by the watery smile she sent my way that told me she meant it. And I felt my eyes begin to tear up. I pulled the blanket tighter around us. Blocking the world.

“ You could always come and visit me ” I murmur hopefully. We both know that wasn't true. London is nowhere near Hull. We elapsed into a stiff silence taking in each others company for however longer was left. “Mabey” she said, clutching my hand firmly in her own.

My departure from home was filled with sad smiles, excited laughter and damp patterned handkerchiefs. Everyone gathered around the carriage that had been sent to fetch me, clutching onto one another and hugging me until I was certain my ribs were cracked. It was a watery warmth of a feeling. The bright autumn sun gazing fondly down on us as I clambered into the carriage tears in my eyes and laughter on my tongue as I waved my home farewell and promised to visit soon.

I was married days after my arrival in a cool autumn bloom. That of which i had talked Alice's ear off almost all winter. Alice and I had kept in touch through letters. Our letters bounced back and forth across the miles informing one another of how things were going in our newly formed lives. Our new found memories that were shared though scribbled writing and sincere best wishes. Many memories and exciting news were exchanged between us things such as her engagement and my birth to my own little angel. The letters and the frequently occurring visits from Alice and her husband every spring were much welcome.

But this letter was not.

I found the letter one cloudy spring evening as I sifted through the mail. Pulling the yellowed envelope from the pile and examining its contents. A note.

May 5th 1775

Dear Margret,

I am writing this letter to inform you that Alice and I will not be able to visit you this spring as Alice has fallen ill.- the handwriting was shaky at best and it took me a moment to decipher it- the doctor suspects that it's smallpox. My sincerest apologies on our behalf. We hope to see you soon.

Yours Sincerely,

Arthur Vase

Arthur had always been a very formal and softly spoken man, but the dark patches scattered across the stiff card told me that her situation was much more diar than he was letting on. I felt a cold dread settle in my bones shivering slightly as I bit my lip. Surely I was over thinking. Nothing was wrong she would be fine. Right? I felt Tears begin to pool in my eyes and before I could stop them they were tumbling down my cheeks in a hot rush. I clasped my hands over my mouth muffling my sobs as tears streamed freely down my face, knees hitting the cold floor. I couldn't let anyone see me like this i think. I take a shuddering breath, warm against my furiously swiping hands

.I don't know how long I stayed there arms embracing myself as I sat on the cold wood floor. The letter now forgotten.

The day was cold and gloomy in the late spring weather. The day of the funeral. A gathering of black clad figures weeping and cold. Clustered in an old overgrown cemetery. Rain poured slowly from the sky seeming to sense the sullen mood. I could only be thankful that Alice did not have any children. I closed my eyes taking a deep breath clutching Laurence's hand tightly in my own as Arthur stepped up to say his speech. Face sunken, eyes bloodshot. Alice's mother stood by his side. As we all stood listening I felt my eyes wander towards a litter of white roses that grew upon there thorny stems a ways away from where we stood. And I noticed that if you squinted and tilted your head a bit. It was almost as if her grave was haloed by the quaint flower. I smiled. Alice would like them i thought. When it was over and everyone had left the cemetery, and laurance was waiting for me in the carriage, patient as ever, I pulled a rose from the cluster. A single white rose in my thorny bloodied palm, that I laid down on Alice's grave. Yes, I thought, she would like that. Nodding my head I wiped my hands on my handkerchief, staining it rosy and left for the carriage home

[callitoregano-blog]

Views on Shitty First Drafts

In the text, Shitty First Drafts, Anne, emphasizes that first drafts tend to be shitty but are vital in the overall writing process. From personal experiences I have never been satisfied with my first draft or as Anne calls it a Shitty first draft. I agree with Anne about the first draft is a way to pour all your ideas out and depict which ones you are going to use for your second draft. Just like when I go to a restaurant there’s so many choices to choose from and I have to narrow down my choices to preferably one choice, but sometimes I’ll choose more than one. In other words it gives you a sense of what you are going to talk about. Our minds are flustered with so much information, therefore we need to put our ideas in paper to minimize our selection, because a lot of the things we think about is nonsense to what our objective is. 

Anne also expresses symptoms of anxiety and depression when doing her first draft which is very relatable. Many writers want to show their best work and in order to do that they want their audience to find their writing good. There’s a factor in writing that tells us that we have to please our audience. For Anne, she had to please the food review readers and I as a student have to please my professor. Thus, people develop these emotional breakdowns that most of the time can be expressed in the first draft, because people are so overwhelmed that they don’t even know what write anymore. However, as Anne also points out as long as nobody reads her first draft she feels a bit more relieved when making her final draft. The first draft can be a bittersweet moment for most writers. 

Anne brings up very good points, that I as a student didn’t really pay attention when writing my papers. Usually when writing you don’t really think about your habits, process or even strategies it is more on I have to get this paper done (ugh), which makes sense, like why you have think about you stalk your ex-girlfriend’s instagram before making a first draft? The response to that is that it can be helpful to realize what setting you usually find yourself in when doing a paper to hopefully make your writing process more efficient.  

[lolaglika]

#whatarewords #🎶 (στην τοποθεσία Kozáni, Greece)

[hlgym-blog]

Anh sẽ là loại đàn ông gì nếu như anh bỏ đi lúc em cần anh nhất? Những lời nói có ý nghĩa gì, nếu chúng chỉ dành cho những thời khắc đẹp đẽ?

[garynbc]

Don't know you can do it this way. What are words 国语版. #FilmoraGo #唱吧 #我想和你唱 #phuket #thailand #hochiminhcity #traffic #mtv #chinese #华语流行音乐 #在人间 #homemade #vietnam #timelapse #bike #ontheroad #songs #beach #whatarewords (at Asia/Singapore)

[viccylove]

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Should i redo some of my old videos? #duet #grellsurcliff #grellxsebastian #grell #sebastian #feels #blackbutler (made by @ viccyloveu with @musical.ly) ♬ What Are Words - Chris Medina. #musicallyapp #ChrisMedina #WhatAreWords #music #musicvideo #musical #musica #followme #bestoftheday #instadaily

[asheralex]

When words don't make sense. . . . #whatarewords #whatdoyoumean #imconfused #thisdoesntmakesense #pleasestop #corgi #puppy #corgipuppy #corgiclub #corgidaily #corgigram_ #corgi_feature #corgisofinstagram #corgination #corgilove #corgibutt #corgisploot #corgilicious #corgilovers #cosmo #seinfeld #dog #doglife #doglover #dogsofinstgram #dogoftheday #dogstagram #huh #chilling #iphonephotography

[adliazhafarina]

Di tengah kegundahan hati memilih mata kuliah lintas klaster.. #baper 💔 . . 🎵🎹 What Are Words by Chris Medina 🎹🎵 . Standing right beside her tonight and I'm gonna be by your side. I would never leave when she needs me most. . What are words if you really don't mean them when you say them. What are words if they're only for good times then they're done. When it's love, yeah, you say them out loud, those words, they never go away. They live on, even when we're gone. . I'm forever keeping my angel close. . . SPN uda bagus dijadwalkan Senin, knapa dipindah Selasasa 😐😐 . #whatarewords #chrismedina #piano #pianocover #keyboard

[mypinktheories-blog1]

Chris Medina - What Are Words

[thegatheringfire]

#writer #whatarewords #truth #funny #meme #writersofinstagram