#writ

[luna-the-cretar]

Me whenever I’m at work and can’t write at that moment: I must write RIGHT NOW. If I don’t write I will DIE

Me, when I’m at home and can write: what are words

[hattonthehatman]

How do you write dashes?

Is this correct- cause I think it is- but it doesn't look right?

Please help

[lenainwonderland]

[a-hymnforher]

Can you hear me?

Listen to me, please. I have been talking to you since forever. Way before there came concepts of This and That, Here and There, Life and death...prior to space and time there used to be US. The magic of YOU and I. Remember how we could never tell where you ended, and where I begin? An eternal truth of a majestic existence.

I want to remind you of the truth, why won't you listen? Why won't you Notice me?

Why after all this time, do you continue to cry? I am here. I am here, right?

Why do you still wait for a sweet escape, why do you not look at me? I am always here. I am in all of those NOWs which make up that fantastical Always.

Look at me, hear me, touch me, but not with your Body. You know we will reunite when you see beyond the veil of everything you think you Understand about me. About Us. A love like ours transcends every logic, look deeper within you and all you will find is me.

Come back Home, to me. Let's be whole again, let's drown in love again.

An Infinitely boundless unconditional Love.

[romanceclub-confessionss]

Confession: "Idc Boris could have been one of the best LI’s in hindsight but only if the author actually took the other mains seriously and not played favourites."

[cinnarios]

Cinnario's Writerblr Intro::

Hi, I'm Cinn! 24, They/Them, UK based. I've been writing literally for as long as I can remember and decided it was finally time to share my shit on the internet.

Please don't be afraid to hop in my DMs or Asks because the whole point of me jumping back onto this hellsite was to make some writing pals because apparently that's an impossible feat irl.

Now for the good stuff~

WIPs::

Project.Claw

Project.Ink

In a world torn by ancient conflict between the humans and Fae, alliances shift when the humans join forces with the mages. Amidst this uneasy camaraderie, young Fae like Rowan Kelly vanish - memories erased, appearance glamoured, and placed under human 'protection.' Unaware of her true identity, Rowan is haunted by dreams of a mysterious church in the forest. As she embarks on a journey to uncover the truth, she stumbles upon the entryway to her forgotten Fae realm, awakening a dangerous curiosity that threatens to unravel the delicate balance between the two worlds.

Her presence triggers suspicion among the elves, leading to her capture by The Inquisitor, once her lover but now a stranger due to the cruel enchantment. As Rowan grapples with resurfacing memories, the elves see only an unstable human in their midst. The Inquisitor, merciless and accusatory, soon faces the revelation of the girl's true identity. Amidst the conflict, love and betrayal mingle in the perilous quest to break the enchantment that binds Rowan to a false reality.

Project.Seraph

In the war ravaged kingdom of Infernelle, where shadows dance with secrets, Taissa leads a group of travelling thieves who seek sanctuary within the city walls. Their ticket to safety? Capture a live angel as a pet for the ruthless monarch, Queen Reinette.

Rumours lead them on a futile chase and the elusive Seraph, Nevaeh, becomes their prize, shot out of the sky. Taissa, adept in manipulation, promises safety to the angel, concealing a darker agenda. As alliances teeter on the edge of betrayal, and lies weave a web around the unsuspecting angel, she becomes an unwitting pawn in a dangerous game.

In a world where destinies intertwine with treacherous threads, Taissa struggles with the weight of her deceit, haunted by the unspoken. As she grows unexpectedly fond of the celestial captive, guilt festers beneath her callous exterior. Whispers of the queen's malevolent plans for the angel spark a rebellion within the thief, turning a dubious bargain into a daring coup.

Plotting in progress.......

(TBA)

You can also find me on.......

(TBA)

[wenclexa4ever]

I’ve been so unbelievably busy and beaten up by life, I haven’t been able to work on my fanfics hardly at all and I’m super annoyed.

My mother decided to have emergency surgery during Christmas (she’s fine now, mostly) and my family and I have been so busy with that, that I have had no time to write. Even though I’ve wanted to.

Ok, that’s not entirely true, I have written some stuff, but I’ve not been able to finish anything I’ve been working on. I was meaning to post this update for a while (like 3 months ago), but I just haven’t done it yet, so here it is!

Anyway, even though my father has decided to also have surgery (planned) soon, I wanted to say: I am still working on “What A Tangled Web We Weave.” And I’m hoping to post chapter two soon. But, I have a stupid schedule and horrible time management skills, so I don’t know when it will come. But, soon… hopefully… maybe.

[pastelpiggielol]

If you ever feel bad about your writing, just remember that Colleen Hoover is an award winning author who wrote this

Whatever you write is bound to be better than this and if this garbage can be a NYT bestseller then just think how much more yours could do

[beguilingcorpse]

“i had one rule,” said god, who in this scene is playing the role of the First Ever Disappointed Parent. “one.”

and the no-longer-naked man said, “okay. well. maybe it was a dumb rule to start with.”

and his wife said, “didn’t you know we were going to do this? isn’t that, like, your whole thing?”

god sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose (he was very good at his part). “yeah, but not without outside influence. who told you? was it monkey? goose?”

“snake.”

“snake??”

“yeah, like.” the man put his arms to his sides and wiggled. “sssssss. that guy.”

“no, i - i know who snake is, thank you. he gave you the fruit?”

“no, she gave me the fruit.” the man was talking about his wife, who shot him the First Ever Dirty Look before turning back to god.

“and the snake didn’t give it to me.” she raised her chin and crossed her arms over her newly-clothed chest. “i took it.”

“but why???”

she shrugged. “hungry.”

“but. but i gave you food. i gave you literally all of the food.”

“not all,” said the man, raising one finger at god. “not this food.”

“yeah. hey, yeah! you said that if we ate it, we would die!” 

“okay. yes. i did say that. what’s your point?”

the man looked at god. and then at the woman. and then down at himself. and then back at god.

“okay,” god said. “i do see your point.”

“and the snake said we wouldn’t die. i said, but won’t we die though? and he said, nuh uh.”

“and you believed him?????”

“you lied!!!”

“no! no, i did not lie! i am god! why would i lie!” “i don’t know! god reasons, probably!”

“same reason you made us naked, i guess,” chimed in the man, who was wearing more clothes than the woman, mostly because he was cold. “you know, god shit.”

“don’t say shit to god,” his wife chided quietly, and then louder: “but yeah. you did lie.”

“i did not lie.” god dragged a hand down his face. “but i guess, maybe - MAYBE - i could have been clearer.”

“what do you mean, CLEARER.”

“it was a metaphor. i was talking about eternal life.”

“um, actually,” said the man, and god saw the next tens of thousands of years of that statement’s use, and groaned. “our lives are eternal. we can’t die, silly.”

god hissed in a bad news breath.

“ah, fuck,” said the man.

“dude. that’s still god.”

“no, it’s cool. i mean, that’s definitely still bad, but it’s, like, not the worst thing you’ve done today.” god waved his hand. “it’s a rough sitch. i can make an exception for fuck.”

“cool. fuck.”

“more bad news. that was not snake. that was satan. he’s bad.”

“ah. fuck.”

“and i have to evict you.” god rubbed the back of his neck. “like, both of you. forever.”

“fuck!” said the woman. “where are we supposed to go?”

“i don’t know. around? i made some other stuff out there. you can go live with that i guess, but most of it’s still pretty work in progress.” god shrugged. “you can beta test it for me. i have this guy called scorpion and i want to see what you guys think of him. he sucks. i think you’ll probably like him.”

“but...” the man sniffled. “but can we come back???”

“uh, no.” god thought about it. “i mean, yes. but not you.”

“is this a metaphor again?” asked the woman, with a wrinkled nose. 

“it’s all a metaphor.” god had just invented metaphor. he was really into it back then. “like, this is all a metaphor. and maybe it always will be. i don’t know. i’m improvising.”

“fuck.”

“okay, that was the last one.” god checked his watch. “you should probably go. some of these guys are going to want to kill you now, so like. that might be bad for you. we’ll see. no one’s ever got killed before.”

“i want to get killed,” said the man, like the toddler he never was.

“no. you don’t.” 

“but what did we gain?” asked the woman finally, as she was packing up her things to leave. “from the fruit? what was it for?”

god got a faraway, wise look in his eyes. “knowledge of good and evil,” he said wistfully.

“aw, fuck,” said the woman. “was that just to make us feel bad about breaking your one rule?”

“no,” said god, but he was speaking in metaphor again. “and i said you couldn’t say that anymore.”

“i know. and i knew it was bad.” the woman winked. “and i did it anyways.”

“oh, dip.” the man looked at his wife, and then at god. “is she going to kill me?”

“nah,” said god. “neither of you get murdered.”

“but someone does?”

god thought of the First Ever Murder Victim, and he didn’t even have to say anything for the man and the woman to know it was going to suck. 

“well,” said the man. “okay. bye, i guess. will you be okay out here all by yourself?”

and god, who knew everything, said “i mean, probably?” 

because he knew that this was just the opening scene, and he knew better than anyone that you just cannot account for human stubbornness. 

[sanders1665]

Writing. The greatest invention we ever created. I was just here, in my usual recliner, letting the ambient music swirl around me. A little something to ease the tension. Lights out. The world turned down to a low hum. Then the urge for another coffee hit me, so I stood up. As I did, the thought appeared, as clear as the light from the kitchen: writing is humanity's greatest achievement.

Just lines, squiggly little marks on a page. Yet they convey meaning, messages that shape your mind. Sometimes, they do even more—they stir emotions, unearth buried thoughts, and open doors to understanding things in ways you hadn’t before. Writing has done that for me. It’s tamed the darkest parts of me, brought them into the light, and taught me how to make peace with them.

I’ve reached a place where I’m content, where I accept my life for what it is. But sometimes the outside noise creeps too close, threatening that balance. Writing helps. It gives me time—time to reflect, to pull apart the threads of my thoughts and lay them bare. It’s a process that’s scary sometimes, looking at yourself like that. It demands change, challenges you to shift your perspective, even when it feels impossible.

Through writing, I’ve built a stronger mind. I don’t cave so easily to emotions anymore. Not often, anyway. But there are moments—moments when the tears come, or the hurt hits harder than expected. Sometimes, I’ll dig through my old pieces, hoping to feel something again. Some bring back the ache, but others, I look at with fondness, like catching up with an old friend who’s moved on but still means something.

Now, for something different—a song. Spitfire by Public Service Broadcasting. It’s a story of war, courage, and invention. That posh English commentary, woven into the driving rhythm, is genius. It grips you, pulls you into a world of clashing skies and roaring engines. A song like that reminds me of the power of storytelling—whether in music, words, or the memories we choose to revisit.

[callherwylder]

With you by my side,

Words dance and shimmer,

Flowing like a river,

Rich and vibrant.

In your presence,

Thoughts find their wings,

Transforming silence

Into a symphony of meaning.

Without you,

The echoes are hollow,

But with you,

Every syllable blooms.

[soulmusepoetry]

I’m a simple woman

I want to sit in my garden writing sad poems

that turn arms blue from the freezing cold

I want to write with ink that twinkles

like stars from an ever frigid galaxy

I want to listen to blue birds weep

upon barren branches of the willow

I want to let out all the darkness

bleeding into my soft pink brain

draining the abscess of infectious thoughts

onto a soft crisp page of white

stained with dark red ink

from gashes that leak within the heart

But in the end, I am just a simple woman who wants to hold a pen and paper within my garden

@soulmusepoetry

[thelastwordsofashootingstarr]

“a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.” so when you look at the sirens wailing in my presence, tread carefully. i am the crime scene and the murderer, the wounded and the grave digger. all the love i have to give is always tainted by grief and all the damage that they could do, broke my heart before i could leave. i am chasing the pain, running behind the ghost that used to haunt me every night. i hate myself and i love my misery and i hate what i have done to myself but i love the animal it has made me. who am i if not sad? who am i if not racked with guilt? who am i if not a girl in bed with a knife? that's how it's supposed to be, right?

// in my 'emptying my drafts' era

[michellekarnold]

The more stress I’m put under, the more my OC is going to get it.

[flarefloofer]

Me: *tells myself repeatedly to write an outline*

Also me: *scrolls through memes about how other people also aren't making their outlines*