#write problems

[worthymartyrconstruct]

My wife won't stop calling me… but I buried her last week.

I always thought grief made people imagine things. I never expected to be one of them.

Last Thursday, I buried my wife. Elena died in a car crash—head-on collision with a drunk driver. The impact was instant. Closed casket. No goodbyes. Just an empty, unbearable silence.

She was everything to me. The house still smells like her shampoo. Her toothbrush is still wet. Her phone still sits on the kitchen counter, cracked from the accident, untouched since the police returned her belongings.

The first call came two nights ago.

It was 2:17 AM. The screen lit up with “Elena.” I stared at it, breathless, frozen in bed.

I let it ring out.

The next morning, I convinced myself it was a glitch. Maybe her phone line hadn’t been disconnected. Maybe the contact synced with another number somehow. Logic. I needed logic.

That night, it happened again. Same time. 2:17 AM. Same name.

This time, I answered.

Nothing. Just silence. Not static—pure, intentional silence. Like someone was holding their breath.

“Hello?” I whispered.

I heard a slow, shallow inhale. Then a soft, unmistakable voice:

“Why did you let me die?”

I threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and shattered.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I called the carrier in the morning. They said the number was deactivated. No calls had been made from it. Impossible.

I tried calling it. “This number is no longer in service.”

But the calls kept coming.

Every night at 2:17 AM, Elena calls me. Sometimes she whispers things. Sometimes she cries. Last night, she laughed—guttural, choking, like she was trying to mimic joy but had forgotten how.

I started recording the calls. They never save.

Tonight, I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. I’m losing my mind. I haven’t left the house. I don’t eat. I barely sleep.

But tonight… something changed.

At 2:17 AM, the phone didn’t ring.

Instead, the bedroom light turned on by itself.

And the voicemail alert went off.

My hands shook as I pressed play.

“Check the basement.”

That was it. Her voice. Calm. Stern.

But here’s the thing: we don’t have a basement.

At least, I thought we didn’t.

We’ve lived in this house for six years. It’s a one-level ranch-style. No stairs. No access panels. Nothing.

But something nagged at me. In the garage, behind an old shelf, there was always this odd patch of wall—different texture. Hollow.

I moved the shelf. Behind it was a wooden panel, bolted in.

My stomach dropped.

I pried it open with a crowbar.

Stairs.

Rotten, wooden stairs leading into blackness.

The smell hit me first. Damp earth. Decay. Something old.

I didn’t want to go down there. But I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed a flashlight and descended.

The steps creaked under my weight. The air was thick. The walls were lined with… photos. Hundreds of them. All of me. Sleeping. Eating. Brushing my teeth.

All taken from strange angles—like someone had been inside the walls, watching me for years.

In the center of the room was a table. On it, a phone.

Elena’s phone.

Charged. Lit up.

It rang.

2:17 AM.

I answered.

This time, her voice was right next to my ear—not on the line.

“I told you not to bury me.”

I turned around.

She was standing behind me. Pale. Eyes hollow. Her head was bent at a sickening angle, just like in the crash photos I wish I hadn’t seen.

She smiled. Not lovingly. Knowingly.

“I came back… and you locked me away.”

I ran.

I’m upstairs now. Doors locked. But I hear her footsteps beneath the floorboards.

She’s not calling anymore.

She doesn’t have to.

She’s in the house.

If I don’t post again, don’t call the cops. Don’t send help.

Just… whatever you do...

Don’t answer if your dead wife calls at 2:17 AM.

[adieualannah]

ao3 going down right as I press upload is my villain origin story fr

[galway-girlatwork]

All of this is true. Not lying

Writer Issues

Writers Corner for more writing memes.

[rudamaruda520]

me as a writer

[nondelphic]

"just write a little every day" ok but what if i write nothing for 3 weeks and then suddenly type like i’m being hunted by god

[incandescent-creativity]

Do you ever write a sentence and then realize “Nah, that’s too self aware for you” and backspace a bunch of times.

[honorlessrogue]

today i wrote zero words! but i did think about my story twice in passing. that probably counts for something

[inkskinned]

please i love you i'm begging you bring back suspension of disbelief bring back trusting the audience like. i cannot handle any more dialogue that sounds like a legal document. "hello, i am here to talk to you about the incident from a few minutes ago, because i feel you might be unwell, and i am invested in your personal wellbeing." "thank you, i am unwell because the incident was hurtful to me due to my childhood, which was bad." I CANT!!!!

do you know how many people are mad that authors use "growled" as a word for "said"? it's just poetics! they do not literally mean "growled," it's just a common replacement for "said with force but in a low tone." it's normal! do you hear me!! help me i love you please let me out of here!!!

[solivagantingrebel]

editing is so funny because it's like "damn, i wrote 'before' two times within three paragraphs. they are going to stone me in the town square for this"

[so-many-ocs]

revising your writing is just like "is this weird. is this a weird sentence. is this the weirdest most poorly-worded sentence ever written by anyone" and the sentence in question is "he walked across the room"

[snowstories]

My biggest tip for fanfic writers is this: if you get a character's mannerisms and speech pattern down, you can make them do pretty much whatever you want and it'll feel in character.

Logic: Characters, just like real people, are mallable. There is typically very little that's so truly, heinously out of character that you absolutely cannot make it work under any circumstance. In addition, most fans are also willing to accept characterization stretches if it makes the fic work. Yeah, we all know the villain and the hero wouldn't cuddle for warmth in canon. But if they did do that, how would they do it?

What counts is often not so much 'would the character do this?' and more 'if the character did do this, how would they do it?' If you get 'how' part right, your readers will probably be willing to buy the rest, because it will still feel like their favourite character. But if it doesn't feel like the character anymore, why are they even reading the fic?

Worry less about whether a character would do something, and more about how they'd sound while doing it.

[nondelphic]

writing is 10% storytelling and 90% rearranging three sentences for an hour like you're trying to solve an ancient curse

[dionysiaproductions]

[obsidianpegasus]

Reading my own fanfiction is basically just a rollercoaster of emotional whiplash.

20% of the time: “Hold on. I wrote this? This is fire. This is emotionally devastating in the best way. This scene is dripping with tension. I’m a literary perfectionist. Someone give me a book deal.”

80% of the time: “Straight to jail. Immediate prison. Why is everyone’s breath hitching?. I used the word ‘gaze’ three times in one paragraph like I was possessed. Did I think 'his eyes darkened' was profound? Why is everyone clenching their jaws? Why is someone whispering 'their name like a prayer' again?? No one talks like this. What is this dialogue. Why are there so many weird metaphors and em-dashes…”

[chodzacaparodia]

It's frustrating that you can come up with the plot of an entire fic in just a few seconds, but writing it all down can take anywhere from never to forever.