writingisstrange

[writingisstrange]

www.writingisstrange.com

[writingisstrange]

Excerpts from Winter, 2021 . . . Dread seems to be following me. “Should we be worried?” They ask. Always is the answer. Now stop, because worrying doesn’t help. F. Scott Fitzgerald wanted to be the voice of his generation. Mine is a generation of too many voices and a desperation for silence. Everyone wants everyone else to shut the hell up. What a time to be alive. Who has the space to read? Who has the will to think? What’s wrong? What could possibly be so uninspiring? This is how it is now. I have nothing to say. I have no characters speaking to me. They’re tired. They’re sick of this. We thought life was going in one direction and now it’s going in no direction at all. I write spitefully now, selfishly, and I hope that someone out there still reads stories. And if they don’t? I’ll continue to write them. And rewrite them. And reconstruct them. And uproot them. And drill them into fragments until I can’t decipher my own words or what they were ever supposed to mean. . . . #writingisstrange https://www.instagram.com/p/CbnksFQJIPM/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

They took an old highway through the mountains with remarkable views along curvy, winding roads that were originally paved in the 1920s and impossible to follow. A fog settled over the valley and heavy white mists softened over the mossy mountains, dreamy yet haunted. Moments later when they checked the map to chart their progress, they were 20 miles off the road. North had suddenly turned into West like a compass spinning through the Bermuda Triangle. “How did we end up so close to the Blue Ridge Mountains?” Brenda asked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Jennifer leaned out the window as they curved around the lush slopes and cut through the fog. “Can you imagine riding horseback through these mountains? They could have been bucked and thrown right over the edge...from all the way up here.” . . . A preview of some of our latest writing. We hope you're finding your serotonin wherever you happen to thrive. And if you're going through the dreaded creative drought, welcome! Write 5 sentences of nonsense, draw an angry stick figure. Know that it will pass. 🖤 Photograph taken at the Lightner Museum in St. Augustine. #writingisstrange #writeitout #writingcommunity #creativewriting #visualwriting #staugustine #stainedglass #originalwriting #writings #lightnermuseum #shortstories #serials #writersofmichigan #writerswithdemons #haunted #spookyallyear #spookywriting #darkwritings #ghoststories #scarystories #inspiredby #scarystoriestotellinthedark #creativity #creative #aspiringtoinspire #write #writinginspiration https://www.instagram.com/p/CZDKddepOS9/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Happy anniversary to our serial stories! One year ago, we released the first installment of The Last Winter. . . . #writingisstrange #writingcommunity #creativity #scarystories #shortstories #visualwriting #vaguewriting #creativewriting #writersofig #travelingwriters #unpublished #writerswithdemons #anthology #aspiringtoinspire #soontobepublished #spooky #spookyallyear #beach #ocean #writersofmichigan #atlanticocean #amwriting #keepwriting https://www.instagram.com/p/CYz3Aa3Mxez/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

I sat down today without a clue of what to write, but 500 words was the minimum goal. For three hours, I paced. I refilled an ever-emptied cup of coffee. Someone in the empty house where I was not writing must have somehow been sneaking sips away from me. I changed socks. I rearranged my plants. I cleaned multiple rooms. Then a stream of words ran through my mind. And a hurricane of a thousand more after that. The first page, completely useless; the sloppy warm-up which is to be expected by all writers. Beyond that, though, was a small gift, one I think all writers seek; the euphoria of finding an ending and finally finishing a story that has followed you for years. Our collection of shorts continues to grow. Thank you for sticking through our silence as we focus on that. 🖤 https://www.instagram.com/writingisstrange/p/CYe_loAFvC1/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Storms are brewing. Time to settle into the nook. ✍️🫖🍵 Happy new year, everyone! #writingisstrange #writingnooks #creativity #writing #writingspot #writingtime https://www.instagram.com/p/CYNCk3olwYe/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Pt II When I saw her clearly for the first time, I was awake. I returned her piercing, icy blue gaze, almost close enough to reach out and touch the mists containing her faded colors. An inspiring and devastating fact, to live and to die, and here she stood before me, a stunning vision of death. . . . . . #autumn #nature #leaveschanging #writing #writingisstrange #poerty #writingspot #creativewriting #creativity #fallcolors #naturelettinggo #writersofmichigan #photography #seasonschange #ghoststories #scarystories https://www.instagram.com/p/CWWcD5ZPgFC/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Autumn gloom for the soul. Pt I The inscription carved into the headstone was faded in an old language I did not understand, but a part of me still sensed its meaning. Wondering was only temporary like the spindles that twirled and thickened and settled as a shell of skin. I heard something whisper through the stone, "...Standing over the dead is a gift..." As I grew older, the words struck deeper and seeped into my soul. "...A gift the living could never comprehend." Something started following me from a squinting distance, soon peering around the corners of my dreamscapes. . . . . #autumn #moody #writing #woods #naturewalk #inspired #spookyseason #spooky #haunted #poetry #creativewriting #creativity #womenwhowrite #writingisstrange #bridge #fallcolors https://www.instagram.com/p/CWWCXB7rkMO/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Today we received a stunning visit from beyond; our friend on the other side now uses the sky as her canvas. https://www.instagram.com/p/CWPLCHjsPo2/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Four volumes of serial stories are now available for reading on our website. Artwork by Scott Paul Nadzam www.writingisstrange.com . . . . . . #writingisstrange #writingcommunity #writerswithdemons #writersofmichigan #writing #creativewriting #halloweenartwork #spookyart #spookyseason #shortstories #writersofig #original #originalart #occult #originalwriting #originalcharacter #painting #oilpainting #campy #spooky #dark #demons https://www.instagram.com/p/CWPJVNisXJV/?utm_medium=tumblr

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There's a beauty to being haunted. The final installment of Demons written by Knapp @chelsfromthecrypt is here. Get ready to root for the unexpected. . . . . . #writingisstrange #shortstories #serials #scarystories #originalart #haunted #creativewriting #creativity #writersofmichigan #video #painting #oilpainting #womenwhowrite #satire #horrorcomedy #dark #mortality #art #writingcommunity #creature https://www.instagram.com/p/CWHCd22FKWy/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

No one seems to be afraid of ghosts or demons anymore. People are so much scarier, they say. I can’t disagree. People can be horrendous. People terrify me. The only reason I’m scared of ghosts is that most of them were people once; the scariest part about demons is that we don't have to die to become one. Some live to haunt and torment and merely perform as humans, as the last poem we posted by @samittyvillehorror strikingly describes.The second installment of Demons penned by Knapp @chelsfromthecrypt is now available for reading. Celebrate Mischief Night the respectful way, vicariously, through our serial stories. Happy Halloween Eve!

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#writingisstrange #halloween #haunting #writerswithdemons #demons #writing #poetry #writingcommunity #writingprompts #collaboration #collection #artists #inspiration #creative #poetry #spookyseason #shortstories #stories #scarystories #horrorcomedy #satire #spooky #spookyart #creativity #scary #makeart #write #photography #original #halloweeneve

[writingisstrange]

A scathing poem from Sawnick to set the mood while you wait...Our serial stories return this Saturday with the second installment of Demons. 🖤 . . . #writingisstrange #halloween #haunting #writerswithdemons #demons #writing #poetry #writingcommunity #writingprompts #collaboration #collection #artists #inspiration #creative #writersofinstagram #spookyseason #shortstories #spooky #spookyart #painting #writeitout #creativity #scary #makeart #write https://www.instagram.com/p/CVixT_Zv2jD/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Our fourth serial story has arrived. And to be honest, he's a bit arrogant. Don't worry, no one's letting him get away with it. Volume 4 of our serial stories, Demons, begins tonight; a short story following an overly-confident demon following an entirely-unimpressed woman with more immediate concerns. Artwork by Scott Paul Nadzam. Link in bio. . . . . #writingisstrange #writerswithdemons #halloween #haunting #demons #writing #writingcommunity #writingprompts #collaboration #collection #artists #inspiration #creative #creativewriting #writersofinstagram #spookyseason #shortstories #spooky #spookyart #painting #writeitout #creativity #scary #makeart #write #faceyourdemons #horrorcomedy #dark https://www.instagram.com/p/CVbzvm_M1yF/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Pt III In their thirties, they shopped at thrift stores for Blayne’s budding antique business and Chelsey’s budding hat collection. They drove out to the middle of nowhere to share a bottle of champagne by the water with no special occasion required, this was their version of a casual gathering. The last time they saw one another, they drove side-by-side through the southwestern United States like a scene out of Thelma and Louise. Blayne had a friend who rode a motorcycle, and knowing that riding a motorcycle was on Chelsey’s bucket list, she suggested she go for a ride. Whether she knew it or not, Blayne was changing her friend’s life forever while also creating one of the last memories they’d ever share. “Hang on!” Blayne shouted before Chelsey wrapped her arms around their new silent, helmeted friend, and they revved off into the center of a sonic boom, and she felt her soul restore itself with the adrenaline of wind against her skin at one hundred and thirty miles per hour.  They ate steak at a restaurant that evening in celebration of nothing at all other than still knowing one another. Later that night, they lounged in lawn chairs on the patio and watched the Hunter's Moon become a pumpkin in the sky.  “What do you want to be for Halloween this year? I think I’m gonna be Beetlejuice.” "I'll be Lydia." 🖤 https://www.instagram.com/p/CVOYi6rlWxz/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

Pt II They learned handwriting and cursive together and they drew pictures side by side as little girls. Blayne’s artistry evolved and she started painting and collaging multimedia art while Chelsey’s path shifted and she started writing poetry, stories, and scripts. In their teens, they smoked their first cigarettes together on a rooftop across the street from the Detroit Institute of Arts. For Chelsey, cigarettes would remain a short-lived, rebellious phase; for Blayne, they were like a well-fitted wig or hat; they became an accessory in her life, and they only made her look more like living, breathing, smoking art. In their twenties, they walked to class together at U of M-Dearborn like they’d never left high school. They created art and films together for various projects, and Chelsey went out of her way to name characters “Blayne” whenever she wasn’t available to participate; specifically, a Mogwai stuffed animal formerly known as Gizmo, now forever known as Blayne. To be continued. 🖤 https://www.instagram.com/p/CVOX_zeFXsF/?utm_medium=tumblr

[writingisstrange]

The world has lost an extraordinary artist. We were fortunate enough to have collaborated with Blayne Fredericks on an art project this past year. She was creating a doll for one of our short stories. It would have been the first of many if she’d had more time, as Blayne was an exceptional and gifted artist, and an incredible lifelong friend to one of our writers, Chelsey Knapp. To honor her memory, we would like to share a personal tribute Knapp prepared for Blayne Fredericks. This will be divided into multiple parts. Blayne wanted her story told, and according to Knapp, for some silly reason, Blayne asked her to write it on multiple occasions. Consider this an attempt to start doing those requests justice. With many more to come, Blayne. . Pt I Blayne Fredericks and Chelsey Knapp met on their first day of Kindergarten. They were both five years old, but Chelsey would correct anyone who said it that she’d be 6 on the first day of October; Blayne would say that she’d turn 6 the following May, anxiously awaiting the 29th day. Among many other facts, they bonded over the fact that both of them had peculiar first names that were annoyingly modern and difficult to spell. While they were still growing up, their families vacationed together in Florida. That was when they learned that they were related, though not by blood, but it never mattered to them either way; they were family. They learned how to swim together. They cannonballed into the water, growling like pirates. “Yo-ho-ho and a bucket of beer!” They experienced their first and only cinematic pool panic together; they had to clear out of the water like a scene out of Caddyshack because a baby with a loose diaper had relieved themselves, and the evidence was floating at the bottom of the pool. To be continued. 🖤