writings-and-musings - Tumblr blog

[writings-and-musings]

i love you beginner artists i love you new writers i love you amateur hobbyists i love you just starting off creatives i love you artistic improvement i love you creative passion

[writings-and-musings]

Hey, AO3 folks (and fanfic writers elsewhere)... if you see this offer, RUN AWAY FROM IT. IT’S POISON.

Please read this twitter thread and then stay FAR AWAY from the people being described…

https://twitter.com/aj_spinner_/status/1557083021949505549

The tl:dr; version: These people want you to “file the serial numbers off” your fanfic and publish it with them.

The catch: If the IP owners ever come after you, you’re on your own… and you have to pay the publisher damages! (Not to mention the IP owner…)

Also: their advances are CRAP. Also: Your advance (such as it is) is obtained by crowdfunding. WTF!!!

So:

AVOID AVOID AVOID. Dear sweet THOTH on his e-scooter, stay away from these people.

ETA: Victoria Strauss of Writer Beware has looked at the contract and declared it “completely incoherent and inadequate”.  

So, honestly… AVOID.

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More people who want to write school stories should just set it in college instead of high school

(Also more stories should be set in community college because your story can go anywhere and I'd be like yeah that sounds like community college)

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writing when you're highkey ADHD is either "im ignoring about 83 pressing responsibilities and my dinner because I'm On A Roll and oh look I blinked and reached a 1000 words" or it's "I have all the free time in the world. I used it to type exactly one full stop" and Absolutely nothing in between. never.

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Some advice for when you’re writing and find yourself stuck in the middle of a scene:

kill someone

ask this question: “What could go wrong?” and write exactly how it goes wrong

switch the POV from your current character to another - a minor character, the antagonist, anyone

stop writing whatever scene you’re struggling with and skip to the next one you want to write

write the ending

write a sex scene

use a scene prompt

use sentence starters

read someone else’s writing

Never delete. Never read what you’ve already written. Pass Go, collect your $200, and keep going.

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Me @ writers: you just make that shit up from your brain???

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I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can’t remember

[writings-and-musings]

How to write fic for Black characters: a guide for non-Black fans

Don’t characterize a Black character as sassy or thuggish, especially when the character in question is can be described in literally ten thousand other ways..

Don’t describe Black characters as chocolate, coffee, or any sort of food item.

Don’t highlight the race of Black characters (ie, “the dark man” or “the brown woman”) if you don’t highlight the race of white characters.

Think very carefully about that antebellum slavery or Jim Crow AU fic as a backdrop for your romance.

If you’re not fluent with AAVE, don’t use it to try to look cool or edgy. You look corny as hell.

Don’t use Black characters as a prop for the non-Black characters you’re actually interested in.

Keep “unpopular opinions” about racism, Black Lives Matter, and other issues pertinent to Black folks out the mouths of Black characters. We know what the fuck you’re doing with that and need to stop.

Don’t assume a Black character likes or hates a certain food, music, or piece of pop culture.

You can make a Black character’s race pertinent without doing it like this.

Be extremely careful about insinuating that one or more of a Black character’s physical features are dirty, unclean, or ugly.

Feel free to add more.

[writings-and-musings]

my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them. 

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of… sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband  “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings. 

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks over and being sure i spoke to only him and no one more. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spend so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

[writings-and-musings]

Subjects You Should Study if You Want to be a Better Writer

If you’re looking to be a writer, chances are you’re already pretty good in an English or Language Arts class. But aside from studying older literature to learn from, focusing exclusively on Language Arts materials is only going to get you so far. So, here are some subjects I’ve studied that I’ve found helpful to my writing.

Psychology: Since Psychology is the study of behavior, this is a good tool to study if you’re having problems with characterization. Understanding how people act and what thought processes cause people to take certain actions. This can help you give a character a more realistic response after experiencing emotional trauma, or may just help you slip into someone else’s mindset in order to write them better.

Cultural Anthropology: This may be more vital if you write Fantasy or Science Fiction, since both genres tend to require world building. Understanding the cultural element of society, what shapes it, and how it impacts behaviors, social norms, and etiquette can make worldbuilding easier for you. 

History: If you write Fantasy, War Dramas, or Historical Fiction, the subject of history is going to be your best friend. Whether it’s pulling from real people, events, or conflicts, history is littered with a goldmine of possible story ideas.

Screenwriting/Playwriting: If you struggle with ‘show don’t tell’ or dialogue, this is probably going to be a useful skill to learn. Since films and plays tend to lack an internal narration, they’ll push you to have to learn how to convey information visually or through dialogue, taking away the crutch of narration. This can also be useful as a means of writing a skeleton version of your chapters with just basic setting and dialogue and then go in later and fill in the narration elements.

Linguistics/Phonology: If you want to create conlangs (constructed languages) for your story’s setting, then learning about the building blocks of language can be advantageous.

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My God, What Have I Done? is a god-tier trope tbh

There’s just something about watching a character come to the realization that they’ve just said and/or done something terrible, and it works no matter how they realize it. Whether the realization is immediate or delayed, sudden or gradual, it all demonstrates the character’s shock.

I especially love it when the realization triggers a physical reaction - things like the character collapsing in shock or hastily backing away from another character. But it can be just as effective when the character freezes in place, unable to come to grips with having done something that completely contradicts their morals.

It’s just a really really good trope.

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Ok, so, as most know hobbits LOVE mushrooms, but what if they love ALL mushrooms, even the poisonous ones. What if a hobbit’s body is able to handle more of the poison and it doesn’t affect them at all. And they love it!

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One thing I think we as writers need to remember is that it’s ok to give characters flaws they don’t overcome, because they can make the character more interesting.

My favorite example is Mulan. She overcomes being undisciplined and full of self doubt to be a disciplined fighter who believes in herself.

But she’s also very impulsive and that doesn’t change on its own, how it manifests changes based on the other flaws but it doesn’t go away.

At the beginning of the story when she’s at the matchmaker she sees the cricket in the teacup. Instead of going “Well that obviously can’t be blamed on me cause no one knows I had it” she decides the best course of action is crawling across the table and wresting the cup from the woman. Not really a conclusion you come to after careful thought.

After she becomes disciplined and confident this manifests itself as “You know how we could beat the Huns? Blow up a fucking mountain hell yeah.” And it works! It’s not what the methodical Shang would have done and that’s why it benefits Mulan because she goes with her gut.

Flaws make characters fun. People on here love dumb characters because being dumb is a fun character flaw that makes them act in unique ways. If Mulan learned to think through her actions she wouldn’t be as fun to watch.

When it comes to the typical Badass Female Character she usually quietly analyzes situations for the perfect solution which is fine but can be boring to watch at times. Mulan is fun because yeah she can fight with swords and scale walls but she’ll also blow up a palace to kill one guy because why the hell not sword fighting isn’t as cool as a rocket to the face. She’s smart and she’s talented and she’s also fucking crazy so don’t mess with her or she’ll literally blow you up.

So when making characters make sure to give them a flaw to overcome but don’t forget the flaws that will make them interesting.

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Character solidifying!

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A woman walks through an ancient history museum. She sees a painting of the Greek God, Zeus. She finds the immortal very attractive. Suddenly, a flash of light blinds her. She turns around and a man is inches away from her face. “So,” he says, “wanna get a drink?”

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i’ve been doing my homework on how to break into a writing career and honestly. there’s a Lot that i didn’t know about thats critical to a writing career in this day and age, and on the one hand, its understandable because we’re experiencing a massive cultural shift, but on the other hand, writers who do not have formal training in school or don’t have the connections to learn more via social osmosis end up extremely out of loop and working at a disadvantage. 

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There is a huge difference between writing an character who IS evil/villainous/horrible and just happens to be a woman and writing a character who is evil/villainous/horrible because she is a woman and alot of writers, especially male ones need to know the difference between the two before writing evil characters