My Dear Friend š¹
This is my mother preparing bread despite the war and bombing everywhere šš
I hope you can help me, I want her to be fine š
Thank you very much my friendsšš
https://www.tumblr.com/ahmedziaad?source=share
Everyone please help if you can!
Peace and blessings upon everyone!
I hope life's treating you well. Iām Esmeray and I welcome you to this post on my blog Dear Esmeray.
Today's post is for my fellow writers here. I'll be sharing with you character archetypes for you to use in your books.
The Warrior
The Child
The Orphan
The Guardian
The Mentor
The Caregiver
The Rebel
The Leader
The Ruler
The Lover
The Everyman
The Joker/Jester
The Explorer
The Hero
The Outlaw
The Villian
The Tyrant
The Bastard Child
The Sadist
The Evil Genius
The Terrorist
The Lunatic
The Black Widow
The Schemer
The Anti-Hero
The SideKick
The Traitor
I hope this post helped you assign an archetype to your beloved OCs or perhaps inspired your newest OC.
With love, Esmeray ā”
The moon sings softly on the nights Esther climbs in through her brotherās window. These nights turn sparser as Amador stays in his new apartment across the country. During these nights, her heart beats in a lulled pace while she sits on his empty bed.Ā
Thereās a soft click as she unlatches the window and when she crawls in, she makes sure to land on her toes. She finds more than just her older brother. She doesnāt know what sheāll see or what she hopes to see. When sheād last seen him, heād slammed the door, tears streaking down his face and voice hoarse from screaming. She still doesnāt have the full pieces from the fight that led to her fatherās roaring voice startling their home into silence and the unusual pitch of Amadorās voice as he walked out the door.Ā
She opens his bedroom door to see if he is in the living room or spending his time in a library. She hopes heās found a library he likes here despite all that has transpired.Ā
Amadorās head is lolled on the couch, his mouth parted and dead to the world. His body is slightly tilted with one arm around his childhood friend, Mayaās sleeping form who was hugging her brotherās waist. The ugly green blanket Esther had gifted him as a joke is bunch around their feet as if kicked. Thereās Snakes n Ladders, playing cards, and Candyland strewn across the table.Ā
Maya had always filled Amadorās head with ideasālittle fantasies that didnāt include Esther most likely that he could escape into. Frowning, she steps forward, fully planning to yank the woman out but the floor creaks loudly under her feet. They both jolt open, Amadorās shaking his head and Maya drags her hands across her face to remove her hair from her mouth, scrunching her face.Ā
When Amador turns around to face the source of the sound, he finds her face and gives a dopey smile. āHey, youāre home. When dāyou come here?āĀ
This is the first time she heard him call this place home, and a little piece of Estherās heart cracks as if heās renouncing the family home. Something vicious crawls onto Estherās tongue as she bites out, āThought youād know that youāve not succeeded in getting rid of me yet.āĀ
Milas flinches as hurt flashes across his face, and in an instant, Maya grips his arm. Esther can never guess how Maya knows that while still keeping her piercing gaze fixed on her.
āI donāt want to get rid of you,ā Amador says in confusion before letting out a shaky laugh, āno matter how annoying you are, you little rugrat.āĀ
Esther should ideally know that. She doesnāt have the full pieces of the fight he had with mom and dad, or the unfamiliar way heās glancing at Esther, still wary but now distant. Even in the moonlight, she can see the color back on his face, the surety of his movements as he tidies up the table and the blanket to give Esther a place to sit.Ā
When Maya flicks on the floor lamp in the corner, his eyes crinkle at Esther and he pats the seat next to him. His cheeks are no longer sallow, his face no longer as pale as Esther, and he no longer sways in a way that makes Esther worry that a faint breeze could have knocked the husk of a rock her brother used to be.Ā
Her brother had been wasting away for months, and Esther had not noticed.Ā
From the corner of her eyes, Maya walks in with two plates balanced in a tray and slides the biggest portion of what looks like heated leftover lasagna to her brother, glancing warily, as she reminds him, āYouād promised youād eat tomorrow nine hours ago. Itās 12:03. Eat up.āĀ
She offers another to Esther as she leisurely nibbles on peanuts to keep her brother company. Her brother makes a little face at the size, and Maya produces a bar of chocolate in her fingers seemingly out of thin air as a bribe and chews obnoxiously loud until he drops it. He slouches to rest his head on Mayaās shoulders in acquiesce like Esther had seen him do a thousand times since she could remember, and the woefully domestic scene sours her heart.Ā
Her plate remains untouched and she nods her head in gratitude for the food and the company. She makes excuses poorly at best and outlandish at worst, and walks out the door.Ā
One day, she would know the words of the fight and Amadorās dreams if heād let her, but for now, she takes the earliest train home. As she looks through the window, she sees her motherās eyes with dark circles underneath. They both have her eyes, but this new Amadorās eyes gleam bright enough to quiet the moon.Ā
ingrid sundberg's colour dictionary - writing help
One of the best writing advice I have gotten in all the months I have been writing is "if you can't go anywhere from a sentence, the problem isn't in you, it's in the last sentence." and I'm mad because it works so well and barely anyone talks about it. If you're stuck at a line, go back. Backspace those last two lines and write it from another angle or take it to some other route. You're stuck because you thought up to that exact sentence and nothing after that. Well, delete that sentence, make your brain think because the dead end is gone. It has worked wonders for me for so long it's unreal
And it will have to be enough
the big three questions of media analysis: what the author wanted to say, what they actually said, and what they didnāt know they were saying
readings: essays, articles & short stories pt. 2
the winter of civilisation
fruits we'll never taste, languages we'll never hear: the need for needless complexity
emily dickinson and the creative solitude of space
the lost art of looking at nature
the bowl, the ram and the folded map: navigating the complicated world
ada limón on preparing the body for a reopened world
before it was 'bittersweet', nostalgia was seen as a parasite
why alien languages could be far stranger than we imagine
the fig leaf, benjamin shane evans
cat pianos, sound-houses, and other imaginary musical instruments
of shark moves, shell shocks, and trash landings on the moon
as bright as a feather ā ostriches, home dyeing, and the global plume trade
getting ahead, jonas karlsson
do these florida dolphins have a language?
the form of a demon and the heart of a person: kitagawa utamaro's prints of yamauba and kintarÅ (ca. 1800)
who needs ai text-generation when there's erasmus of rotterdam
when memories from fiction become part of who you are
how do transgender people remember their earlier selves?
The writeblr side of my dash is pretty inactive, so please interact with this post if you're an active writing blog! My main is over at @brw, so that's where follows will be coming from :)
Original Work Primary Blog. Sideblog for fanfics @stickdoodlefriend Come yell at me! | 18+
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