Dark-blue-rainbows - Just Me :)

Me: *is the writer*

Me, after I write a twist: oh shit! I did not see that coming!

the number one *most important* writing lesson

The number one most valuable writing lesson you could ever be given, in it’s pure simplicity:

WRITE.

Don’t get stuck by spending hours upon hours scrolling through Tumblr, or YouTube, or reading random articles on Google, telling you how to properly write a story. 

The cold hard truth is that the only way you’ll ever truly improve your craft, is by writing, so don’t be afraid to go out there and do it! 

It’s all right if what you write isn’t a masterpiece. Every single thing you write, no matter how much effort is given, or how good you think it is, contributes to your craft improving. 

Go pick up a book. Go watch a movie, or a TV-show. Analyze the story, the arcs the characters are given, how the scenes are built up – Go to your computer, grab a notebook, and start writing. Visualize. You’ve got to visualize. 

Visualizing your scenes is one of the most important things, and you cannot forget to have a clear view in your mind of what your scenes will look like. 

And don’t forget to read your sentences out loud. What sounds good on paper, doesn’t necessarily always sound good when spoken aloud, and vise verca. 

your worth, and whether or not you ‘deserve’ to be alive, isn’t measured by how much you produce. an artist who made 70 paintings in a year isn’t more worthy of life than a college dropout who doesn’t know what they want. your worth is steadfast and it has been since the day you were born, and however much you manage to get done and learn and are (or aren’t) to other people won’t change that in any way.

Writing really keeps you on ur toes bc u can be just dancing along the keyboard ur fingers just tip tappin away and then u suddenly get stuck on how to describe a character’s hair. And when will it happen whos to say :)

This is how I come up with ideas for stories/poems!

I do my best thinking at night when everyone else is sleeping. No interruptions. No noise. I like the feeling of being awake when no one else is.

— Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

I found this really interesting!

'Marketing is hard! Hiring an editor is expensive! Amazon doesn’t like erotica!'

An interview with indie author Ai Love!

You'd better not miss reading it. 🙂

LITERARY EXPRESS

'If You Can't Find Something Good to Read, Write It' – LITERARY EXPRESS

A former politician who has written op-eds for several large publications in the United States of America, the fourty-year-old, who is curre

The town was eerily quiet. Only the sound of crickets chirping disrupted the silence which surrounded the town. Empty, derelict buildings loomed over me as I stumbled around in the darkness.

I didn't want to be here, but I was hired by a couple who wanted to find out what happened to their daughter. She'd lived here, and disappeared like everyone else in the town of Warmosa three years ago. I didn't want to take the case, but I was offered a lot of money, which could easily pay for rent for the next few months.

Still, it was a stupid idea. I wasn't even supposed to be here — the town had been closed to the public ages ago, so technically I was trespassing. Oh well, there's no one here to arrest me anyway.

Finally, I reached the house I was looking for: the house belonging to Ava Stone, the daughter of the couple who hired me. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. Sighing, I stepped back and kicked the door as hard as I could. It swung backwards, smacking against the wall beside it.

The stench of animals made me gag as I walked into the house. Rats scurried around by my feet. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the living room. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting there, just an old sofa and a dusty TV. I tried to switch it on but the screen remained black. 

The kitchen reeked of food which had gone off. I opened a cupboard and screamed silently as a stream of rats charged out. Shaking, I left the kitchen and decided to have a look upstairs.

The bathroom was covered in black mould. The sink was cracked and the toilet had no water in it. Disappointed in the lack of evidence, I hurried into the bedroom, the last room left.

The bedroom looked like it had been ransacked. The draws had been hurled open, with belongings littering the floor. From the looks of it, this must have happened ages ago, since everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. I put on a pair of rubber gloves, knelt down and began to examine the room.

Underneath a pile of dirty, dusty clothes, lay a diary. The pages were yellow and stuck together from age, but the writing was still legible. Hands quivering in anticipation, I opened the diary and read the first entry.

“Dear diary,

My parents bought me this for my 18th birthday! I’m probably a bit too old for a diary, but it’s nice of them to give me one. After all, it’s the thought that counts. I’ve never been able to keep a diary as a child, but I suppose that’s because nothing interesting ever happened to me. You never know, that might change!

I have to go to uni soon. I’m already running late. When I get back, I’m going to go to the bar with my friends!

—Ava”

I skimmed through the diary, trying to find something useful. It was mostly about school or her girlfriend, but by the time it got to October, things began to get interesting.

“Dear diary,

A government lab has been built on the outskirts of out town, and people are getting really pissed off. Conspiracy theories are spreading around, for example: apparently, a biological weapon is being created in the lab. It’s probably nonsense, people in this town like to talk a lot. The problem is, this is supposed to be a tourist town, but nobody’s gonna come if people think that coronavirus 2 is being created. It doesn’t really affect me, since I’m just staying here because the rent’s cheap and it’s close to uni. In fact, the rent’s become much cheaper now, which is great!

—Ava”

A government lab... how did I not know about that? In fact, I don’t think anyone knew about it. Heart racing, I turned to the next page, dated November 18th.

“Dear Diary,

I’m really worried. There’s been a leak from the lab. Nobody really knows what leaked, but it has to be something important. We’re not allowed to leave the town, not even for uni, which is ridiculous. Phone lines have been cut, so we can’t contact anyone, and the internet’s off. We can’t even send a bloody letter either. We’ve been told that there’s nothing to worry about, but why have they placed all these restrictions? It’s like they don’t want anyone to find out what’s happening.

—Ava”

There’s one last entry left: November 19th. The day everyone disappeared.

“Dear diary,

I’m ill. Everyone’s ill. I can barely pick up the pen to write. There’s only a couple of doctors in this town, but they’re probably ill too. Nobody’s ever seen anything like this before.

It started so suddenly. I was fine, and then suddenly blood was pouring from my ears and nose. From the screams of other people, it was clear that the same thing was happening to them.

Rumours are spreading around again, about the biological weapon. This time, I’m not as sceptical. It’s pretty much common knowledge now that the thing which leaked yesterday is what’s causing us to be ill.

There’s nothing we can do. We can’t go anywhere: there’s literally soldiers outside everyone’s house. They’re wearing fucking biohazard suits. I heard a gunshot earlier. I don’t know who was shot, but they’ve probably had a faster death than what everyone else is gonna have.

I feel like shit. I could probably collapse at any moment. If only I picked another university, then I wouldn’t be staying in this shitty town, dying from a government experiment, listening to the screams of people next door. It hurts so much. Everything hu”

That’s where it finishes.

The soldiers must have disposed of the bodies once everyone died. Nobody knew about the illness since there was no way the people in Warmosa could have contacted anyone. People must have gone through each house, disposing of all evidence explaining what happened in the town. But they missed Ava Stone’s diary.

Damn. I’m going to become so famous for this! My case will be all over the news, where everyone can see how I solved it! Finally, my career as a detective will take off! I’ll be like Sherlock Holmes!

A sudden ringing in my ears interrupted my thoughts. Almost swaying from the pain, I stumbled towards the mirror in Ava’s bedroom. I clutched it with trembling hands, and watched the streams of blood trickling out my ears and nose.

On November 19th, the population of the town of Warmosa vanished. No explanation was ever given by officials and the town was eventually closed to the public.

You‘re a private investigator hired to find the truth behind the event. After trespassing into the town, you find a private journal detailing the events that took place on the days leading up to the disappearance.

*glances at the au i wanna write* *glances at my multiple wips waiting for updates* *glances at the au* *sobs*

4. The tiny, miniscule, impossible possibility that my story turns out amazing and I sell tonnes of copies and they make it into a film and I meet my favourite actors who like the story so much that they want to be the main character

I write my stories for one or more of three reasons:

1. Aesthetic

2. That One Scene

3. Spite