but the book was so solid

anonymous asked:

Hey, do you have any tips for like, "how to boost your creativity"/"how to become inspired"? I'm writing this book and I seriously want to rip off my head, because I love writing, but dammit it's so hard. I just get an idea, and then I sit in front of an empty word page on my computer for two hours

I can relate wow

So this is a forever wondered secret, that even I don’t have a solid answer to.

What I do for my constant short stories is I take some events that I’ve read about- in the news maybe- and events that have happened to me.

I look at them and I think about how I would have changed them to make them fit what I would have wanted. Or change them to make it the hardest for me.

(( i.e- I saw a person I liked, and wanted to talk to. But I didn’t- I just passed them. I would change that in my mind to have me actually talk to them ))

From there you literally just write in that event, and write what you would have happened if you could control the situation (because now as an author- you can) And since you want the change so greatly, the depiction of your words is more fluent.

Or, if you are wanting to write in a sad part and don’t have any sad events- take a normal one and change it to be the worst for you.

This sounds like what being a general author is; making up events and writing it your way. But trust me, it’s much better when you use real happenings. Because then your mind now has solid limitations of character doings that make it more dynamically intriguing.

Really, then you put any noun in the place on you- and you write it down.

Bonus: If you are having trouble finding your words, try going extensive periods of time in social situations- but without talking. It will give you an isolated space to really craft responses and words that you can’t say, but can use later in your book. AND you can silently judge other people’s words.

Hope this maybe helps???

musical theatre songs that i will literally stop my entire life to sing along to
  • ring of keys (fun home)
  • waving through a window (dear evan hansen)
  • non-stop (hamilton) 
  • la vie boheme (rent) 
  • spooky mormon hell dream (book of mormon)
  • come to the fun home (fun home) 
  • yorktown (hamilton) 
  • defying gravity (wicked)
  • 96,000 (in the heights)
  • satisfied (hamilton) 
  • take me or leave me (rent) 
  • dancing through life (wicked) 
  • king of new york (newsies)
  • revolting children (matilda) 
  • letters (natasha, pierre, and the great comet of 1812)
  • hasa diga eebowai (book of mormon) 
  • blackout (in the heights)
  • i’m alive (next to normal)
  • the schuyler sisters (hamilton)
  • carnaval del barrio (in the heights)
  • man up (book of mormon)
  • what is this feeling? (wicked) 
  • sincerely, me (dear evan hansen)
  • your fault (into the woods) 
  • we both reached for the gun (chicago)
  • one day more (les miserables) 
  • bad idea (waitress)
  • so much better (legally blonde)
Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.
—  J.K Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.
Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.
—  J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter And The Philosophers Stone

I had one of those days today where ANYTHING I drew was just terrible and my motivation was rock bottom - I thought that I was at the start of an art block so I tested that theory by going back to my solid rock which is SJMaas’s beaut characters <3 

Turns out the art block is null and void as I managed to get Feyre out of my head and onto paper *PHEW* 

The Dalish and Transgender Identities

So, because my Lavellan!Inquisitor is a transwoman, I’ve had a lot of time and motivation to consider Dalish attitudes towards trans folk. My conclusion: in general, they’re pretty fuckin’ cool with it! here’s why:

1) Being nomadic and an oppressed minority, clans are pretty dependent on the skills and effort of each and every one of their members. Therefore, so long as you do solid work and contribute to the well-being of the clan, people don’t really care how you express yourself.

2) From what we see in the games and books, clans are usually pretty small, unlikely to have more than 50 or so members, maybe 100 tops (the clan you meet in Inquisition only has 8, counting the younger one who gets himself killed before you show up.) As a general rule, it’s harder to be bigoted against a demographic when someone you know intimately is in it. And when you spend your life around more or less the same 50 people, and have as little private space as the Dalish have? lemme tell ya, you know those people pretty intimately.

3) This is entirely my own headcanon, but I think the Dalish would hold trans people as sacred to Dirthamen, god of secrets and knowledge. If you ask a Dalish elf, gender non-conforming elves are the way they are because Dirthamen blessed them with a great secret hidden deep within their souls, a truth regarding the nature of the self. Beliefs hold that if you allow such a person to express themselves and flourish, they may come to know certain aspects of the secret, and can pass that knowledge on to their clan. The Dalish, valuing ancient knowledge highly, take this very seriously. To this end, gender non-conforming elves among the Dalish are referred to as “dirthenansal,” which directly translates as “gift or blessing of Dirthamen.” This is often shortened to “denan.”

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.
—  J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter And The Philosophers Stone

The Weasley Twins are hands down the best characters of the series, and it’s a shame that they didn’t get more screen time in the movies. They had so many amazing moments in the books, but they only got two really solid scenes in the movie (pranking Umbridge and Fred’s death) out of all the things they canonly did. It’s even worse because James and Oliver were arguably the perfect actors for the twins.

some solid ‘gabriel is not hawkmoth’ theorizing that isn’t just ‘it’s too obvious’.

so, canonically, we see lila buying that volpina necklace. and i’m certain that it was confirmed on twitter as well.

it’s also canon that gabriel has the book that describes the miraculouses, and heavily likely that mama agreste had the peacock one, or that it is at least currently in gabes possession. 

I honestly can’t remember whether or not it was confirmed that gabriel’s company made that necklace but it is surely likely as he is the only one that knows what the original looks like.

so then why is gabriel making duplicate miraculous items

in jackady, gabriel clearly recognizes adrien’s ring.

if gabriel’s line has miraculous items, they would have been made shortly after jackady, in order to appear in the volpina episode.

gabriel is making duplicates because it is the only way he can keep his loved ones safe from someone searching for the miraculouses.

maybe he’s already learnt that he can’t take away someones miraculous in order to keep them safe. maybe that is why mama agreste left.

hawkmoth has nothing to gain by making duplicate miraculouses, in fact it would make his job harder.

now with fanfic


Context: So we took a trip to the town because the DM didn’t have anything planned that night, long story short we ended up in the bazaar and we also happen to be doing the session in the middle of Dennys. Player 1’s big bipedal Hyena character has a creepy thing for mine, the human solider, and during this all I have been forcing myself to learn the art of Leroy Jenkins..

DM: Okay so this poor kid looks at his father, setting the helmet down-running. 

Player 1: I have a chase instinct, I chase down the kid!

DM: Okay you two, you turn the corner to the bazaar and you witness this kid just booking it toward you for some reason-then (Player 1) appears, flying over a stall, doing a barrel roll across the street and full on hunting this kid down. 

Player 2 (Me): Uhhhh….I have to preserve the human race, gotta stop them, I have to save this kid. I UH…

Player 3 (The Alien): What the fudge 


Player 3: Cringing I am cringing and not looking. No. 

DM: Player 3, you question why she’s taking her clothes off. It’s not bath day. 

*Insert 5-10 minute break to their catch breath for entire group who is dying at this point*

DM: *Sighing with great reluctance, questioning me, pointing at me, hoping to god the rest of the restaurant hasn’t heard this, triple checks this is what I want to do* Okay..So this is what happens. As you pull up your..You.. this kid gets the first inkling of puberty, and runs straight in to a door open on the street. Smack, he’s on the ground and Player 1 isn’t stopping.. Player 1, as you’re running on the hunt with blood lust, and you happen to glance over and see this glorious..you run straight through the door. Boom, it bursts in to splinters and you have a bloody nose for other reasons. 

Player 2: Oh no, he got run over!

The DM didn’t appreciate that I inquired if the my character’s rack was worthy enough either. 

Sneak Peek- “Catharsis” by Jessie Lucid. So excited to have finished this Illustration for ‘Not Without You-A Stucky Anthology’. It’s for the fic 'Night Shade’ by @hitlikehammers . I’ll release the full image after the book comes out. @notwithoutyoufanbook

justpercyjacksonthings  asked:

Hi! So I'm writing a book and two of my protagonists are shapeshifters (one can turn into a tiger and the other a wolf). In the heat of battle, how can I (rather, how /should/ I) write the lines when they're changing so that it doesn't take up a whole lot of time and space on a page, but still seems graceful and fluid?

By remembering that your audience has a memory. Depending on your preferences, you probably want to focus on the transformation in detail, one to three times. After that, your audience is going to have a fairly solid grasp on how it works, and the only time you’d need to revisit the process is if something new was happening.

Revisiting it, with a full sequence, every single time is fetishistic. Now, if that is the point of your story, then, sure, go for it every time. However, as you’ve noticed, that will slow you down a lot. If your character’s transformed into a nine foot tall snarling deathbeast fifteen times, there’s really not much value to writing up the sixteenth, (or the fourth, for that matter).

The basic theory, when I said one to three, is that the first time you’re telling the audience, “hey, this is happening, this is how it works.” The second and third time you’re reminding them, “hey, remember this thing that happens?” After that, it’s enough to say, “yeah, it happens,” and skip the irrelevant details. By the time you’re getting into this stuff happening in fight scenes, it’s something that you should be able to roll over in a sentence or two. Also, depending on your preferences, this can apply to any similar transformations. One protagonist transforming will (probably) count for the other. Though, you may want to make sure each character gets at least one detailed transformation before you completely gloss over what’s happening. It’s a new character, that is something new happening, after that, your audience should be able to keep up. “Ah, that one’s a werewalrus, got it.”

This can get significantly more complicated, if you have characters that can transform into multiple distinct forms. At that point, you’re probably going to be stuck writing it out, or at least spending more time explaining what’s going on, each time.

When you’re walking the audience through the process, the early transformations can chew up a lot of space. That’s okay. You’re laying out the ground rules for how your characters’ powers work. In this sense it’s a lot like establishing exposition. You’re explaining the world so that, later, the audience is up to speed when you need to stick these transformations in tense moments when the pacing doesn’t allow you to stop.

Once you’ve got the transformations nailed down, then you only really want to go into detail when accounting for something that hasn’t happened before. Dealing with wounds that carry over would be one example. Especially if the characters are usually fully healed by their transformation.

As to the graceful bit, that’s a lot more complicated. It ultimately comes down to how you define “graceful” for your own purposes. It’s something you’d bake into the transformations the first couple times you’re using it, or (if the story starts with their first), it might be something that manifests as they’re learning to control their powers. There isn’t a simple solution on that point. It might also be worth the time and introspection to decide exactly why you’re thinking you want the transformations to be graceful; that might help you find a way to better operationalize it.

Once you’re having your characters transform mid-combat, you want to be at a point where you can simply say your character wolfs out, and your audience is already knows what that means and is on board. As you’ve realized, if you have to detail the transformation in the heat of the moment, it will murder your pacing.


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You could so plainly see it in all that she did - in all that she was, really - that determination that never wavers, a solid line in an otherwise twisting and raveled world. She just kept going, and, more importantly, kept being. Her existence was enough for her, yet she strived to bring more and more than anyone else could possibly dream of achieving.
—  Excerpt from a book I will never write #1098 

@chasingawaythefoosa asked for a rock star/manager au

*Added ao3/ff.net links*

Also on FF.NET/AO3

Killian Jones was such a cliche.

Black leather, brooding good looks, eyeliner. The works.

Emma Swan teased him about it constantly.

It was what had made him so popular on the Boston circuit. That and the fact that he was a hell of a singer.

Quite how Emma had ended up managing the roguish Brit was a bit of a convoluted tale involving mutual friends, low funds and too much vodka. Turned out though that she was good at it. So good, that every weekend Kilian was booked solid, playing to packed crowds with his small back up band. There were even enquiries coming from further afield, tentative requests from record companies and, yes, groupies.

Which was who she was fighting through at The Rabbit Hole one Friday night after a killer set that had lit up the room and left a small gaggle of ladies lingering by the door that led backstage.

“‘Xcuse me,” she huffed, wriggling through the mass of hairspray and cheap themed cocktails. Tiny, the bouncer, nodded her through the sacred door as the other women pouted and complained.

“More this week,” he observed as she passed by.

“Yep,” she quipped, side-eyeing the one trying to slip Tiny a ten to let her go through. “Same old, just more of.”

Backstage, the band members were packing up their equipment, but Killian was sat alone, his ever present hip-flask dangling between his fingers.

“That was a good show.”

He looked up as she approached, his smile warm and genuine.

“I messed up a few chords in that last song.” There was a frown as he took another drink.

“Like anyone noticed.” She pulled up one of those cheap orange plastic chairs that seemed to congregate in spaces like that, and sat beside him. “You have quite the group waiting for you.”

She nodded towards the door and he twisted his mouth. “Not tonight Swan.”

Emma raised her brows. He usually liked to spend the last hour or so in the bar, picking up a few numbers, or just women in general.

Come to think of it, it had been some time since she had actually seen him leave with someone.

Keep reading

I heard a poet say the other day about how easy it was to write with a mask on, to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, if I hide the words good enough and toss away the keys to this lock, could you still find yourself if it’s so deep inside of my flaws? You love it when people write about you, especially if I’m doing the writing it seems. I don’t write about you much, so here I am. One last poem. And I give your eyes a solid peek with every letter, a silent whisper that says nothing, but if you pay attention to my lips it mouths an I love you each and every time when you catch me staring at you and I look away. I wonder when I see you staring, do you do the same when I turn away my head? I love to write, but you’ll wonder if it’s about you, you, you, you, you or her, her, her, her, her or her. It’s about you. This is about you. You know who you are. In the first conversation we ever had, you asked if my favorite color was red before even getting into my head. And those eyes that peer, that leer, that steer straight into mine, we haven’t met, we have met, we haven’t loved, we have loved, we haven’t fallen, we have fallen, we haven’t fucked, we have fucked, we haven’t broken into, we have broken into, we haven’t written, we have written, we haven’t been, we have been, we haven’t talked, we have talked, we speak for five minutes and I feel like I’ve known you for several lifetimes and attention is such a trickling thing as it falls from my eyes and into yours– we haven’t been anything before these five minutes, but I’ve made love to your every way before we knew, before you knew, before I knew, we were kinda fucked. We made sure to not get too close, we made sure that it never happened, it stays as it stays, it says as it says, and one day, we’ll never be. She says I could never date a writer. And as ironic as it is, we’re both writers, so as enamored and as pulled to one another as we are, we’ll think about it when the sun decides to go for another eternal nap, and when the moon finally decides to give those love letters back with different people holding each cloud up, with separate lovers holding us, we’ll think about it until it hurts. And we’ll do it for the sake of falling in love, the art of the what if’s while you’re young and stupid, it goes like this. You are something that casts more deadly spells than a dark lord’s wand, that bends more trees than the wind during hurricane season, that breaks more often than a sidewalk during the heat of summer love, that admires more deeply than artists comparing themselves to Van Gogh, that swells more quickly than a mosquito bite because you forgot bug spray although it never works because they too find you irresistible from blood type to skin, that itches worse than eating something you’re allergic too, it’s often our favorite foods too, that stretches more than the horizon when the sun asks the moon to come out and play always, always, slow dance to that one song from now on, that sings as beautiful as the Mona Lisa when we try to figure out her smile, that still to this day, I choose to not talk to you because yes it’s true, I’m a little in love with you, and yes it’s true, we won’t ever exist at the same time, too many obstacles and yes it’s true, we live for poetics the modern romantics trying to be antiques inside of a masterpiece, we never knew how to love properly, so we tried to pave way inside of a kaleidoscope– if we ever fell in love, it would be a bad trip, like overdosing on lsd because you thought that you were a cactus and spines started to grow out of you, yeah that kind of fucked up. We would be messed up, but I think in some lowkey happy offset universe, we would’ve been happy about it. She talks to me about poetry like I invented it, the truth is I write to feel something, isn’t that why we do anything? These words have been written before, I’m just following footsteps, I’m just another person trying to write down my wrongs, am I wrong for it? And it was one of those days, some strange scene from an anime when the sun is setting and they’re walking across a metal bridge as friends and he comments on the days that go by without a second thought, and the water is running and she says that you can’t skateboard down slopes because you’d get in trouble, rules were meant to be broken, and if you don’t break them, you can bend them just right. And it’s that kind of day, where bookstores mean more to us than clubs. Neon soul, would you care to stay here as you are for just a little while longer? She speaks about poetry like it’s the only thing that matters. He utters back wildfire spreads wildfire. I don’t know why he said it, but it just felt right, right? And the day will end, but not before you walked us through two art museums and there’s always a juicy secret near the end of us whispering to each other about other people and what they’re up to. In this fairy tale, they don’t fall in love. In this poem, they don’t get together. In this life, they’re just friends. In this heart, they’ll be just two lost souls stuck on a bench, I’m a little tired, I’ll just rest my head on those shoulders, and I must tell you, that you look better without make up. There will a day when this is just a faded gem you’ll find in your brain. There will be a brief moment when you’ll remember those five hours, and it all started because of those five minutes when you asked if we have met before, and I know that I write long pieces with very shitty grammar and not enough elaborate metaphors, but the thing about my writing and why it’s so damn relatable may be because I write with a cold heart that just wants to feel warm, we all need that day. That day, that’ll indefinitely change us in ways that we may not be able to comprehend today, tomorrow or even by next year. A day that explains, a day that demands to be listened to and just like how a chest needs a careful set of ears to listen to its heartbeat, I’m glad that I gave a listen to yours. And maybe I’ll move out of this city where people do the same shit every fucking day and pretend that it’s okay, that this is it. We’ll work until we’re grey, get that 401k go on vacations while we’re fragile with an old passion for pastries, cheap hotels and some famous beach that all of the old people go to. There’s got to be more to life, you mentioned that a few times. This was just a glimpse to what could be with someone else, and I’m always holding onto your hands just a little too tight because I don’t want you to let go and it’s okay because today will end, but not in this memory. In this memory, we’re young forever. In this memory, we’re breaking every rule just a little bit. In this memory, I write down every little detail because I don’t give a fuck. In this memory, I play a slow dance with you until the moon finally explains itself to us in entirety. I’m full because of you, I’m empty because of you. In this memory, the metaphors never run out and the poetry isn’t just about love, it’s not about sadness anymore, it’s about clawing my way out of my thoughts and back into a moment where I’m not so depressed and I’m cracking jokes right next to you all the way down Central Park and in this memory, there’s a small chance that you could’ve been more than just someone who showed my heart around New Orleans. In this memory, I remember you as my pretty crimson. And if this memory shall ever fade, I’ll fade with it too because the more we write, the more we are, if I am what I eat and I am what I do, I’ll eat the yellow paint and write until it’s dark and if I’m ever blind and no longer the person that I was when I walked across that bridge with you– at least it’s an ending that I can dwell on. Poets write poetry, clouds use rain as a disguise, but this writer is just wearing another mask and tomorrow isn’t any different. I am the wildfire, and I’ll spread in many directions. I just hope that we never burn down together and if we do, that wouldn’t be so bad, right?

i hate that my heart feels so much. like i can dead ass see the SMALLEST thing ever and it’ll impact me SO much it’s unreal. that puppy over there? yeah that hit me and i’ll probably go home and think about it because it was so dang cute. that joke that was kinda sorta rude? yeah i’m gonna think about that for a solid month straight and i’ll refrain from doing anything like what the joke was pointed to again. like peoples words and actions impact me so much more than they should and i just feel like 10x what should be normal and i have yet to determine if this is good or bad because it means my highs or so high but my lows, they get so damn low. everything i feel is in extremes or nothing at all and it’s so crazy which is why i usually just keep everything inside and let it all build up and only spill to a few people or spill a little bit out and so many people think they know me and have me figured out but like, they don’t!! you only know what i show you!! because i just tell people enough so it makes me seem easy going and not at all different but really i’m so damn complex i’m like the puzzle that is a thousand pieces and when you finally piece it together you realize you’re missing some and god it’s so crazy. nothing inside of me is ever calm, i am always one inch away from the panic button, i am always one scream away from deafening myself. but you’ll never know that because i make sure i hide it so good and i make sure that i’m so damn kind and positive that you’d never see me struggling a day in my life.