anonymous asked:

Hello! How's your day? Anyway, I'm thirteen, in the eighth grade, and I'm currently working on my first original book! (I'm been writing fanfiction and poetry for three years-ish.) I find myself worrying if my writing is "childish" or "unrealistic" because I'm pretty young and I don't have much life experience yet. How can I get rid of this mental thought? Thanks!

This is where I get to sound like a bubble-bursting adult, but please at least read to the end because I promise it’ll get better.

Your writing is “childish” and/or “unrealistic” because your brain isn’t done developing yet. Even the kids who are mature beyond their years still have this problem, and it affects people even into their late teen years when they’re technically adults. That does not mean that anything is wrong with you, it just means you’re young and human. You don’t have the experience, nor the wiring, to see things like an adult would, and any experience you try to gain will still be perceived differently due to your age.

So, you can’t get rid of that mental thought because it’s accurate, but you can learn to understand that it’s okay and is just a part of growing up. 

Do. Not. Give. Up.

Let yourself write those childish things. Let yourself write unrealistic scenes. Let yourself enjoy your childhood perspective while you have it. 

Keep your writing. Even if it makes you cringe 10 years down the line, you may find yourself able to write a better 13-year-old because you have proof of their mindset and values. If there’s one thing I know I suck at as a writer, it’s writing younger teens, because I can’t fully understand the mindset just like you can’t fully understand the adult one. It’s okay. It’s normal.

I’m proud of you for recognizing that your inexperience is a factor in your writing because that means you’re open to improving. Here’s Ways to Improve Writing Skills in case you’re interested, and if you start working hard now and keep it up, I bet you’ll be amazing by the time you’re an adult.

Knowing your weaknesses and learning to work with them is an important part of being a writer. Some weaknesses just take longer to get rid of than others, and at least you know that yours will sort itself out over time. 

Don’t compare yourself to older writers, though you can certainly try and use their work to learn (assuming that they’re even good since there’s a lot of bad writing out there, especially on the internet). Compare yourself to your own work and understand that a lot of writing progress is made in tiny steps that can be hard to see. Perhaps I was just lucky to be in a good school system, but my classes really helped develop my writing skills over time and I don’t just mean the English ones. So learn everything you can. Good writing is more than just words on paper, it requires an understanding of the subject you’re writing about and a plethora of skills to bring every little element together.

I know it can seem overwhelming, but you can do it if you put in the effort and understand that you can only work at the level that your developing brain is at. That doesn’t make you a failure. You have to learn to give some things time.

Good luck with everything :)

I have a problem admitting when I’m hurting. I’m always trying to stay happy and content that when I fail in doing that, I feel like I lost, like I made a mistake. And let me tell you something, there wouldn’t be a rainbow without the rain.
—  giulswrites

“Sometimes you know people in your life will not last as soon as they enter it.

But you hope anyway that maybe you are wrong and maybe something in them will convince them to stay. Or something in you will convince you that everything will be okay.

But it’s not. It never is.”

- D.N. // excerpt from a book i’ll never write #185

“I went back to the meadow where we first met and sat against the base of a tree. Started reminiscing about our time together, all the laughs and special moments, even the painful ones and cried myself to sleep. My tears soaked the earth where I slept and flowers started to bloom in the morning. The earth had accepted my pain and turned it into something so organically beautiful.”

— Marley C. || Wildflower Tears.

Should Have Known Better

I’m becoming
Someone different
But that’s nothing
I should be
Afraid of
When I’m screwed
Each way
From Sunday
And the truth
Is change
At last -

An affront
To empty cause
And pretending
Days were
Normal
As the pain
Which grew
Within me
Was a fuse
Which lit this
Spark

To burn
By honest choice
And embrace
My flame
That flickers
By the wind
Of stifled
Feelings
I cradled
To find this
Voice

As I stand outside  
Exposed
To the hurt
Which makes me
Human
And the needs
Which beg to
Differ
From the men
Who claim
They’re whole

When I cater
Each broken
Gift
In an outward sign
Of difference
So the free
And mad
Expressions
Can flow
Like blood
On wrists  -

Proving
I’m more  
A girl
Who paints her nails
Indignant
And leaves
Her sex
Behind her
And believes
Her sisters
True

That I should not
Seek their love
But rather
Grow
Within it
As I find
That answer
Waiting
In sentiments
I had
Repressed

Like passions
Warm and tender
And tendencies
So much
Deeper
Than to follow
Paths
Uncomfortable
For a life
I did not
Dream -

Narrow
Routine
Habitual

All the things
They prayed
I’d value

Rather than
Writing poems

And hating
The man
I was.

- J. Pigno

How can you see me

When you shine so bright

I’m just a speck

In your ten thousand eyes

Just a thing with a heartbeat

To your breathless infinity

To the heaven I see when no ones watching


You are this side of paradise

I’m a tourist

I’m a visitor

I’ll leave no trace behind

But the tracks of mud

On your white carpet

I’ve tried to scrub clean so many times


You’ll only see me when you look

I wait at the bus stop every night

On the corner broadway and 39

From nine to four

On the bench by the statue

Of the man playing guitar

Cast in iron

and neon lights

I’m not too hard to find


You’ve got planets in the balls of your feet

You dance on your toes

They weigh you

Down down down

You love them so

You’re not dreaming


No you’re not dreaming

You see when you sleep

You see everything

I think all the answers

Are under your tongue

But I can’t reach

I don’t want to reach


That’s a lie

I’m full of those

Just you wait but don’t see

It’s called compulsive

For a reason

My pulse

Your eyes

Is the wall between us


-The heartbeat and the fly

Kids Are Pissing Off Of Cliffs

Seeing who can piss the farthest
Staring at the stars
Shivering in slim fit pants

Kids are stumbling down the street drunk
With their heads down
With their hands in their pockets

Kids are running the world
Ruling over makeshift lego castles
Saying, ‘Not uh, Not uh, I just made it rule so you can’t do that…’

Kids are killing me
Picking my bones clean
Telling me everything’s relative so it doesn’t matter anyways
Telling me to play pretend
Telling me to grow up

4
Melanie's Home - Monday, 1pm

If he was giving her the silent treatment, she couldn’t blame him. Melanie knew she’d been pushing Pri a little too much when they were at the cinema. Her conversation with Regan had her on edge for days.

While Regan made some valid points about not knowing Pri as much as she should, Melanie also knew everyone had a past and not everyone wanted to talk about that past.

Especially in public.

Still, Pri was there in her house like he’d been before. Sleeping next to her at night, even holding her. His calm, quiet breathing was soothing, even when they didn’t speak.

“Pri….”

“….”

“I’m sorry for pushing you. I didn’t expect what you told me and I should’ve been more considerate. I guess when I get an idea in my head, I run with it.”


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sunday morning -
coffee stop, farmers market
maple syrup sweet


sunday night-
slurred speech, fist to the wall, hide the keys
lather, rinse, repeat


monday morning -
salty tears collapsing on my shore, visible emotion
i fell in love with a teenage boy
that is now a man with the predictability of the ocean

—  dissonantwindchime
You flip through my journal and notice how far apart the entries are. I keep my head down, staring at my cup of hot chocolate with my heart beating to the bass of the cafe’s low music. This is the first time I let anyone look - much less touch - my journal.
‘Why do you wait so long?“ you ask.
'It’s all so much. It’s not easy to find the words.’ I’m suddenly aware of the weight of my head on my shoulders. I’m afraid to look up - to see you undressing my words in your head for the first time. I’ve never felt so exposed.
'Well,’ you start 'what do you do between the two months before your next one?’
I feel you staring but I still don’t look up. Instead, I shrug.
'Survive.’
—  about me // n.b. 

when raindrops meant something
when teardrops were happy
when snow swirled around him
when he had a halo
i loved him so

when grass was green
when trees were in bloom
when he placed petals in my hair
when he would soar
i loved him more

when walls crumbled down
when the seas calmed
when he was everything
when he still was true
i still loved him too

now the raindrops are acid
now the tears bear the pain
now he is gone
now he doesn’t care
yet…i still love him

I never realised that I had turned into an introvert. To learn about my own self has been one of the hardest things I had to do and I am not done yet. It ain’t easy but I am proud of it. Of becoming someone new, on walking a new road.

Step by step we walk, towards a destination unknown.
Meanwhile, accept yourself even if it isn’t what you had planned to become.
Know why?
Life comes as a surprise, like surprise birthday gifts.
Don’t hate yourself of not being what you wanted to be,
Instead, just love yourself, love will give infinite power, to accept and discover your path to serve life’s purpose.
Just be who you are, because you are worth, a thousand times more than you believe yourself to be.