flowing structures

anonymous asked:

I don't use pronouns just my name is there any way to make sentence structure flow better.

That’s perfectly valid, tons of folks do that. Since in the English language we are used to using pronouns in place of names, it can end up feeling a little rough at first. I think the easiest way to make it flow better would just be to omit the need for using the name as much as possible in the sentence. Here’s an example using my own name:

“Quinn went to eat Quinn’s breakfast and grab Quinn’s jacket.”

could be better said as

“Quinn went to go eat breakfast and grab a jacket.”

Like anything, however, it will just take time to get used to.


tagged by: @ohroses bless u this looks fun

rules: say 5 things you like about yourself and tag 10 of your followers

  1. i like the fact that im…. a chillaxed soul who has the sense to know when seriousness is required and when it’s ok to tread lightly
  2. i like the fact that im good with words and talking, all kinds of words and all kinds of talking
  3. I like that i look decent these days. maybe even pretty sometimes
  4. I like how objective and realistic-yet-cheerful i am. im just.. good at seeing things for what they are
  5. I like the way i write. i like how my imagination flows and the structure my stories take

tagging: anyone who reads this. please just say i tagged u and do this! 

Lover's Rhapsody: Jungkook (M)

Lover’s Rhapsody

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Smut

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: This piece contains explicit sexual situations. Discretion is advised.

A/N: I recommend listening to Once Again by Mad Clown and Kim Na Young. If you can’t tell, this fic mayyyyyyy be loosely based off of Descendants of the Sun. It’s a great drama and I recommend that you check it out!


Rhapsody /n: A rhapsody in music is a one-movement work that is episodic yet integrated, free-flowing in structure, featuring a range of highly contrasted moods, colour and tonality. An air of spontaneous inspiration and a sense of improvisation make it freer in form than a set of variations.

You stood at the back of the dingy, terribly lit club and watched as your boyfriend was pummeled to the ground by a much taller and bulkier male. Although it was clear that the fight was over, Jungkook refused to give up , lunching at the man over and over again. The opponent was merely swiping at him now, Jungkook too weak with his oddly bent fingers and nearly swollen shut eye.

You stood silently stoic, observing the scene before you and wondering just how much gauze you would need this time around.

Finally, with the crowd roaring to “finish him!” the larger man grabbed Jungkook by the shirt and yanked him close. In one swift movement, the bulky man whipped his forehead into Jungkook’s’. He pulled back, seemingly unharmed while Jungkook slumped completely in his grip. The man dumped him on the cold concrete and gave a scoff before leaving Jungkook and collecting his money.

You left the club and hailed a cab, leaving Jungkook to somehow find his way home to you. He always did. As the taxi sped past swanky apartments and expensive clubs, your mind drifted as you contemplated your relationship.

Jungkook was an ex-army command officer, specially trained for reconnaissance and take down missions. The relationship had always been strained because of distance, but you loved him anyway. While he was on leave from his job, Jungkook took up a much more irresponsible pass time. He was an underground boxer. It was a weak-paying and highly illegal hobby to have, not to mention the fact that it was possibly deadly every time he went into a club. The only positive thing was that it gave him an outlet for the anger that boiled under his skin from his missions. He loved working for his country, but the mental price took a toll on him.

You murmured a thank you to the driver when he pulled up outside your apartment. A long sigh filled the empty, quiet house when you clicked the door shut behind you. That hadn’t been the first time you’d snuck in to watch Jungkook. A part of you needed to know that he was okay; he almost always was not.

You sat on the couch, waiting for him to eventually come stumbling through the door with a bloodied face and broken fingers.

Eventually, you heard the tell tale shuffling out in the hallway before the soft click of the door. You turned to see Jungkook slumped in the doorway, struggling to remove his sneakers. You couldn’t help the gasp as you took in his battered appearance.

He hadn’t cleaned up in the least bit, blood dried in drops down his temple. His fingers on one hand were wrapped and he took special caution with them. You figured he’d at least broken a few. His left eye was completely swollen shut and sickly colors of purple and blue. You could only imagine what the rest of his body looked like beneath his clothing.

He went silently to the kitchen without greeting you. You stood up and followed him in, rubbing your arms at the uncomfortable tension.

“Tonight was bad, huh?” You spoke up. You cleared your throat, already trying to fight against tears at seeing him in so much pain.

“Not too bad,” he murmured. He still hasn’t faced you as he made his way to the fridge to presumably grab a beer.

“Did you make any money?” You tried again and kept the ignorant act afloat. Jungkook never knew that you watched him every now and then. He had always warned you of how dangerous the clubs could be and how bloody and violent the fights would get.

He pulled a crumpled ten dollar bill from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the island. The turn of his body gave you the slightest glimpse of his split lip and puffed skin.

“I won once. The others I lost,” he continued in his rummaging through the fridge. “Where’s the goddamn beer?” He gritted through his teeth, seemingly speaking to himself.

“You should get to bed and rest up if you want to get better, captain. And that’s an order,” you chuckled as you made the joke in an effort to lighten the mood.

“I’m not on duty right now, and you’re not my superior,” his voice sounded stone cold.

“You’re just hurt so badly, especially this time. I worry about you. It seems like every time you come home, it’s worse-”

“I said I’m fine, (Y/N). Now go to bed. I’ll be in later,” he spit. He finally found his drink and brushed past you without another word. In his mind, the conversation was over.

All the pain and worry and stress you’d been holding in seemed to come flooding out in you next words.

“You didn’t seem fine when that huge guy knocked you out cold,” you blurted out. The tears came forward like a waterfall and you let out one loud sob. You turned to find Jungkook frozen mid-step.

“(Y/N),” he started. His voice was dangerously low, and you put a hand over your mouth to try and stop the body wracking sniffs that shook you. “Did you come to the club tonight?” He turned around to stare at you with no humor or messing around in his eyes. Your eyes dropped to the floor and you fiddled with your fingers, refusing to look at him.

“Sometimes I go to check on you, and you’re always getting beat on by big guys. One of these days I’m afraid that you won’t-”

“Alright, alright. That’s enough,” his voice was gentler and held none of the malice from a few minutes before. He set his drink down and came to cradle you against him as you let the sobs loose. His mood had dramatically changed as he realized how hard it must be for you to see him in so much pain so often.

“I got one hell of a shiner that could use some attending to,” he murmured after your sobs has quieted to a few hiccups now and then.

“O-okay,” you sniffed. He led you to the bathroom with his good hand and helped you get out the supplies.

You sat on the counter a half hour later, still finding new nicks and bruises that needed creams and bandages. He stood between your legs with his hands on your thighs, his eyes closed as you dabbed an alcohol swab on his broken skin.

You grabbed the butterfly bandages and started to hold the skin together.

“You’re gonna need ice for your eye,” you mumbled. The emotions were welling up again, and your eyes blurred. “You idiot,” you cried through a husky voice. “How could you do this to me? How could you do this to yourself?” You weakly hit his shoulder.

He waited for you to catch your breath but they only grew more shaky as he surveyed you. You hid your face from him, a little embarrassed at the second outburst.

“You leave to go on missions where you might get shot, and then you come home and go get yourself beat to a pulp and I’m always so worried-”

He lifted your chin to look you straight in the eyes.

“How worried?” He asked. The teasing tone in his voice confused you, and you tilted your head. “How worried were you?”

“What do you mean? You almost died over a few dollars. I was sick to my-”

He shut you up by tugging your lips to his. You quickly forgot what you were saying and melted into his soft, swollen lips. You took his bottom lips between yours and suckled lightly, pulling back slightly before releasing him.

“You look cute when you’re worried,” he hummed. His doe eyes stared deep into yours. You huffed and hit his shoulder again, earning you a grimace.

“This isn’t funny, Jungkook. You were seriously hurt tonight. How many fingers did you break? Two? Three?” You fiddled with the dirty hem of his shirt sleeve.

“Three.” His voice was no louder than a husky whisper.

“I can only help you so much. One of these days-”

He cut you off again, pushing his lips to yours hastily to stop the words he didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to face the gravity of the situation he created for himself. While he focused on kissing you deeply, his hand smoothed up your thigh to tug at your loose shorts, signaling exactly what he wanted. You released his lips with a sigh.

“I wish you’d stop cutting me off like that,” you complained.

“How can I help myself when I have such a pretty girl right in front of me?” He pinched at the soft skin of your thigh, eliciting a yelp from you.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whimpered, pushing your forehead against his lightly. Your hand was still absentmindedly stroking his dark locks as you pouted.

“We’ll be careful then. I want to make it up to you… though you’ll have to do all the work, so I’ll make it up to you when I’m healed,” he promised.

“You’ll be gone for duty again by then. And then I’ll have to deal with it all on my own,” you teased. You knew bringing something up like that would rile him up which was exactly what you wanted.

“Baby, I’ll make it up to you in a month if I have to. Just know what you’re getting yourself into,” he growled, giving a loud laugh as he pinched you again. You yelped once more, falling forward onto him. He took your weight as best as he could with his weakened body could, scooping you up under your legs and hauling you both to the shared bedroom. You pretended not to see the grimace on his face as he pulled at the wounds around his body.

He sat back slowly on the bed, moving to help you straddle him. The first thing you removed was his grubby shirt, tapping his arms so that you could tug it over his head. You couldn’t help the single tear that rolled down your cheek at the sight of his battered body.

Deep purple bruises littered his chest and abdomen. They looked angry and painful, mocking you from their seemingly permanent place on his skin. Jungkook tugged your chin upwards and wiped away the tear with his thumb.

“I’m okay,” he reassured you. “I’ll be okay,” he corrected after a moment of thought. When you didn’t respond, he sighed and used his strength to pull you into him. You gasped, struggling for a moment as you tried not to lean on him too much. “I won’t shatter,” he mumbled on your lips. He momentarily detached his hands from your hair to grip your wrists and yank you fully to him. He rested your hands on the headboard behind him which left your faces extremely close to one another. His hands smoothed comfortingly on your sides and nuzzled his nose into your cheek. He inhaled deeply, and you watched as his eyes fluttered closed.

“You’ll always smell like home to me,” he began. You felt your cheeks heat up and you felt inclined to pull away, but even in his hurt state his grip held you firmly on his lap. “Even when I’m half way across the world, or in some shit hole trying to make a few dollars,” he sighed. It was your turn to cut him off as you surged forward and shoved your lips to his.

You couldn’t hold yourself back as you poured every swirling emotion into your movements. You used the leverage that you had on the bed to take control, nipping and licking at his lips. He was eager enough already and allowed you to slip your tongue into his mouth, caressing his sweet mouth with your own. He groaned lightly, the grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. It was enough for you to get the signal, the lust he was truly feeling.

You pushed your hips down on his crotch, moving your hips in a manner that caused his to groan again and pull away from your lips. His breathing was already picking up, and you claimed the silently victory. The rough fabric of his jeans rubbed at you deliciously through the thin, flimsy fabric of your shorts. You hummed, your eyes closing to relish in the sweet pressure that was just right on your clit. Jungkook watched you move with hooded eyes, his wrists tightening every so often to guide your movements.

Soft, breathy moans that sounded like music infiltrated Jungkook’s ears as you pleasured yourself on him. He could hardly hold himself back as he felt his pants grow tighter and tighter. He tapped your thigh a few minutes after that, trying not to lose himself so quickly in the bliss you so eagerly provided.

You halted to your movements when he tapped you as an idea entered your mind. You scooted down so you sat on his knees, and laid across his so your face hovered right by his straining erection.

“What are you doing?” He obviously knew your answer but was still confused nonetheless. He ran his fingers through your hair, gingerly tugging at the strands.

“I want to make you feel better. I want to take your mind off of the pain. You can pay me back later when you’re really feeling better,” you winked. Your hand came to rest on his bulge, and you pressed into him, putting pressure on his sensitive member.

“Are you gonna tease me then, or actually make me feel better?” He taunted. You rolled your eyes with a small smile and unbuckled his belt, pulling down the restricting material. He let out a happy sigh as he was finally released from the uncomfortably tight confines. Your hand returned to his erection, and you grabbed hold of him through the material. Your hand flitted about, taking time to squeeze him lightly or drag your nails over his briefs. With one final glance up at him, you pulled down the waistband and released his already dripping member. Your mouth flooded with saliva as you took him in. The sight of him hot, hard, and red was something you’d never get enough of.

You licked your lips and brought the weeping head to your lips, pressing feather light kisses on the tip. With a few tugs on your hair, you got the message and sunk down on him. He let out a long sigh and his body relaxed when you began bobbing your head.

“That’s it, baby. You take me so well. You’re gonna suck my cock like a good girl?” He taunted. He knew that slightly dirty words never failed to soak your panties. You made small noises of agreement to which he groaned as your mouth hummed around him.

You swirled your tongue around his hot flesh, taking time to swipe the leaking precum from his slit. Every time you pulled back to suckle on his swollen head, you were rewarded with small, breathless wines.

He decided he’d finally had enough of your teasing when he used his hand to wind itself in your hair. You knew exactly what that meant and took a deep breath, preparing yourself to be pushed down onto him. He did just that, and you took him as far as you could until your nose was nestled in the curls surrounding his hips.

“Swallow,” he commanded. You did as he said, gagging around his pulsing length. However much the pain you were experiencing, the sounds he provided you with were worth a sore throat. He allowed himself to sit in your tight throat for another few seconds before you gagged on him and he yanked you off of him with a lewd pop.

“Fuck,” he heaved. “You’re mouth is like heaven. I can’t wait to have that pretty little cunt on me now. Can you do that for me, baby?” He asked. You couldn’t scramble up him fast enough as you nodded your head furiously.

“Yes, captain,” you purred. He yanked you up to sit on his lower stomach, taking his time in staring deep into your eyes. He wiped the remaining spit that had leaked down your chin and chuckled.

“You know, I don’t know what I’ll do when I’m addressed as captain when I’m back on duty. You’ll be in for it if I get a boner in front of my commanders,” he squeezed your butt hard, causing you to squeal. “I think you’re wearing far too much clothing,” he observed.

You nodded eagerly once more, helping him hastily undress you until you sat on him once more in nothing but your silk underwear and bra. He pulled down the cup of your bra to play and tweak at the nipple.

You whimpered into his touch and couldn’t stop the stuttering of your hips on his hard member. You could feel him hot and ready beneath you.

“I can feel you through those panties,” he smirked. His hand snuck down from your chest to run at you through the silk. He lifted his fingers after a moment to find them slick and shiny. He made sure you didn’t look away as he slipped them into his mouth and cleaned them off. “I haven’t even touched you yet,” he murmured to himself.

“Then get to it, captain,” you smirked to him. Your fingernails trailed lightly down his abdomen, but you carefully avoided his painful, carmine bruises. You leaned forward to pepper kisses on his jawline and sucked lightly at the soft skin of his neck.

“Is that an order?” He teased you by only running one finger over your clit through the fabric. You mewled into his neck, grinding down on the little pleasure he gave you.

“Yes,” you whined. Your hips bucked against his hand, and he chuckled at your neediness. You couldn’t focus on his neck anymore when he slipped his fingers down the front of your panties. Your head rested in the crook of his neck while your hips rode his fingers. A thin sheen of sweat coated your hot skin as he work you.

He started with heavy swipes over your slick nub, and the combination of that while feeling him bare and hard between your thighs was almost too much. You keened harder into him when he finally slid two fingers into your heat. A long moan echoed in the room when he began moving his fingers rapidly.

He caressed your walls, stopping to curl his fingers against a spot that made you loose control. The lewd squelching sound that you produced only encouraged him. His thumb returned to your clit, rubbing quick circles. He stretched you out with his long and thick fingers, a feeling that you’d never grow bored of.

Your head felt fuzzy as your body tensed with the oncoming orgasm. Jungkook felt you pulsing around his fingers, and he slipped them from you. A needy whine slipped from your lips as you slumped over him. You already felt spent, but the hunger of a promised euphoria made you rut your hips over him. His hands held roughly onto your hips to stop your movements and lift you up over him.

“You good?” He asked before continuing. You nodded fervently, your head still in the crook of his neck. You were completely soaked, your juices slowly beginning to trickle down your thighs.

He positioned himself at your entrance, slowing allowing you to sink down on him. The both of you were already so needy and wet that you slipped fully on to him until you bottomed out on him. A high pitched whimper escaped your mouth at the feeling of being so filled to the brim.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you moaned. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you,” you sighed. He seemed at a loss for words, his eyes closed and mouth wide open.

“You feel so good, (Y/N). You take my cock so well, honey,” his words came out in shorts huffs. “But I’m gonna need you to move.”

You rested your hands on the backboard again because you were too afraid to touch his injured shoulders. You rolled your hips once and a strangled groan came from Jungkook. He was already so sensitive that one move of your walls around him made his vision blur.

“Keep doing that,” he gasped. His stronger hand did its best to guide your hasty movements.

His length caressed the softest and most vulnerable parts of you, and you never had felt so full before you’d met Jungkook. He satisfied all your needs, your cravings that no one else could.

You moved your hips to bounce on him, setting a beat to a song that only he and you could hear, one that consisted on moans and breathy wines and the loud smack of skin on skin.

He felt you contracting around him and he couldn’t help but thrust his hips upward. You let out a sharp cry as he hit new depths within you.

The pace only increased in tempo. You were too worked up and starving to care about making this last. Jungkook was uncharacteristically loud, letting himself go completely. His loud moans and shiny skin made your womanhood tremble.

He reached between your moving bodies to rub harshly at your clit. Your hips stuttered on his as hot electricity flooded your veins. You struggled to stay upright as the euphoria overtook you.

You clenched around him and your hips sputtered around him, desperately following after your high to ride it out. He took control as your body was consumed with lethargy. You laid over him, pressing wet kisses on his collar bone while he slid you up and down his cock with a strong grip on your ass.

He came a few minutes later after you were shuddering and mewling from the sensitivity of your core. You fluttered around him and your womanhood welcomed his warm cum that coated your walls. He groaned loudly as the intense pleasure seized him, and he still inside of you.

You laid together in a happy haze until he was grumbling about you being too heavy for his bruises. You snuggled under his arm and craned to kiss his wounds. He smiled down at you and brushed back the strands of hair that stuck to your sweaty skin.

“Your eye must be hurting. We didn’t put any ice on it,” you broke the silence.

“Throbbing,” he answered. You sighed and looked up at him. The bruise reached across his temple and down his cheek while his eyes was almost fully swollen shut. Your chest seized at his battered appearance, knowing that just making love couldn’t solve all problems.

“I don’t like when you fight,” your eyes drifted to the cut above his eyes where the butterfly stitches were peeling off.

“I know,” his soft fingers drew patterns in your bare hip.

“But you won’t stop,” you affirmed. He neither apologized nor promised anything.

“No,” he said.

You kissed the corner of his lips while trying to be careful of the agitated split that was healing.

“Remind me to put ace bandages and bandaids on the grocery list.”

This was your normal. You loved him too much for it not to be. You loved Jungkook. You loved every bit of him. Laying with him in the late night after sex glow, you realized that this was your lover’s rhapsody. And that was okay.


Folds in rocks in Crete, Greece

A geological fold occurs when one or a stack of originally flat and planar surfaces, such as sedimentary strata, are bent or curved as a result of permanent deformation. Synsedimentary folds are those due to slumping of sedimentary material before it is lithified. Folds in rocks vary in size from microscopic crinkles to mountain-sized folds. They occur singly as isolated folds and in extensive fold trains of different sizes, on a variety of scales.

Folds form under varied conditions of stress, hydrostatic pressure, pore pressure, and temperature gradient, as evidenced by their presence in soft sediments, the full spectrum of metamorphic rocks, and even as primary flow structures in some igneous rocks. A set of folds distributed on a regional scale constitutes a fold belt, a common feature of orogenic zones. Folds are commonly formed by shortening of existing layers, but may also be formed as a result of displacement on a non-planar fault (fault bend fold), at the tip of a propagating fault (fault propagation fold), by differential compaction or due to the effects of a high-level igneous intrusion e.g. above a laccolith.

Writing Questions

Answering your writing questions. If anyone has anything to add, please feel free to do so! Thanks!

Hello! I have a question and I was wondering if you could help me with it? Exactly how do you make a plot, outline the plot, outline your story, and outline your chapters?

This is a pretty complicated answer because there’s no one way to do it, but I can give you my take on it. First, I would search plot arcs or story arcs, so you can really get a feel for how a story is supposed to flow and what the structure is. If you’re big readers, you should have some idea, but it helps to fully understand that structure.

You should know your plot, important scenes, and how your story will begin and end. I know people will disagree or have other opinions on outlining, but I like to know the beginning and ending. Personally, I think it’s hard to structure a story if you don’t know these things. You don’t have to know them right away, just spend time thinking about them. How the story begins and ends will sometimes have an influence on the themes and tone of your story. This is up to you. Once you’ve been thinking about those things and feel like you know what you need to know, you can begin the outlining process. For this, I usually do a bullet point outline OR if I’m feeling really motivated, I do a chapter-to-chapter outline. 

 Knowing your characters will really help bring your story together because they are the driving force behind your novel. It’s not necessary to have everything detail planned out before starting, but outlining does help a lot of writers. Try to include some brainstorming sessions during the writing process to keep your ideas fresh and interesting.

 I always have trouble writing beginnings. I usually just start a conversation with the main characters or plunge it into action.. But that’s boring. Any advice?

I wouldn’t say what you’re doing is boring, I think it depends on the story your telling. There’s this big movement to start in the middle of the action, but that’s not necessarily your best bet.

Something important to remember is that you shouldn’t go right into info dumping in the beginning few paragraphs of your manuscript. Don’t start out by describing your main character, his or her personality, what they’re wearing, and why they’re doing what they’re doing for pages and pages.  It’s better to ease into the answers instead of stating everything right away. That’s what creates tension and suspense. Your readers will want to continue if they’re interested in the action.

So, my advice is to try to think of the best way to get the most important information across without just telling your readers what’s happening. Slow beginnings work, too, so don’t be afraid to utilize them. Just avoid talking down to your readers. It also helps to take a look at your favorite novels and see what you like about the beginnings.

Heyy, I wanted to ask two things if you don’t mind and since I saw you write you’d be answering questions tomorrow. First, I’m having an awful time coming up with last names for a fantasy novel I’m working on (like Game Of Thrones type of last name, Targeryen, Stark and stuff) do you have any advice to come up with those? and also for fantasy, do you have any tips on how to make a new religion from scratch?

When I have trouble coming up with names, I usually do a search for greek or latin names and go from there. Those names usually have a base we’re all familiar with and it helps me build new ones. Try exploring different cultural options, if it fits your novel, and go from there. Those should at least give you some ideas. Sometimes just messing around with different sounds will help you come up with something. Have a brainstorming session!

A lot of religions have similar structures, so try researching what’s already out there. Game of Thrones actually does a good job with this because the world still does seem to revolve around religious aspects. There are several different religions and they all have a purpose in the story. Do a lot of research and jot down ideas, so you can build your own.

Hi! I was wondering about your thoughts on offensive language in writing fiction. It has a purpose to the story to show the abusive nature of the relationship in question and also that particular word having a stronger effect on her than just being called ‘fat’ or 'lazy.’ However, it is language that I PERSONALLY find very offensive especially as a woman and would never use. I’m wondering if this could turn off readers or be found over-the-top. Thanks for the advice!

If it works for your story and it has impact, I think you should do it. If you’re showing an abusive relationship, for example, some people really say horrible things in order to keep their partner feeling low. However, you don’t need to go over-the-top, because your readers will understand what’s happening. They’ll know that it’s an abusive relationship, so you won’t have to keep reminding them to the point where it’s hard for the reader to take. You should be able to find a good balance.

Hi Kris! I’ve just discovered your blog, and I think it’s fantastic! So straight to the point, the question: In my stories there are always very few characters, like four or five main characters (or less) and a few more secondary characters. It must be a psychological thing or somethig, but I don’t really care about the reason. I don’t think it’s a bad thing. In your opinion, what things are to be taken into account when you have few characters? Thanks in advance!


Well, let me start off by saying that I don’t think four or five main characters is considered not having a lot of characters, but I get that you don’t have a massive overall cast. And that’s perfectly fine! I think it makes it a bit easier because you don’t have to keep track of everyone and usually every character has a significant purpose. My advice would be to make character sheets for every character, since there aren’t too many, and really spend time figuring out what each of them wants/needs. Really get down to the nitty gritty of your story before you get started. There should be more than enough material to write a great novel, so getting organized is sometimes you’re best bet. This all depends on your writing style, but it usually works for me!

Any tips for writing when you have a hovering deadline?

Writing with a deadline looming over you can be difficult, but it forces you to really organize your writing time. I think some writers have trouble reaching their deadlines because they feel like they need hours at a time to write. Try to find time during the day, even if it’s only 10-20 minutes a time, to work on your novel. It might not feel like a lot of time, but it truly adds up. Also, after each writing session, take some time to plan your next day of writing. You’ll waste less time trying to figure out where you’re going and you’ll be less likely to get stuck. Keep motivating yourself and keep getting excited about your novel!

How does one decide what pov to use during a scene?

I think you should decide on the POV before you even start your novel because it shouldn’t keep switching around, unless that’s your intention. Try to keep a pattern to it if that’s the case. For example, if you’re switching POV from character to character, try to do it in alternating chapters. If you get this pattern all squared away before you start writing, you shouldn’t run into many issues when determining POV.

-Kris Noel

I’m honestly just sorry I can’t be what you need right now. I’m sorry I don’t have the patience to wait and see if you’ll want more than just someone to fill a space someday. I’m sorry I pretended to be okay with just going with the flow, I can’t flow, I need structure, and that’s a me problem. I’m sorry if I pushed for answers; I’m sorry I wanted to be more when I knew you didn’t.

I just need to get these thoughts down.

Via( @indiesoundwaves )

Grammar & Style: Improving Sentence Flow

Anonymous asked:

I really enjoy reading your posts, and I find them really helpful. I looked through your master list for a blog post related to good writing ‘flow’, but I couldn’t find one, so I decided to ask here. Do you have any tips for kind of weaving your sentences together so that they just fit together and keep the story going? A lot of my sentences right now, I feel, are kind of disjointed and clunky, like you’re trying to shove two mismatching puzzle pieces together. Any ideas how to improve my flow?

There are a few things to keep in mind when trying to improve sentence flow:

1) Variation in sentence length is important.

One of the quickest ways to ruin sentence flow is to structure your sentences the same way over and over again. For example:

Mary woke up and felt sad. It was morning and still dark. She sat up and stretched out. The wood floor was icy cold. (6/6/6/6)

Sentence length should vary to keep things from sounding so robotic:

Mary woke up feeling empty and sad. It was morning and still dark, so she sat up and stretched out. Her toes curled as they touched the icy cold wood floor. She wondered if she’d ever wake up feeling warm. (7/13/11/9)

2) Vary patterns.

Try not to start and end your sentences the same way over and over again:

Mary went to the window and looked out. Mary noticed the car was missing from the driveway. Frank must have been up very early. Mary shook her head and decided to go downstairs.

Most of the time, a simple rearrangement or change in wording will solve this problem:

Mary went to the window and looked out. The car was missing from the driveway, so Frank must have been up very early. Drawing the curtain closed again, Mary shook her head and decided to go downstairs.

3) Clarify your meaning.

If your sentences wander or if you repeat the same information over and over again, the flow is interrupted:

The clock chimed six times as Mary came down the dimly lit grand staircase. It was six in the morning so the house was still dark and sleeping. The servants were not yet about at this early hour, but they would be soon.

There’s too much being repeated here:

- the clock chimed six times / it was six in the morning / at this early hour
- the staircase is dimly lit / the house is still dark
- the servants were not yet about / the house is still sleeping

If you try to condense some of this information, the sentences will flow better:

The clock chimed six times as Mary came down the grand staircase. The house was dark and everyone was still sleeping, but the servants would be about soon enough.

4) Don’t stress about sentence structure overly much in your first draft.

If you’re writing your first draft, try not to focus too much on sentence structure. You should certainly try your best to make your sentences flow, but don’t obsess to the point that it impedes your forward motion. Improving sentence structure is one of the things you’ll focus on when you revise your story after it’s finished. When you focus on revising sentences after the story is already written, it frees up  your brain to think more about mechanics and less about the story itself. The more stories you revise, the better you’ll get at sentence structure, and the more apt you’ll be to structure them better during the frist draft.

5) Practice makes perfect.

If you’re a newer writer and your sentence structure isn’t perfect, don’t panic. Keep trying your best to create sentences that flow really well, but be patient with yourself. It really is something that gets better with time.

6) Try reading your paragraphs out loud.

One of the best ways to hear what’s wrong with sentence flow is to read each paragraph out loud. Sometimes you’ll even find yourself correcting the structure as you read, because very often what looks right to us on the page is instantly offensive to our ears. ;)

Writing Process: First Drafts Suck

Anonymous asked:

I am 90% done with my first draft. I’ll probably finish it today or tomorrow. The thing is, I read it all over again, and it’s shitty. Like, not as good as I thought it would be. Is the first draft supposed to be that bad? How can I tell if it’s fixable?

All first drafts are shitty. And anyone who says otherwise is fooling themselves.

Think about this: first drafts wouldn’t even exist if they were meant to be perfect. There would be no such thing as drafts. It would just be, “Look, I wrote a story!” Good writing is comprised of many different elements, like flow, sentence structure, word choice, description, proper mechanics, cohesiveness, etc. Writing in drafts allows us to focus on different areas in each draft. The first draft is simply about getting the story down on paper. It’s about dipping your toes into your world and getting to know your characters, and if you don’t know what your story is going to be about, it gives you the opportunity to see where it goes.

So, short answer: yes. It’s totally normal for first drafts to be bad. The only way to tell if it is fixable is to dive into your second draft. Fix the things that you know need to be fixed and tighten the story up as much as you possibly can. When draft two is done, you might think about finding some beta readers or a critique partner if you don’t have one already. They can give you some vital feedback about things that aren’t working or otherwise need to be fixed. Then you do another revision taking those things into account. Finally you can start to polish it up, tighten up the writing more, eliminate errors, etc. Read my post about Drafts for more help. Frustrated with Writing Quality may also be useful. You also might want to check out my master list of posts for more that should help you with your writing. :)

my favorite thing about roleplaying bill is his speech pattern and sentence structure




Writing Exercise: Fixing Grey

What follows is a challenge I gave myself to re-write the first chapter of E.L. James’ murder thriller “Grey: 50 Shades of Grey From Christian’s Perspective”

The goal was to make the text less bad, less creepy, and less boring without changing the overall flow and structure. Specifically I refraind from making changes to the spoken dialogue unless absolutely necessary.

Additionally there’s a poetic justice to re-writing something with roots so firmly planted in fan fiction when the author vocally despises fan fiction and tries her damndest to root it out.

I hope you enjoy Chapter 1 of “Fixing Grey”

A commotion at the door brings me to my feet as a whirl of long chestnut hair, pale limbs, and brown boots tumbles headfirst into my office. Instinctively I laugh at the slapstick, though instantly regret it, embarrassed for us both. I hustle from my desk to help her up, but clear, embarrassed eyes meet mine and halt me in my tracks.

They are the most extraordinary color, powder blue, and guileless, and for one moment, I think she can see right through me and I’m left…exposed.

She has a small, sweet face that is blushing now, a no doubt stressful day made all the worse.

“Ms. Kavanagh. I’m Christian Grey. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?”

Her blush deepens as she collects herself and her things from the floor. She’s quite attractive—slight, pale, with a mane of dark hair barely contained by a hair tie.

I extend my hand as she stutters the beginning of a mortified apology and places her hand in mine. Her skin is cool and soft, but her handshake surprisingly firm.

“Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Grey.” Her voice is quiet with a hesitant musicality, and she blinks erratically, flustered from the spectacle. Unable to keep the amusement from my voice I ask who she is.

“Anastasia Steele. I’m studying English literature with Kate, um… Katherine…um…Miss Kavanagh, at WSU Vancouver.”

Truly she looks all the part of the bashful, bookish type, her slight frame hidden beneath a shapeless, large-knit sweater, an A-line brown skirt, and utilitarian boots. She looks nervously around my office— everywhere but at me.

How can this young woman be a journalist? She doesn’t seem to have an assertive bone in her body. She’s flustered, meek, submissive, none of the bravado and cockiness typical of fresh young journalists, self-assuredly polishing shelf space for that first Pulitzer. I begin to ask her to sit, then notice her discerning gaze appraising my office paintings. Before I even register I’ve started, I find I’m explaining them. “A local artist. Trouton.”

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” she says dreamily, lost in the exquisite, fine artistry of Trouton’s work. Her profile is delicate—an upturned nose, soft, full lips—and in her words she has captured my sentiments exactly.

Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.

It’s a keen observation. Ms. Steele is bright.

I agree and watch, fascinated, as that flush creeps slowly over her skin once more. As I sit down opposite her, she fishes some crumpled sheets of paper and a digital recorder out of her large bag. She’s all thumbs, dropping the thing twice on the Bauhaus coffee table. It’s so obvious she’s never done this before it’s amusing. On perhaps any other day I would find such amateur behavior grating, but now I hide my smile beneath my index finger and resist the urge to set the recorder up for her myself.

When it’s finally ready, she peeks up at me through her bangs and bites down on her full bottom lip. There’s a spark as our eyes meet, my smile grows, despite my desire to maintain professional decorum.

“S-Sorry, I’m not used to this.” She stutters, breaking the gaze.

“Take all the time you need, Ms. Steele.”

“Do you mind if I record your answers?” she asks, her face candid and expectant.

I chuckle. “After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?”

She blinks, her eyes large and lost for a moment, she begins to stammer an apology, though her mouth curls with a smile of her own at the tease.

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes, for the graduation issue of the student newspaper, as I’ll be giving the commencement address at this year’s graduation ceremony.”

Ms. Steele blinks once more, as if this is news to her—and she looks disapproving. Hasn’t she done any background work for this interview? Ms. Kavanagh seems to have thrown her friend to the wolves.

“Good. I have some questions, Mr. Grey.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I thought you might,” I say, with a chuckle, teasing again. Internally I chastise myself. It’s unprofessional to flirt with an interviewer, amateur or not, but the entire meeting, from her stumbling entrance onward, has left me on the wrong foot. There’s an absurdity to it all, and it’s difficult to take it seriously.

As though sharing my thoughts she pulls herself upright and squares her small shoulders. She means business. Leaning forward, she presses the start button on the recorder and frowns as she glances down at her crumpled notes.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?”

A dull, boiler-plate question. I trot out my usual response about having exceptional people working for me. People I trust, insofar as I trust anyone, and pay well—blah, blah, blah…But Miss Steele, the simple fact is, I’m brilliant at what I do. For me it’s like falling off a log. Buying ailing, mismanaged companies and fixing them, keeping some or, if they’re really broken, stripping their assets and selling them off to the highest bidder. It’s simply a question of knowing the difference between the two, and invariably it comes down to the people in charge. To succeed in business you need good people, and I can judge a person, better than most.

“Maybe you’re just lucky,” she says quietly.

Lucky? If only she knew just how much in this universe is ordained by little more than pure luck. But that’s not the public face. Luck is terrifying, so we must pretend to be masters. I roll out the old standards, hard work, drive, ambition, vision, and the American Dream. Precision, discipline, and an unwillingness to settle for second.

I quote the words of Andrew Carnegie, “The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.”

“You sound like a control freak,” she says. Is she teasing me now?

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele.”

That attractive blush steals across her face, and she bites her lip again. I ramble on.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself, in your secret reveries, that you were born to control things.”

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” she asks in a soft, soothing voice, but she arches a delicate brow with a look that conveys her censure. She is definitely teasing me now.

“I employ over forty thousand people. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

Her mouth pops open at my response.

“Don’t you have a board to answer to?”

“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” It’s a lie. Well, a partial truth. Grey Enterprises Holdings has no board, but Grey Enterprises Indonesia, Grey Enterprises Development, Arc-tel Communications, each of a dozen smaller arms, each an isolated and insulated corporation, they have boards, and I sit on each one. But image is everything, and few images are quite as potent as that of the young billionaire ruling like Caesar.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?” she continues.

“I have varied interests, Miss Steele. Very varied.”

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” I laugh. The phrase is comically unprofessional, but she looks at me again with those ingenuous big eyes, and I find myself easing into it. What do I do to chill out? Sailing, flying, I rattle off the typical hobbies of the wealthy, though it’s impersonal and I’m left feeling like I’ve avoided answering the question that was asked.

She rolls through the questions given to her by Ms. Kavanagh, disappointingly rote questions about business and philanthropy, my reputation as a private man, and much of the earlier playfulness drains from the conversation. I find myself wishing she’d break from script again, wishing that we could converse rather than interview. I wonder what her own answers would be. What does Ms. Steele do to chill out?

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle—Carnegie’s: ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control—of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?”

I pause. An interesting question with a curious framing. Despite the almost half hour of rote questions I’m disarmed. It’s easy to be in her presence, and I want to be honest with her. Looking her in the eyes, those wonderful pale blue eyes, I nod, “I want… to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

My answer seems to have evoked some curiosity, her head has cocked to the side, and she lets my words hang for a moment. A smile on her lips, she opens her mouth and inhales as though she were preparing to follow up. To my disappointment she seems to change her mind and her eyes return to her script.

“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

What the hell!?

I cannot believe she’s said that out loud! She appears to be equally mortified by the words coming out of her own mouth, but it’s too late to put them back in.

The mood whiplash hangs like a ringing in the ears after a bombshell, as I debate answering. I could, and perhaps should, end this right there. The question is not only invasive, it’s insultin.

Slowly I answer, “No, Anastasia, I’m not.” I furrow my eyebrow, as I try to suss out where, exactly, such an inappropriate question came from.

“I apologize. It’s, um…written here.” She’s in a borderline panic.

Are these not her questions? I ask her, and she pales, like an animal caught in the headlights. My chest flushes with sympathy; what a miserable day this must be.

“Er…no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh— she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

“No. She’s my roommate.”

No wonder she’s all over the place, Ms. Kavanagh didn’t just throw her to the wolves, she coated her in sauce before hand.

I scratch my chin. Despite the offence there’s something endearing, something genuine, in her reaction.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” I ask,

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” Her voice is soft.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Andrea appears.

“Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please tell them to start without me.”

Andrea gapes at me, looking confused. I nod at her, sure of myself. I trust things won’t crumble if I’m absent for one status update. I hire good people

“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she says, turning and leaving.

The room is still heavy as the glass door shuts. While it was open the distant sounds of the building, the clatter of people, expanded through the room. As it closes we are plunged into a silence that we were both tensely aware of. The faux pas has changed the air of the room. It’s tense, ashamed, yet… honest? Intimate?

I’m the first to break that silence, “Where were we, Miss Steele?”

“Please, don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” As I lean back and press my fingers to my lips, her eyes flick to my mouth and she swallows.

“There’s not much to know,” she says, her blush returning. I’m intimidating her. I exhale, leaning into the chair, hoping to set her at ease.

“What are your plans after you graduate?”

“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”

“We run an excellent internship program here.”

She looks surprised, and her teeth sink into her lip again with an endearing predictability.

“Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” she replies. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” I’m confounded by her response. She’s flustered again as she reaches for the recorder.

Shit, she’s going. Mentally I run through my schedule for that afternoon—there is nothing that won’t keep.

“Would you like me to show you around?” I ask, eager to keep her here, eager to smooth things over. I don’t want her to go, not with this tension hanging over us.

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to Vancouver?” I glance out the window. It’s one hell of a drive, and it’s raining. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” My voice is sterner than I intend. She fumbles with the recorder. She wants out of my office, but I don’t want her to go.

“Did you get everything you need?”

I ask in a transparent effort to prolong her stay.

“Yes, sir,” the words are quiet, her eyes cast down. “Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.” She says, peeking up again through her bangs, looking me in the eye. There’s a tension in the moment, sudden warmth rushing through my chest.

I realize I’m not breathing.

With a clumsy inhale I respond “The pleasure’s been all mine.” It’s the truth. Awkwardness, and boredom included, I haven’t been this engaged by anyone for a while. She stands and I extend my hand, eager to touch her.

“Until we meet again, Miss Steele.”

My voice is low as she places her hand in mine. I barely know her, but I don’t want to let go. I swallow.

“Mr. Grey.” She nods and withdraws her hand.

I can’t let her go like this. It’s obvious she’s desperate to leave. Inspiration hits me as I open my office door.

“Just ensuring you make it through the door,” I quip.

“That’s very considerate, Mr. Grey,” she says, the tension relaxing at last.

I smile behind her as she exits, and follow her out. Both Andrea and Olivia look up as we walk into the foyer.

“Did you have a coat?” I ask.

“A jacket.”

I motion to Olivia and she immediately leaps up to retrieve a navy jacket, passing it to me with her usual precision.

Hmm. The jacket is worn and inexpensive. Ms. Anastasia Steele should be better dressed. I hold it up for her, and as I pull it over her slim shoulders, I touch the skin at the base of her neck. She stills at the contact.

Strolling over to the elevator, I press the call button while she stands fidgeting beside me.

The doors open and she scurries in, then turns to face me. She’s more than attractive. I would go as far as to say she’s beautiful.

“Anastasia,” I say, in good-bye.

“Christian,” she answers, her voice soft. And the elevator doors close, leaving my name hanging in the air between us, sounding odd and unfamiliar, but sexy as hell.

I need to know more about this girl.

“Andrea,” I call as I return to my office. “Get me Welch on the line, please.”

As I sit at my desk and wait for the call, I look at the paintings on the wall of my office, and Ms. Steele’s words drift back to me. “Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.”

My phone buzzes. “I have Mr. Welch on the line for you.”

“Put him through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welch, I need you to find me a phone number.”
Take me to church || Gabriel and baby (hunter au)

It was strange, adjusting to human life. He had lived among the humans for quiet some time, he knew the basics but he had never felt what they had. He had never been human. Well that’s is up until a few weeks ago. Michael ruled that there was no place In heaven for a traitor of an angel. What that choose to live a lie rather than help his family.

He was lucky that the Winchesters and him made up for his past mistakes o assholery. He really did count himself lucky, with out those two he was sure to of wound up in the streets. His places all faded for existence with out his grace constantly flowing to keep the structure secure.

He decided with this curse something good should come out of it. So it took a lot of persuading, but he managed to flak them into training him to be a hunter. He might as well make himself useful. He was a fast learner. Took down a wolf on his first ever hunt. He was proud of that, but it didn’t distract him from the body that raged in his body, he needed help being human, something he never really tried to do.

Gabriel sighed to himself, curled up on Sam’s bed and breathing in the sweet scent of the human, purring softly at the safety it offered him. He looked up hearing the flutter of wings fill the room. He looked over to the girl and cocked a brow. “Um..have we met before?” He asked. “Your that chick sam and Dean keep talking about aren’t you?” He asked, tilting his head at the other. “What did they say your name was..brandy? Barbie? I don’t know some B name” he said, sitting back o the bed.

“If you are looking for those two mutton heads, they are out at the moment.”

Having the Courage to Go Beyond, is the act of letting go and allowing your life to enter into the spontaneous dynamic of free-flow. That means less structure, more trust, believing, and taking life as you find it, rather than trying to force it into a preconceived pattern and getting angry when it won’t allow you to jam it into a corner in that way. In the dynamic, exhilarating world of the Infinite Self, you’re flying blind. It has no limits, so it’s bound to carry you to unfamiliar ground—and that is what makes this whole process so fascinating. The journey from ego to spirit entails resolving the paradoxes of this human existence.
—  Stuart Wilde