Heavy heart cradled by aching ribs as I weep softly into the night
Save me save me save me
Gasping for a little taste of peace
As I lay quietly
Wishing I was numb so I could stop feeling every last bit of weight in my heart
The ribs grow weary
She’s here she’s here she’s here
My heart beats
For her
—  A very sad girl’s tired word vomit (e.c)
How People Watching Improves Your Writing

Sensory detail. 

When I was fourteen or fifteen, I liked to draw. I’d look up internet tutorials on how to draw the human figure, and nearly all of them suggested going outside and sketching anyone who goes by. Not only was this relaxing, but I noticed my art style become more realistic over time. I think we can apply similar concepts as writers to improve sensory description. 

How to practice: Try writing down specific details about the people you see. How is their walking gait? What does their voice sound like? What quirks about them stand out as you observe them? Write down descriptions using all of the senses (except maybe taste) and, over time, you’ll notice your words become more lively.


You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to benefit from observation skills. Writing stories is all about noticing connections and seeing the extraordinary in ordinary life. People watching can boost your ability to notice little details and recognize them as important, and it can help you sense patterns more easily.

How to practice: In this case, remember once again that you are not Sherlock Holmes. Don’t assume that you know a person’s life story based on what socks they’re wearing (and definitely don’t try making such assumptions with friends or family). 

Try to take in people who pass by and the small, unique details about them. Notice how they’re interacting with other people and the world around them. Think about why that might be and write down any thoughts or connections that interest you.


Writing first drafts can paralyze anyone. We all know that getting the words out is the first, most important step, but that can feel like torture sometimes. If you’re a hesitant writer, freewriting can help you feel less self-conscious when writing and jot down thoughts or impressions as they come. Other exercises can help you with editing later on, but you can’t get there unless you freewrite.

How to practice: Write down anything that strikes you without worrying whether it’s important or you’ll use it later. I like to focus on one person per minute and during that time, write anything that I find interesting. Once the sixty seconds are up, I move onto another person and continue that cycle as long as I want to keep going. With time, you’ll get faster and may notice that words come more easily.


In the book Stargirl, one of my favorite parts is when Stargirl and Leo go to the park and play a game where they make up stories about the strangers they pass. As they connect together little observations, they create vivid backstories that may not necessarily be true, but that’s not the point. What matters is stretching their minds.

How to practice: Play this game for yourself. Pick a person at random and, piecing together little details you notice about them, give them a backstory. What are they doing, and where are they going (both right now and in the long-term)? Why are they hurrying so quickly to wherever they’re going or walking almost aimlessly along? Don’t worry about getting it “right” so much as creating an interesting story for this person.


Developing empathy as a writer is so important, though not often talked about. If you can put yourself in the shoes of another person and consider what complexities, challenges, and little joys life holds for them, you will create emotionally powerful pieces. People watching helps train your eye to notice those around you more and remember that yours is not the only voice in the world.

How to practice: Remember the definition of the word “sonder:” the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. Look for those complexities. Notice relationships. Notice facial expressions and emotions. Don’t just look at them but see them, and write down what strikes you about them.


When I close my eyes,
I can feel the champagne settle into my bones.
I can feel my fears seep from my pores,
sit on my skin like clothing.
How desperately I wish
you could be here to peel them all off,
to kiss the exposed flesh beneath.
One more sip, and I remember
All the reasons
I’ve made up
why you never can, and only will
within the sun-stained
Daydreams that get me through
these Monday blues.

The cork on the next bottle doesn’t want me to
Pop it off.
It holds fast to the glass,
and the effort I’ve put into ripping it out
feels desperate and sad.
It doesn’t matter anymore;
What’s another drink going to do to me?
Just drown me in all my ugly thoughts,
tear me apart and reveal the things
I love to loathe about myself?
My skin feels heavy.
I swear my bones are made of lead.
Each finger wrapped around my champagne neck
falls limp as everything begins to sink into the couch cushions;
where, oh where, did my heart go?
I can’t seem to feel the beats anymore.

Sometimes, you look around and you realize you’re falling behind, not just according to anyone’s standards in particular but your own, which may or may not have been informed by unrealistic standards set by others but of course that’s just an aside, and so you dwell on what could have been and where things went so terribly wrong and how things could have been different and how you had dreams for yourself and your parents and friends and family and imaginary pets had dreams for yourself but you’ve let them all down, you let down all of your imaginary pets and now they cry at night staring at the moon at how you have disappointed them but the world keeps on turning and you keep waking up to the shitty nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach, wondering suddenly if you should have put periods somewhere in that post on tumblr that one time because god knows how many people you killed that night, fuck all they wanted to do was read a seemingly interesting text post but now you’re a murderer and the authorities are getting onto you because your internet service provider is a snitch and now you gotta run, pack your shit and go motherfucker this is all your fault you killed your hopes and dreams and let your imaginary pets down and killed people on tumblr with a single miserable text post that heavily lacked punctuation and the autopsies show that they fucking ran out of air because you forgot to put a goddamn period you fucking moron what’s wrong with you - don’t answer that, it’s a fucking rhetorical question - but yeah, so you’ve let everyone down and possibly accidentally killed some people you’ve never met in your entire life and - oh yeah, you’re falling behind in life like it’s 11th grade advanced functions and ms kim was a demon but she was nice enough to give you a 51 and then you took that shit in night school and dropped out because you were angry at the world and studied the most thoroughly unemployable subjects in the world and besides america is about to vote in one of two demons and the whole world is going to shit and everyone might die because either one of the two idiots could blow shit up for who knows what reason and now the grounds opening up and sucking you whole and you’re six feet under and you say fuck it.

fuck it. at least the police won’t find you down here.

When I was younger, I remember hearing stories of the one who loved more,
the one who fought harder,
the one who who went through hell to win their lovers love.
I remember thinking these stories were heroic,
that the hero was the one wearing their heart on their sleeve -
but I was wrong.
I grew up being this version of a hero,
loving all the wrong things for me,
watering all these dead flowers in hopes to bring them back to life.
You see, no one tells you that giving people the benefit of the doubt is the same thing as being naive.
I used to think that wearing my heart on my sleeve would pay off,
because those stories I remember when I was little,
made it seem like the happily ever after I always dreamed of.
Nobody tells you that the hero in those stories isn’t the hero at all.
There’s no romanticizing unrequited love,
there’s nothing bold about fighting for someone who doesn’t give a shit about you,
there’s nothing beautiful about continuously letting yourself down because you don’t know how to give up a fight that cannot be won.
I’ve learned this first hand,
that the hero is actually the one who knows how to drop the sword
when the battle has left you too beaten.
That the hero is the one that lets lovers beg for them,
knows how to be distant but soft,
knows the balance of too much and too little.
I only know how to give whole pieces of me,
so tell me, what’s so heroic about that?
I want to tell you the story of one who loved more,
the one who fought harder,
the one who went through hell to win their lovers love.
So let’s start by saying this:
This is not a love story, this is not boy saves girl -
there is no hero in this tale,
but a very broken soul…
One who gives too much, and feels too much, and loses themselves in the battle.
Don’t live your life giving away the best pieces of yourself,
to the girl who will never love you back the way she should.
You are not a hero, you deserve to be the one to save yourself
and to love the girl who knows how to love you back just as hard.
—  You’re not a hero in unrequited love, you’re the victim, (coloringtheworldwithwords)

I want you.
I want you in every sense of the word.
I want time with you,
I want adventure with you,
Hell, I want naps with you–
Friends on Netflix in the background.
I want your hand in my hand,
Your lips on my lips,
My body curving into your body;
We fit together so well.
I want laughter with you,
I want conversation with you,
Dear god, I even want arguments with you
Because it means we’re together
and we care.

So let’s do it.
Let’s make the jump
Take my hand
And love me.
Let me love you.
Because you once said
We could’ve lived a beautiful story,
And I know now that’s the only story
I want to read.

I want to write
A beautiful story
With you.

For You, From the Glimpse.

Hey you.
Yeah, you.
I think it’s time
you heard this, 
not from me
but from words.

Things get tough
in general, generally,
but individually
is less than

A word to me
could be a breath
to anyone else, cosmically
to some, maybe, comically
but to me that word
shatters the cosmos.

No one “deserves” that word.
words just happen
like actions
or past times.

No cosmic balance
turned that word
against me for
decisions made
years yore,
just happened.

Bad things don’t seek out
Just happens.

Like the rain pours
when air cools
and condensates,
it didn’t relate to 
thematic happenstance.
Just happenstance.

Such a word
holds no bearing
on my soul
but the weight I’ve given it
after the wait it’s given me,
for acceptance.

Never needed it,
the acceptance,
it was really within
but it’s still nice to hear
from others.
Better words.

But my words
aren’t like your words,
might be hard to grasp
but they’re mine,
and yours are yours,
perfect that way.

Just enough knowing
between two worlds
to touch and grow
but not too much
to give away the earth

Words will be handled differently,
that’s how words change,
worlds grow,
flowers bloom,
even so
all worlds are solid

So when you feel like
you deserve
that “word,”
like it sought you out
a heat seeker.

Remember that things happen
because they happen
not to keep a balance
but because the balance
is fragile
and sometimes the balance tips
just a little
and it can change worlds.

Worlds, though
are independent
and change independently
with the balance
because worlds are
just words
with the weight
we’ve given.

Do you ever wonder if people wonder if you wonder whether they wonder about you? I wonder sometimes. Okay, more often than just sometimes. It’s just that there’s no sure way of knowing whether sentiments are ever truly reciprocated. Whether it’s a couple of blocks down, or a couple boroughs, or towns, or cities, countries, or continents. There’s no way to tap into someone’s subconscious and know how they actually feel and whether what they say bears any substance, or if they’re just saying it for the sake of saying something, period. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? We never really know. We don’t actually ever know for sure how our friends feel, what our loved ones truly like or dislike about us, whether our laughter or other idiosyncrasies cause our partners to silently cringe a little inside, whether our colleagues truly admire us or would rather sully our name so as to be rid of us for good. We never really know these things, though we may think we do. But the truth is, others themselves may not be fully aware of how they genuinely feel toward us all the time. So we invest ourselves in this silent system of trust, of enduring, of periods of unquestioned tolerance. The same kind of trust we put in drivers (who are strangers) stopped at a red light as we pass in front to cross to the other side, having the faith that they won’t press down suddenly on the other pedal. But faith alone isn’t always enough. Any driver could easily run us down, whether by accident or by design, and the same goes for those around us. Trust, that secret currency among us, an unexplainable faith in people, and the unrelenting hope that we will not be left to go into the dark alone (no matter how much some of us may think they desire or deserve otherwise), is what keeps us going. Inevitably, there will always be a handful of people who care enough to accompany our journey. And hopefully, they, too, wonder.

It's Just Romance 12/2/16

Screw a dinner for two
Who knew that snacks would be more romantic
I’ve got to hand it to myself
I took myself right off the shelf
Cause I got no time for their antics
Their romance is old, mold on an antique
Just a dark road of promises they can’t keep
So listen to the truths My Band reached

My Plan B is unique, it doesnt exisit
I heard ignorance was bliss, and then I put up my fist
We will never understand man, not even the jist
Just stop putting your rules on another’s abyss

…its just romance


Ive tried killing myself enough times to get the hint that it isnt the answer.
I have the extroverted, down to earth, witty act down pat
But I’ve been there, done that.
Bought the ticket, took the ride.
Self harm scars pepper my arms from a past I buried at the very, very bottom of my heart
Along with the things I never told anyone, like the handfuls of pills
And still waking up the next morning
Like the xanax bars and bottles of Jameson
And whole sections of my life I cannot for the life of me recollect.

Some days still
Anxiety kills, and people tell me things and I forget a few minutes later.
Months, almost years here and there
Are repressed memories, gone with the wind
Life’s been like a light switch.
On, off, on, off.

But I watched a video a new fan had recorded
A few weeks ago, when I sang my guts out to a packed house.
It was probably one of my best sets
And I didn’t even hear myself.
I was just escaping my week through my guitar. Breaking another pair of cinderblock shoes, just to shake the sinking feeling. Not paying attention to the notes and the words and the crowd. I was alone that night

And afterwards, I forgot.

But someone didn’t. And they made me remember. And what I remembered was beautiful. And for once, I saw what its like when I introduce beauty to the world. I remember the crying girl. The firm handshakes and “thank you"s
And I remembered what it felt like.
I remembered why I do what I do.
I saw myself in a different light.
I realized my power.

I remembered.

To the young man out there that stays fighting love, I hope the girl that left your heart shattered and closed up with a thousand band-aids twisted round it, never gets the satisfaction of leaving you loveless.

I hope one day you will understand that your love in its own is too much a gift to be hidden. I hope one day, someone, anyone, walks in and reminds you that love truly is worth passing on, from one heart to the other.

I hope that someday, this someone reminds you that everyone deserves that out-of-breath love, at least once. I hope you understand that love is above all beautiful. I hope she doesn’t leave you loveless.

—  @akosuawrites - Catching Love Pg. 87
I'm The Type... (Free Write 7/11)

I’m the type to type my hype when I feel you getting closer
I’m the type to turn off the lights to rub your back, your ass, your shoulders
I’m the type to hold you
I’m the type to scold you if you ever forget your worth
I will always put you first
I will always hold your purse
I will buy your pads, and always ask, “hey, are you hungry?”
I will always be excited to hear you saying that you love me, trust me
I’m the the type to take you out
I’m the the type eat you out
I’m the type to dick you down, to keep on pounding even after I have found it
Thanking God for the reciepe, and blessing me with your fountain, gushing
I will always keep you blushing
This is nothing, this is regular
You’re not my prey, we’re both the predators
You’re my empress, I’m the emperor
And in the bedroom, we’ll raise the temperature
Cause I’m the type to listen
I’m a soldier, you’re my mission
And I’m sorry if this sounds different
But that just means you’ve been missing out
And that can change, if you pick me now
…but hey, you know, still over here being all single and stuff lmao

Start your novel (easy process)

So, in this post I’ll help you through coming up with a story idea, outlining and writing the first chapter. Not only that, we’ll also take an easy approach to every step. If you are stuck for months (or years), today is the day you start! 

Originally posted by letsdiscussaboutsherlock

Let’s divide this process into three steps: Story idea (first step), outline (second step) and first chapter (third step). This is, pretty much, all we need right now. 

Story ideas

With your favorite genre and subgenre in mind, create storylines for the following types of plots. You can either choose one plot at random, or try out many of them until you find a good one. This is just a brainstorm, so be open to craziness. Here are 50 simple plots.

1. Hunting monsters

2. Becoming a monster

3. Going on a journey

4. Poor becomes rich

5. Rich becomes poor

6. Good person becomes bad

7. Bad person becomes good

8. Revenge

9. Rescuing something/someone

10. Story of reincarnation

11. Hunted by group/government

12. Attacking a group/government

13. Free persons becomes prisoner

14. Prisoner becomes free

15. Escaping from enslavement/imprisonment

16. Learning a craft

17. Winning a competition 

18. Overcoming a disease

19. Training

20. Group surviving together

21. Becoming famous

22. Investigation of a mystery

23. Escaping from police/justice

24. Survival games

25. Trials

26. Unrequited love

27. Starcrossed lovers

28. Partners in crime

29. Redemption

30. Becoming a family

31. Growing up

32. Generations of a family

33. Surviving wild/apocalypse/disaster

34. Love turns hate

35. Hate turns love

36. Rivals turning friends

37. Friends turning rivals

38. Love triangle

39. Developing superpower/mutation

40. Groups/rivals at war

41. Finding/going home

42. Becoming human

43. Completing a mission

44. Going undercover 

45. Happiness to tragedy

46. Tragedy to happiness

47. Outcasted

48. Creating an ideology/religion 

49. Opening a business

50. Understanding life

After testing the plots above, choose your favorite storyline.

Originally posted by justalittletumblweed


You’ve managed to pick a plot and a storyline. You already have the hardest part sorted out. Choosing is the hardest part. Now we are developing your story idea. The tip #1 of outlining is…. keep it simple. Don’t try to fit one hundred scenes, and arcs, and fillers to make your story complex. Instead, answer the following topics:  

- How should my story begin?

- How should my story end?

- Define five basic scenes that must happen for my story to go from beginning to ending.

You can either freewrite the answers, or speak to yourself in front of a mirror, or meditate about it. Find your best approach. Once you have the main structure done, you can fill the blanks as you write.

Originally posted by skylerlockerbie

First chapter:

Wow!!! Congratulations. You are awesome. You’ve made through the hardest part. Really. I promise. Because writing is fun. So, here comes the fun part. Starting the first chapter is always a challenge, especially for the perfectionists. So, instead of going straight to the beginning you defined in the previous step, try something different: Start your book before the beginning. One or a few scenes before.

By the time you reach the official first scene, you are already in the flow, you’ll have a certain intimacy with characters, you’ll know them better, not only characters, but also the fictional world and the plot. So, start before the beginning. When editing time comes, you can either delete or keep it.

Originally posted by dailyhappylife

So, are you ready to start??

fight me!
tear my ribs apart
with music.

i am not a product
of anything
which makes you.

in my youth i 
fucked and drank
fearless as a meteor.

and then love,
and love, and love,
and arguments and love,

and then dark came,
you said someone
took away the light

inside of me,
sludge and silt
and nothing else.

well, so be it -
i wear the black shawl
and walk the mourner’s walk.

There is no human being, no soul that will break me into feeling like i am nothing. There might be days of weeping, of struggling to stay afloat and doubts but those days will come and go. I will decorate my words with light, i will wash my soul clean of their darkness. I will laugh again. I will love again. Darling, i will do these things inside the altar of my being. I will heal my wings and slowly learn to fly again. I will clean the mirror and smile at my reflection because there is no human, no situation, no soul strong enough to hate me into hating myself. I will welcome myself home. I will welcome myself home.
—  Ijeoma Umebinyuo, this being is too great, darling

Is this what the end looks like? Does it burn like fire? How did I get here? How I let you in to crash my spirit and take away my self worth? I’ve never spent more in my life than I spent with you. All the time I lost was a loss. Was it worth it? How do I come from this? I can’t keep letting people like you in to shatter me? Have I’ve lost everything I was about? Who was I before you? Before this? I don’t know. I’m old now, when I met you I was young. I don’t believe I’ll ever be friends with someone like you. How can I forgive you? How can I forgive myself? The anger I feel won’t subside. I don’t know how to move forward. How do I retreat? How does the pain go away. Every morning I get up and it is never enough. Was I ever enough? I never thought of what the end would be because I’ve never experienced an end before, only continuing beginning where I was you but this is an ending. This is me restructuring my soul and asking God for grace. This isn’t a poem, this is me asking for mercy about things I do not understanding. Will I ever understand? Will I ever know. I never want to take away the time I had with you but I just ask for my soul back. There are pieces of me that I lost. I know I will never get it back. Love doesn’t feel like this. Love doesn’t hurt.