words and writing

The skin that you are in is beautiful. You don’t have to be lighter. You don’t have to be darker. You don’t have to lose your scars. You don’t need to hide your stretch marks. You don’t need to wear make up unless you like it. There is no addendum or asterisk to that statement. The skin you are in is beautiful. Period. End of.
—  Nikita Gill, The Skin You Are In

“No amount of stars,” he tells her, “can distract you when you have fallen for the moon.”

“And you,” he continues,

“My dear, are my one and only moon.”

—  Lukas W. // Forgotten Words #166 // Only moon

in Fall, we rejoice in the shedding of the old, thanking our pasts for shaping us into better versions of ourselves.

in Winter, we bask in the end of the year, reminiscing on how much we have changed and how much we will continue to.

in Spring, we bloom with the flowers, making way for the new and saying goodbye to that which no longer serves purpose.

and in Summer, we fall in love, eyes twinkling with the promise of fresh potential, hearts aglow like the daytime sun.

what up it’s the return of ‘any words is winning’

some useless writing tips, as we carreen into NaNoWriMo

  • november is a shitty month to do a writing challenge unless you are a college student or a white man with a wife. ponder that one for a fuckin second
  • that said, ten minutes writing, five minutes resting a la Nanowrimo works pretty good for getting a bunch of words out to edit later.
  • if you need to look something up [[double bracket it]] in the text and keep on with your life
  • [[double brackets]] in general are great for putting shit into that you know will need to be dealt with later or notes about the story itself, which is a writing tip I first learned from Piers Antony and which I suppose justifies his entire shitty oeuvre. I shouldn’t talk, I read a lot of them. I read a lot of Robert Heinlein too, and the takeaway I think I’m going for is “squeeze what you can out of shitty white male writers and ignore them for the rest of your life”
  • highlight shit you know has to be dealt with later and keep writing so there’s a later to deal with it
  • a joke is much funnier if you let the reader do half the work.
  • never apologize, never explain - well, explain a little. but over explaining never works. trust your readers. in my experience they’re much smarter than you are. 
    • if you say things in a straightforward way without explaining that unlike in real life, a hoodorwooflersten is entirely unlike, but not quite, like a horse that acts like a dog, and allow the reader to figure out through context that a hoodorwooflersten barks but you can ride it, things go much much smoother.
  • don’t be ashamed of your old stuff, no matter how shitty. practice makes perfect, and someone probably enjoyed it. respect your past self and them.
  • read a shitton, and think about what you read
  • done is better than perfect. done is better than perfect. done is better than perfect. 
  • writing, like drawing and painting, is an artistic skill made possible by technical training. the mechanics of writing can be learned. maybe you can’t be taught the spark. but you can learn to be ready for it
  • you gotta write a lot of shitty stuff to one or two good stuff. I’m sorry. It’s dumb. I wish it didn’t work like that.
  • There is One True Writing Method, and that is the one that works for you. 
  • If it doesn’t feel good don’t do it
    • not like, bunnies and sparkles good, artistic good. there’s a difference. you can be moaning and bitching but it’s still good. I don’t know how to describe it. you have to chase the high.
  • it works pretty good to have a goal of writing so many words (anywhere from 1 - 1000 is a pretty good ballpark) or time spent wrting per day but if you don’t make it it’s terribly counterproductive to beat yourself up about it
  • unless you are paying the bills by writing, it’s okay to take a break from writing. Go hike. play a video game. if it doesn’t give you joy (sometimes a hard angry joy, to be sure) stop doing it. rest.

“And when it is said to them: "Make not mischief on the earth,” they say: “We are only peacemakers.” - Quran verse ( 2:11)
Hate doesn’t just happen. War doesnt just happen. It’s the ones that pretend to maintain peace while attacking, ensalving, and bombimg innocent lives.

Jack’s Betrayal

Bitty sobbed, “I can’t believe you! How could you do this to me?” He glared at Tater. “How can you let him do this?”

Tater shuffled his feet nervously, too afraid to look at Bitty.

“We are all human. Cannot help it.”

Jack tried to place a consoling hand on Bitty’s shoulder before thinking better of it.

“Bits, I’m so sorry.”

“Store bought pie! And not just any bakery bought pie! I’m gone for one week and you buy pie in CVS, and your precious Falconers just go along with it. How did artificial sweetener and failure taste like, Tater?!” Bitty spat out.

“We spoiled, of course we not like it as much as yours!” Tater hurriedly assured Bitty. “But we are human, and pie is pie.”

“Bits…” Jack tried to placate Bitty again, but was rebuked.

“Fine! Since all pie is pie then Jack can get all of your food from CVS! Maybe he’ll feel fancy and try Kroger cakes! Y'all better really enjoy that because I’m making nothing!” Bitty stomped off.

“Noooo!!! Zimbonni, what are we going to do? No more pie!” Tater cried out miserably.

Jack’s ears reddened, but otherwise there was no change in his expression. “Come on, he’s my boyfriend. I’ll find a way. Maybe. There’s still some frozen pie at home if everything fails.”

Tater’s mouth dangled open. “There was pie?! And you not share it with us? You give us fake pie and have Bitty be mad at everyone but it is okay with you because YOU still have pie at home?! You are dead man walking, Zimmboni.”

Jack shrugged.

[i come out /in the garden, /reduce myself /in your sun; /while you resemble /holi, dampish cardamom, /kissed by a

stranger /beneath your /lungs—reincarnated /into my veins, /you are, metaphor for /ursa minor, my /wetland tongue]

Depression is a grave. It buries every thought, every person in it. The real me is buried inside it too. I can’t get out, I am stuck. Nobody can help me now. I am dead.

You didn’t even give me a chance, you let me drown in my sea full of doubts and when I reached for your hand, you just pushed me down further.
—  giulswrites