writer this

anonymous asked:

Do you have any short writing prompts to get in the mood for continuing a book?

Wooo Yeah! Let’s do some inspiration and shit. I don’t know what your book is specifically focusing on so I don’t know what prompts you want, but here’s a list of good things that probably wont help, yay:

  • Reread, the whole thing or just the last paragraph
  • Add a love part
  • Add a conflict part
  • Add another character
  • Add a new scene
  • Change your characters point of view of or original intention
  • Give your character an urge to go forward with something
  • Make your character guilty
  • Make your character want something
  • Add a rival
  • Bring back a rival
  • Make your character greedy
  • Make your character drunk on power
  • Give your character a side kick
  • Make your character hate the side kick at first
  • Give your character a huge problem that they can only solve with the help of their rival
  • Give your character something they honestly don’t need at the minute
  • Tell your reader a cute past time of your characters
  • Give your character conflicting emotions
  • Write a flashback or bad memory of a characters
  • Give your character a hobby or particular talent
  • Make your character seem really stupid, them not realising how clever they actually are
  • Describe something in precise detail
  • Leave your character on their own. Literally, leave them to their own thoughts and make your other characters leave them alone for a while
  • Take away something vital that your character actually really needs
  • Give your character a nice big dose of heartbreak
  • Give your character someone to loathe
  • Make another character betray your lead character
  • Kill a character off (I honestly know how heartbreaking it is, but do it)
  • Give your character a form of emotional or physical pain that they have to deal with
  • Be kind to your character every-so-often, they’re probably alright people in reality ;)
  • Give them a new look
  • Give them a revolution
  • Don’t be afraid of rewriting parts, you can totally do that

I don’t know man, you’ll probably cry with how shit this is, but personally it’ll probably come in handy when I get stuck next time! Thanks for the ask and good luck with the remainder of your story, I hope it turns out how you want. Lots of love, from Yasmine xox

Shit, sorry I didn’t realise how long this was… :/

“I haven’t signed anything.”

“I hate you.”

I read this fic by @byakurangesso and i am suddenly cured. all my problems have disappeared.

ah I know yall are salty but I’m gonna list the things I liked about season 2 cause I’m trying to be Happy and filled with Positivity™

  • Pidge being super smart
  • “Shiro, you’re like a brother to me”
  • the mall episode
  • teenager Coran
  • that Shallura Hand Touch
  • two bros chillin in the hot tub five feet apart cause they’re not gay
  • matt holt is a free man
  • this:

“So what?” he challenged her. His eyes were demanding — he was searching for an answer.

“So maybe I fell in love with you without meaning to,” she said. Her voice was level, her look was fierce. She was frustrated. She didn’t usually express her feelings out loud. She didn’t know how to address them. “And when I’m around you I can’t help it anymore. I realize how drawn to you I am. I realize that I’m gonna end up with you no matter how hard I tried to fight it. I see our happy ending unfolding in front of us. So that’s what, you big dummy.”

His eyebrows relaxed and a smile spread across his face. He knew better than to acknowledge her profession. She would only take it back. So instead, he poked her side. “You’re the dummy.”

—  excerpt from an unfinished book #139
we have been told to be seen and not heard for far too long
we have been pushed aside and spoken over
ignored and disrespected 
they told us not to “let politics get in the way of relationships" 
they told us to "get over it" 
they told us to "stop bitching" 
they told us that "feminist” was a bad word 
the red of our anger has been bleached and bleached until it was pretty and pink
the traumas we have experienced has been sold back to us on tote bags and t-shirts
they told us we were asking for it
that our bruises were our fault
that our assaults were our fault
they took away our basic human rights
and they forced us to sit back and watch as they tried to shrink us
and even then
they still manged to kick us while we were down
and then they tried to tell us that we are the problem
they have tried to pit us against each other
to make us think that we are our own enemy 
they told us that we were weak
that we should be silenced
they have tried to silence us
but not anymore 
because now we are taking back what we deserve
we deserve to be given equal pay for equal work
we deserve to break through the glass ceiling
we deserve to be able to love freely
we deserve to be able to walk the streets without harassment
we deserve to express our religions without being hurled abuse
we deserve to be able to take a piss in public
we deserve to be able to trust that our drinks won’t be drugged
we deserve to be treated as equals
we deserve to be respected
we deserve to have our lives matter
we deserve to move forward, not backwards
we deserve to fight
and now we will fight
now we will make our voices heard and if you try to drown us out we will speak louder until you understand
now we will show you just what strength really is
we will show you just how brave we really are
we will show you what being a woman really is
we will show you that to be a woman is nothing to be ashamed of and we will not let anyone force shame on us anymore
we will show you that being a woman is not defined by what is in between someone’s legs
but by what is in their head and their heart
and now
now we will stand together –
cis women
trans women
nonbinary women
women of color
disabled women
mentally ill women
abused women
scared women
young women
old women –
women all over the world are standing together
and standing up for us
and now
now we march
—  march
(cc, 2017)

it’s a beautiful thing, the silence, and the way it expects nothing in return. because the silence can’t talk back with a sly tongue and sharp insults and broken promises. the silence can’t steal kisses under the moonlight only to give them back in the breaking of the day. the silence can’t hold my hand under the table only to snatch it back when i run my thumb against its warm skin. the silence doesn’t have a temper and a mouth to match. the silence can’t storm out in the middle of a fight, slamming doors and shattering glass without a second thought. the silence can’t shout and scream and tell me that it doesn’t love me anymore and maybe it never really did in the first place. you see, the silence can’t claw my heart out of my chest, leaving me broken and bloody in a heap on the ground, but you can. and you did. and so the next time someone asks why i prefer the solitude, i’ll make sure i start with the story of you.

e.s | silence speaks volumes

long after the dregs have gone, the slat remains, their presence permeating throughout the dilapidated building, secrets waiting to be discovered.

there are rickety old floors with cards fastened between the wooden slats, the queen of heart’s beady eyes tracking every movement. crimson gambling chips veiled in spider webs are gathered in the corner and deep impressions have been left in the drywall—the frame of broad shoulders, a cavity in the shape of a skull, a fist that missed its mark. mold crawls out of these gapings, blooming around the droplets of blood that have gone black and crusty.

wanted posters torn at its corners, ripped from someone else’s walls to be brought here, are bespeckled with holes across the faces, someone’s target practice.

up the sunken stairs there’s an office, small hills of ashes that used to be paper, a lingering stench exuding from the charred leather bound books that refused to melt. a rumpled handkerchief can be found, a crow and a cup embroidered into it. storage chests have been flipped over, matchsticks scattered across the floor, crooked lines carved by a sharp blade permanently etched into the desk—a secret, a memory, an honoring: rietveld.

but there’s also the unmistakable outline of footprints parting through coats of dust and small rings in the shape of the end of a cane. a daunting realization that someone else has been there recently.

She sang to me.
And her voice is as angelic,
as she seems heavenly.

She sways to rhythms of
my heart’s beat; harmonizing
to chords she’s struck within me.
And though she might not know,
she plays music with my heartstrings.

I am enamored.
For she sings to me.
And it is I, she sings for.

But she grows tired of this song.
Our melodies, clash in key at times.
Her fingers are rough when she
tries to tune me to her liking.

Though she is too high for my range.
Her tempo too quick for my counting.
I am enamored enough to let her.

—  “Willing Instruments” remnant-thoughts
But what if it doesn’t work out? What if something goes wrong and for once, you can’t fix it, and you’ve spent all your time on something that’s doomed to fail in the end?”
“I guess I never thought of it that way. Loving her…it’s just second nature now. It’s a part of who I am. And even if we screw up, that part will still be there. I won’t stop loving her if we don’t make it. So I don’t think it really matters if we last. Every moment I get with her is worth the risk.
—  from an unfinished story #558

the fearful thoughts
that dim
his lonely heart
i wish i could
forever replace
to leave instead
the sweetest trace
of my gentle kisses
inside his mind
to fill with light
that he just might
trade all the lies
saved behind his eyes
for my dreams
that dance
and long
for a chance
may our future be
he can see
this possibility of us
his new


if i can say one thing about watching shows/keeping up with series during the time that it’s being produced, its that ya’ll have to trust the writers.