I think I’ve discovered the best way to help beat writers block/get past the first sentence anxiety.

Step 1: take the very base plot of whatever you’re writing.

Step 2: open a new document.

Step 3: write the shittiest, most half baked version of whatever you’re writing that you can. Just fuck that shit up in the most colossal way possible. Take a whole paragraph and boil it down to one sentence that ends with “and then yeah lmao”. Take one sentence and turn it into a huge ramble that has nothing to do with anything at all, just go off the wall. Throw everything you know about good writing out the damn window.

News Feed About Rainbow Bridge Day | Facebook

I saw “Rainbow Bridge” at the top of Facebook’s trending and was like ??? so clicked and WOW this is fascinating.

So if I’m getting this right, Web 1.0 online pet fandom worked up this mythology of a nonreligious anteroom afterlife where your dead pets hang out and play and wait for you, then a year ago the Cat Writers’ Association 2013 Friskies Purina Writer of the Year riffed on it to turn her cat’s deathday into a sort of Pet Day of the Dead.

And it started as a 900-member Facebook event last year, and this year it’s getting 48k impressions and in that feed there’s pretty well done-up fan graphics getting people hype for it, and there’s memes, like

and I could really, really see this catching on.

I had so many things I wanted to tell her.
I wanted to tell her how jealous I was.
I wanted to tell her how hurt I was.
Just so many unspoken words and thoughts, but I couldn’t say them to her. I couldn’t face her and speak these thoughts.
It was because of that fear that I never got the chance to say the one that was important.
I couldn’t tell her….
I Loved Her..
—  M.C.A.

Irène Némirovsky (24 February 1903 – 17 August 1942) was a French novelist who died at the age of 39 in AuschwitzNazi Germany-occupied Poland.

“Adieu,“ he said, "this is goodbye. I’ll never forget you, never.”
She stood silent. He looked at her and saw her eyes full of tears. He turned away.
At this moment she wasn’t ashamed of loving him, because her physical desire had gone and all she felt towards him now was pity and a profound, almost maternal tenderness. She forced herself to smile. “Like the Chinese mother who sent her son off to war telling him to be careful ‘because war has its dangers,’ I’m asking you, if you have any feelings for me, to be as careful as possible with your life.”
Because it is precious to you?“ he asked nervously.
Yes. Because it is precious to me.” 

“what exactly are you supposed to be?” seokjin yells over the music, plastic red cup in hand and desperately trying not to knock anyone over with the ridiculously large pair of black feathery wings taehyung had painstakingly attached to the back of his leather jacket.

hoseok grins at him, tail swaying in time with the bass beats vibrating the entire apartment. “what do you think?” he yells back, one hand coming up to play with his artfully styled hair.

seokjin rolls his eyes and downs whatever it was that was in his cup. “it’s a halloween party, you’re supposed to dress scary. not cute!”

too late he realises what he said and freezes, as hoseok’s smirks, “you think i’m cute, hyung?”