writing about writers

Talking with writers online

Their stories: Amazing grammar, soaring vocabulary, beautiful imagery and prose which flows like a river.

In chats: no capitalisation or punctuation, swears like a sailor, misspellings everywhere, acronyms and abbreviations every five words, idek

I know everyone’s always talking about Bucky having a mass freak out when he finds out all the dumb shit Steve’s been doing while he was gone but at the same time I feel like the next time Steve jumps out of a plane with no parachute every single other avenger is gonna freak out while Bucky’s just standing there like

To all my writers out there, particularly fanfic writers because I am one and I’m feelin this hardcore

  • It’s okay that you haven’t written for a while, you can take breaks.
  • You can start writing again whenever you want, you don’t need an excuse.
  • If you would still like an excuse, here it is: I want you to start again, you should totally do it.
  • It’s ok if you’re out of practice, you’ll pick up traction again.
  • We’re all learners and its good to have role models, but try to be better than the writer were before, and try less to be ‘as good as’ someone else.
  • It’s alright to abandon a piece if you have no enthusiasm or passion left for it.
  • It’s okay to be needlessly dramatic.
  • It’s okay to be needlessly ridiculous.
  • Write the crackfic, write the rarepair, or write the popular pair. Write what you want to write.
  • Yes someone has probably written this scene before.
  • Write it anyway if you want to write it.
  • Yeah that trope has probably been done a million times.
  • Use it anyway if you want to use it.
  • Probably there are people who are tired of reading about that AU.
  • Write it anyway, they don’t have to read it.
  • Respect your audience, but don’t let other people dictate what you create.
  • Reblog your own work. Be proud of it. You deserve to pat yourself on the back.
  • I’m proud of you, you’re doing great.
  • Keep writing, keep making stuff. People will care. 
  • Future you will especially care.

other ya characters: this guy…he’s so dark and mysterious, the way he just hurts everyone around him…including me. i’ve cried so much since i’ve met him, but no no he’s just misunderstood, you don’t understand him! and sure i’ve only known him for 2 days and he has a million secrets, but i’d forfeit my life for his

inej ghafa: kaz is a literal piece of crap. he treats everyone badly, and though he’s never treated me horribly, i still won’t give in unless he shows me he can be more than all of this. until then i’ll be out saving the world because my goals are obviously more important than a relationship

She was romantic, 
perhaps perverted
Love was pouring 
from her eyes
She was too beautiful for her 
own good. 
She was vivid with
her mouth,
and her body
a powerful thing. 
She denied every culture,
and cried holy tears 
to God. 
She was terrifying.
When I would kiss her 
it felt like God
created the world in her mouth. 
I did not know 
how to touch her.
She was a wet woman 
on fire. 
I did not know how the
hell to love her. 
She was too much 
and I hated her for that.
She was too much,
and I loved her for it. 

In her presence I would die.

—  Her Bed Was A Kingdom by Royla Asghar 
Everything in life will either get better, or worse. And for you to get through it, you just have to prepare for both.
—  Lukas W. // About life
I can’t remember whether or not I love you.
That’s the funny part about it. I remember everything you said to me, everything we did together. Nothing escapes me now; memories of you and I laughing together, me crying on your shoulder, and us smiling at the stars hold tight to my mind. Part of me still daydreams of it. Part of me wants to forget you exist. All of me knows that’s impossible.
Maybe I can’t remember because my body doesn’t want to go through that pain again. The feeling of being ripped away from you sent me into a constant state of self loathing and fear of abandonment. I still don’t forgive you for that much.
I lay here, staring at the sky and all of its lights as though they’ll give me the answer I’m looking for. Nothing will, though. I’ll never get the truth. The question’s been buried too far into my soul, my psyche, my everything.
Now I wonder if you still love me, too.
“I don’t like reading at all, but I love to write!”
To put this in more perspective: love and hate sit on opposite ends of the same spectrum.
So yes, love and hate are the same thing. Passion
You give him the love you’ve been dying to receive. You give him the words you constructed and carefully crafted your whole life for yourself just to make him feel the warm breeze of your embrace. You give him the air left inside your lungs even if you know you cannot get enough of it beneath the crowded walls to support your own life. But that’s how you know you love someone—you give them everything you’ve always been dying to have.
—  an excerpt from my upcoming book, Cher Ami

(Zimbits, AU, 3.7K, click “read more” for the whole fic.)


Thanks. You can put it on the counter in the kitchen.”

That had been Jack’s first mistake.

It wasn’t so much the words he said, but rather the fact that he’d said them in French.

However, to Jack’s credit, he had been in the middle of revising a chapter when he’d heard the knock on his door, and the fact that he hadn’t had any caffeine yet due to the broken coffee maker had thrown off his entire morning.

He had been expecting Georgia, the lady he rented the cabin from, to be standing on his door step. However, instead of the landlord, he got a blond guy with wide, brown eyes staring back at him.

There was a sort of gurgle of surprise and a nervous giggle from the other guy for a moment before he blurted, “Hi, I’m your new housekeeper!”

Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything in his confusion. Francine, Georgia’s wife, usually stopped by once every couple of days to tidy up the place, but neither of the two ladies had mentioned anything about a new hire.

Jack must have been lost in thought for a moment too long because the other guy took this as a sign that Jack didn’t speak English. “Uh, you know, cleaning?” He mimed a sweeping action and then pointed at Jack. “Ummm, je… travaille pour Georgia?” he said in a truly horrendous accent.

Jack gave an impatient nod of his head.

Je m’appelle Eric or you can call me Bitty. Actually, je m’appelle Bitty,” he said proudly with his hand out.

There was something about the other guy’s candidness that made Jack pause, or maybe he had been trapped in a cabin for too long, but he reached out and took the handshake.

It’s nice to meet you,” Jack replied in French.

And that had been his second mistake.

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I would like to get to know you. I would like to talk to you every day. I would like to know about your interests and hobbies. I would like to know everything about you. I would like to know you. I would like to be friends with you. I would like to be with you.
—  I would like // 12:26am