writing beginnings

Writing 101: The Ultimate World Building Answer Sheet

I know a lot of you are budding writers, and I know a lot of people put world-building up there as one of the toughest things to do.

Below the cut is an EXHAUSTIVE list of questions that, as a writer, you should be able to answer. By the end of the book, unless information is privileged for plot reasons, your readers should be able to answer a lot of this too (some stuff is more plot-specific). A big part of world-building is just making sure you are aware before you begin writing it, and you can drop hints in here and there as throwaways and descriptions.

This is not character building, so much as world-building and information you can use to build auxiliary characters that aren’t necessarily mains in your story. This list is based on sci-fi/fantasy for the most part, in non-earth worlds.

I’ve tried to arrange the list into some kind of order, but if you just sit down and write out an answer to each question, i promise you’ll find it helps you later on. You don’t need to specifically answer each question within your story, but just sitting down and writing it all out, even if you already KNOW your setting, might really help solidify your vision down the line.

Apologies to those on mobile who are subjected to the full list :)

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Writing Friends on Tumblr!

I’m curious about something: what does your writing process look like? Can be for phics or otherwise, but I want to know how you sit down and get them words out! Do you do it all in order? Do you write the scenes that stand out to you first, or find it necessary to lay all the groundwork–e.g., you can’t write out of order?

I ask because I recently discovered that I’m a bit of a backwards writer. On a small scale (within chapters) I’ll pick out the scenes that interest me the most on a particular day, and write as much of those as I possibly can, but I’ll do it by writing out the the most important, climactic moment, and then go sentence by sentence backwards for a little ways; then I’ll go to the beginning and write a bit there, so I have some sort of exposition for the scene; then I’ll go to the spot right after the climactic moment and write forwards for a little ways until I get stuck or reach the end of the scene, and go back and fill in the spot between the beginning and the climax. I only started doing this recently, but it’s drastically increased my productivity.

I never even thought about writing this way for most of my life, which made writing a very verrry slow process, because if I ever got stuck I would just stop. In my mind I was like ‘writing out of order will only mess up the story! I have to wait until I get the perfect idea, and then I can go on!’ But overall, I’ve found that for me, scenes feel more like big puzzles, and if I know what I want to accomplish I can work with the little pieces and put them in different places, and the fact that it keeps me moving is good for my motivation & makes me keep working until I finish. 

This is just a method that I’ve found works for me (and tbh, I think it works so well because with my current project I’ve thought about it for so long that basically every scene is already like a little ‘movie’ in my brain) but I’ve been thinking about it and now I’m curious about how y’all write! In order? Out of order? Upside down on a bunk bed? This doesn’t have to stick to the constraints of what order you write in either, any little quirks about the way you write that you’ve found to work for you, I wanna hear ‘em! @spooky-mormon-hell-dream @rienerose @littlelonghairedoutlaw @phantom-of-the-keurig @phantom-of-the-fand0m @ literally anyone else who has anything to add, I want to hear! :D


A messy little comic where Yuri finds out he’s really dumb.

Part 1/Part 7/Part 9

Guys… I said this was the last part but i was so wrong… get ready for the gay in part 9 (aka the end)

This was the year that I realised that people can care for you and be true friends to you and yet leave you abruptly. This was the year I understood that sometimes people miss you every second of every day and yet never say a word to you about it. This year I gained more than I lost.
This year I got something I would cherish forever, lost something I would lament for a long time. I realised just how important it is to find and listen to good music.
This year I spent a long time thinking that things will never get better, and this year I saw things get better than they ever had been.
This was the year I lost a few friends and gained so many more.
This year I experienced things I never have before. This year I learned something important.

And here’s to a new one.

I never liked sleeping with other people. I would get too hot or my arm would go numb and I would inevitably pry myself away and retreat to my own side of the bed. I never liked sleeping with other people until you fell asleep holding me as if I was a priceless treasure that someone might try to steal from you in the middle of the night. I still wake up periodically throughout the night but now I wake up to your kisses on my shoulder and I briefly realize how happy I am before drifting back to sleep. No, I never liked sleeping with other people but then again, I’ve never liked any of those people as much as I like you.
—  Letters to you (7-21-2015)

anonymous asked:

The new New York Times piece titled "And Jesus Said Unto Paul Ryan" is a masterpiece

Before I launch into this, I want to state up front, this is not directed at you, anonymous. Thank you for thinking of me, and the article is a funny read. 

But I also read the article on the train to work this morning (before I ever got this ask) and it has been bothering me all day. I thought about it at lunch. It niggled at me during my healthcare policy class, because the Social Security Act is boring and so was the view out the window. And on the train ride home, I went huh.

I don’t give a fuck whether Paul Ryan is a good Christian. 

I was surprised too! But it turns out, I don’t give a fuck whether any of my elected leaders’ policies are consistent with their professed Christianity. I don’t care whether their policies are consistent with my or anyone else’s Christianity. If the Second Coming happened tomorrow, and Jesus came down on a cloud and handed me the ACA replacement bill, I would still want to see the Congressional Budget Office report about it.

It’s fun to condemn our political leaders for hypocrisy. (God knows most of them are, and so deserve it.) But at the same time, I feel like we keep circling the same fallacy—”well, you know Ryan and his ilk aren’t real Christians; real Christians would [insert political viewpoint here].” It’s a fun fallacy! You pull it out at parties and it gets you off the hook entirely. You might be a thing, but you’re not that thing, so it’s all okay!

The problem with this is that…..well, real Christians are, and have. Real Christians have had slaves or been complicit in slavery, they’ve started wars and genocides and simony and scandal. Real Christians had a vested interest in the oppression of women and the conversion of all people on earth to Christianity. Real Christians killed Jews and Real Christians killed Muslims and Real Christians in the US today have decided to continue that 2000 year unbroken tradition of hate. Real Christians scream outside of abortion clinics. Name it, Real Christians have done it, or been complicit in it. You can’t divorce the words of Jesus from the bits of history or politics you don’t approve of—or at the very least, you can’t pretend as though “Real Christianity” is a totally separate animal, innocent in comparison with its ugly political cousin.

At the end of the day, the Christian Bible has been used to both support and condemn all sorts of political activity since….before the ink of the canon had a chance to dry. And I’m sure that in two hundred years, there will still be thinkpieces arguing that the senator isn’t a real Christian, because a real Christian would have issued a statement welcoming the sentient moss of Zebble-gor to Congress.

But I don’t like it. Because—well, because we’re not a theocracy. Whether someone is a good Christian or a hypocritical Christian is irrelevant. Our elected leaders need to be good leaders. Full stop. They should be guided by honesty and innovation and civic-mindedness and compassion and intelligence; they should be ethical and make choices with integrity, take their position and its obligations seriously, listen to their constituents. If those qualities come out of their commitment to Christianity, that’s fine! But they don’t have to, and I don’t think it’s productive—even within the Christian community—to go back and forth about someone’s religiosity.

I don’t care if Paul Ryan is a good Christian. He can settle that one up with our Lord and Savior when the time comes. But he’s the principal sponsor of a frankly shitty piece of legislation, which offers significant federal savings at the expense of poor and elderly individuals. 

And that’s the sin I’m not ready to forgive.

2017 is really what you make it.
Don’t sit around and expect life to come and bless you, because life is a dependent variable. Life acts right after you do because you centre it. You are the independent variable.
What do you want your life to be? Do you want it to be artistic, romantic, beautiful or just simply worth living?
Then get out there.
Earn your blessings.
You can’t “get lucky”. No one gets lucky. It’s hard work, determination, the decision to change.
Be a better person. Swallow your pride. Be nice. However, take no crap from anyone.
Lets forget about 2016.
Let 2017 be the beginning of our legacy as a generation.
—  because the date can’t change who you are, but you can
He wasn’t your first kiss but the way his lips pressed against yours made you forget about the childhood kisses behind trees in parks now torn down. He would pull fibres of skin off your lip to see the deep red of your blood, the deepest of red could only match his heart. Leaving small paintings around your neck and collars of collisions of purples, blues, and reds. His hands wrapped around your legs above your knees. Hold you against the wall, your body being small could feel cement scrape with bone. It hurt you but not as much as he was going to hurt you. Hiding away on walks around lakes that were never there until someone decided they were going to create art. He would show you his poetry, write endless lines about you but you failed to respond to simple messages from him. He would look down to his shoes with shyness. But still take you out, shower you with sweet and salty treats until you were of full content. You were hiding from your mom in movie theatres because you wanted to know what it was like to make out like they did in the movies. Sit in back for no one to see lips pressed against each other, hands on chests digging into skin, leaving scratches and pinks lines. Melting into burgundy cushions, soaking them in your love. His flesh would be under your nail beds and would chip the little nail polish you wore. Out in the mall he would tell you that even in yesterday’s outfit you’d look like the only girl in the world and even in thousand dollar fabrics you’d look like the only girl in the world. His pitch black hair would fall in front of his. You would smile as you pushed it back to see the person that would drown you in love. His smile was crooked, angled to the left, was one you would day dream about. He dressed up for you, head to toe wearing the finest for you. You loved his suits although you’d only seen him once with a blue shirt and black suit that engulfed you into the night sky. Now every time you look into the sky you see his silhouette made by stars and the face on the moon as him.
—  Your love can’t be found behind stairways.
meeting you was the opposite
of the big bang;

here i was, a universe of my own,
full of stars and stardust swirling
around me like a tempest of creation,
so full of everything a girl 
could possibly dream of and yet,
somehow, empty,

too spread out. i’ve always wanted forever
at my fingertips without
fear of spreading myself
too thin.

but now, for all of those grandiose
dreams of extending into eternity,
you have condensed the world into
a single point: namely, the one
where my lips meet yours;

can’t you see what you’ve done to me?
you’ve taken a galaxy of a girl and
given her something to collapse into.
and now i am a single point of singularity,
of infinite possibility, only waiting for
you to set me alight.
—  creation in reverse | jocelyn
To Hear Destiny Calling

(In which I finally begin writing that story idea about the girl with hearing loss, a magical quest, and an unfortunate lack of hearing aids)

It was a perfectly normal night. Livvie was slumped into her bed, soaking in a new book, taking a sleepy sort of happiness from having taken her hearing aids out after a long day — like pouring all the synthetic, grating sound out of her head, shaking it out of her ears like water.

It was a perfectly normal night, except that a glowing purple portal had opened up in the corner of her bedroom five minutes ago, and she’d been huffily ignoring it ever since.

It’s just my imagination, Livvie had told herself, aiming the thought pointedly at the softly humming portal, in case that would help. No weird magical shit going on here.

She focused on her book. Through the softness that was all sound without her hearing aids in, she heard the portal cough, politely but purposefully, waiting to be acknowledged. She raised her book higher so it would block her sight.

This went on for a another few minutes, then the portal let out an indignant huff and a flash of bright violet light that grabbed Livvie around the waist like a cosmic octopus arm and yanked her in, ignoring her protesting yells of “What the fuck!”

The portal did not care for rude language, or for slightly magical teenagers who ignored the very polite callings of their destiny. Unfortunately, it also did not have a good enough grasp on humans to know that some of them, if they were to complete quests with their highest possible potential, really ought to be wearing their hearing aids before they are sucked into magical alternate realities.

Sometimes magical quests just go to hell before they’ve even begun.

(To be continued tomorrow!)

She's Not Okay

I knew she wasn’t okay
 I saw it, heard it, felt it
She wasn’t and isn’t okay
 And I know it 

I knew she wasn’t okay
When she started spurting lies
Saying she already ate
Saying she wasn’t tired
Saying she was just cold
Saying she was okay 

 I knew she wasn’t okay 
When her body went weak
She would shake under weight 
She would get sick after half a meal 
She would lose breath when people stared 
She would “accidently” hurt herself 

I knew she wasn’t okay
When her eyes lost their shine
Her eyes caught things that weren’t there
Her eyes had bags from nights of no sleep
Her eyes began to flicker in fear
Her eyes would always be full of tears 

 I knew she wasn’t okay
When she lost her control
She’d scream and cry in frustration
She’d punch her body till she bruised
She’d squeeze her wrists when the pain grew
She’d starve herself when the scale grew 

I know she isn’t okay
Because I know her
But more so
Because I am her