4. It's always been this way
5. I know you did it
8. While the music was playing...
9. He smiled, hiding the way he really felt
13. Had I just gone mad, or did I really see that?
18. Just let it go
20. The little kid suddenly started screaming
25. She raised her voice
26. I'm serious
29. A dream I had last night
31. A grin
32. We both knew
36. Everyone was dancing, but no one noticed...
37. You can't make me
42. They kept running, though none of them knew...
44. 'When I grow up,' he said...
45. She was the only one
47. Badly written
48. Brand new
49. You ruined everything
50. No way out
51. A parade
52. A contest
54. There were three of them
2. Stolen basket
3. Lovely ladies
4. Gathering mushrooms
5. Judgment of Paris
6. Bright Young People
7. What year is it?
8. Dancing shadows
9. The talk of the town
10. You shouldn't do that
11. I am far gone in age and decrepitude
12. A handful of keys
13. Motivational speaker
14. Who's that at the piano?
15. Tempus fugit
16. To our ancestors
17. Restoring the old ways
18. Premature obituary
19. We're all mad here
20. Just around the riverbend
21. Was that the human thing to do?
22. Vision of a kiss
23. Café in Athens
24. Primal therapy
25. Island angel
26. The jazz age
27. Red and black
29. Gotta do more, gotta be more
30. A pile of trash
32. The final manuscript
33. Figuratively or literally?
34. Third choice
35. Unwavering attention
36. Two actors
37. Why avoid the inevitable?
38. Water under the bridge
39. Pas de trois
41. Are you watching closely?
43. The hangman
44. Did they spare her?
46. Cold stone tiles
Writing is everywhere
I feel like writing is one of the most unseen and perhaps even most under appreciated forms of art these days. Writing is virtually everywhere, yet it's very much overlooked. People tend to think about writing as just the stuff you read in books, but what about blogs and journals? What about your favorite game, movie, show, or anime? What about your favorite comic? Would you even like your favorite character that much if it didn't come with that backstory that made you feel so much for it?
Yes, that's writing. All of it.
As for my own experience; I've always been fascinated by storytelling. I could watch and read anything, as long as it had a good plot and characters I could care about. I think the true skill of a writer is to make (nearly) everything
8. Torn photograph
9. Coffee stain
11. Plane ticket
15. Test result
17. Empty bottle
20. Loose floor tile
25. Party decoration
29. Ferris wheel
32. Measuring tape
34. Street stone
35. Glass of water
36. Wrapping paper
37. Dinner table
39. Swimming pool
47. Garden house
48. Pocket watch
51. Name tag
53. Cheese slicer
54. Bedside table
55. Wilted rose
56. Office chair
57. Hot chocolate
59. Registration form
60. 'Delete' key
67. Roof window
Find a girl who writes. You know it's her because she'll always have a pen and a notebook with her. Occasionally a tape recorder. She's the one who would have as much fun at home on a Saturday night with her computer as she would out at a party.
You see the weird girl sitting on a park bench looking engrossed in watching the people that walk? That's the writer. They watch people, how they act, they discover how people work. All for research. For their next big novel.
She's the girl hunched over a laptop at the coffee shop, or a notepad. Her fingers are moving so fast they're only a blur to you. Her previously fresh-cooked muffin is now cold. Her tea has simmered down to a lukewarm. Sit down. She won't notice you for a moment, she's lost in a different world
She hadn't expected that. "Whatwhat's your name?" he asked. He looked like he hated to even say it, but there was no mistaking the expression in his eyes. It matched the one Robin felt was in her own: hunted. (Also hungry. Robin was not used to missing breakfast, and her stomach was complaining unhappily. But mostly hunted.)
Feeling more kindly towards him, she said, "Robin."
He gave her the barest of nods, and his gaze lingered on her for just a moment. "Okay," he said. Then he turned and began to walk away.
There was a beat before Robin fully registered this. "Hang on just a minute there," she burst out, grabbing his arm. "That's it? You're just going to leave?"
"Of course," the boy said, shaking her off. "Was that not the plan in the beginning? You ask me one question. I answer it. We go our merry ways."
"But I thought " Robin said. What had she thought, really? That he hadn't been serious, of course. That he'd wantedif not a friend, then at least a
If you watch the blogs and various sites around the internet about writing, you've probably seen at least one list that details a few universal truths about writers, but they all pretty much boil down to several actual truths.
All writers write.
All writers procrastinate.
Writers don't actually write, because we spend all our time doing something else.
This probably explains why, in the dark hours of one of the very last days of NaNoWriMo, I'm sitting here writing this, when my NaNo is sitting in another window with a pathetic 31.8k words.
Will I finish by 11:59pm tomorrow? Probably not. Do I care? Not particularly, although I'm sure that there's probably some part of my brain, which has been hardwired in a certain way that will start seriously freaking out sometime around 5:00pm tomorrow night.
Why am I so far behind, you ask? Simple. I told myself that I was not going to do NaNo this year. I haven't written anything since Februa
This was soon confirmed when one of the men threw another onto a table, sending crockery and mugs clattering everywhere, while the surrounding people began egging the two on.
"Over here," Nemi said, pulling him towards the barman, an ugly fellow with dark eyes and very little hair left. He leered at Nemi as they approached, and gave her a condescending snort when they were in front of him.
"Wha' ya want now, girl?" The man asked her, reaching down and beginning to clean out a glass in a dirty pail of water that he had set under the bar.
"Oh, nothing much," Nemi replied airily, gesturing
Calm down, she told herself, so he inherited a nice desk or something. Don't be rash.
Because sneaking into a guarded ship in the middle of the night isn't rash. A rather sneaky voice in her head sarcastically noted.
Nemi ignored this revelation and her trepidation over the desk and began slowly opening the drawers in the sides of the desk, seeing as the top was bare save for a flickering candle and an ornate wax seal. The first drawer she tried opened
The movements of his paintbrush graced the canvas, gliding in the manner of an Olympic Ice Skater. In shades of pale peach he was capturing her face, crushed against the pillow, and perfect. Leah thought she was beautiful. There was a land of milk and honey in her eyes, and he saw it every time she smiled at him, whenever those big blues would light up. They’d spark like a match to dry wood, and then the forest fire happened, a chain effect of blushing and grinning back, the tree not minding that it was flaming as well because it was no longer alone.
The pillow cover folded and sank in, rose and pinched, wrinkled and rippled beneath her rose-red cheek. Her li
it might work, but you still shouldn't do it. It's one thing for movies, where you can simply follow someone's action across the screens. In books, you want the closeness that only seeing the character fall on their face time times just to get it right once will bring.
The stumbling introduction - sometimes, your character stumbles into the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or the right thing at the right time, perhaps, but if you want a good story you should probably make sure it ends up worse for them than it would have otherwise.
Oh, sure, things
Tess Abernathy rolled her large blue eyes at him and sighed. "As much as I absolutely adore my job in data-entry here," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I love your amazing ability to come up with the stupidest ideas ever even more."
"Aw, c'mon, Tess!" said Matt, laughing. "Seriously, though. I had to look this guy up 'cause his address was wrong, and the database says he died at an old address about a month ago, but he's alive at a new address now. Weird, isn't it?"
Tess rolled her eyes again. This was common practice when it came to Matt. "He was probably trying to jump rent or evade taxes or something," she dismissed, glancing at Matt's work before frowning and turning back to her own pair of screens. "Matt, you're doing that thing with your finger again. Would
Six hours and no breakfast later, she was standing on the raked sand of what could have been a sports arena if not for the huge metal gates locking her inescapably into the ring. She squinted into the sun and awkwardly adjusted the borrowed shield hanging on her arm. She was absolutely sure it wouldn't save her. Azarath's goons had helpfully returned her own sword to her for the day, but even its familiar weight couldn't settle her jangled nerves.
Part of the nervousness had to with exactly how familiar the sword was becoming in her hand. Robin was uncomfortably aware that she had what might be called a gift with it. There was a fe
A cat of golden fur fell from a blue, cloudless sky. It landed in a patch of tan sand between a busy hamburger drive-thru and a sheriffs office with black-tinted windows and walls the blank color of baked straw. Its legs bent on landing and it shook itself off. Nothing noticed the cat.
Its fur glimmered brightly in the afternoon sun. The patch of sand had been recently been torn up and abandoned by a failed construction project. A swirl of breeze lifted the top layer of sand and teased it around. The cat blinked against the brush of the wind with its also-golden eyes. It turned its head slowly and peered out at the pressure against its dancing whiskers. It gave a soft meow of satisfaction.
The cat peered ahead of it at the fence of widely-spaced, unfinished wood separating the sidewalk and the patch of sand. It moved quickly between one of the gaps and peered down both ends of the sidewalk and into a street. Traffic was stopped at a red light.
It's a sad little routine by now. I can already predict it: my bus will arrive at my house late. This in turn, will cause me to be late for my first period class, earning me yet another detention I can't avoid because my mother doesnt care enough to drive me to school, or at least let me drive myself.
After first period, about four or five people will nag me for the answers to yesterday's math homework. I guess I should stop there. At least something will be different; I was so tired last night I never got around to it, so they're on their own. Either way, afterward I'll be pretty much ignored up until lunch period, where I'll have to sit with the clueless idi
She can see it, almost taste it, with awful clarity. The way the night air feels on cold skin. The way the glow cubes have faded, casting shifting, obscuring shadows. The way his face looks when he hears their approach in the dark, too close and too fast for any escape.
She has memorized the sound of his voice as he shouts. "Get out," he says, leaping to his feet. "Go!" She sees him set his weapon to his shoulder as if time has slowed. The motion takes years.
She has exactly four seconds to stare at his back--the muscles under the jacket, the thick dark hair that curls just slightly at his neck, the way his knees bend and his arms tense as he braces himself for death.
She can name the moment she cries "No," like a fool, like a sentimental fool who has no place in this game. She can feel the twist o
Elinda and his mother gasped at the cat. His mother fluttered her hand and urged it, Shoo! This isnt your home. Did you leave the door open?
Elinda assured her that shed locked all the doors and wondered if itd found a way in through the basement. Cal watched the cats golden eyes. Its tail flicked about in constant motion. He watched the air around it. It seemed to contort and shimmer, just like with the bracelet.
Disengaging himself from his relatives and the quilt, Cal stood up carefully, clutched Muttsy under his arm, and told his mother, Ill take it outside.
She nodded and said, Be careful. Dont
A lot of writers block cases come just from environment. For example, for a long time my computer was a desktop. Not very portable, right? Well, this meant that if I wanted to do any writing, I had to sit down in the same spot every time and write. I had to deal with the same environment, the same clutter, the same chair, the same sitting position, etc. This doesn't help! So consider your environment. (For suggestions that require moving elsewhere, use a laptop or a good old fashioned notebook with a pen or pencil)
Clean up your workspace. Organize it. Rearrange it. Make it different than last time you sat there.Light a candle or incense, or even freshen up your room with an air freshener. Go in another room. So
My name is James. I'm 17 years old, brown hair, blue eyes, blah, blah, blah. I'm what you would call a stereotypical Australian high school student. At least for now. This is the last week of high school for me, ever. It's only Monday so there's still a bit I have to get through.
Thirty minutes passed slowly. Most of the time I just glanced at my notebook and tried to pay attention, which did not work because I'm so distracted by the classroom window and how beautiful the outside world appears through it. After I lost concentration, I looked up at the clock and tried to work again. This happened every minute until re
After Thanksgiving ended up being such a success, Toki was eagerly awaiting Christmas. He was even fairly certain that Edsel was looking forward to it, at least a little. He knew that the gift giving portion of the holiday was causing the vampire some stress, but otherwise he seemed to be interested in everything else that came along with it. He had definitely warmed up to the idea of holiday movies.
So theyre toys that nobody wants? Edsel asked as the two sat curled up on the couch. Throughout December the two spent every night watching whatever movie was on.
Yeah basically. See, theyre all on this island and-
Howd they get on the island? And how do they know that nobody wants them? Are kids really that particular that they wouldnt like a Jack in the box all because its name was Charlie?
She lived on the fourth floor, room number four-three-three. It was a room into where the moon liked to shine. On nights like these, when she didn't feel like doing anything and Gray was off on another of his last full shows, she liked to sit where the moonlight was brightest and watch everything fall into half-shadow around her.
Tonight, the moonlight favored the terrace.
She trod barefoot onto the cold cement of the open terrace.
It was a small place, some would call it cramped while others called it cozy. She was never good with words. Everything in her world was an outline, a picture, a silhouette that didn't need to be described; it simply was and there was no need to make existence any m
Anyway, I hate Thanksgiving. I promise I dont actively try to hate things that other people love; Im not emo just for the sake of being so. I mean, I do enjoy the feast (maybe Ill explode someday) but I have nothing to really be thankful for. I mean, I dont terribly care for my family. On these family get-together holidays, I typically try to remain as far from everyone else as I can. Yes, Id opt for reading or listening to music all day over sitting with the people I li
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
Edsel grumbled and attempted to burrow under the blankets to avoid his roommate. Tired!
Ill make coffee! Cmon wake up! Toki bounced around on the bed, poking at the vampire ruthlessly.
Ooh master of one word sentences! Whats the next one going to be?
Toki laughed and continued harassing his roommate until Edsel finally sat up. His hair was a mess and the side of his face had a nice imprint from the pillow case, which caused Toki to laugh even more. I hate you, the vampire grumbled.
In the most loving way possible, I know. Now come on grumpy butt its Christmas!
Edsel grabbed his elastic band from the night table and worked on pulling his mass of hair back. Toki Im over a hundred years old and