Hey Everyone, I Know It's Going To Be A Busy Day For A Lot Of People, But Google Enrolled Everyone Over

Change.org

Sign the Petition

Let Readers Read: An Open Letter to the Publishers in Hachette v. Internet Archive:

Please sign this petition. Almost all of the 500k books that they removed are actually no longer in print and inaccessible to many.

The publishers did not care about those books in the first place but they did this anyway because they have vendetta against open access.

Writing Snippet #4

He’d recognized her. Of course, he had, the fool. When her shadows and reflections had changed, he had simply clasped her hands in his, more scarred than when they had parted. With shadows lingering in his eyes that pumped vengeance in her blood, he had gestured her over to the back, welcoming her home. Home, Home.

Your drunk father burnt down your house when you were a little girl. You cough up dollhouse plastic from time to time. It smells like your mother's garden where she is buried. When you chase down a bottle of Jack, smoke roils in your lungs. It still smells like your mother's garden.

Okay, this never happens. I just sat down for a solid 3 and a half hours and wrote a fic from start to end in a draft format that closely resembles mid-draft as opposed to first draft. My concentration never wavered.

I’m afraid

"Stop saying 15 year olds with weird interests are cringe, they're 15" this is true however you should also stop saying adults with weird interests are cringe because who gives a shit

Hello🤗❤️

I hope you are well🌹

Can you help me get my voice heard

and share my family's story?🙏🏻

Can you Reblog my pinned post from my blog or donate 10$?

By helping to reblog my story, you could

save a family from death and war.🌹

Thank you very much🌸

🕊️❤️🌹🙏🏻

Done! Everyone please donate if you can.

male entitlement in academic spaces is so boring. can’t tell you how many times i’ve been in a class and a girl gives a short, insightful analysis, and then a dude raises his hand and says “jumping off of that…” then says literally the same thing she said but longer and worse.

10 WRITING GOALS PICK A GOAL & PASS IT ON

Obligatory if you don't want a goal either because you don't think you'll do it or because you have one that works for you, then this post isn't for you just ignore or reblog for someone else ^_^

These range in difficulty because I wanted there to be something approachable for everyone

1: Write 200 words everyday

2: Write 400 words everyday

3: Write 500 words everyday

4: Write 50 words everyday

5: Write a sentence everyday

6: Write one paragraph everyday

7: Write a chapter every week

8: Write 1k words every week

9: Write a short story/one-shot every week

10: Write a short story/one-shot every month

I did my best w/ these, again you don't gotta do any if either these are still too big for you [I get that !!] Or if you have a bigger/smaller goal that you do that works for you [or if you simply write better when you don't have a daily/weekly/monthly goal in mind]

My personal daily goal is 200 words a day, which I've been doing the past few days successfully, but who knows if I'll be able to keep it up, but ya know - still good !!!!

The Moon Singing on Homely Nights

The moon sings softly on the nights Esther climbs in through her brother’s window. These nights turn sparser as Amador stays in his new apartment across the country. During these nights, her heart beats in a lulled pace while she sits on his empty bed. 

There’s a soft click as she unlatches the window and when she crawls in, she makes sure to land on her toes. She finds more than just her older brother. She doesn’t know what she’ll see or what she hopes to see. When she’d last seen him, he’d slammed the door, tears streaking down his face and voice hoarse from screaming. She still doesn’t have the full pieces from the fight that led to her father’s roaring voice startling their home into silence and the unusual pitch of Amador’s voice as he walked out the door. 

She opens his bedroom door to see if he is in the living room or spending his time in a library. She hopes he’s found a library he likes here despite all that has transpired. 

Amador’s head is lolled on the couch, his mouth parted and dead to the world. His body is slightly tilted with one arm around his childhood friend, Maya’s sleeping form who was hugging her brother’s waist. The ugly green blanket Esther had gifted him as a joke is bunch around their feet as if kicked. There’s Snakes n Ladders, playing cards, and Candyland strewn across the table. 

Maya had always filled Amador’s head with ideas—little fantasies that didn’t include Esther most likely that he could escape into. Frowning, she steps forward, fully planning to yank the woman out but the floor creaks loudly under her feet. They both jolt open, Amador’s shaking his head and Maya drags her hands across her face to remove her hair from her mouth, scrunching her face. 

When Amador turns around to face the source of the sound, he finds her face and gives a dopey smile. ‘Hey, you’re home. When d’you come here?’ 

This is the first time she heard him call this place home, and a little piece of Esther’s heart cracks as if he’s renouncing the family home. Something vicious crawls onto Esther’s tongue as she bites out, ‘Thought you’d know that you’ve not succeeded in getting rid of me yet.’ 

Milas flinches as hurt flashes across his face, and in an instant, Maya grips his arm. Esther can never guess how Maya knows that while still keeping her piercing gaze fixed on her.

‘I don’t want to get rid of you,’ Amador says in confusion before letting out a shaky laugh, ‘no matter how annoying you are, you little rugrat.’ 

Esther should ideally know that. She doesn’t have the full pieces of the fight he had with mom and dad, or the unfamiliar way he’s glancing at Esther, still wary but now distant. Even in the moonlight, she can see the color back on his face, the surety of his movements as he tidies up the table and the blanket to give Esther a place to sit. 

When Maya flicks on the floor lamp in the corner, his eyes crinkle at Esther and he pats the seat next to him. His cheeks are no longer sallow, his face no longer as pale as Esther, and he no longer sways in a way that makes Esther worry that a faint breeze could have knocked the husk of a rock her brother used to be. 

Her brother had been wasting away for months, and Esther had not noticed. 

From the corner of her eyes, Maya walks in with two plates balanced in a tray and slides the biggest portion of what looks like heated leftover lasagna to her brother, glancing warily, as she reminds him, ‘You’d promised you’d eat tomorrow nine hours ago. It’s 12:03. Eat up.’ 

She offers another to Esther as she leisurely nibbles on peanuts to keep her brother company. Her brother makes a little face at the size, and Maya produces a bar of chocolate in her fingers seemingly out of thin air as a bribe and chews obnoxiously loud until he drops it. He slouches to rest his head on Maya’s shoulders in acquiesce like Esther had seen him do a thousand times since she could remember, and the woefully domestic scene sours her heart. 

Her plate remains untouched and she nods her head in gratitude for the food and the company. She makes excuses poorly at best and outlandish at worst, and walks out the door. 

One day, she would know the words of the fight and Amador’s dreams if he’d let her, but for now, she takes the earliest train home. As she looks through the window, she sees her mother’s eyes with dark circles underneath. They both have her eyes, but this new Amador’s eyes gleam bright enough to quiet the moon. 

Lots of thoughts recently. Everything feels plastic.

I could go on and on about why all that AI "art" is bad. I could mention theft, lack of creativity, it's impact on the work field and environment, but countless people have already said all that. I wanted to touch on something that to me is the most utterly wrong about all of it.

Art is more than just something pretty to look at or listen to. It's therapeutic. It's a form of communication. A tool for human connection. It's a pure, human need.

Support real artists ☀️