If You’re Shrouded In Writers Block And Desperately Want To Shoo It Away To Keep Going With Your WIP,

It will never not be frustrating to me that amputees appear in fiction ALL. THE. TIME. and yet they're almost never acknowledged as such. The Cyberpunk genre is especially guilty of this: amputees and prosthetics becoming a normalised part of life are a defining part of the genre/aesthetic and yet no one even consults with any amputees about how we get represented there. Most writers in those genres don't even consider that giving your characters cybernetic arms and legs means they're an amputee.

CW: Ableism, dehumanisation

This makes it REALLY uncomfortable to engage with stories in the genre because another common aspect of cyberpunk is the idea of losing yourself and becoming something distinctly not-human anymore because you have too many cybernetic augmentations/implants. Shadowrun even has mechanics for this, which state if you get too many prosthetics, which is what cybernetics are 9 times out of 10, your character becomes a monster. These mechanics and discussions surrounding "how many robot bits make you not human anymore" are really, really uncomfortable when you remember this isn't something that's unique to a far-off future setting. Those people you're discussing the humanity of already exist. They're called amputees. If you reframe the question as "how many amputations can you have before you stop being a person" I hope you can see why an amputee like myself is not going to feel safe around you or in your fandoms.

And it's a shame, because I REALLY want to like Cyberpunk. I really, honestly do. I love the aesthetics, I love the idea of big corporations being the villains and the anti-capitalism at the heart of the genre, and I love the idea of prosthetics being not only destigmatised, but desirable. When written from a disability-inclusive lense, it honestly has the potential to be an incredibly uplifting and empowering genre. but as the genre stands right now, it's actively hostile to the very folks who are usually the stars of its stories: amputees, all because people just refuse to acknowledge us.

Cyberpunk isn't the only genre guilty of this, it's common all throughout sci-fi as a whole, but Cyberpunk is the only one where it starts becoming a serious issue due to its rampant dehumanisation of a real group of people. In other sci-fi settings, it's just kind of annoying and while it can be a form of erasure, it's not usually harmful, just...frustrating. Fantasy does it on occasion too, think pirates with a hook and a peg leg, but nowhere near as much.

If you, as an author or creator, use any of these words to describe a character or their tech in a sci-fi setting:

cybernetics/cybernetic enhancements

bionics

robot limbs

cyborgs

augmentations

You are probably writing an amputee. Please, at the very least, acknowledge it, and be mindful that those are real people who actually exist, not just a fantasy group you can speculate about.

I should be able to both read for 8hrs a night and sleep for 8hrs a night. That I cannot is very rude and, frankly, poor design.

write the story only you can tell, because you aren't the only one who needs it

get up and go write.

write for the people who will one day pore over the words you've chosen.

write for the people who think you could never have gotten so far.

write so you can bring words to life.

write so one day you can look back and see how far you've come.

write to inspire people who are too afraid, or who cannot, put words to paper.

write, because if you don't create this, who will?

and if anything, get up and go write for yourself. there's still so far to go. take a break, breathe, but go back. there's still so many things to share.

It’s great for doing a lot of writing and losing touch with reality tho. 10/10 would recommend

Currently doing an Insomniac's Gambit. For those of you who don't know, this is when you mess up your sleep schedule badly enough that you attempt to fix it by skipping an entire night of sleep then going to bed at a reasonable hour the next day. Crucially, it does not work

Writing Grief Without Romanticizing It

Grief is raw, messy, and deeply personal. It doesn’t follow a neat arc or fit into tidy narrative beats. While stories often use grief as a dramatic device, romanticizing it can cheapen the emotional reality. Writing grief authentically means embracing its discomfort and unpredictability, not sanitizing or idealizing it. 

What Romanticizing Grief Looks Like

Characters who seem emotionally wrecked but always manage to look graceful in their suffering.

Overly articulate monologues that sound more like a eulogy than a real moment of loss.

Depictions of grief as a singular, cathartic event instead of a long, jagged process.

Romanticized Grief:

“Every day without you is like a piece of me fading away into a tragic, beautiful void. I’ll carry this pain forever, for it’s all I have left of you.”

This might be poetic, but it lacks the authenticity of how most people actually process grief.

Realistic Grief:

“I forgot your birthday. I didn’t mean to, but when I remembered, it was already too late. And then I hated myself because forgetting felt like erasing you.”

Writing Grief Authentically

1. Show the Physical Toll

Grief isn’t just emotional—it’s physical. Insomnia, headaches, exhaustion, or even the inability to move can be part of the experience.

“She woke up in the middle of the night again, choking on the air. Her chest felt like a cinderblock had been wedged inside, heavy and unmoving. It was three days since the funeral, and she still hadn’t slept longer than an hour.”

2. Let Grief Be Messy

Grief isn’t a perfectly linear journey. There’s no logical progression from denial to acceptance—there are setbacks, breakdowns, and even moments of denial long after healing has started.

“He yelled at his mother for throwing out the cereal box. ‘It was his favorite,’ he said. She didn’t remind him that it had been expired for months. She just handed him the trash bag and walked away.”

3. Avoid Glossy Sentimentality

Sometimes grief isn’t poetic; it’s ugly, blunt, and devoid of grandeur. Characters might lash out, shut down, or isolate themselves.

Romanticized: “I’ll cry every day, but I’ll keep going because you’d want me to.”

Realistic: “They said time would heal it. But it didn’t. Time just put more space between me and the life I knew before.”

4. Let Grief Manifest in Small, Unexpected Ways

Grief isn’t always about sobbing—it can show up in mundane moments: hesitating to delete a voicemail, holding onto an old sweater, or instinctively setting the table for someone who’s gone.

“She turned to tell him the joke, the one about the broken lamp, and stopped halfway through. The silence hit harder than the punchline ever would.”

5. Highlight the Absurdity of It

Grief can be absurd and disorienting. Characters might laugh inappropriately, obsess over trivial details, or feel disconnected from reality.

“At the funeral, all she could focus on was how crooked the flowers were arranged. She kept wanting to fix them. If she didn’t, she thought, none of this would feel real.”

6. Explore How Grief Changes Relationships

Grief doesn’t happen in isolation—it affects relationships, often in unexpected ways. Some people pull closer, others drift apart.

“Her friends stopped asking how she was doing after the first few weeks. She didn’t blame them; she didn’t have an answer. ‘Fine’ wasn’t a lie—it was just easier than saying, ‘I still can’t breathe when I see his empty chair.’”

7. Show the Longevity of Grief

Grief doesn’t end when the funeral does. Let it linger in your story, showing how it ebbs and flows over time.

“It had been five years, but she still called his number when something exciting happened. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was just habit. Or maybe it was hope.”

8. Allow for Moments of Respite

Grief isn’t constant agony. People still laugh, find joy, and go about their lives—sometimes feeling guilty for it.

“She smiled for the first time in weeks, and then immediately hated herself for it. It felt like betrayal, like forgetting.”

it’s okay if your prose is ugly right now. it’s just pre-gorgeous.

I feel called out and I don’t like it

Hey, stop scrolling and start writing. The book ain't gonna write itself.

Writers, I need your opinions:

My story is like focused on two characters, and I have this scene where we switch between their perspectives. They are texting each other throughout an evening essentially, and we switch each time someone reads a text.

I don’t know if I should keep it or not. I love it, but I don’t know if it’s confusing or not. The overlapping scenes are very important for the development of both plot and story.

Also, I do have a beta reader but I lowkey have a crush on them so I’m too embarrassed to send the fic to them until I’ve done a couple rounds of self edits, and I don’t wanna get too far in just to realize it doesn’t work

And there’s no inbetween

Going back to old writing is either just like:

1. “Who wrote this masterpiece?! It was ME?!”

2. “Who wrote this absolute shit? Oh fuck my life, that was me, wasn’t it?”

Unrelated to writing:

I relate to this so much. I know what most common injuries feel like. Often times, the pain the person is feeling is the same or less than my normal levels.

It’s hard to not seem like an asshole sometimes, because the same person who thinks I’m being mean will literally leave me behind or make my life harder and say it’s no big deal.

And of course none of this is helped by me being black fem presenting. It’s like some people still believe those old studies that we don’t feel as much pain as other people. The second I let my face show how I feel, or heaven forbid I don’t sound pleasant and polite, I have too much attitude or I’m too angry. I’ve literally had people think I was trying to fight them when I was just gritting my teeth through pain they probably couldn’t handle.

Thanks for letting a bitter black bitch rant.

people assume that being physically disabled makes you more empathetic to the pain of others, but that’s not always the case.

for me, it feels unfair when others are in pain and don’t feel the need to hide that fact, because i have internalized the idea that i’m not allowed to talk about my own. it annoys me that, while most are typically understanding if a non disabled person doesn’t operate at their full capacity due to sickness or injury, disabled people are expected to function normally as if that isn’t our every day. as much as i want to feel solidarity towards a suffering person, it feels impossible not to be envious when their illness or ailment is temporary, but i will never, ever get a break from mine.

for obvious reasons i would never say any of directly to someone, because my pain doesn’t make theirs any less valid or real. still, i can’t help but feel that my disability has made me bitter and unkind, because i can’t help but compare my own experiences with theirs.

this is the reality of disability- it does not create perfect people. many of us are broken and struggle to connect with others because of our conditions, and that does not mean we are evil people