Beginning-writer - Don't Know What Type, But I Write Something.

Okay. I hear the shippers, I really do. But this beautiful man could act across from a rubber house plant and there’d be chemistry. You know it’s true.

hello beloveds ☺️

how to fight writer’s block like it personally insulted your best friend

Writer’s block isn’t a myth. It’s real. It’s rude. And it shows up exactly when you don’t want it to—like an ex at your book launch. Here’s how to yeet it into the void:

1. stop trying to write “good”

Seriously. Lower the bar. Bury the bar. Let the bar rot in the forest. Write badly on purpose. Be cringe. Be free. You can’t fix a blank page, but you can edit a disaster.

2. change the medium

Tired: typing in the same doc for hours. Wired: scribbling in a notebook like a Victorian ghost. Inspired: recording a voice memo like a sleep-deprived cryptid explaining your plot to future you.

3. skip the part that’s blocking you

Stuck on Chapter 5? Write Chapter 9. Write the ending. Write that one scene with the knife and the rain and the betrayal. You can stitch it all together later like Frankenstein’s monster.

4. give your brain new input

Go outside. Touch grass. Watch a movie. Read a book not in your genre. Eavesdrop at a coffee shop. Ideas in = ideas out.

5. bribe yourself

“Write 100 words and you get a cookie.” “Finish this scene and you can scroll Pinterest for aesthetics.” Become your own treat-dispensing machine.

6. embrace ✨trash drafts✨

Your first draft is not the final product. It’s the mess you make before the magic. Let it be wild. Let it be ugly. Let it live.

7. stop declaring war on your creativity

Sometimes writer’s block is just burnout in a trench coat. Maybe what you need isn’t to write harder—it’s to rest, to dream, to let the well refill.

tl;dr: writer’s block can’t survive if you trick it into thinking you're just vibing. So vibe. Write weird stuff. Take breaks. Make art like no one’s watching (because no one is yet).

You’ve got this.

Having a scenario ready in your head and having it written down are also two very, very different things. But I wish they were the same thing.

unfortunately, I will write this fic and I am writing this fic are two very different things

More work on my Weeping Monk cosplay... heck yes!

One of my snakes is very interested in what I am doing bless her lil cotton socks

Not just a rollercoaster, friend. An illegal in Russia and fucking funny rollercoaster.

when she says she doesn’t send nudes

Saw this on Pinterest and remembered the Weeping Mink.

@lancedoncrimsonwings

Squirrel: Almost giving his dads a heart attack

Weeping Mink (angrily praying): Vesta, Goddess of sacred fire, family and househood. Give me strength not to kill that pest of a boy today.

Fair enough.

The most beautiful women in the world are mixed race Brazilian women who are slightly shorter than me and have curly afros and pretty light brown skin and round faces with wide cheekbones and wear glasses and-

Yes I'm talking about my partner. But you agree. Reblog.

Character Movements #1

╰ Sighing

Not just “he sighed.” That’s lazy. Give us the why behind the air. Is it the kind of sigh that deflates their whole chest, like they’ve been holding the world on their lungs? Or one sharp exhale through the nose, all frustration and fed-up energy? Maybe it’s quiet—barely audible. Maybe they don’t even realize they’re doing it. But the room shifts a little when they do. Sighs can mean “I give up,” or “finally,” or “not this sh*t again.” Just depends on what’s dragging at their ribs.

╰ Shivering

This isn’t just about cold. A character can shiver in a warm room if they’re scared enough. Maybe their skin prickles before it starts, like tiny goosebumps racing up their arms. Maybe it hits in a full-body tremble, their breath catching like something primal in them just screamed “danger.” Or maybe it’s subtle, like a soft internal quake they’re trying not to show. It’s the kind of movement that betrays the truth they won’t say out loud.

╰ Trembling Hands

Shaking hands are so intimate. They’re not dramatic—they’re revealing. It’s the way their fingers fumble to light a cigarette. The way they have to tuck their hands under their thighs so no one sees. Maybe they keep reaching for the glass but can’t quite get a grip. Or maybe they do grip and the tremor runs through the whole glass like a warning. It’s not about the shake. It’s about the fact they wish they weren’t shaking at all.

╰ Clenching Fists

This one? Its tension incarnate. And it doesn’t always mean someone’s about to punch something. Sometimes they ball their fists just to keep from crying. Or because they’re trying so hard not to say something they’ll regret. Look for the subtleties: white knuckles, nails digging into palms, fists flexing open and closed like they’re trying to wring out emotion. It’s control. Rage. Determination. Or the act of stuffing all that inside a cage of fingers.

╰ Biting Nails

It’s more than “they’re nervous.” It’s compulsion. Habit. A survival tic. They might not even realize they’re doing it—just fingers to mouth, chewing down without looking, like their body’s trying to chew through the waiting. Maybe their nails are ragged. Maybe they flinch when they bite too deep. Maybe it’s the sound, the soft click of teeth and nail in a dead-silent room. It’s vulnerability dressed up as fidgeting.

╰ Tapping Fingers

This is the soundtrack of a restless mind. Is the rhythm sharp? Fast? Jittery? Are they tapping with one finger like a countdown—or all five, like a rainstorm on the table? They might not even notice. But other people do. Someone asks them to stop, and they bristle. Or they stop mid-tap when someone says the wrong thing, and that silence? That silence is loud. Tapping fingers are rarely idle. They’re keeping time with the character’s thoughts.

╰ Pacing

Pacing isn’t just walking back and forth—it’s the body trying to outrun a thought. They stand. They sit. They stand again. They move because stillness feels like being buried alive. Maybe their footsteps are soft, barefoot across carpet. Or hard-soled and echoing through a hallway like a threat. Maybe they walk a perfect loop, over and over. Maybe it’s erratic, jerking toward the door, away, toward again. Their mind is spinning, and their body’s just trying to keep up.

╰ Slumping Shoulders

This isn’t just a posture change—it’s the moment the weight wins. Shoulders that sag say “I lost.” Or “I’m done.” Or “Please don’t ask me to care anymore.” Maybe they slump in a chair and stare at the floor. Maybe they’re standing, but something in them folds anyway. Their spine’s still straight, but their shoulders fall like scaffolding giving way.

╰ Tilting Head

Simple movement—loaded meaning. They tilt their head when someone says something that doesn’t quite click. Or when they’re trying to listen harder, like angling their body will help them hear the truth under the words. Maybe the tilt is sharp and skeptical, like “You sure about that?” Or soft and curious, like “I’m trying to understand.” Or just a little too slow, too drawn out—like a predator sizing up prey. It’s instinctual. And it always means they’re paying attention.

╰ Rubbing Temples

This one screams I’m trying to hold it together. It might be frustration. Migraine. Bone-deep exhaustion. They press fingers to their temples like they’re physically trying to squash the problem before it leaks further into their head. Maybe their fingers circle gently, trying to soothe themselves. Maybe it’s two fingers, firm pressure, eyes closed, jaw clenched. It’s the gesture of someone whose brain won’t shut up—and whose body knows it.