Writerblr - Blog Posts

Happy WBW! ^^ If you could bring one thing/person/place/etc. from your wip into the real world, which one would it be and why?

Probably Mr. Sinclair, the talking locust from Liquor and Locusts, because although he’s very nihilistic, we’d have a good time drinking brandy and being self-indulgently cynical together.

Hello friend, it’s been a while. I completed the first draft of my adult thriller novel, which I’m currently referring to as Project Istanbul, so I wanted to share my mood board for this project and some excerpts with you.

a little about me/the blog™

I’m a Turkish-Kurdish English student living in Canada

I’m very introverted

I mostly write literary fiction

This blog is a nook for my novels and short fiction wips. I also share works I adore from my fellow writerblrs

a little about Project Istanbul

Set in Istanbul, Turkey (obviously) during the early 2000s

Story features a morally ambiguous journalist, unethical stalking, controversial therapy methods, too many expresso shots, glamourous outfits, and murder

Vague aesthetic inspos: Despair by Vladamir Nabokov, The Bell Jar by Slyvia Plath, The Angel’s Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, Rear Window (1952)

TW: my novel explores mental illnesses including PD and NPD

random excerpts just because

1.

2.

I’m back, and currently drafting the final chapter of Project A.M.

PLEASE, I can’t wait to start draft two and whip this project into shape. But I always rush endings. Perhaps I should slow down and savour this first draft.

Not really, I’ll be writing but not 50K this time around. However, I’ve been part of the NaNo community since 2014—back when I was 14 if you can believe it, haha and it’s really motivating to connect with other writers during November. I’m looking forward to it!

who is doing nanowrimo this year? how prepared are we feeling?

I forgot about this short wip, I hope I didn’t lose the actual document now

I wrote this short story a while ago, intending to submit it to some magazines, leaving it to decay chill until I had time off from uni to edit it. Currently busy af w *shiny* new novel, but  I wanted to share some of it on here to motivate me to work on it. Alors,,,,,,

genre: spooky lit-fic logline: Trudging through the barren Arizona desert after a night out partying, a group of friends come across a cupcake shop owned by a creepy old lady and her cannibal husband.  TW: drug use, dead rats, disturbing cupcake ingredients, murdery elderly people.

Everything had been going well up until I lost my pink sneaker. It jumped into an Uber and drove off waving, never texted or called, leaving me to live my life without protection from sharp objects or raccoon shit lying around my frilly socked feet. Then we missed the last bus.

Keep reading

🍟 @/aetherwrites

Share a gif that represents your wip. What Mr. Sinclair sees in the checkered corridor in his nightmare in Bug Box. (gif is from The Wall, 1982)

🍿?

Share an out-of-context line from your wip. (this one’s from Yellow Houses!)

We didn’t have any pictures of him so they were all I had to stare at, which was rare, but when I did, I imagined him on a ferry crossing the Marmara Sea, nibbling on simit, dark hair flattened against his forehead from the breeze, contemplating the mess he’d made and regretting it immensely. 

Ask awayyy 💌

Writeblr Emoji Game: Comfort Snacks!

Send an ask with an emoji from the list below to the person who reblogged this post. Then, reblog the game to keep playing! xo

🍔 Share a 1-2 sentence summary of your WIP

🌭 Recommend another writer’s WIP post and tell us why we should reblog it!

🍟 Share a GIF that represents your WIP

🌮 Recommend a writeblr who you admire and tell us what about them you admire

🍿 Share an out-of-context line from your WIP

🍩 Recommend a writeblr who is an all-around must-follow and tell us why you follow them

🍪 Share a song or music video that represents your WIP

🧁 Recommend a writeblr who has taught you something new about writing and tell us what you learned from them

🍭 Share a link to one of your recent WIP posts so we can give it some much deserved attention!

🍫 Recommend another writer’s WIP and tell us why you love it

These all sound amazing and I'm in loveeee with the titles you chose :ooo

So let’s talk about poems | Poetry Update #2

Hello!! I have successfully finished (1) semester in a poetry stream and am officially calling myself a ~poet, so let’s chat about some of the poems I’ve written recently! TW: A lot of my poems deal with difficult subject matter, such as suicide, animal abuse, death, sexism, murder, and captivity, so please tread with caution if these are sensitive topics for you.

1. the birds

About: After a woman’s suicide, birds flood from her neck.

I wrote this poem for a class, where our prof gave us 20 different prompts, and each line of the poem had to follow each prompt. In that order. You can read the prompts HERE if you’re so inclined to actually do this! This poem was originally called “Blessing of the Bird”, but in revisions, got knocked down to “the birds”. I actually prefer the original for its imagery, but it overall, was a horrific poem lol, and this version is certainly much better! It is a bit quirkier than the original, but I do like it!

Publication status: Currently seeking

2. TRANSCRIPT: orca’s coffin birth kills a man (2002)

About: An orca whale posthumously testifies on a recorded transcript, defending her innocence in the accidental killing of a man after she gave a coffin birth.

I also wrote this for my poetry class, and I really went wild on the concept! This poem arose quite bizarrely, but it is probably my favourite poem I’ve written to date. It is an incredibly sad, and I would say, disturbing poem, but it was fascinating writing a speaker who can’t possibly exist, but who feels so real at the same time. This poem was difficult because of the content, but I wrote it quickly because I was on a deadline. I think this poem has some of my favourite line breaks from my collection of work.

Publication status: Currently seeking

3. the drive-up microphone at burger king

About: A group of friends orders food at an underwater Burger King drive-thru with the body of a person they’ve (sort of?) murdered in the backseat.

This poem is so weird. :) I don’t even know what this poem is, but I love it. :) I wrote this in a night for a magazine’s very fast approaching deadline. I’m so happy I had that opportunity because this poem was born, and it’s so delightfully strange. I can’t wait for everyone to be able to read it!

Publication status: This poem is forthcoming in the next issue of carte blanche (I am SO excited and grateful)! Will post on here when it drops.

4. my body in the mirror of a gas station water bottle

About: A speaker watches her body in the reflection of a gas station mirror as it is scrutinized by men.

I started this poem back in July but didn’t finish it until November or so. It’s more lyrical in style, which is interesting to compare to my other work!

Publication status: Currently seeking

5. The last time I screamed I said water

About: A woman is held captive and bonds with her captor by eating salt.

I wrote this poem in 5-minutes in a desperate break from a really… boring take-home exam lol. It’s obviously very dark in content, but focuses really on this “salt ritual”, and is actually the name of the chapbook I am working on! This chapbook contains all of the poems I’ve written recently, including ones that have been published (at Grain and Augur ! <3) which means it’s very chaotic and varied but that’s how I roll! This poem actually stemmed from the title, which I’d had lying around in a document for a few weeks, and easily materialized from there!

6. we drink.

About: Champagne, the patriarchy, some murder & cannibalism vibes

I truly don’t know what this poem is about! But I wrote it tonight in 5-minute fashion like I apparently now do with poems! :) I actually really like it and wish I could explain what it is actually about but I :) do not know :) ! It’s very short, my shortest poem yet, but I really love her! Definitely works particularly with “the last time I screamed” !

Publication status: Currently seeking

That’s it for this update! When I write more poems, I will be back!

–Rachel

student writeblrs! what are your writing plans/goals for the rest of your break? my plan is to finish drafting/editing a climate change short story and submit it to some literary magazines and hopefully, hopefullyyyy.. draft chapter eight of my lit-fic novel which keeps. not. working. feel free to use this post for accountability! <33

These are all so cool, I'd love to be added to your taglists!! 🥺🥺

˒✦ : WRITEBLR ⋅ INTRO ⌁ ◌༉‧. 🌱໑ 

hi! my name is celeste and i’m new to the writeblr community!

i write under the name celeste ephine (she/her) although, you can just call me celeste. i’m african and native american, seventeen years old, and queer. i have an intj mbti type and my big three are: cap sun, sag moon, and virgo rising. my interests include neuropsychology, witchcraft, podcasts, and romantic academia. oh, and i’m wayy better at descriptions than i am with dialogue.

my writing style is a bit interesting as i tend to write mostly for romantic/dark academia, dark fantasy, psychological thrillers, and historical fiction. i love exploring themes of moral ambiguity, divination, mythology, and the occult. i also write poetry and dabble a bit in prose and screenplay.

here’s a sneak peek at some of my wips:

* - names are subject to change (i’m a tad bit indecisive)

descs are going to be vague since i’ll do a proper intro post for each wip

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 | psych thriller + dark fantasy

a pagan cult makes blood sacrifices to the gods in an attempt to delay an ancient and horrific force from destroying the world

𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 | dark fantasy

in which a soothsayer and freedom seeker set out on a quest to destroy the remnants of the old gods. for what is existence, without something to exist for?

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 | dark fantasy + occult fiction

the bonepicker’s daughter gets more than she bargained for when she seeks refuge in a mad ruler’s city that’s on the verge of war

here’s a few blogs that inspired me to join the community!

@starshots @acrimoneous @laketrials @astolacs @herondalelucies @zalighart @zuiderhaaks

I wrote this short story a while ago, intending to submit it to some magazines, leaving it to decay chill until I had time off from uni to edit it. Currently busy af w *shiny* new novel, but  I wanted to share some of it on here to motivate me to work on it. Alors,,,,,,

genre: spooky lit-fic logline: Trudging through the barren Arizona desert after a night out partying, a group of friends come across a cupcake shop owned by a creepy old lady and her cannibal husband.  TW: drug use, dead rats, disturbing cupcake ingredients, murdery elderly people.

   The slope was 90 degrees and we were rock climbing, harnessed to a frayed string that tugged our shoulders. Desert on all sides, not a single car. One cactus, ten yards away, frilled with spines. When a café tiled with orange bricks sprouted above us, we first mistook it as a mirage. The sign read Cupcake Shoppe and assured us they were sustainably sourced and organic—probably made using soy milk or that green powder Julie mixed into milk with a golden spoon. I tried it once; it tasted like marbles.

Wip Intro: Yellow Houses

I should start by saying that this project is shelved. I’m currently too busy to devote it the time it deserves while juggling uni and another novel. Hopefully, I’ll pick it up one day in the future, but for now, let’s just let it age like a fine wine on a USB stick, shall we?

Genre: Lit-fic/mystery? Logline:  Ellen, an aspiring university journalist, finds an envelope in her mailbox filled with photographs of upper-class houses. When she visits these addresses she finds they’ve all been vandalized -- painted a neon, school-bus yellow. When the two vandals engage with her via a virtual chatroom to propose that she cover their ‘art project’ for the local newspaper, she must do her best to write a non-biased recollection of the conflicts that ensue. Literal Logline: A bunch of young hipsters create pretentious art and go on tangents about eating the rich. Also, there is a creepy/psychopathic mayor candidate always wearing a signature yellow jacket and tie having an affair with Ellen’s mom! Fun!

Setting: Takes place in a small, fictional town in British Columbia. But a lot of scenes also take place in a chatroom, with virtual urban cities like Tokyo, New York and more. 

Excerpt from the chatroom scene! TW/NSFW warning: mild sexuality. Also I haven’t line edited much yet, oops!

My baby pink VR headset landed me 2050, Chinatown; a street puddled with neon lights swimming in oily water, reflecting a Tetris stack of knockoff Balenciaga retailers. A couple Hello Kitty shaped arcade machines silhouetted a bar window, casting a pink and blue grid over my friends, who caught sight of me and waved. In only 330 hours, 20 minutes, 12 seconds, I’d come to know them better than their own families. If I hovered over their bodies, too creamy and poreless to be truly photorealistic, a timer would reveal when we’d clicked accept, invited eachother into our second lives.

Cassie’s heart shaped face grinned, her bejeweled teeth blue in the ink of store lights. She tossed her metal bat up high, and caught it on her index finger, balancing it there. Jada’s newly installed robo arms were translucent plastic. There were wires tangled inside.

           Across the plaza, next to some motorcycles collapsed like dominos, a tall woman with a black veil over her face dragged a leash with a crawling half naked man in a bunny mask on the end of it, shuffling clumsily to keep up with her long strides. When she greeted us with nod, Jada let out a squeak before muting her microphone to safely burst into giggles.

           “So many weirdos tonight,” Cassie said lowly, staring at the slave’s bony butt disappear around the boba shack. “Alors.” Her hands came together in a prayer. “Matching tattoos. Glowing ones, from the new update. And don’t even think about saying no, I have enough coins for all of us. You’ve got no excuse whatsoever.” She linked her arm through mine and Jada slung her robo arm over my shoulder and they steered me across the street. A group of white-haired teenagers, teardrop wings trailing along their bare feet drifted past us at the traffic lights, which only existed to flash ads for fast food chains or reduced phone plans at the pedestrians. One of them poked out her tongue at me. Pastel blue and pierced with a tiny metal seahorse.

Novel Moodboard: Neon Chatroom.

A little preview of a moodboard for my shelved novel, Yellow Houses. Although this project is now shelved I'll be making an intro for it soon so stay tuned!

Pinterest mood board I created for my wip short story, "Bud and Bunny".

The story takes place in New York during the 90s, exploring the toxic bond between a young girl and her older brother, who restricts her freedom from the world outside their cramped apartment complex.

Last Line Tag

Thank you @bitterwitchwrites for tagging me!

Here is an excerpt from the first draft of my novel that I’ve been blandly referring to as LL. I doubt this will be in the final version of the book but whatever!

An electrical hum stuffed his ears with cotton balls, silenced the jagged wind clawing at the trapdoor. When he called back to it, he was muffled out too.

Tagging: @memories-written-in-words @writingwithhotchocolate @writingisbae @raevenlywrites @yanittawrites @writingwithaddie @loki-writes

5 frustrating workshop rules that made me a better writer

Throughout the 15 workshops I joined in college and grad school, I encountered two types of writing rules.

First, there were the best-practice guidelines we’ve all heard, like “show don’t tell.” And then there were workshop rules, which the professor put in place not because they’re universal, but because they help you grow within the context of the workshop.

My college’s intro writing course had 5 such rules:

No fantasy, supernatural, or sci-fi elements.

No guns.

No characters crying.

No conflict resolution through deus ex machina.

No deaths.

When I first saw the rules, I was baffled. They felt weirdly specific, and a bit unfair. But when our professor, Vinny, explained their purpose (and assured us he only wanted us to follow the rules during this intro workshop, not the others to come), I realized what I could learn from them.

1. No fantasy, supernatural, or sci-fi elements.

Writers need to be able to craft round characters, with clear arcs. While you can hone those skills writing any type of story, it can be more difficult when juggling fantastical elements, because it’s easy to get caught up in the world, or the magic, or the technology, and to make that the focus instead of the characters. So Vinny encouraged us to exclude such elements for the time being, to keep us fully focused on developing strong, dynamic characters.

2. No guns.

Weapons have a place in many stories, but when writers include a gun, they often use it to escalate the plot outside of the realm of personal experience and into what Vinny called “Hollywood experience.” He wanted us to learn how to draw from our own observations and perceptions of life, rather than the unrealistic action, violence, and drama we’d seen in movies, so he made this rule to keep us better grounded in our own experiences.

3. No characters crying.

When trying to depict sadness, writers often default to making characters cry. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, tears are just one way to show grief, and they aren’t always the most subtle or emotionally compelling. That’s why Vinny challenged us to find other ways to convey sadness — through little gestures, strained words, fragile interactions, and more. It was difficult, but opened us up to depicting whole new gradients of grief and pain.

4. No conflict resolution through deus ex machina.

This is the only one of the rules I’d say is generally universal. Meaning “God from the machine,” deus ex machina is a plot device where a character’s seemingly insurmountable problem is abruptly resolved by an outside force, rather than their own efforts. These endings are bad for various reasons, but Vinny discouraged them because he wanted us to understand how important it was for our characters to confront their struggle and its consequences.

5. No deaths.

Death is inherently dramatic and can be used to good effect, but many writers use death as a crutch to create drama and impact. Writers should be able to craft engaging, meaningful stories, even without killing off their characters, so this rule challenged us to find other methods of giving weight to our stories (such as through internal conflict).

How these rules helped me grow as a writer

First things first, I’ll say it again: apart from #4 (deus ex machina), these rules were never meant to be universally applied. Instead, their purpose was to create temporary barriers and challenges to help us develop key skills and write in new, unfamiliar ways.

For me, the experience was invaluable. I liked the way the rules challenged and stretched my abilities, driving me to write stories I’d have never otherwise attempted. They made me more flexible as a writer, and while I don’t follow the rules anymore (I LOVE me some fantasy), I’ll always be thankful for how they shaped my writing.

My recommendation to you?

Give some of these rules a shot! Follow them temporarily while writing 2-4 short stories — but remember to always keep their purpose in mind, because the rules themselves will only help if you understand what they’re trying to achieve.

Write with purpose, and you’ll always be growing.

— — —

For more tips on how to craft meaning, build character-driven plots, and grow as a writer, follow my blog.

Excerpt #1: The Waiting Room

    Seated in the doctor’s office I peeked over my magazine, causing the collage of perfume bottles to distort until they resembled vague, pastel coloured light-bulbs clustered at the brim of my vision. Across me slouched a woman with a house shaped cage on her lap, a string of drool snailing down her chin as she snored. I made a face at her green-cheeked conure as it inched down its tightrope towards me, bobbing its head. The middle-aged man a few seats down, his cowboy hat flipped over his eyes, fanned himself with a lung disease brochure even though the air conditioning had been set to blast. My eyes followed their thought bubbles as they bounced off the oily walls and popped. The severed letters puffed up to the ceiling in a cloud of confetti, mundane details they’d already forgotten. The parakeet’s thoughts were less entertaining, a string of staccatos that fizzled out before they could even form. 

     When the secretary, a bullnecked woman with streaked green hair grated down to a pixie cut, waved her faux quill pen at me, I placed my magazine back on the rack and followed her down a hallway tiled with domino doors. She kept glancing back to confirm I was still on her heels and hadn’t wandered off like a sneaky child. Once we reached my cubicle she finally left me alone, her black heels clacking against the shiny floor as she trotted off. I crunched down on the paper spread out over the bed, dizzy from the reek of iodoform. Fortunately the doctor arrived quickly, tapping a clipboard against his palm as he asked why I’d come. I lied that my back had been killing me and we both shrugged and nodded at the hardships of old age. 

An Intro Post (of sorts)

Hi! My name is Jen and welcome to my writing + fandom blog.

I'll mainly be posting about writing: info about my wips, my poetry, opinions about tropes/writing things, writing tips, etc.

I'm also really interested in typology, mainly MBTI (cognitive functions!!) and enneagram.

My current obsession is Ace Attorney. My favorite characters are Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright and Franziska von Karma. I mainly ship Wrightworth/Narumitsu but also Franmaya, Godonix, and Klapollo. Original trilogy spoilers will not be tagged.

Here is a list of my other obsessions (aka fandoms I will talk about the most) and my favorite characters from each:

The Legend of Korra (Kuvira, Baatar Jr, Korra)

Avatar The Last Airbender (Katara, Zuko, Azula)

Genshin Impact (Kujou Sara, Raiden Ei/Shogun, Collei, Furina, Nahida, Scaramouche, Childe)

Other fandoms I'm in (and will probably talk about sometimes): Dreamcatcher (kpop), Persona 5, The Hunger Games, Divergent, Six of Crows, Once Upon a Time, Warrior Cats, Wings of Fire.

💮 It's okay to feel unsatisfied with what you love. We necessarily and unnecessarily grow. When it doesn't feel the best of you, you know you're turning better and better.💮

💮 Basically there are always opportunities, if "others" are not there.

• Picture Credit: Pinterest

💮I know I'm sane,

till the time death scares me.💮

•Picture credit : pinterest

2022 is here like an early guest I haven't prepared much but I will greet with the limited available resources humbly... please be kind to me

🧡💛

“Et in Arcadia ego”

(Even in Arcadia, there am I)

I will tear my heart out; before this cathedral of flesh lets me go

The pink ribbon scars remain, delicate inscriptions of things I never dared say aloud

I have bled in silence, tried to scour regret with ritual and rainwater… but it clings, a second skin, soft as memory, heavy as guilt

My angel wings; once alabaster, now bound in velvet chains; a slow suffocation beneath borrowed holiness

They ache when the wind moves.

They remember flight.

My belly burns with the echo of choices, each one a blade turned inward, an inheritance of fire

There is no absolution here; only the architecture of longing, and the dust that gathers in the mouths of the dead.

I gave you a love so vast it could have swallowed cities whole. I built galaxies in my chest just to make room for you, carved out pieces of my soul and called them home so you would never feel alone. I was there and offering, but you… you only ever loved the echo of me, the shadow I cast in your mind, not the woman who bled herself dry to be enough. You didn’t love me. You loved the idea of being loved by someone like me. And that was the slow undoing.

You were never really there, not when I shattered quietly in rooms we shared, not when I fell asleep hoping you would see me again, not just look at me. I held up the heavens for us while you watched, arms folded, eyes elsewhere. And still, I stayed. Still, I gave. Foolish, maybe. Devoted, definitely.

Now, that it’s all gone. I have crossed oceans of pain to reach a shore where your name doesn’t burn on my skin anymore. I am somewhere better, freer, lighter. And just when I have stitched myself together with gold thread and midnight prayers, you come back.

You come back with a whisper of apology, a handful of words you never had the courage to speak when I was drowning right in front of you. Why now? Why always after?

It is the cruel theater of time, isn’t it? The final act where ghosts knock at your door once you have already exorcised them. People see your worth only in absence, crave your presence only when it is no longer a gift they are entitled to. Love should never be a posthumous award.

And yet, here I am, haunted not by you, but by the echo of who I was when I loved you. And that is the deepest ache of all.

(Darjeeling’22)

“He’s the one who always lifts the lens with quiet reverence, capturing me in frames I never ask for. He knows I’m camera conscious, yet he clicks away like I’m a masterpiece in motion.

He never seeks the same in return, never turns the spotlight on himself, only smiles when I laugh, as if my joy is his reward. And truly, what’s more fascinating than a man in love? Not in grand declarations, but in the soft, unspoken gestures that make you feel seen, adored, safe.

When a man truly loves, the person beside him begins to bloom, and suddenly life tastes sweeter, time feels kinder, and everything broken begins to mend.

I wish I had the words to measure how fiercely I love him, how deeply I ache to be his, not just in this fleeting life, but in every realm beyond it, until stars fall silent and the universe forgets its own name. I feel blessed that I have him next to me.”

(Salvador Dali’s Art exhibition and others, VAG, February’25)

He does not know, that the world pauses for him, breath held,

Watching the art of him falling, calling it beauty While he calls himself blank.

If only you knew, how spellbound I am for you, watching the chaos of you, turning into stillness,

Watching your sorrow as it knows how to make everything shine.

(Darjeeling’21)

The town still haunts me, laced in lullabies, Where kin became the keepers of my fall. Their words were nettles dressed in silver light, Their love; a gilded cage like a funeral hall.

They laughed like witches dancing in the fire, While I, the ember, begged to turn to smoke. I breathed in brimstone dressed as blooming thyme, and woke each day beneath a phantom yoke.

The darkness kissed me soft, and made me kin. And though I flee, it lingers in my breath, that hallowed place, where all my wounds begin.

(Darjeeling’2021)

“She falls, not like rain, nor like the weeping of skies, But in pirouettes; each flake… A whispered secret spun from the breath of stars.

How happy she looks, gilded in sunlight, blushing at the glances of children, stretching herself across fields… Like she’s always belonged.

Yet in her mirror, she sees only glass.

Not the frost laced wonder, not the shimmer in her descent,

But an absence; a definite pale ache…”

From surviving to generously falling in love with this city, I found love that I can finally gate keep.

July-December, Delhi’2024