channyperkinsuniverse

[channyperkinsuniverse]

I Won’t Tell

That his father never noticed the change was typical. He never noticed anything. Once when he returned home after he’d been missing for two days, the only thing Howie knew was that dinner hadn’t been cooked, and he’d gone hungry. Nolan knew about his fathers’ important work, and how he’d stay for hours in his work shed. Sometimes he’d sleep out there, so Nolan was used to being alone. But this wasn’t the loneliness again. This was different. All Nolan’s emotions were gone. He didn’t feel a thing. One minute he ran and locked his bedroom door, and the next he was laying on his bed and everything in him drained out. If he were asked to explain the feeling he would say, “If emotions were blood I unknowingly opened an artery. They just poured out. And then I felt... empty.” Because Nolan wasn’t exactly the dramatic kind. He never even cried until that day when Anthony Duncan hit him in the face with a tree branch used like a baseball bat. Anthony was a coward, but that hurt. Nolan washed the blood off his face in the bathroom. It didn’t cause that much damage. His chin was scraped. His jaw that was fragile and thin hurt though. It felt like he couldn’t open his mouth. The blood on his teeth must have come from his split lip. The boys were always hanging out at the corner. Anthony hated him because, not only was he a year younger at fifteen and Anthony could get away with picking fights with him, but his friends accepted the abuse simply out of the fact that Nolan was fragile. “Where you going faggot?” Anthony stayed right beside him as if he wanted an answer. Nolan just kept walking, a little bit into Maude’s rose bushes to get around him. Of course, Howie didn’t notice. Not at dinner. He didn’t even look up from his plate as he shoveled food with his spoon. Nolan thought of telling him about the fight, but as soon as he opened his mouth he shut it again. No. It was best. He didn’t want to have to tell his dad what the kids at school said about him. Now, he laid in his bed and thought about the whole thing. Feeling... Nothing. As he said, it all drained out of him. He stared at the ceiling and thought some more. Getting hit in the face was just the beginning. Just Anthony getting a taste and then running... Two days. They were the worst two days of his life. How does a dad not call the police, or even know when his son’s gone? It happened in the morning. Nolan was on his way to school. He walked down past Maude’s house, and her rose bushes. Her usually crabby thing to say was “Don’t you go messing up my roses. I saw where you came from, and I won’t hesitate to pay a visit to your parents.” Nolan has always denied it. That morning, though, he said, “You don’t have to worry. After today, you’ll never see me again.” See, Nolan thought about it. He thought about it a lot. He also thought of leaving this place behind and never coming back. Who’d miss him? The only worse thing in the world would be they wouldn’t notice him even where he was going. If he went on forever and no one ever noticed him, that would truly be unfortunate. Nolan wanted them to notice. He wanted them all to notice. And remember. He waited for the bus, and that’s when it happened. His hood went over his face. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel someone pull him against them. Right down the street, Howie was still in the work shed. No one heard Nolan screaming. It went from the airy morning outside to a confined quiet inside. That’s when he knew he was in someone’s house. That someone had him by the elbows, pulling them back. Out the bottom of his hood he saw exposed floor planks, and they were down a hall. Whoever it was, they knew they were alone because Nolan’s voice in the house didn’t seem to bother him. “Who are you? Please let me go. I need to go to school.” He shoved Nolan in the closet with all the laundry put in nice neat bags. Falling over them, his hood flipped back, but Nolan only saw the door close out the light. Now, in his room, sitting up in his bed, Nolan couldn’t lie to himself. He always knew there was something about Anthony. Something familiar. He thought about it more after it happened because then he still had to see Anthony Duncan every single day. The same stupid grin like he knew he’d gotten away with it. Telling the same stupid friends that “Nolan’s a faggot!” He had to know that Nolan would be too humiliated to tell. Who would believe Nolan, anyway? “Yeah, keep walking, creep!” Anthony yelled. Nolan didn’t want to be the way he was. In the house, Anthony wanted to know if he had girl parts, and if he wore girls’ underwear. That was all people thought being gay was. Being a freak. But, you say, someone else should’ve known Nolan was gone. Where’s his mother? Oh her. Don’t ask. She’s long gone. Just Nolan and his dad now. Nolan guesses it’s because she couldn’t handle her child being a freak. He really hated himself for that. Howie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. Once. On the day she left. But that was it. No explanation or further encouragement. “It’s not your fault, boy.” And then he walked back to the work shed. Now, it was getting late. The room was turning a shade of blue. It was time for dinner, but Nolan wasn’t making dinner tonight. First, he went to the work shed. Howie was... experimental. Put in Nolan’s own words, he said, “Dad taught me the most. Especially, that he never gave up. I respect that more than he’ll ever know.” He took a walk right after. It was dinner time in other neighbors’ houses, too. At Maude’s house, no crass warnings about her roses. That was a good thing. For her. Then, down the street where he took the bus, the place where someone pulled the hood over his head, and the place where he used to be afraid. He didn’t feel afraid anymore. No, that’s not true. He was about to never feel afraid again. He saw Anthony Duncan out by his trash can. He was looking cautiously back at the lighted house like he was hiding. They obviously didn’t know he vaped... raped... abused innocent boys... When Nolan got closer, Anthony almost saw him. He was pretty sure he recognized him as Nolan pulled the gardeners’ wire. The detective who interviewed Nolan asked, “What’d you do with Anthony Duncan? We know you killed your father, and we have witnesses who saw you taking a walk the night Anthony went missing. Make this easy on yourself, and tell us where he is.” Nolan smiled. There was one feeling that survived... Nostalgia. He said, “Don’t you go messing up her rose bushes. She doesn’t like it.” Rose bushes! Rose bushes! He heard the detective yelling orders to search the neighborhood for houses with rose bushes as he ran out of the room. Finally! Someone noticed. © Chandra Perkins 10/26/2019

#Amwriting #writercommunity #amwritingfiction #fictionalstory #story #homophobia #LGBTQ #domestic-violence #horror #emotions #mywords #sexualviolence #mentaldistress #mentaldisorder

[channyperkinsuniverse]

The Abandoned Places

“The last time I was here I lost my glasses,” Valeria said, “And I never got them back.” “Well, just hold onto your glasses this time,” said Mitchell and slung his backpack on his shoulder, keeping his flashlight on the ground ahead of them. He was only half sure this was the right way. “Does this look familiar?” “I don’t know. The last time I was here it was daylight.” “Good point,” said Valeria, and she pulled out a beef stick. “Want a bite?” “How can you eat?” “I eat when I’m nervous,” she said, snacking on some chips she had in her backpack. They were the cheesy jalapeño kind everyone told her about, but she should’ve brought water. This place made her shake in her bones. It was the worst idea she ever agreed to. “This way!” Mitchell had gotten a good thirty feet ahead, and the tall weeds were almost hiding him beside the broken Tornado cars. “This’s awesome!” But she couldn’t take her eyes from the rising spine out of the ground behind him. It disappeared in the clouds and back down. It’s shattering ribs creaking in the wind. “Is that...?” “Heartbeat Drop,” Mitchell said, looking up at the roller coaster as Valeria riffled through the weeds, “Six passengers fell to their death when the lap bar malfunctioned. They had to shut it down, and the park closed soon after. You can still find pieces of the wreck.” Valeria shivered. “Why would you want to?” “Come on!” Said Mitchell, “let’s go find the loading dock!” Wrestling weeds rushed up behind them. “What was that?” Valeria shrieked. She shined her light in the dark, seeing nothing. A few minutes passed, still seeing nothing, but she didn’t want to turn her back to it in case whatever it was was just waiting for her to do just that. “What’re you doing?” Mitchell was calling her from far away. Valeria searched to find him. Calling out hoarsely. Where’d he go? It couldn’t have been far. He said he wanted to find the loading dock. She’d look there first. Climbing the steps, it didn’t feel safe at the bottom anymore. She shined her light down. The Tower of Death was a great lookout point. She could see everything from here. Even the city lights and traffic on the highway. “Mitchell! Where are you?” “On the ride,” he said. What? How could that be? Mitchell hollered loudly. “Hey, Val! You gotta try this!” Valeria shined her light on the roller coaster cars. Up front was Mitchell, pretending to be flying down the massive drop with his hands high in the air. “How did you-?” Oh, never mind! She was losing it. “Come on, Mitch. We should go.” “Go? But the fun’s just starting,” he said, “You’ve gotta try this.” “Ok, but after I do it’s time to go.” She pushed some branches that were growing up through the track. Crunching dead leaves under her feet, she didn’t want to sit until she used her hand to clean the chipping paint on the seat. She was one car behind Mitchell. “Whoooo!” He was still flailing his arms in the air. “I’m on. Now can we go?” All at once, the lap bar locked down. “What’d you do?” Mitchell looked back. “Nothing,” said Valeria back, while pulling at the bar, “It’s stuck.” “What do you mean?” Valeria tried hard, but the lap bar refused to raise. “I can’t get out.” Mitchell started pushing too. “What’re we going to do? Nobody even knows we’re here!” “This was a stupid idea. Why’d I let you talk me into this?” Valeria shouted. “Me? You’ve been bugging me for weeks!” Mitchell let out his breath. “Fighting isn’t going to help. We need to find another way out of this. If we just...” He slid to one side of the car so he could turn to the side, and if he bent his knee... Screeeeeech! Valeria looked up from her own pretzel of arms and legs, tangling with the lap bar. “What was that?” Mitchell was still. “I think it was just us. This thing’s too rusted to go anywhere. Isn’t it?” They didn’t move. Air hissed behind them, and the wheels turned slightly. Valeria couldn’t push much harder. Her hands were stinging with new blisters. “It’s moving!” The tree. Maybe it was strong enough to stop the cars. Valeria pushed and pushed, the branches sliding in between once the wheels were more steadily rotating now. She hoped that would hold it, looking back. “That should stop us going anywhere... Mitch?” It was Christmas, and Valeria had a cozy seat by the fire. She sipped her hot cocoa. “Open mine first, Val!” Mitchell walked on his knees. It was just a box, not even wrapped. She pulled out a snow globe. Inside was the falling snow and shimmer of glitter. It was Heartbeat Drop. The rest of the theme park rides were covered in snow. In the train, going down the drop were two tiny people inside. The boy in front had his arms in the air. “That’s us,” said Mitchell, “Forever.” Valeria looked closer. In the snow at the bottom, and shook up the floating speckles again, it looked like there was something under all the snow. She could make out just below as the train car all of the sudden snapped. Valeria had to look down. She was swinging from the train car, and the lap bars all except hers were undone. She wasn’t in her cozy Christmas house anymore. She was looking at Mitchell on the ground. His neck was twisted to the side. As the metal screeched one last time, the train car plummeted. Valeria screamed. And then, the snow globe shattered the silence. © Chandra Perkins 9/27/2019

#Amwriting #storytelling #horror story #strange stories #writers of California #writing community #girlswhowrite #author #story #reading #life #thoughts #ideas #story a day #writing project #prompts

[channyperkinsuniverse]

At Midnight

One by one the vines grew, one by one they curled the gate to keep people away. The house had been said to be vacant, but sometimes at night, when everyone was quietly tucked in bed, Austin thought he could hear a sound. He usually woke up his sister, Carlie, but the last time she got mad at him. She said now that she’s in high school she doesn’t want to play these stupid little kid games, and if he’s still a scared little baby he should go get in bed with Mom and Dad. He was twelve! Besides, he can go check it out himself now. Under Austin’s bed he hid a backpack with flashlight and charger. His phone was in there too in case he needed to run out in the middle of the night, and he knew he would because at night was the only time he ever heard sounds coming from beyond the gate. He put on his jacket over his night clothes, but just for this, he hid his sneakers under his bed as well. Instead of his race car house slippers. Then, he was off. “Just where do you think you’re going?” Well, that’s all he needed! Carlie was awake, just getting in from the looks of it, and now was standing in his doorway. She was in one of her big sweaters and jean skirt she wore when she hung out with her new friends. Austin didn’t like how much she was acting like those snobs these days. “It’s none of your business,” he said, “you just think I’m a stupid little kid.” He started to walk past her, but she pulled him back by his backpack. “If you think you’re going to investigate, think again. Nobody ever comes out of there, and whatever happens, you’ll be next.” “So, come with me.” “No. I’m tired.” Austin shook his head. Typical Carlie. She didn’t want to admit she was just as scared of that house as he was. The grandfather clock was chiming downstairs, and Austin froze. It was midnight. But it wasn’t that he was scared, sometimes the clock woke up Dad, and if he saw him with his backpack he’d flip. “You know you’re going to be in big trouble if Dad catches you.” Austin glared at her. “And what do you think will happen if he knows you’re just getting home?” Carlie stepped aside. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you about that house. It was nice knowing you.” The clock finished chiming. He was in the clear. No Dad. Not tonight. Down the stairs Austin could see something through the windows. It was flashing. When he got to the window, it was an ambulance and police cars all on the street. He opened the front door to step outside. There were more than one black bags zipped up, and laying in the yard across the street. The all white van that was parked in front of their house had both its doors open. The man shoving a bag inside stopped and looked at Austin. They met gazes for several minutes. “Step over here for a second, young man.” There was a police officer talking to him, but Austin didn’t know why. He asked to see his backpack, telling Austin to stand by the car while he looked through it. Austin couldn’t help staring at the bags in the yard. They were bodies. It had to be seven... No eight, nine... the one in the van made ten... they were bringing out another one. Eleven! “Can you explain this, son?” Austin looked at the officer, then at the car hood. Where’d the knife come from? Or the rope? Gloves, flashlight, crowbar... That wasn’t even his backpack now that he was looking at it. “I don’t know what any of that stuff is.” “Hey!” It was Dad, coming out of the house. “What is all this?” The officer looked at Austin and said “Do you want to tell him, or should I?” “What do you mean?” “Sir, your son’s going to have to come with us.” He was careful with the backpack, putting it on the hood as more evidence. Now Austin saw why the officer handled it with such care. There were bloody handprints all over it. Just like someone had grabbed hold of it. Dad said “Don’t worry, son. This’s all just a big mistake.” But it sure didn’t feel like the officer thought there was any mistake. He put those handcuffs on nice and tight. No way could he slip out of these like his old play ones. “Dad?” He said one last thing before the door shut, and his dad stood with absolute horror on his face. “I didn’t do anything!” The window was probably soundproof. He reared back and yelled it again. He couldn’t understand anything Dad was saying to him. Now Mom was in the yard, too. She was holding her hands over her mouth and crying while Dad was trying to comfort her. But where was Carlie? The officer got in the drivers’ seat and said “You’ll know more once we get down to the station.” Austin didn’t know what that meant. He just looked out the window. He looked up at his bedroom window, and that’s when he saw Carlie. She was staring down at him, and there was no emotion on her face. She put her hand on the window. Austin thought was to wave goodbye. It was when she took her hand away that he saw her handprint on the window. It was bloody! “No!” He freaked out. “Stop the car! My mom and dad! Don’t let them go in the house!” “Quiet down back there!” The officer banged on the mesh between them. “You have to listen to me! It was my sister!” The officer said “Yeah, we know. We had to get everyone out of the house. Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” Chandra Perkins 9/18/2019

#Short story #horror #am writing #writing community #reading community #book lovers #readers #stories #storytelling #thrillers

[channyperkinsuniverse]

Climbing Mount Horn

Faster, higher, the way she moved was not machine, more like superhuman. On the mountain face, Dylan climbed beyond the markers now. The competition had just gotten intense. Below, there were all hands in the air. Some were cheering, pumping up and down. Some just tried keeping the sun out of their eyes. His were tucked under his arms. This was insane. Dylan was out of her mind. Just to prove a point. To get her name in a stupid book as the first woman to reach the top of Mount Horn. What did she really have to prove? Out of them, Drag-ass, Monkey, and himself included, Owen told her before that she was the toughest of all of them. But the beer started talking. They came up the trail two nights ago, and didn’t plan on staying. That was until Goose and his boys walked in the tavern. Locals there settled rivalries with a friendly face-off, so that’s how it started. It was Drag-ass, whose real name was Duane, got him to worrying. “She’s not going to make it, man.” He said “Shut the hell up. She’ll make it” to the shorter young man in blue beanie hat. His hair was ratted out the back. Monkey was throwing off his pack. “I’m going up.” “No. You’re not,” Owen said, “It’s Dylan’s fight. She’ll be pissed if we step in.” “That’s my sister up there!” Monkey was ready to fight anyone. On the mountain, Dylan heard a crackling. That couldn’t be good. If she died today she’d so be haunting those shit bags down there. Make them crap themselves seeing her ghost walk right up to them. “Hey guys! You miss me?” It would be so worth it just to see a puddle start to form under their hiking boots, and them run like chickens. But that wasn’t going to be today. Dylan was swinging, then kicked her leg high enough that she wedged her foot in a wide crack. Goose was just a few feet now. He was waiting on her to put her hand on the rock, and then he crushed it under his boot. “That’s not playing fair!” “Who said anything about fair?” Goose ground his foot in. One of Dylan’s fingernails popped right off. She was losing her grip. She managed to clasp onto her rope as she slid. Swinging at the bottom of the knot. The crowd around Owen gasped. He said under his breath “Come on, Dylan.” It had to give her strength. The rope wasn’t going to hold. It started shaking. Dylan jumped. The rope slipping fast out of the set of clasps she was wearing around her waist. It was only a split second, and then she caught the mountain. Dylan was a good climber. One of the best. Owen didn’t worry about her. He worried about this mountain. Maps completely barred the climb as unsafe due to its corrosion. Even if she did make it to the top that was only the beginning. He blamed himself. Why did he ever say they could stay here tonight? She was almost to the top. Goose was wrapping his arms over the ledge. He was going to win. Worse than that he’d never let her share the ledge with him. She had to make it. She had to take that ledge! Dylan started to swing. The crackling was getting louder now. It was dropping sprays of gravel in her eyes. She spit some out. It tasted like salt. A mouthful of salt. Her hand felt for a better grip above. Only inches more now and she’d be kissing the clouds. She slipped. No! She was never going to make it now. Goose already had his leg over the ledge. Rumble! The thunder was talking. She heard a story once about a greedy villager. He climbed to the highest peak because he heard there was gold. “Won’t I be the richest and most respected in the Village?” That’s when he was struck by lightning and died. You see, he’d angered the Gods by taking their gold, and because of his greed, he got a death sentence instead. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to win at everything. She didn’t need the honor that much. The helicopter dropped down his rope. If she quit now she’d forfeit the money she laid out. The line was low enough she could reach out and grab it. She’d lost anyway. Right then, the ledge gave way. The helicopter flew out of harm. Smoke was billowing like a wildfire. Owen, Monkey, and Drag-ass stayed close. They were watching in horror the same as everyone else. As the helicopter propelled around he was coming out of the smoke. They could see the top of the ledge now was gone. “She’s gone, man.” Monkey hid his face, but the other two knew he didn’t take it well. Owen tried blinking, but a tear fell. Shit. He loved her, man. He loved her. The helicopter was getting closer. There was something still on the line. It was coming closer to the tops of the trees. Then Owen could see what it was. He pounded Monkey on the shoulder. “Look, man. Is that—?” Rescue in orange vests ran onto the landing pad. Owen told the others to come on, but the propellers were roaring over him. They looked at each other for hand signals, and Drag-ass held his beanie from flying off. Owen signaled to follow. As they pushed through, the crowd was gathering tighter at the fence. Owen started to look for another way. There had to be a gate. Once they found it and were running through, Dylan saw them. She came straight for them with arms wide open. On the landing pad, Goose was being wheeled in the stretcher. Dylan said “It was a freak thing. He jumped from a few feet above me, and the helicopter flew me right underneath him. We were both lucky.” As he was lifted in the back of the ambulance, Goose looked back at Dylan and her crew. All was lighthearted now. He gave them the thumbs up. Chandra Perkins 9/14/2019

#Amwriting #actionadventure #Story #storytelling #girlswhowrite #writingcommunity #writercommunity #reading #fiction #goodreads #inspiration

[channyperkinsuniverse]

The Color Thesaurus for Writers and Designers from Ingrid’s Notes. The color blocks represent white, tan, yellow, orange, red, pink, purple, blue, green, brown, gray and black. Really interesting blog I’m going to pass onto writer friends. In her short bio she writes,

I have an MFA in writing for children and young adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts, and an MFA in screenwriting from Chapman University. I created this blog to share what I’ve been learning about the writing and publishing industry.

Here are more infographics writers have found useful:

Fashion Pattern Vocabulary Part 1 Infographic.

Fashion Pattern Vocabulary Part 2 Infographic. 

Know Your Sunglasses Infographic. 

Know Your Shoes Part 1 Infographic. Lobster Claws anyone?

Know Your Shoes Part 2 Infographic.

Know Your Necklines Infographic from Paper Blog.

Sleeves and Necklines Infographic.

Know Your Hats Infographic.

Know Your Collars and Cuffs Infographic.

Know Your Necklines Infographic.

Know Your Skirts Infographic.

Know Your Nail Shapes and What’s Popular on Instagram Infographics.

Know Your Eye Liners Infographic

Know Your Wedding Dresses Infographic

History of Swimwear Infographic

[channyperkinsuniverse]

do you have any tips on flow? i feel my writing is so stilted, even if i vary sentences.

hello anon! sorry for getting to you late but let’s jump right into the topic, shall we?

read everything you write out loud in a quiet room. don’t mouth it, don’t read it in your head repeatedly, you have to read it loud & clear for yourself to slowly mull over where you stumble over the words & find the phrasing, pace, structure, or anything else stilted.

everyone says to vary sentence length, but also vary the STRUCTURE of your sentences as well. 

compound-complex, complex, compound, simple, and fragments are the structures you’ll find. a lot of people think sentence length is the sole determinant of how sentences flow but that’s entirely an incorrect presumption. (here’s a link for an explanation.)

write it out on a piece of paper several times & try to rephrase it as much as possible. read it out loud & make adjustments where you stumble over the words. pick the one that suits your purposes best.

a personal thing i like to do is “map” out how i’m going to write certain paragraphs & dialogue. i’ll carefully write to the standard i’ve set. focus on the rhythm you’re trying to create & try to keep it in mind while you write.

example: medium length-compound sentence / short length-simple sentence / fragment / long-complex-compound sentence / short-complex sentence.

check for passive voice. a lot of the time reading feels stitled because passive voice & active voice will clash when you’re reading it.

check for glue content. most writers overuse common words which drags out prose, makes it less economical, & stilted. creative word usage typically eliminates the awkward piecing together of sentences.

check for sentence “framing” & word usage. are you repeatedly using “the” to start every sentence? are you ending a sentence with “you” when the next sentence begins with the same word? 

example:

overuse of starting words: The dog ran on the mud-slicked fields. The rain pounded overhead and thunder clouds rolled over as lightning struck down trees. The dog’s muffled howls were lost to the raging wind.

(lots of “the” being used, too many simple sentences, & overuse of glue words. yes, this is a terrible example but hopefully you get the point?)

fixed version: The dog ran on the mud-slicked fields as rain pounded overhead. Thunder clouds rolled over while lightning struck down trees and the dog’s muffled howls succumbed to the raging wind.

check the breaks between sentences. would it look & sound better if your medium-compound sentence & the short-complex sentence beside it work better as a long-compound-complex sentence? or would you need to break up a long-compound-complex sentence into smaller, less structured pieces?

remember, choppy & stitled writing can work wonders in certain scenes & books. thrillers, fight scenes, mystery, and many others require a stilted flow of writing at times to create tension! i wish you the best.

want more writing advice? / buy me a coffee?

[channyperkinsuniverse]

Time Goes Quickly

A thousand lives had passed in the flash of a speeding car. They didn’t know that today when they woke up, got dressed for work, poured themselves a cup of coffee, that they may never see their loved ones again. No one ever stops to think that. If we did, how many of us would ever leave home? Every time we see our kids, our soul mate, our pets, could be the last. We could walk out our front door and get in our car, and within a split second we can be gone forever. It’s those split seconds that can change our lives, the people who love us lives. You never know which one could be your last. Don’t waste them. Make every second in your life count. Tell your loved ones how much they mean to you, take that extra five minutes to play fetch with your dog, make sure they know that if ever it’s the last moment before everything changes you love them. Do they know? The last moment I spent with my dad I didn’t say a word. I thought about what I wanted to say. Somehow I told myself that now, seconds away from death, he could suddenly read my mind. I held his hand, and told myself that he knew I was there. He didn’t need to hear my voice to know I loved him. I didn’t make the same mistake again. I talked to my mom as she drifted away. Years later, my voice was the last thing my dog heard as she crossed the rainbow bridge, and the last words I said were “I love you so much, Maggie. Goodbye.” We don’t know where they’re going. We can only imagine we’ll see them again one day. But if that’s not the case then all we can do is make sure they know what they truly meant to you. Those thousand lives didn’t know it was their time, either. Don’t wait for that flash.

#Writing #writingcommunity #amwriting #journal #thoughts #thoughtoftheday #girlswhowrite #writerscommunity #amreading #life #inspiration

[channyperkinsuniverse]

When Your Plot Hits a Dead End

Anonymous asked:

How would you say you manage to push forward a plot when it seems to hit a dead end or just lack ideas afterwards? I’ve been writing an outline and struggling what to do at a certain point in the story for several weeks now.

If you’re struggling with a small plot point, something in between other plot points, or are just having trouble strategizing, try these brainstorming tips.

If you have the first portion of the story, and can’t figure out the rest, then I have one word for you: Goals.Goals. Goals. Goals. Goals. Goals. Goals. Goals. Goals.

If you want to know where your story needs to go, you first need to know what your protagonist wants. 

If they don’t want anything yet, then give them something to want. Something they need to prevent, something they need to earn, something they need to save. Give them something difficult to accomplish.

Remember that all (genre) stories need to reach a final climactic moment in which your protagonist makes the choice to change as a person (or to stay the same) and finally achieves (or loses) the thing they wanted most.

Frodo brings the ring to Mount Doom. Luke blows up the death star. Harry Potter kills Voldemort. The Beauty gets to be with her Beast.

Once you know where your story needs to go, you can figure out how to get it there.*

Prior to these final climactic moments is the middle section of the book, made primarily of hurdles being thrown in your character’s way in order to…

(a) Block your protagonist from their goal. (b) Make your protagonist learn and develop. © Build up the tension until the final climactic moment. 

These hurdles can be anything from finely woven subplots that tie everything together in a great plot twist at the end, to random junk you wanted to see your characters react to. Along with each hurdle, it’s important to make sure your characters get something out of it too, giving them a reason to believe they can reach their goal if they keep moving forward.

A not-at-all complete list of ways to create hurdles:

Subplots. Make your protagonist deal with a subplot when they really want to be reaching for their goal instead.

Take something away. Take away something your protagonist already has and either wants very badly to keep, or specifically needs to survive.

Stepping stones. Provide a series of tasks your protagonist needs to get through in order to have the tools to accomplish their goal.

Questing. Make your protagonist travel a long way to achieve their goal, thus giving them time to run into all sorts of nasty problems. 

Minor villains. Give your protagonist a distraction in the form of minor antagonistic characters.

Major villains. Let the main antagonist rear it’s almighty head, whether this be a person or organization who wants to take down your protagonist, a natural disaster threatening their life or well being, a destructive part of your protagonist’s self, or something else entirely.

Inconveniences and disadvantages. Remove or greatly hinder your protagonist’s ability to do the thing they were already planning to do. 

Redirection. Give your protagonist a brand new goal they now need to achieve, either instead of, or on top of, their old one.

You can create hurdles for your protagonist to overcome in any number of other ways. (Again, if you’re having writer’s block when trying to create these, check out the brainstorming tips. You can also learn more about creating strong plot points here.) 

In the end though, the key is simply to have a protagonist who wants something and to make them overcome obstacles in order to reach it.

* If you’re already working on an outline, you’re probably the type of person who likes knowing the details ahead of time. But you don’t need to have all the details for this to work. Sometimes it’s enough just to know the protagonist needs to fight the antagonist, or save the city, or stop the love interest from leaving, even if you aren’t sure how they’ll do that yet.

Some random, related FAQ under the cut:

Keep reading

[channyperkinsuniverse]

This is a great (slightly long) read that summarizes all of those basic story archetypes you hear about so much (and some that you’ve don’t). Examples of what it covers: 

Aristotle’s “Poetics”

Mimesis: forming a picture in the viewer’s mind 

Mythos: the plot, or message structure of the work.

Opsis: the physical and visual presentation of the drama.

Desis: the “tying” together of story elements that result in the end.

Anagnorisis: a discovery, or incident that sparks the story events.

Lusis: the “untying” of the story’s “mess” into a climax.

Katharsis: the audience’s emotional “purging” from experiencing the story.

The Three Appeals

Ethos: the credibility of a subject or author.

Pathos: the emotion (e.g. pity) of a subject.

Logos: the logical reasoning of a subject.

The 16 Master Archetypes

Osiris Saviour (good side) vs. Punisher (bad side)

Poseidon Artist (good side) vs. Abuser (bad side)

Zeus King (good side) vs. Dictator (bad side)

Hera Matriarch (good side) vs. Scorned Woman (bad side)

Isis Saviour (good side) vs. Destroyer (bad side)

Perisphere Innocent maiden (good side) vs. Troubled teen (bad side)

The Unspecified Abstract 7 Plots

[wo]man vs. Nature

[wo]man vs. [wo]man

[wo]man vs. the Environment

The 7 Basic Plots — Christopher Booker

Overcoming the Monster: The protagonist sets out to defeat an antagonistic force (often evil) which threatens the protagonist and/or protagonist’s homeland.

Rags to Riches: The poor protagonist acquires things such as power, wealth, and a mate, before losing it all and gaining it back upon growing as a person.

Tragedy: The protagonist is a villain who falls from grace and whose death is a happy ending.

The 20 Master Plots — Ronald Tobias

Quest: The hero searches for something, someone, or somewhere. In reality, they may be searching for themselves, with the outer journey mirrored internally. They may be joined by a companion, who takes care of minor detail and whose limitations contrast with the hero’s greater qualities.

Adventure: The protagonist goes on an adventure, much like a quest, but with less of a focus on the end goal or the personal development of hero hero. In the adventure, there is more action for action’s sake.

Pursuit: the focus is on chase, with one person chasing another (and perhaps with multiple and alternating chase). The pursued person may be often cornered and somehow escape, so that the pursuit can continue. Depending on the story, the pursued person may be caught or may escape.

The 36 Dramatic Situations — Carlo Gozzi/Georges Polti

Deliverance

Crime pursued by vengeance

Vengeance taken for kindred upon kindred

Mistaken jealousy

Conflict with a god

Rivalry of superior and inferior

[channyperkinsuniverse]

Things I’d Like To Finish

Something I'd like to start doing is finishing stuff. When my mom died, going through her things, the most heartbreaking of all was to see how much she left unfinished. There was a doll she kept meaning to crochet for my sister that was still in the bag it came in, and in the bag from the store with the receipt still inside. Other things were partially done with no way of picking up where she left off. Even a book of hers she was reading still had its bookmark inside where she was still reading. Although, she was working on it, there was still so much time lost. I don’t want to leave as much behind to be rifled through that I intended to craft or sew or even learn. My mom did her best to get things done in her life, and she was always busy when I was growing up putting together holiday decorations, or sewing a new outfit for some occasion. It was later in her life when she fell into depression, and unfortunately, into dementia that her projects began to suffer and pile up. Since she had done so many things, with so many interests, there was a roomful of items I was able to collect after she passed away. One was an unhealthy obsession with googlie eyeballs that seemed to turn up everywhere! Although, for many years I watched my mom always staying busy I was sad at how many things she never got to have the pleasure of bringing into existence. I’m seeing myself following in the same direction that I found heartbreaking. In the event that I am no longer around I want those who survive after me to be able to look at the lovely things my hands made while I was alive, and for those things to make them happily remember me.

#Writers community #writer #girls who write #journal #daily journal #thoughts #life #procrastination #truth

[channyperkinsuniverse]

I’ve been told by dozens of agents that there isn’t a market for my #ownvoices series about a group of queer kids surviving the apocalypse.

please reblog this if you’d be interested in an LBGT+ sci-fi YA book, I want to prove a point

[channyperkinsuniverse]

#inspiration #image #visual poetry #poetry

[channyperkinsuniverse]

One Day Forgotten

By Chandra Perkins

I’m lost and confused. I’m completely turned around. I’m going nowhere special, but my feet are on the ground. I have this small obsession to hurt myself when things go wrong. I live my life in aching question; how I’ve survived it this long. The worst of times just keep coming without pause in sight. I can look up and look on, but that doesn’t make it right. I can wake up each morning, make my bed, put on my clothes. I can smile to my friends, and the sadness never shows; Claim I’m just fine, having controversial thoughts inside my head, and hang out and pass the time no truth in what I’ve said. Down at the end of the alley, rummaging in the dark are shadows just like me who had forgotten who they are.

#amwriting #life #story #storytelling #poem #poetry #rhyme poetry #writerscorner #booklovers #poetrylovers #ilovewriting #chandraperkins #feelings #thoughts #mywords #depression #mental health

[channyperkinsuniverse]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uUoCShpQXlU)

#amwriting #writerscorner #bookworm #booklover #writers #ilovewriting #girls who write

[channyperkinsuniverse]

#girl #dead flowers #not my photo #stockphotos #free stock images #photo inspiration #photography #photo poetry #photo artistic

[channyperkinsuniverse]

My Valentine

by Chandra Perkins

You're the one I used to love. Your plagiarized song and dead flowers You can shove Straight up your ass with all the hours I spent waiting on you. You didn't appreciate me. Then, said I shouldn't like you. Let heartbreak overlook me.

But I was so overlooked, So starved for a kind word Out of your mouth. You always took The life from my world. The knife you used in my back Only made me stronger, And those hated words don't last When they mean nothing any longer.

#poem #love #brokenheart #depression #breakup #valentine #pain #author #chandra perkins #my writing #prose poetry

[channyperkinsuniverse]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7n_xBzER9Mc)

#author #wattpad #shortstory #storytelling #my writing #youtube #video #vlog #channy perkins #Chandra perkins