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Instead of using the phrase “it’s five o clock somewhere” as an excuse to start drinking, I propose we use the phrase “it’s bedtime somewhere” as an excuse to start sleeping.

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I’m very excited for my latest craft experiment, where I rhythmically slap sale rank oil paint onto a canvas and I see how long it takes to dry so that I can finally touch the paint textures I stare at so longingly in museums. 12 hours in, still wet. I am beginning to think this might take longer than I thought which you can imagine is quite a burden, as I am absolutely horned up to rub this paint.

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i pulled up this video on youtube that was like 8 hours of birds for cats to watch and i sat my cat in front of it and i didnt think shed be interested cuz she never watches tv or anything but she is Hypnotized

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To further elaborate; 

I enjoy when language is used playfully and doesn’t take itself too seriously. The sky doesn’t always have to be blue. The air can feel goopy. Think abstractly. You create your own worlds. How do the clouds taste? Like acid, honey, coffee, toothpaste? Sometimes writing about worlds and feelings that are unrealistic (and/or surrealistic) can be the best ways to get an atmosphere or vibe across. 

Sometimes language that semantically makes the least sense has the best desired effect. I’ve been enjoying toying with language that makes the cogs in our minds churn, go “wait - what?” and try to dismantle it. There’s no right or wrong, good or bad with language. It’s okay to be experimental and actively try to shift the semantics of a word to fit your voice. Sometimes I use language not because semantically it fits, but the phonology of a word can accurately shape the surrounding language to get a particular message across. 

Think about your adjectives, your verbs, your adverbs. Think about word play and how it sounds on your tongue. It’s okay to be simplistic. It’s okay to be excessive. Don’t think only about image - but about rhymes and the psychology behind your word choices. Why should particular words/phrases be repeated/exaggerated? (or why not?) What connotations of words and worlds are you trying to get across? Think about semantic fields. About metaphors 

If you have characters think about their individual speech patterns, their individual word/language choices and how/why they would use this. Are your characters around family? Perhaps they’d use different language than they would around their lover. Where are they? What is their purpose for speaking what they say?  What terminology have they brought with them from their childhood? 

Language and word order is fun. Play with it. Explore new words and see what you can do with them. 

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You drop a small piece of food on the floor, and decide to kick it under the oven/couch/whatever because you can’t be bothered to pick it up. As you’re walking away, you hear a very quiet “Thank you!” from under it.

#monster #monster friends #fiction #readmore #reblog #i swear to god these stories make me want to live in another world #writing #fantasy writing #fantasy creature

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Dark times all around but there are still people out there who love you

Do not hurt yourself, do not hurt others, get help, talk to someone, anyone. Humanity has survived before and we can do it now if we all just support each other. My country and my people let me down and endangered my life but there’s nothing I or anyone else can do about that so let’s try to spread the love that is so clearly lacking.

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Please take good care of them!

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both? both. both is good.

happy pride month!

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instagram.com/chromat

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Looking for a random cause of death for a character? Click here.

Looking for a random city? Click here.

Looking for a random city that people have actually heard of? Click here.

Need a random surname for a character? Click here. (They also give prevalence by race, which is very helpful.)

Helpful writing tips for my friends.

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Reminder for Writers

That story you’re writing? The one that feels genius one day, and like a failure the next? The one that sometimes makes you wonder if you’re skilled enough to tackle it?

That story came to you for a reason.

No one can write it the way you can.

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turns out my life purpose isn’t supposed to be as small and silent and accommodating and convenient as possible

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writing playlist: on

google docs: open

mind: ready

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Happiness:

In the passenger side of my boyfriends car with the squad, throwbacks blasting through the speakers. All the windows are down and the sunroof is open. There is a GORGEOUS ass pink and purple and blue sunset that reminded me of the Bi Flag and made my gay little heart sing. I can’t stop smiling because for the first time, I actually like where I’m at in my life. 

#sunset #biseuxal #bi flag #summer loving #summer vibin' #windows down #music blasting #happiness #biggie smalls #come on motherfuckers come on #in love with my best friend #squad #i love my life

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Hey, if anyone is reading this!

Would anyone want to read my writing? I do just some of my own style of fantasy. It’s nothing special but I feel like I might want to get it out. I’m gonna post it anyways because what can I lose, so let me know what you think 😬😄

Ansley’s Books

Magnus Spears: a young boy in his twenties who loves a book store (aptly named Ansley books)

Leonard Ansley: an old, mysterious man who runs a bookshop that always seems to be closed.

The world is magical and Mr. Ansley has quite the secret...

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Magnus Sears was walking down the surprisingly quiet city street. For being right in the middle of downtown, the cobble-stone paved road was relatively barren, just the occasional stray cat that skittered across the street and under haphazardly parked cars.

Magnus could feel the magic emanating from here, some houses giving off more energy than others, but magic was here nonetheless. Although most beings here knew magic, the modernization of the city blocked the feel of it; the rubber and concrete and heavy metal absorbing the reverberations that the spells put off. But here, with basic houses and more trees and plants than anywhere else in the city, the magic was able to easily permeate the air.

No house or shop looked alike; with a lack of major city funding, homeowners were free to build and decorate the houses as they pleased, something that always pleased Magnus. The well maintained, put together city always seemed disingenuous to him. To Magnus, magic was a raw, beautiful practice, but the rest of the world only seemed interested in making it as easily accessible and user-friendly as possible.

Alder street was one of the very few remaining places in Ohio that denied the oncoming slought of modern magic, and that is why Magnus spent so much of his time here.

He passed a few more earth-toned houses and brightly colored shops before he came upon his favorite; a run-down looking building surrounded by the most beautiful arrangement of flower beds on the street. The one small window rested just besides the front door, adorned by a small planter box filled with rosemary, basil, cilantro, and one plant that looked unfamiliar to Magnus.

This was Ansley Books.

Magnus walked up to the door, not without stopping to smell the fragrant lavender and the potent eucalyptus that lined the gravel walkway. Through the small and grimy window, he saw the faint outline of a closed sign. It was always up since the owner was a bit of a hermit. How he kept bringing in enough money to run the shop, no one knows. But nonetheless, Magnus walked up to the door.

He knocked. This was mainly out of politeness for the owner; for Magnus had been here a few times a week for almost a year now. He waited for a response, although he knew he probably wasn’t going to get one. The old man was likely lost in an old manuscript of some sort, oblivious to the young brunette man knocking at his door.

Magnus opened the door, which protested the action with a loud whine. The sunlight from the outside briefly lit up the dark room, illuminating motes in the air like little dusty fireflies. He shut the door behind him, and suddenly he was surrounded with the stuffy scent of old books.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing he was surrounded by hundreds of books. Each shelf was stuffed so full, the wood beneath the heavy bound paper was bowing with the weight. No book was the same, each title more obscure than the rest. There was a large amount of bookcases in comparison to the size of the building, but even with the intricate, maze-like pattern of them, it felt cozy rather than cramped.

Like the street, the store was eerily quiet, and Magnus could feel the magic in the air more tangibly than the air outside. Each book, he sensed, had some sort of spell, incantation, or hex put on it, and he swore he could feel each one separately. His skin tingled with the feeling.

How, Magnus wondered, was it possible for someone to have so many books?

After casually weaving through a few shelves, he made his way to the cluttered desk in the back of the room. Behind a rather large mess of papers sat an old man, looking to be around 70 or so years old. The wrinkles around his mouth and eyes were deep set, creased like someone etched the skin with the knife. Whether or not the man noticed Magnus enter or not, he did a great job at not showing it.

Magnus gently cleared his throat, the sound slicing through the silence the way a knife passes through jell-o. The man didn’t even look up to acknowledge him.

“Make me your best offer on a book, and don’t stay here for too long, I’ll be closing up soon.” The old man continued looking through the faded yellow papers scattered in front of him, clearly not interested in probably the only customer he’d have that day.

“What, no hug?” Magnus asked teasingly. The man didn’t think that was very funny, although the stony look on his face softened slightly at the sight of the young boy in front of him.

“Greetings, Magnus. I meant what I said, don’t stay here for too long. I have important things I need to tend to and I can’t waste my precious time.”

The man had said this before, many times, but by the time Magnus successfully roped him into an engaging conversation, all thoughts of the apparently high importance tasks dissipated into nothing.

I wonder how long I can keep him here today, Magnus thought. He never knew exactly how much time in the bookstore he would be granted, some days he managed to keep the man talking until late into the night. Most of the other times though, Magnus could only extract a few sentences before being shooed back onto the street.

“I was wondering if you have any books about ancient religions. Specifically Celtic?”

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Let me know if you like it or want to be added to the tag list! I do admit, I love a busy life and also struggle with procrastination so I may not post consistently but I will try to post as much as I can!

#fantasy writing #romance writing #writing #writeblr #my writing #musings #short stories #validate me #read my stuff #Ansley Books #Magnus Sears #Leonard Ansley #bookshop #bookshelves #old man #tragic backstory

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books?? amazing. paperbacks?? soft, cozy, may fit in your pocket, cheap so you don’t feel bad for taking notes in them. hardcovers??? beautiful, pristine, ground you into the world they hold by making you grip them tighter, the stars of every bookshelf. ebooks?? convenient, cheap, always with you, a vast library that you can hold in your palm. new books?? crisp, the smell of wood, ideas waiting to imprint themselves upon the world. old books?? objects transcending history, sweet smelling, enriched by the hands that stroked their pages. books.

#bookish #books #bibliophile #any book any time