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1introvertedsage · 6 days

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If a writer stops observing he is finished. Experience is communicated by small details intimately observed.

~Ernest Hemingway~

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coffeebirbsdarkacademia · 2 years

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We are all broken- that's how the light gets in

Ernest Hemmingway

#quotes #quote #book quotes #quotation #literature quotes #literature lover #literary academia #my literature loving soul #ernest hemingway #ernest hemmingway quotes #dark academia #dark academic quotes #dark acadamia aesthetic #deep #Deep thoughts #deep quotes #deep thinking #deep state

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deepseaidyll · 1 year

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and you‘ll always love me, won‘t you?

yes

and the rain won‘t make any difference?

no

- ernest hemingway

#ernest hemmingway #a farewell to arms #quote

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quotestomorals · 11 months

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But life isn't hard to manage when you've nothing to lose.

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

#quotes #book #ernest hemmingway #a farewell to arms #quoteoftheday #inkspill #books

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chrismoulton · 2 years

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[untitled?]

If we are to part, I'd like we stay away. Not to screen or stalk, even seven days. I've been blindfolded for so long, I'm so small. So, so long. I've no need to dwell, my first night of widow-hood. I'll take a scotch and soda and wonder if it's for good. Cos' I've had this trauma handed down from a god who may not exist alive in the alcove. I'm never loving again. Now that you're gone, I've no need for friends. Spend all my time working towards the end, of this lie that I claimed was my life. There was a gentle breeze today, like if to soften the blow of her exit. I think I'm far past the point of help, hurdling towards whatever's next. I'm getting used to the pain of abuse but the loneliness never goes away, as if itself cursed to stay. I've been worked like a cornfield dry and all I want back is my time so cut you out like a razor to wrist of my life. It was so repetitive with you as my bride.

(Written a few months ago. Doin a lot better.)

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teenwolf-theoriginals · 9 months

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over the past week, i've gotten some lovely messages asking if i'm okay, where i was, basically kind anons sending love. and then there were a few anons who asked about my peaky fics. this is kind long, so i'll put it under the "keep reading" line.

firstly, thank you to those who checked in. am i okay? not really, that's why i took time away. lately, it has been a real struggle with writing. i know it seems like i'm singing the same old tune. but this time around it felt different. i needed to step away, take time out for me and try to figure out why mentally i wasn't connecting with writing. i haven't completely figured it out, i'm still slowly working through falling back in love with my writing. it's been small steps this past week. i have written a little more for the shelby chaos family, organizing the stories has helped me break them down, it's just a matter of committing to writing them and hopefully not hating what i write. on top of me disconnecting with my writing, i felt really deflated with life in general. short version, i'm just feeling so sick and tired of feeling like nothing is working out for me. it's little things that had piled up, getting my hopes up with personal things, and dealing with up and down emotions.

secondly, the reason why my peaky fics aren't visible is because i have made them private. a large reason why i was starting to disconnect from writing was because every time i looked through my notifications, 99% of them were people mass liking. it made me question what the point was in me stressing over these fics, trying to perfect them if that's how they were going to be treated (if so many think writers should write for themselves, then why not just keep them to myself, which made me feel really sad that i was having that kind of thought). that then led me to self-doubt and i didn't want that to spiral further and end up hating my writing to the point where i stopped writing altogether. so, i made the decision to cut out seeing those mass likes for the sake of my sanity and love for writing (a.k.a overthinking brain making issues more intense and stressful than they need to be). if i wasn't constantly seeing like after like after like after like, i could focus solely on finding that spark again for writing. i know it might seem like a drastic or silly thing to do. i know most won't understand unless you have gone through that as a writer or content creator. it's very difficult to communicate just how mass liking can affect a content creator if you aren't one. it's a struggle writers go through constantly and it sucks. so many writers have shared how powerful feedback, interest, and excitement can be and it feels pointless because it ends up being the same tiresome cycle. there is only so much excitement a writer can harass for their own fics before they need others to do the same. this quote by ernest hemmingway describes it perfectly: "writing, at its best, is a lonely life". writers spend so much time alone with their fics, that sharing them makes us not feel so alone. and i don't think asking for a better balance between likes/reblogs/comments is an unreasonable request (also, i understand tumblr's algorithm sucks and it's hard to get most content to a wider audience. especially if so many are posting and only the popular ones end up on top of the tags. that is why reblogging is so important).

i don't know when i'm going to make the peaky fics public again. i don't think right now i'm 100% in a place where i can do that and not go back into that rabbit hole of self-doubt, frustration, over-thinking, etc. i might do so once i have finished a fic. i might even post later more about the shelby family chaos series, share a little bit of the upcoming fics. i hope nobody is too angry at me for privatising the fics. you will be able to read them again, just please be patient with me. especially since there are a handful of fics that you guys will be getting, so i hope that sorta makes up for not being able to read my older peaky fics right now...

also, in regard to my tommy "sweetheart" series. i made the decision after reading through it to delete all chapters but the first one. i know that may disappoint some people, but i have tried to find something that i like within it and i just haven't been able to. i really love the first part, but the rest i hated. and i know some may think that's unfair, especially if other people did love it, but i wasn't happy with it and i don't think the quality of the other parts matched the quality of the first part. maybe, way way down the road, i will write something new for it. but for now, it's going to stay a one-shot like it originally was meant to be.

i'm sending lots of love to anybody who may be struggling right now, or may not feel good enough either when it comes to writing, personal issues, etc. you are good enough! please, take care of yourself, it is not selfish to do so. life is heavy at times, find some joy and hold on to it. breathe and take it one day at a time. if you ever feel overwhelmed, talk to someone, blast your favourite tunes, go outside, binge-watch your favourite show. just do things that make you feel happy and peaceful. ♡

#personal #writing #peaky blinders

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jakey-beefed-it · 1 year

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More thoughts on Shadowbringers later probably but I’m absolutely a sucker for ‘the world coming together to save the world’, to borrow Guillermo Del Toro’s description of Pacific Rim

Or to quote Morgan Freeman’s character from the end of Seven, “Ernest Hemmingway once said ‘the world’s a fine place, and worth fighting for.’ I believe the second part.”

#Jake plays Final Fantasy XIV #gets me every fucking time #punches me square in the depressed optimist

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emilykaldwen · 5 months

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9 and 10 for Abby for the edgy OC asks?

Thank you bb!

Edgy OC Asks Meme

9. Do you have any specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

You are so brave and quiet. I forget you are suffering - Ernest Hemmingway

as for song: Head Above Water by Avril Lavigne (YES AVRIL LAVIGNE)

For the quote, when it came to Abby, within the confines of the world that she's in, I felt like she would come in verses exploding out. She is surrounded by people who explode out. Aemond's rage and growing violence, Aegon's acting out and drunken debauchery and issues, Alicent's verbal and physical abuses. For her, she became small, she fawned rather than fight/flight/freeze. She pours all herself into trying to help other people because she needs to make herself invaluable, she needs to scrape out some modicum of safety in a world where frankly? She doesn't feel safe. Larys does little to protect her, and as the Queen's ward, Alicent kind of just... let's her do her thing? Because Alicent has so many other things she's focused on. And because she's not outwardly lashing out, losing her shit, acting up and out, it's easy to forget she is depressed, she is still strangled with grief, she is suffering too.

And I feel like it's an important lesson in our every day world. Just because someone looks and sounds okay, doesn't mean they aren't also going through it.

10. What's an AU that you would be interested in exploring with your OC?

So lovely @acrossthesestars sent me a beauty and the beast!Abrogon drabble idea that might morph into something bigger so I've been ruminating on that. We also have a titanic!AU that we've been working on that's been so incredibly fun

Another AU idea is a Abby growing up at Casterly Rock!AU instead of staying in the capital after Lyonel's death. Aegon won't know what to do with himself LMAO

There's the Southern Gothic!AU that I touch on from time to time.

There's the world war II but with dragons!AU I wrote a little drabble for a few weeks ago that involves amnesia and longing and heartache.

I also have a band!AU I've been sitting on since like, march/april. not that that's a full on AU but I might write a one shot of it at some point (I blame my friend Ramses for this, who actually put together fake albums for Aegon way back then and we had discussed what that sort of AU would look like. It's very horny.)

@selfproclaimedunicorn and I joke about the Roycegaryens adopting Abby. Not something I would write, but it's a fun little thing to joke about and it makes me happy.

Gosh then there's the onlyfans AU, I have a Bridgerton!AU that I came up with this time last year, werewolf!AU, ABO verses uhhhhh I have so many things I want to do with them you have no idea. What sees the light of day though, I have no clue, we'll see where the wind takes me.

#thank you so much for the asks!#oc: abrogail strong

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thealohashirt · 11 months

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Quotes that Capture the Playful Side of Cats

A cat can purr its way out of anything. - Donna McCrohan Cats know how to obtain food without labor, shelter without confinement, and love without penalties. - Walter Leonel George (1882-1926) The cat in gloves catches no mice. - Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) A home without a cat – and a well-fed, well-petted and properly revered cat – may be a perfect home, perhaps but how can it prove title? - Mark Twain (1835-1910) One cat just leads to another. - Ernest Hemmingway (1899-1961) Cats never strike a pose that isn't photogenic. - Lillian Jackson Braun (1913-2011) Way down deep, we’re all motivated by the same urges. Cats have the courage to live by them. - Jim Davis (1945)

#cat #catlife #cutecat #catlover

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ollieofthebeholder · 2 years

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for "leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)", 10, 11, 16, and 20 for the ask game!

I am actually going to answer 10 under the cut, because, y'know, it's a 60-chapter fic, so. XD

11. Was there a scene that you hadn't originally planned to include? Why did you decide to fit it in?

It's not exactly a secret that I did not originally plan to include Walter's statement. I wasn't sure it would fit the flow of the fic. The reason I decided to include it was twofold. First, everybody kept asking for it; I was going to write it and just, like, post it as a one-shot separately, but the more I looked at the plot and what I was doing with it, the more I realized it had some plot relevance after all. And second...somebody actually figured out the final twist in that statement, long before I'd even decided for sure that I wanted to include it. (Since this is outside the cut, no spoilers.) I'd had it in the back of my head at the start of the fic, but actually, by the time I wrote the chapter that got that comment, I'd decided not to include that particular headcanon in this fic. And then Tinyzoar said "you know, I almost thought that..." and I went OH HELL IT CAME OUT ANYWAY MIGHT AS WELL GO FOR IT.

I'm glad I did. I think it definitely added something to the final few scenes for MP to have that knowledge.

Beyond that, there were definitely a few moments I didn't plan on that came up (Charlie, JonMarTim, Sasha's uncle - fun fact, I originally had a VERY different explanation for why she could hear the worms singing!), but it wasn't so much that I decided to include them as I just...let them happen as they came up.

16. What was the easiest scene to write?

Weirdly, I think it was Chapter 39 - the confrontation with the Not-Them. There were a lot of chapters that just flowed (especially the statement ones), but Chapter 39 was the one that came closest to the Ernest Hemmingway quote: "Writing is easy. You just sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

Tim. Specifically, how Tim behaves around Martin Prime.

(Okay, I lied. I have to put the cut here because I can't answer this fully without spoilers!)

I actually don't know if anyone noticed at all - nobody ever made a big deal out of it in the fic, and I didn't see anyone comment on it - but from the moment Tim found out Martin Prime was blind, he made a point of announcing himself every time he entered a room or left it - or any time someone else entered a room or left it. It was just a little thing on Tim's part, as far as he was concerned, and Martin Prime did tell him (off-screen) that he noticed and appreciated it immensely, but yeah, I kind of wish more people had noticed that, because it's meant to be a small but important insight into Tim's character.

(Also, while everyone noticed the shift from ARCHIVIST/PAST ARCHIVIST to JON/PRESENT ARCHIVIST in the last scene, nobody commented on the fact that the Primes' POV chapters were in past tense and the past crew's POV chapters were in present tense unless I pointed it out, and I admit to being slightly disappointed about that, because I was kind of proud of that stylistic choice. XD)

10. Share a screenshot of the original outline (if you dareee😈)

Technically this isn't the original outline, it's the final outline, but I genuinely can't remember which chapters I added after my initial outline, beyond Walter's statement. (I think it was 44, 48, and 49, but don't swear me to that.)

Send me a number + the title of one of my fics and I'll answer!

#cobalt-knave #ask games for ts #fanfic asks #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#thanks babe these were fun :)

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studyinginparis · 2 years

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Hemmingway Hunt Conclusion

My favorite line from the book A Moveable Feast would definitely be from the chapter “People of the Seine” and is on page 45. It reads, “You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.” I love this quote because it discusses the feeling of expecting something to go a certain way, waiting for and looking forward to that moment only for it to not happen as expected. I feel that we are at a point in our lives where this is happening often, so I really appreciated this quote.

The episode in the book that I found the funniest would definitely be the conversation between F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemmingway regarding measurements. Zelda made a comment to Fitzgerald about his “lacking” and he came to Hemmingway for support. In response, Hemmingway tells Fitzgerald to compare himself to the statues in the museums.I found this entertaining because Hemmingway is telling him to go to a museum and stare at ceramic penises.

“A Moveable Feast” can mean many things, there are many ways to interpret it. I think to Hemmingway, the title of the book means that no matter where you are in Paris, there is a feast of culture and knowledge that can be ingested. There is always something to learn or see or experience. He is very aware of what is going on around him, and he is constantly searching for new things to learn or understand.

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coffeebirbsdarkacademia · 2 years

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To hell with them. Nothing hurts if you don't let it

Ernest Hemmingway

#quotes #quote #poetry quotes #anger #anger quotes #grunge #grunge quotes #ernest hemingway #ernest hemmingway quotes #Dark Aesthetic #dark #dark humor #dark academia #dark acadamia aesthetic #dark academia quotes

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the-woman-in-the-writing · 5 years

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“Write, Woman!” a short fiction

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,186

Author’s Note: Please read. It’s literally one paragraph.

Writing is like flying in dreams. When you remember, when you can, when it works – it’s that easy. But she didn’t remember, nor could, and it definitely didn’t work. Her words just didn’t come out right anymore. She didn’t know why, not at first, and it bothered her. She was—is a writer. But her words didn’t make sense. It didn’t breathe life, either. But it wasn’t too meaningless to be considered as dead. She didn’t want it to be. Writing was her source of life. It was everything, simply put. To write something or someone from dust or from the corners of her mind and give it life or a piece of her rib and close up the place with letters and words, it was the closest thing in her heart. Fiction made in her likeness. There was a certain beauty in giving meaning to words, but to let words give you meaning – it was beauty beyond beauty. Love beyond love. But now, confronting the idea that it may be dead, she couldn’t. It was too hard. She was flying without wings and now she’s being shot down into waking by an invisible and unfathomable force. And the reality may be her words are dying. But she didn’t want it to be. It’s not that she feared the idea of death because she didn’t (there were more things to fear than losing your breath and falling asleep). What she feared was the death of her words. If her words didn’t come out right, then it must be dying. And dear Hemmingway, it bothered her. She gets it, though. Sit and bleed. But every time she sat, there was no blood and when she bled, it lacked. It wasn’t that easy, to sit and bleed. People think it’s that easy, but it wasn’t. Just write, they say. But it isn’t like that. Everyone can write, whether they realize it or not, everyone can write. But not everyone can sit and bleed. To sit in front of a computer, a typewriter, a pad paper, a wall, a palm and just open your skin and crack your skull and pour out the words and bleed – hell, that takes discipline. Not skill, not talent, not creativity. All of those come after you learn to sit and bleed and squeeze your veins to a pulp so that what’s left of the art in you can come out and turn into words. Right now, she had discipline: she wrote whatever she can, whatever came out, whatever was left. But all those things that come after? Nothing. Gone. Missing. Her words, what was left, they were bland and they rose weakly. What’s worse is that her words aren’t even born right in her mind. Most of the time, those raw words that haven’t touched paper sounded so beautiful and just. plain. brilliant. in her mind. But now it didn’t and none of it made any sense. Eventually, she stopped writing. She didn’t bother to describe the pain of losing a lover, the taste of the food, or the joy of having to believe in something. Then, she stopped bleeding. The pads of paper went untouched and uncrumpled, and the keyboards became a home for dust. Then, she stopped creating. And so, everything turned into a colorless wasteland and her characters suffered alongside her stories. She knew it wasn’t just writer’s block. If it was that simple, words would still be born. Instead, it felt like dying and losing. She’d seen it in the way her characters lost their backbone and slowly start to rot in the flesh of her declaratives. interrogatives? imperatives. and exclamatories! She felt sorry for them. Oh, how she failed to write them to life and give them her blood so they could walk around and be more than stories. They’d rise and fall. Crash and burn. Sit and bleed. What could she do? Her stories that became paragraphs became sentences that became words that were now slowly being reduced to nothing but letters. How could her mind betray her? Sure, it brought her disturbances and violent thoughts, but why would it deprive her of the words that made those very things livable? Or maybe it wasn’t her mind that was behind all this. Maybe it was something greater – Someone greater. The Creator. The Father of words. The Word, Himself. And that was how she knew her words were not dying; they were being taken away. Secured in the hands of the Father, who created everything. She needed to get her words back. If she didn’t have her words, would she be able to call herself a writer? And if she wasn’t a writer, then who even is she? And lo and behold, the ground trembled with the waves of her mind and God, Himself, whispered to her in thunders, you are a child of Mine, saved by My grace, through your faith. She sat. And she wept. Because there was no blood left. He had taken everything away so she could find Him, the Everything. He had left her with nothing for forty days in her own desert, hungry and thirsty for literature. She had walked this desolate and dry place until she had collapsed. And that was when the Living Water had appeared and gave her life, feeding her with the Word. It was at that time that she realized that her words came from a Writer, more complex and more brilliant than her, Who breathed her into life, without words or a pen and a paper. A Writer Who authored the exposition, the rising action, the climax, the falling action, and the revelation of her own short story called life. A Writer Who carved her into His likeness. A Writer Who penned her name in the Book of Life so that her flesh may not die and perish alongside those who hadn’t found the Truth. A Writer Who didn’t just sit, but had His Son bleed so that her life would be more than a story. A Writer Who, to bring everything into existence, just had to sit and breathe. And like reading a plot twist that had changed the course of the story, she’d seen her life in a new Light, and what happened after justified what happened before. She’d let her words die in peace, because she didn’t need her words anymore. She never did. What she needed was the Word and the Word was eternal. Sit and breathe. By love she was made and by love she was redeemed. His love transcended her love for her own creations, so that she may demonstrate this very love to His, with no more of her own blood spilled, because His Son had already done so. Sit and breathe. It was beauty beyond beauty; love beyond love. Molded into a child of God, she no longer wanted to call herself a writer because she still had Everything without her words – it was without the Word that she had and was nothing. Her words never came out right, not anymore, but His did. And that was enough.