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“You know” Anders began; “I don’t even know why I got in.”

“I hear that more often than you think.” The cabbie said with a small smile. “I consider this a special taxi. It draws in people that need it.”

“Well, I don’t think I really need it at the moment”

“Maybe not now, but I have a feeling this is not the only trip you’ll make with me tonight.”

“I really don’t think so. But ok.” He replied being used to the many strange people you meet in the big city he lived in.

Looking around he noticed many small marks that looked like pictograms of a sort in places around the interior.

“What are all those? They look a bit like burn or engraving marks.” he asked pointing at the roof.

“Those are memories. You see, you meet many people being what I am. A lot can use a bit of help. This is what helps me remember the ones that succeed in getting it.”

“People need to earn your help?” Anders asked while being unable to keep the disapproval completely out of his voice.

“Not exactly what I said or meant. Ideally, people should learn to help themselves. The best thing is to not just hand someone the solution, but being shown the road to it, and then finding it for yourself.”

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Trying to plot a new story/book (or even a new piece of art)? Have a vague idea but don’t know where to start? My favourite method is to come up with a world-changing invention/scam/organization that interests you. Connect it to politics. Connect it to religion. Connect it to influential groups such as the healthcare system. Give your characters different beliefs on it, lives that have been saved by it as well as lives ruined by it.

You’ve now given your worldbuilding a huge head start, introduced conflict that isn’t solely the government’s fault (the unfounded government corruption is a way overused trope), and laid the groundwork for characters of vastly different ideologies.

Plus, your interest in your invention/scam/organization will push the “what if” factor to a whole new level, potentially destroying the dystopian society cookie cutter.

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Memories


We were frozen in time

Back at the beach

Waves crashing against the rocks

And clouds covering the sun

We were back at the beach

Reliving those days filled with mirth

And happiness so immense,

Unparalleled even by the sky in all its enormity


We were lost in those yellow parchments

In scribbled notes swearing secrecy

In stories that never aged

And secrets that remained untold

Untouched by hearts other than ours


We were caught off guard

By those starry Nights

By that humbling peace

And liberating laughter

An unending joy

That proclaimed our euphoria

Limned by the brilliance of the opaline stars



We were held captive

In a cage forged from our memories

A sole supernova to our dying star

That left us questioning

How life had morphed

Leaving none but a revelated reality

That accentuated the contrast

Between a conceit of the days that were

And a reminiscence of the days that had been

We parted ways with a token

That would turn to a legend of gold

And a chronicle of the past

But an assertion of the myths that were real

And a memory of the fairytales we lived


~Ananyaa Joshi

Imagination diaries

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<div> —  writingtoinspire </div><span>You think I worry about other women. But it is only you I contemplate. I write about you; I think about you; I work to become better for you; I strive so that I am the right man for you. It is all for you. There is no one else. There never was. There never will be. There will only be you, and the woman you continue to beautifully evolve into.</span>
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“dont let your words, your thoughts, consume you. set them out, they’ll find their place in the universe. empty yourself, make space for glorious things. for the beauty you’re yet to see, yet to feel.”

- A. J

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I place the gun in the pocket of my jacket and enter a random local bar. I wash off any blood stains and minor cuts from earlier. My body has almost no energy left. Gunshots, drugs, mob wars… a pretty normal day.

I sigh, and take a seat, deciding to order a few drinks.

I can hear distant clatter of glasses, laughs and talks of people here with their friends and loved ones, having the time of their lives. The bartender hands me my wine. I hold the glass delicately and stare at the dark red liquid slowly moving inside. I get stained with red daily…

My finger lazily traces the rim of the glass in circles. I register distant voices, some happy, some filled with deep pain.

Pain, I forgot what it feels like…

I bring the glass to my lips and slowly consume the wine in a few gulps.

I ask the bartender to pour me my fourth glass.

The microphone on the lonely stage is finally taken into consideration, as if it’s yearnings have been answered, a young man takes hold of it. He is clad in a bright blue button up shirt and black formal trousers.

He lets out a soft sigh, and starts to perform his art. His voice, it is of something I recognise, but something I’ve never experienced. He sounds like… like home.

Home.

This thought makes me let out a chuckle, a bitter chuckle. Why waste time thinking about something that doesn’t exist? Now all pairs of eyes are on him. Some couples are slow dancing to the tune. My vision is slightly blurred. Is it the intoxication of the red liquor in my hands or is it my eyes?

He slightly smiles. It’s beautiful. Probably the only thing I’ve found beautiful in seven years.

I wonder if he hides intense pain behind that beautiful smile, like the rest of the world. Is anything even real?

The sound of gunshots and explosions fills my ears. I’m taken back to where I belong.

Nothing feels true except spatters of blood, scars and bruises, guns and bombs.

I chuckle again, hoping to hide myself behind the facade I use to fool the world, as I drown in his song. But this time, I fail. A stray tear escapes my right eye. My strong princess facade is shattered as I listen to him more and more. His voice enchants me, I feel getting bewitched more and more with every passing moment, with every note that escapes his lips.

He’s looking at me. He softly smiles, like encouraging me to do the same.  A few moments more, and then it’s over. The state of mind I was in is shattered. It was an illusion, after all. A little escape. Everything’s back to how it was. I have to live this way.

People fill the room with claps and whistles. I shouldn’t stay here for longer. It was just a moment of escape, if I get addicted to these little pleasures, I’ll get weak. I can’t get weak.

As I try to shake away my thoughts and forget this night, his voice rings in my ears, and I find myself humming to the tune, slightly swaying my head side to side as the melody engulfs me.

No, no. This is weakness. I should go, it’s late already.

I walk out of the place, but in very slow steps. A part of me would rather stay here forever, but I can’t run away from reality, can I?

As I make my steps towards my car, I can feel footsteps following me. They get closer and faster. I put my guard on and put my hand in my pocket reaching out for my gun. In an instant, I feel my wrist wrapped around by a warm hand, pleasurably warm.

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Inspiration… the fleeting rush of ideas that seem to only come late at night or right in the middle of important tasks. Some days, it seems that inspiration has packed up and left forever – but don’t fret! No matter how hopeless it may seem, there are always ways to get that inspiration flowing again! Here are some of my favorite ways to draw in ideas when writer’s block eats away at you:

1. Personal Experience

A little over a year ago, I joined our local community theatre. My life had never been boring by any means, but since joining the theatre, I’ve had so many incredible (and hilarious) experiences… not to mention meeting quite a few interesting characters. It was like no other place I’ve been. In a time when I was desperate for ideas, a wellspring of inspiration came rushing out of this place. Now, if I were to tell you half of the antics that have gone on behind the scenes of our shows, you would never believe me. My life has gone from fairly normal to feeling like I live in a sitcom 24/7. I’ve found that backstage fun is fuel for comedy – which is my strongpoint in writing.

Though the book I’m working on has nothing to do with theatre, the experiences I’ve found there have inspired so many scenes, characters, and plot twists. You never know when one experience could turn into your favorite idea!

2. People You Know

Don’t be afraid to write about someone close to you. Trust me, I know the awkward feeling of writing about a family member or friend, wondering what they’ll think if they find out you’ve put them into a story as a villain when they’re a hero in real life. Don’t let it stop you! If you ask any writer, they’ll tell you they do the same thing. They play matchmaker with their characters by making their best friend the love interest to the story’s heroine. Most non-writers will understand – and they’re often flattered to think you’d include them! (If you’re too worried, just ask the person. The worst they can say is no – then, you change their character just enough for them to not be suspicious and have fun with your new idea!)

One of my close friends has become one of these fun characters – we’ll call him “Liam,” which is the name for the character he’s inspired. I met Liam when I was the newest person to join a group and he was the first friend I made there. In all honesty, he’s unlike any other friend I’ve had.

Not only does he have a huge heart, but he has never lost his childlike quality. Despite seeing horrible things in his life that scar even the bravest of souls, that childlike innocence has never left him. However, he has triggers that terrify him – such as loud noises. We went out for coffee one afternoon and a wet floor sign collapsed with a loud “BANG!” that made him come out of his seat. It took four of us to calm him back down. You could see the terror in his eyes taking him back to that place of horror – but, once he was able to pull himself back, his playful energy returned. Many people don’t take him seriously because of his childlike qualities – like becoming fascinated with things most people take for granted – but he is one of the most intelligent people you’ll meet… and his fierce loyalty is a rare, wonderful trait.

Recently, I’ve had a “HELP WANTED” sign hanging from the door in my brain that leads to my writing. The main character in my novel is a spunky, outgoing, and odd girl who has been in desperate need of a best friend to help her through the events in her book – and cause a bit of fun trouble along the way. “Liam” was the perfect fit!

(I have yet to tell him about this character, because I’m planning to surprise him with it once I’ve written more of the manuscript. He’s been a huge encourager of my writing and I’m very excited to stick him in.)

3. The Internet!

When in doubt, look it up online! The internet isn’t always your enemy (though it’s quite a lovely procrastination tool). Whether you’re in need of a story idea, or just a prompt to get the words flowing, the internet can be your best friend! Many websites have millions of writing prompts right at your fingertips!

4. Don’t Forget Your Notebook!

Wherever you go, never forget to have some way of capturing an idea the minute it comes – whether you have a physical notebook or a writing app on your phone. You don’t want to come across your best inspiration yet and be caught without a way to write it down! (Though, in the unfortunate case that you don’t have anything to write with, borrow a pen from someone and find the nearest thing to write on. I’ve been known to use tissues, toilet paper, my arm, and just about anything else within reach!)

5. Go out in the world and look for things.

Looking for inspiration isn’t always as hard as it seems. As writers, we’re all guilty of staring at our screens, waiting for the perfect idea to pop into our heads. I do it more often than I’d care to admit. Inspiration doesn’t work that way.

I am the type of person who sits in a meeting and observes my colleagues – every mannerism; facial expression; even just the way they speak when proposing something versus the way they speak in normal conversation. I find the distinct nature of each person fascinating. It helps tremendously with character building!

Have writer’s block? Go out for coffee with a group of the quirkiest people you know and spend four hours letting their conversations inspire you instead of four hours smashing your head against your desk. If you don’t have a quirky group of friends, go out alone or with the person you’re closest to and eavesdrop on the most interesting group of people you can find. Listen to that elderly man in the back of the coffee shop, having a sultry and questionable conversation with his girlfriend over Skype. Watch how that quiet, teenage barista longs to talk to his female co-worker, but can’t bring himself to it. Pay attention to the Dad humming his favorite Disney songs, while his twelve-year-old daughter sits beside him, sipping hot chocolate and reading her favorite horror novel. You never know who or what could inspire your bestseller. Getting out there and experiencing all of the ideas this world has to offer is much more fun than sitting alone in frustration!

6. My final, most crucial piece of advice: Never give up!

It may seem like you’ll never find the right ideas for your novel… but don’t give up hope. Be persistent, keep searching, and I promise you will find your inspiration!

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I’ve been keeping a secret for the past couple of months…back in January, I entered the Writers of the Future contest (hosted by Galaxy Press!) with an original, fantasy/romance piece. 💜

In mid-July, I was thrilled to hear that my piece, “Sunny Side Kisses,” placed silver honorable mention! I’ve been waiting to share the news with all of you, especially when my certificate arrived last week. 

Thank you all for your wonderful support - everything that you do means the world to me! I read every comment, message, etc. and I always am excited to see kudos, bookmarks, views, and so on. 💫

In 2019 when I started writing fanfic, I never thought that it would lead into gaining the confidence to enter contests, and to pursue writing as much fanfiction as I do (or at least try to! Here’s a link to my work, if you’d like to see it.). 

My original work has a place in my heart too, though nothing means as much to me as writing fanfiction and your requests/prompts, and forming a relationship with all of you! Thank you so much, and I’m happy to finally share this news with you. 💙💜

(Also - regardless of your view toward Scientology/Ron Hubbard, please keep things positive here. I would greatly appreciate it!) 

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Miriam Brooks: Barely Hidden Things

Reblog to continue the story however you see fit to. Note that you have ten minutes to add and reblog your addition to the story. But, I’m not keeping track. How could I? Read the following below and add onto wherever the last person left off. Don’t feel confined to the cage of genre and format. Go wild. Do whatever you want. It’s a community story after all.

Previous Prompt:

Next Prompt:

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The summer air was given a sharp nick by a cool breeze. Miriam decided to wear a hoodie that day when she took her trip into town. She was given a warning from her father about the heat and proceeded to ignore him. He had been born in Kino, so August felt scorching to him. Miriam had on for better or for worse inherited her mother’s Floridian genes.  The dead of an Indiana summer could never compare to the hellish heat of the so-called Sunshine State.  Besides, Miriam often found herself uncomfortable without something covering her arms in public. She figured it was an anxiety thing. Miriam felt exposed with her arms out in the open for all the world to see.  She preferred to be in her brown and black hoodie. When paired with her rounded sunglasses and bright green eyes caused her to resemble an owl. Not that anybody had ever said that to her before.

Her path led into the town square, where she spied Officer Rohmer stalking around just outside of Ebert’s Tattoo Parlor. She took an alley passage to avoid him. It was bad enough that he was a racist prick he was also in a constant foul mood because Miriam’s mom just so happened to be his boss. There was a third vileness to him that she couldn’t place.  It brought to mind a story that she heard when she was about seven or maybe eight. She went on a camping trip with her parents and their friend Mister Darío and his daughter Inez. He told them all, over the campfire an old local myth told between hunters. The Not-Deer were said to be these gaunt cannibalistic stags that wandered around the forest picking off a would-be hunter’s game right before he could finish the kill. Rohmer gave her the same sense of unearthly dread as Marcos Darío’s story about the deer. 

She cut through the back area of the dollar store then she was to some end home free. She climbed up the steps and into the building, shutting the door behind her with a sigh of relief.  She stood in the C.A Guffey library. The one thing she didn’t despise about Kino.  The town had sunk in a good percentage of it’s funds to keep the library around and up to date.  Plus, one of the librarians Ms Feighery used wax melts to make the building smell like lilacs. 

Inez took a stroll to the very back, towards the biography section to see if they had the book that she ordered. They did not, but she did notice an anomaly as she scanned the shelves. Somebody had misplaced a copy of Gray’s Anatomy.  The plain white book seemed to jut out slightly as she came to it. She took it out, fully intending to put it in the proper place, but it had been a little over a year since she had looked through it, so she decided to give it a glance.

She took a walk over to an empty table and sat down to thumb through the worn volume.  She recalled everything exactly and was feeling assured that her memory of the contents was intact. Then she reached page twenty-six. At the foot of the page, under a wall of text was a series of numbers. They were barely erased to the point that she could make them out quite clearly.

2524332243   3444231542

On the next page more numbers in the same state:

13113215313444   231143  4423244244151533 

And the next: 

113314   343315   4344153543.

At first, she was confused and rather upset that somebody could ever deface a book. Especially one that belonged to the library of all places. She didn’t get it at first but she looked over the faded penciled in numbers and realized that they weren’t random. They were exact. Two numbers in pairs. She felt like a child on Halloween after a night of trick or treating. It was a code. A Polybius Square Cipher.

She dug out her little notepad and began to make the Polybius Square and deciphered the string of numbers.

Kings other Camelot has thirteen and one steps, read the message by the end.

@el-loves-writing@snippetsnitch@bottleofspilledink@headspace-hotel@an-author-and-his-books@ihatecoconut@whumpster-dumpster@morallygreywrites@whumpitywhumpwhump@anon-nom-nom95@gingerly-writing

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“a part of me constantly yearns to be noticed, to show what i really am. but the other part of me wants to run away, retrieve from the world as i know it. it’s an unceasing feeling of being shredded and sewed back together, every single day.”

- A. J.

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Temple Pierce: The Watchers

Once again, another exquisite corpse writing challenge has been delivered. The rules of the challenge are the same as before. Reblog with your continuation of the story from where the last person left off. Only this time you are now given a time limit of five minutes. Best of luck and remember to have fun and remember that life is short so be sure to have fun! 

Previous Prompt:

Next Prompt:

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I was being followed. I know for certain that I am correct. My brother once told me a simple truth, twice is a coincidence, thrice is suspicious. Granted, my brother is prone to fits of paranoid delusions such, is common in his line of work. But, that does not mean that he is not often correct.

I cannot overlook the facts as they stand. At twelve-thirteen I was in the school’s library, looking over a neat volume I found on medical engineering when I was approached by another student. We had not spoken before that moment, but she walked up to me and said… something, surely. 

The fault did not fall onto her. At that moment, I experienced a slight loss in my ability to process speech so she mostly just sounded like she was speaking gibberish because I was not focusing on her words.

I was unsure of how to respond and did not want to admit to not understanding her. So, I packed up my things and fled the library. I could have chalked that up to being a very awkward situation and that I would never have to speak to her again. But then I saw her again. I was on my way to my next class, following the library encounter when I noticed her just behind me. She was mirroring the way I moved through the crowd with her arms held limp at her sides.  Was she mocking me?

I continued to see her throughout the day, mirroring my movements and seeming to be just a step behind me, without fail. 

By the time the last bell sounded, I had worked out a plan to avoid her. I fled the school through a side exit that led out into Roland Street. I figured that would provide me with enough cover as it was next to the woods to hide me from her sight.

As I left the building and jogged down the sidewalk next to the woods I felt my pulse calm and I felt a sense of peace, free from the watchful eye of a curious stranger.

A sound that cut through my peace and made my heart start to pound like a drum. Leather soles against the sidewalk’s surface. I peered behind me to if I was being followed by that girl again. I was not. But, I did not calm. Behind me was a new stranger who I had not seen before.  A student, around my age. A boy. Now, I am not good at recognizing body language in the slightest, but the way he moved frightened me. His whole essence made me feel insignificant and for the life of me, I cannot explain why I felt so afraid of this boy. The two shared something, but I could not explain what it was. Physically they could not have been more different. But, at least when she was following me I did not feel like the prey of an apex predator.

@bottleofspilledink @anom-writer @anon-nom-nom95 @writing-props @headspace-hotel

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“i live in the little details of life. the golden of the rising sun, the sweet breeze on a summer night, the silver lining of the clouds, the ombre of the evening sky, the aroma after the first rain. everything irreplaceable and sacred.”

- A. J.

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nights falls, enchanting me

an ascension to a calmness, 

from the daylight seething

like was ablazed by its rage


the worldly madness descends

and my beloved stars arrive

although they never leave me,

but you know it’s something about their sight

pulsating and glimmering

bursting and creating in their might,

beneath a ‘heavenly’ sheath they reside


but at times i feel like they ache,

at times my eyes too pulsate, 

with an injected pain,

for people who seem to be far away

so maybe,

just like me,

they too ache,

they too wait

exuding love for a while

and vanishing away 

with no trace


that’s why we embrace the dark which enwraps the past

embellished with beads as stars,

a safe haven for us to be who we are.

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men ogen branden nog steeds

de tranen die ik huilde, lang geleden

de laatste keer dat ik je sprak

was het gister of was het even geleden

wanneer je me gewoon zo simpel brak

misschien is het al een maand geleden

dat je mijn naïve mij zonodig stak

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He wouldn’t care about the art, he wouldn’t try to listen, and there wouldn’t be a beating heart but yet I loved how his touch made me feel alive, yet how it made me feel like a dying butterfly

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