In historical fiction it is important to be accurate and the only way to do so is to research the era. What is highly recommended by many writers is to write your story first. While writing your story, mark the parts that you’re not sure are correct and then do the…
lmao people mock fanfiction but when u think about it some people manage to create novel-length stories that are extremely well written without getting paid and they do it on top of school and work and everything else in their lives just because they love to write and they love the original story or the people they write about like im pretty sure that’s more productive than being the person who is just sat there laughing at it all
I’m not going to make resolutions, I’m making changes. This year will be awesome and so full of win! There may be ruts and sharp turns, but in the long run it will be worth while. Unlike the past years, I’m enthusiastic about this year! Happy New Year!
My creative writing professor told me to stop
writing about love. I asked him why and he said,
“Because you have turned it over and over in your hands,
felt every angle, every fault, every inch,
every bruise. You have ruined it for yourself.”
I spent the next 3 weeks writing about science
and space. Stars exploding.
Getting sucked into a black hole.
How much I wished I could sleep inside of that nothingness
without being annihilated. What an exploding star
would taste like. If it would make our stomachs glow
like fireflies, or tingle and shake like pop rocks
under our tongue.
My creative writing professor told me that those poems
weren’t what he was looking for.
He tells me to stop writing about outer space.
Stop writing about science.
Again, I ask him why. Again, he says,
“You have ruined it for yourself.”
I spend the next three weeks writing about my mother,
how we are told we can’t make homes inside
of other human beings, but the foreclosure sign
on my mother’s empty womb tells me that women
who give birth know a different,
more painful truth.
My creative writing professor tells me I am both talented
and hopeless, that everything I write is both visceral and empty,
a walking circus with no animals inside
but a beautiful trapeze artist with a broken hip
selling popcorn in the entrance-way.
He tells me to stop writing about my mother. I don’t ask why.
I pick up my books and my notepad
and I leave his office with my war stories
tucked under my tongue like an exploding star,
like the taste of the last person I ever loved,
like my mother’s baby thermometer, and I do not look back.
We are all writing about our mothers, our lovers,
the empty space that we will never be able to breathe in.
We are all carrying stones in our pockets
and tossing them back and forth in our hands,
trying to explain the heaviness
and we will never stop writing about love,
about black holes, about how quiet it must have been
inside the chaos of my mother’s belly,
inside the chaos of his arms,
inside the chaos of the spaces in every poem
I have ever written.
None of this is ruined.
Do not listen to them when they tell you that it is.
In my experience, RPers and Writers alike enjoy one thing: Making characters suffer. This little guide is supposed to help you with keeping injuries and the First Aid - in case you want to patch your character back together - realistic. I am no medical professional, but I dare say I picked up a thing or two during my First Aider training ;)
Under read more for length! Also, trigger warnings for blood, I suppose?
After consuming too much coffee, I decided to type out this piece of randomness. Captain Levi is disgusted with Eren’s lack of grace when using the 3DM gear, so he shows him…something Eren will never forget.
Eren Jaeger was putting away his 3DM gear, when Captain Levi kicked down the door. “Jaeger, that was disgraceful!” He swiftly charged at Eren and grabbed the young recruit by the collar. “Didn’t they teach you how to move when using your 3DM gear?” Levi snarled as he glared up at Eren.
“S-sir?” Eren dumbly replied, frightened out of his wits.
“If you’re going to be part of the Scout Legion, you need to maneuver with dignity, even when delivering a killing stroke!” Levi shook Eren violently. “What I saw out there was an insult! My horse could move with more grace than you, Jaeger!”
“Follow me!” Levi dragged Eren by the collar all the way to the abandoned ballroom. “Stay.” Levi pointed firmly at the spot Eren was standing and then stormed into the middle of room. “Hanji!” He snapped his fingers and all the lights dimmed.
This is the second short I wrote involving Eren and Levi! Guest starring Hanji, Petra, Auruo, Mike, and Gunther! What happens when Eren tries to help Levi reach for an item in the top cupboard?! Read and see!
Just a poem I wrote after thinking, “I wonder how Marco sees Jean?” The interchanging between Jean and John is on purpose—kind of a play on his name (since some fans say “Jean” while others say “John”).
This will be the start of a series of shorts surrounding Eren and Levi. My best friend and I have always seen Eren as a fanboy of Levi. This is the first of many to come and these are meant to be humorous and I am definitely not keeping these in a linear time frame. Join Eren as he tries to make his hero proud!
Shingeki no Kyojin is a powerful anime that I’ve come to adore, thanks to my best friend, Ekqo . As such, whilst geeking out over the show with her, she asked if I could do some fanfics, which I agreed to. This is the first of many one-shot fics of SNK. She requested a fanfic where Jean and Armin bond over encountering loss/potential loss of a dear friend. Enjoy!
Oppression latched onto every human soul from birth and death doubled the weight. Those left behind had to endure the oppression of living in a cage and being forced to realize that they were fragile. The few that dared to rattle the cage often perished, so many remained inside, whistling meaningless tunes. Humans were fed the same slop: titans were unstoppable and humans were crushable. Titans killed humans in droves, but it never made death less agonizing.
These heavy thoughts mashed into Jean’s mind until the front of his skull throbbed. The ceiling panes came into focus as Jean lay still on the floor. He strained his eyes trying to find the pattern in the wood’s grain. He could hear everyone outside the small house. Jean’s ears twitched at the various pitches of panting, huffing, and wheezing. They were all coming to terms with their fragility. Humanity. Sighing, Jean shut his eyes from the strain.
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”— Sylvia Plath (via littlelostflower)
PLEASE DON’T BE MEAN TO EMPLOYEES!! PLEASE DON’T DO THAT!! THEY ARE PEOPLE AND ARE PROBABLY TRYING THEIR BEST TO HELP YOU!! I HAVE SEEN MY COWORKERS CRY IN THE BACK ROOM AFTER A PARTICULARLY RUDE CUSTOMER AND IT’S NOT FAIR BECAUSE WE ARE REALLY DOING YOU A SERVICE!! PLEASE DON’T BE RUDE TO EMPLOYEES
“Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.”—The Winter of the Air (via excrutiate)
My professor gave us this prompt: You discover the world really does revolve around you. She gave us 17 minutes. This is what I wrote:
TO: The Director of the CIA
There was a time when I could skulk unawares, without a single person giving me much thought. It wasn’t that my existence was meaningless, it was just that I was too quiet for an outspoken generation. I was raised to mind my own business and not to delve into others’. So with that in mind, please understand that when I want all records, posts, comments, blogs, and tweets deleted permanently, it’s because I’m extremely uncomfortable. I know we’re in an age where anyone can be Googled, but it’s rather unnerving that overnight, the internet has over millions of posts about me. And honestly, the last straw was when people were debating how much my hair would weight if shaved off of my scalp! I just want an information black out on anything pertaining to me. Thank you for your time, Sir.
TO: Ms. Whittlethorn
We regret to inform you that we cannot honor your request, due to the fact that you have not been under any suitable threat. Since you brought it up though, we have to ask:
This time we were told to write a story with predominately dialogue telling the story. We had to have two characters, each hiding a secret, and we had to only hint or give clues to the readers as to what the secrets were. Can you guys guess? Professor gave us a word limit on this as well: 750 words or less.
"Opal Alms Pleases the Blind"
The heat waves were visible outside the window and the shimmering spectral worms danced by the invisible pulleys of rising molecules. Dr. Shuupin watched the Behrstein Boys prancing about shirtless, the set of six divided in half so that there would be less cheating in their loosely regulated game of soccer. The youngest boy, covered in freckles, paused and glanced up at the sky, shading his lapis irises with a sunburned hand. Dr. Shuupin looked up, not needing to shield her eyes due to their earthy tone of mud.
"Keep that up Sis, and you’ll be wearing glasses like me." Dr. Shuupin’s twin brother, Henri, had been observing his sister from a couple feet away. He smiled as his sister’s mirrored murky eyes reflected his own.
"Were you able to fix the A/C, Henri?" Dr. Shuupin’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she coughed lightly.
"Sure, it wasn’t that hard."
"Thank you so much, this heat has been suffocating me."
"I would imagine, this rickety house feels more like a coffin than a home."
"Ha. Ha." Dr. Shuupin crossed her slender arms over her flat chest and began to feel the creeping fingers of frigid air seeping from the vents. "The house fan is unusually high, Henri."
"Had to with that putrid stank and all."
"Yeah, you can’t smell it?"
"Maybe it’s you."
"Henri rolled his eyes as if they were teenagers again and smelled his own armpits in order to put a warm smile on his sister’s face. "Okay well, BO aside, there’s a prevalent odor."
Dr. Shuupin smirked at her brother’s antics, but as he mentioned the prevalent odor, her barely visible black eyebrows furrowed. “As you said, it’s an old house. I only bought it because it was close to the hospital, not because it was Warm Hearth magazine material.”
"The fan is making it worse."
"I’ll lower it later. Thank you again for fixing it."
"You should have someone look at the insulation or something," Henri grinned. "Maybe you have bodies stuffed in between the walls!"
The air was an odd chemistry of relieving cold air and oppressing humid air from outside. It was dank, similar to the residual atmosphere after a severe thunderstorm. Dr. Shuupin rocked her weight from her left foot onto her right foot as she stared through the floor to where the basement was rooted. “I read somewhere that a tribe in Somalia had a saying,” she spoke quietly, as if she was speaking to a group of bright eyed students who sat upon the wooden floor and were gazing expectantly up at her. “‘Never trust the clear eyed lions, they always lie’.”
Henri felt the air grow dense as if his sister’s rocking movements shifted the weight of the atmosphere. The wooden floorboards screeched complaints each time his sister moved, causing his gums itch. “What does that mean?” He asked shakily as he rubbed his chin.
Dr. Shuupin stood still and watched her brother’s tense shoulders relax. “Don’t trust anyone with light colored eyes.” She put all her weight on her right foot like a drink sloshing to one side at a party. “They’ll only deceive you in the end.” She observed her brother cringe at the obnoxious squeal of the aging wood beneath her foot. “Their eyes are windows to their weakened genetic structure.” Dr. Shuupin raised her head up to avoid her small reflection in her twin’s glasses. “How else do you think recessive genes survived thousands of generations?”
"Sis, don’t start this kind of talk again—"
"—or what, Mom and Dad are going to scowl from their high chairs in Heaven?" Dr. Shuupin stomped once, making her brother clench his fists. "We’re adults now, Hen!"
"I couldn’t handle it back then, and I’m telling you right now, Justine," Henri wiped his mouth, finishing his swipe by digging his middle finger into the left corner of his lips. "Please tell me that you kept it at just talking this time," he added softly.
Dr. Shuupin wiped her brow and murmured, “Your eyes don’t lie, Henri, you feel that same itch that I do.”
"I," Henri scraped his front teeth hard over his bottom lip, his teeth shifted slightly from the pressure,"I couldn’t handle it back then." He stared down through the floorboards, to the basement beneath. He put a hand over his mouth and squeezed hard.
The air was frigid, and the musty scent of formaldehyde crept through the floorboards, only to be frozen deep inside both twins’ lungs.
"How many pairs, Justine?"
Dr. Shuupin squeezed herself tightly and made eye contact with her twin brother, allowing her devious grin to show her whitened teeth.
This is a website that English majors run where they review/write essays about video games. I’ve even participated in this. Even if you’re not interested, at least spread the word and help out English majors! You can reblog this or Like them on Facebook or follow them on twitter!