I Want To Read This :oo

thank you for the follow! just wanted to say hi since im a bit newer to the non fanfic side of writers on tumblr, and also that all your wips sound super interesting but especially yellow houses. in my brain it's giving little miss sunshine/moonrise kingdom/fantastic mr fox vibes but like slightly spookier

Thank you! That’s very kind of you.

Yellow Houses does have that type of whimsical vibe, so that’s a very cool connection. The project is currently shelved while I revise my current project, but I’ll get back to YH eventually. It was a neat little book. It’s been years though, so I don’t imagine I’ll be happy with it now.

Posting a link to my veryyy old wip intro for Yellow Houses below in case anyone is interested in reading what it’s about. It’s like a dark comedy/mystery set in a uni town with a bunch of art kids™

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Wip Intro: Yellow Houses

I should start by saying that this project is shelved. I’m currently too busy to devote it the time it deserves while juggling uni and anoth

I love this pov!! :oo Please add me to your taglist???

I N T R O D U C I N G: 996 CATHERINE CLOSE. this is a story about a house, which is to say my story, which is to say a story with walls, and doors, and people passing through them. they go and they do not stay. this seems unfair, at least to me. does it seem unfair to you?

GENRE: a ghost story minus ghosts. POV: mostly first person and some third person sections. THEMES: homes as monsters, memory, preservation and loss, good and bad families, letting go, holding on, abandonment, every house is haunted. CONTENT WARNING: abuse, mental illness, some horror elements.

All I could do was watch. 

My voice was too low. I could barely even sing to myself, the walls creaking and shuddering the tiniest bit when I tried to create voice. Jonathan had built me too well. I fit together like one of those puzzle sets, all the edges aligned perfectly, no room for air to whistle through holes and for me to rattle the walls like percussion. I could whisper. I would soften the sounds of my floorboards when Marie was bedridden with one of her headaches, her body turned away from the light streaming through the windows. I couldn’t dim that light. But I could make everything around a little quieter and a little less. She was always dearer to me than Jonathan, so I did more for her.

There were many things I couldn’t do. I couldn’t scrub my floors for her. I couldn’t remove the tiny shards of glass stuck in lines of grout that she painstakingly scoured the kitchen floor for, on her hands and knees, wincing when her palm dragged across one that she hadn’t seen. I couldn’t stitch my walls back together where Jonathan’s fist had opened holes. I couldn’t save Marie.

I’m sorry. This isn’t a tragedy like that.

I have a flair for the dramatic now, from the stories that I’ve heard throughout the years. I have always been an eavesdropper, ever since I was born. But I used to tell things better. So allow me my confusion, and I will correct it. They didn’t die here. They simply left. Only one person has died here, and if they remained as a ghost, then it is not as one that I have ever personally known. When I say that I am haunted, I mean that I am haunting myself. I asked for them to stay, and they did not, but the images do. 

I can hold onto those forever.

find out more.

TAG LIST: @phloxxiing / @nouveauweird / @pilipalea / @starrywritingg /  @carnalbanshee/ @flynnswritings / @ohsugarfoot / @reya-writes / @onfablesandfiction / @reeseweston / @cohldhands / @klaythestoryteller / dm or reply to be added!

Writing Share Tag

Thank you @drchenquill and @autism-purgatory for tagging me.

Sharing some excerpts below from Draft 1 of Project Istanbul that are getting scrapped (these scenes didn't survive my developmental revision plan). Hope you enjoy!

TW: addiction, unsafe quitting methods in first snippet.

Gently tagging: @literaryvein @mcplestreet and anyone who wants to participate. Rules are simple: just share some of your writing!

Pinterest mood board I created for my wip short story, "Bud and Bunny".

The story takes place in New York during the 90s, exploring the toxic bond between a young girl and her older brother, who restricts her freedom from the world outside their cramped apartment complex.

tolstoy, vladimir nabokov (trans. dmitri nabokov)

productivity tag game

Thank you @mcplestreet for tagging me!

goals: Finish outline for Draft 2 of Project Istanbul, share with beta readers, then begin writing Draft 2. Also reread Hamlet and Macbeth.

productivity tip: Caffeine (obviously), YouTube videos of typing sounds, 'office ambience', mild jazz. The Forest app for timed sessions―this is fun because you 'grow trees' each productivity sprint. I've also heard the Pomodoro technique is useful.

current project: Project Istanbul― literary noir/mystery/thriller novel set in Istanbul, Turkey. Check out my recent wip intro post for details.

exchange something: Some jazz for you: "Générique" by Miles Davis

quote: “Curiously enough, one cannot read a book; one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, and active and creative reader is a rereader.” ―Vladamir Nabokov, Lectures on Literature

Leaving game open for whoever wants to play!

These are all so cool, I'd love to be added to your taglists!! 🥺🥺

˒✦ : WRITEBLR ⋅ INTRO ⌁ ◌༉‧. 🌱໑ 

hi! my name is celeste and i’m new to the writeblr community!

i write under the name celeste ephine (she/her) although, you can just call me celeste. i’m african and native american, seventeen years old, and queer. i have an intj mbti type and my big three are: cap sun, sag moon, and virgo rising. my interests include neuropsychology, witchcraft, podcasts, and romantic academia. oh, and i’m wayy better at descriptions than i am with dialogue.

my writing style is a bit interesting as i tend to write mostly for romantic/dark academia, dark fantasy, psychological thrillers, and historical fiction. i love exploring themes of moral ambiguity, divination, mythology, and the occult. i also write poetry and dabble a bit in prose and screenplay.

here’s a sneak peek at some of my wips:

* - names are subject to change (i’m a tad bit indecisive)

descs are going to be vague since i’ll do a proper intro post for each wip

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 | psych thriller + dark fantasy

a pagan cult makes blood sacrifices to the gods in an attempt to delay an ancient and horrific force from destroying the world

𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 | dark fantasy

in which a soothsayer and freedom seeker set out on a quest to destroy the remnants of the old gods. for what is existence, without something to exist for?

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 | dark fantasy + occult fiction

the bonepicker’s daughter gets more than she bargained for when she seeks refuge in a mad ruler’s city that’s on the verge of war

here’s a few blogs that inspired me to join the community!

@starshots @acrimoneous @laketrials @astolacs @herondalelucies @zalighart @zuiderhaaks

beforehand I'll do like a brainstorm/word vomit in my notebook to get ideas flowing. when actually writing I'll light essential oil candles, open pinterest, wordbook and google, and drink like a gallon?? of ginger tea and disapear for like 3 hrs.

do any of you have writing rituals? tell me about them!

Excerpt #1: The Waiting Room

    Seated in the doctor’s office I peeked over my magazine, causing the collage of perfume bottles to distort until they resembled vague, pastel coloured light-bulbs clustered at the brim of my vision. Across me slouched a woman with a house shaped cage on her lap, a string of drool snailing down her chin as she snored. I made a face at her green-cheeked conure as it inched down its tightrope towards me, bobbing its head. The middle-aged man a few seats down, his cowboy hat flipped over his eyes, fanned himself with a lung disease brochure even though the air conditioning had been set to blast. My eyes followed their thought bubbles as they bounced off the oily walls and popped. The severed letters puffed up to the ceiling in a cloud of confetti, mundane details they’d already forgotten. The parakeet’s thoughts were less entertaining, a string of staccatos that fizzled out before they could even form. 

     When the secretary, a bullnecked woman with streaked green hair grated down to a pixie cut, waved her faux quill pen at me, I placed my magazine back on the rack and followed her down a hallway tiled with domino doors. She kept glancing back to confirm I was still on her heels and hadn’t wandered off like a sneaky child. Once we reached my cubicle she finally left me alone, her black heels clacking against the shiny floor as she trotted off. I crunched down on the paper spread out over the bed, dizzy from the reek of iodoform. Fortunately the doctor arrived quickly, tapping a clipboard against his palm as he asked why I’d come. I lied that my back had been killing me and we both shrugged and nodded at the hardships of old age. 

Ask awayyy 💌

Writeblr Emoji Game: Comfort Snacks!

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