I’m Back, And Currently Drafting The Final Chapter Of Project A.M.

they hadn’t prepared us for this. they left us with nothing left worth fighting for.

that is, until we found each other.

we were living through what scientists had called the worst case scenario, and we were doing it alone.

| worst-case scenario: a wip intro |

the floods, the fires, the wailing, the radio static.

there was nothing left to salvage. except for maybe the kid, and that one dog. a van that stuttered more than it moved, a pink blanket tucked inside a fathers jacket. the notebook filled with silly drawings and the notes passed between them in the dark.

GENRE: science fiction, dystopian, adventure, thriller, surrealism

POV: third/omnipient

PROGRESS: first drafting

MOOD: dark, wistful, painfully nostalgic, uneasy, cautiously hopeful

SETTING: the year is 2336, Earth. but it’s nothing like anyone had imagined.

WARNINGS: multiple deaths, biological ware fare, drowning, weapons, display of mental illness(es), end of the world scenario, not so natural disasters, alcoholism, manipulation, nothing is right, there is no normal.

VAGUE PLOT: [they] were fed up with how their lives were treated on this planet, and decided to leave. they left behind their final words, etched into the grounds they tore apart and whispered into the waves that came crashing down. the people meant to protect them all had given up, had betrayed them. but they couldn’t be blamed, they had tried to warn the world to no avail. now [we] were on our own, with a scattering of the earths population, to make this place a home again.

[they] are the scientists who had tried their hardest to keep this world alive.

[we] were five people undeserving of this hell.

[[ wip tag: wip; wcs ]]

about me 🌱 Age: 20 (she/her) 🌱 Turkish-Canadian living in Ontario, Canada 🌱 English major 🌱 Visual artist 

genres: used to be fantasy, now mostly lit-fic. writerly habits: soft spot for unlikeable characters /// flower power description/metaphors galore /// recently started dabbling w poetry but idk if I’m any good?? /// garamond forever, single spaced. I like big blocks of text. c:

some of my wips 🌱 Yellow Houses /// adult lit-fic novel. Unhinged university students vandalize houses, painting them school-bus yellow, then write about wondering who did it in the local paper. Hmm... 🌱 Liquor and Locusts /// adult modern fantasy novel. TW because this is a pandemic story! A squatter crashes at a countryside manor during a pandemic, befriending an elderly gardener and his very emo apprentice. There is somehow also a talking locust who loves brandy. 🌱 Red Pleather /// lit short fiction. A teenage girl’s relationship with her older brother who constricts her from the world outside their crowded apartment complex. Warning: a lot of stair climbing and internal monologues in this one.

you’ve made it to the end! writerblrs, please interact so I can catch up on all your beautiful wips. Also feel free to tag me or hop in my dms for a chat, I’m probably online ;). ♥♥♥

plz add me to your taglist, this is awesome!!! :oooo

BLUEBEARD by Yah Yah Scholfield / the shining ( dir. stanley kubrick ) / crimson peak ( dir. guillermo del torro ) / revenge horror / about 4.3k words

Wait, but I think this is actually one of the spiciest, most interesting short stories I’ve done! It’s a very tasty commission for @janeaustenwlw, and I’m super happy to have been given a chance to write it!

The plot is simple—a woman is confronted by a ghost; the ghost gives her a task. I really can’t say much else without spoiling the story for you all, and I desperately want you all to enjoy this!

Inspirations for this piece include; Crimson Peak, The Shining ( specifically the character of Wendy Torrance), and the entire genre of revenge-horror films I suppose.

NOW AVAILABLE TO READ ON MY WEBSITE!

general tag list under the cut! if you’d like to be on my tag list, just dm me!

Keep reading

tolstoy, vladimir nabokov (trans. dmitri nabokov)

radiomacbeth | general taglist check.

Since I’ve essentially reset my blog, I decided I should also reset my general taglist! Those who wish to be on my general taglist will be tagged for:

❀ WIP Intros.

❀ Excerpts from WIPs and Short Stories.

❀ Snippets of poetry.

❀ General Blog Updates.

You will not be tagged in posts specific to certain WIPS. Those will feature their own taglists. You will also not be tagged in tag games. If you wish to be added to my general taglist, interact with this post (likes, rbs, and replies all count)!

Current Taglist: @42ndplace​ @catgirlnya​ @talesofsorrowandofruin​ @haldimilks​ @keira-is-writing​ @piyawrites​ @kitblogsthings​ @svpphicwrites​ @alexsidereus​ @rainbowcoloreddays​ @dahladahlabills​ @sunwornpages​ @bookphobe​ @writing-el​ @moonyspoon​ @oceancold​ @feverdreamwritings​ @ravens-and-rivers​

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!

Ask awayyy 💌

Writeblr Emoji Game: Comfort Snacks!

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collection of stolen books

    When I stole my first book, I was still a stubborn, puffy-haired little girl with knobbly knees and a deadened stare. It wasn't difficult or particularly dangerous, as I simply borrowed it from the library one day, with the intent to never return it.

     I relished the buzz of peeling the transparent tape down the spine, flicking off the bar code on the right-hand corner. I recall pulling out the slip of paper pocketed inside to skim through the stack of names, as I pictured who had once borrowed it. How they'd sat spraying ketchup on its pages, maybe wiping a stray booger on there as well. Something waxy was stuck between page forty-four and forty-five, that red stuff wrapped around cheese wheel snacks packed in children's school lunches. I remember it all so well. 

    I hate consumerism, in fact it’s my reasoning for stealing as often as I do, so one might question why I once stole from a library. There is no excusable answer, it’s simply what my roots are. The book in question still remains on my shelf, crouched between hardcovers wearing crisp, matte jackets, like an abused child. It smells of sweat, love and apples; a distinct, addictive scent that will draw you to it and make you feel like some sort of pervert. The rest of my collection, still ‘hot off the press’, reflective headers blaring, New York Times Bestseller,  have no such detail of warm, of endearment. 

Note: something fictional I wrote tonight while bored. :p

Last Line Tag #1🍨

Thank you @alicewestwater for the tag! :))) Lil excerpt from my new novel where Amber gets annoyed at Raisa’s ghost while waiting for the bus. you know, just some relatable content ;p

     Raisa laid in a rectangle of grey sunlight under the window, tranquilized by rum and spiraling dust bunnies. Hands folded over her belly, bulging with chocolate covered almonds, eyes shifting like marbles under the orange juice pulp of her lids. Dreaming of cities without people or cars, the houses, puffs of cotton candy with gumdrop path lights and woolly archways.

     I wanted to plug her mouth with the heel of my hand, but to passersby I’d only be cupping air, squinting at concrete. I didn’t want to start off another Tuesday, an unhinged street performer.

tagging: @noteaboy @oceancold @emdrabbles @aelenko @fluoresensitive @writeremma @purgatorydotexe and ofc, anyone else who’d like to do this challenge! 

i’ve been a big fan of your work and always keep an eye out for your posts, very fascinating person you are, keep it up!

Thank you! This is incredibly kind.