I’ve Been A Big Fan Of Your Work And Always Keep An Eye Out For Your Posts, Very Fascinating Person

🍿?

Share an out-of-context line from your wip. (this one’s from Yellow Houses!)

We didn’t have any pictures of him so they were all I had to stare at, which was rare, but when I did, I imagined him on a ferry crossing the Marmara Sea, nibbling on simit, dark hair flattened against his forehead from the breeze, contemplating the mess he’d made and regretting it immensely. 

June 3, 1938 Virginia Woolf, “A Writer’s Diary” (1918 - 1941) originally published: 1953

i don't know who needs to hear this, but 'perfect' writing is a trap. all writing is subjective. what we create today, we may see as flawed tomorrow. what we see as flawed today, we may see as perfect tomorrow.

writing is the act of transmuting the human experience through words. and the human experience? it's a messy, chaotic thing filled with rough edges and uneven lines and mistakes and failures. you can erase all of that. you can. but then you're left with something sterile and artificial. you've effectively squeezed the soul out of your work, and i can think of nothing less appealing.

this isn't to say don't edit your work. please do. but keep it within reason, and make sure you're moving forward and not backward. momentum is key.

don't sit on an idea for three decades waiting for that dance with inspiration, or that dynamite first line, or that eureka plot twist, or the words to flow like magic from your fingertips. because it won't happen. and if it does, it'll strike like lightning and disappear twice as fast. the only surefire way to finish a story is to start.

so write. for the love of god, just write.

along the way, things will fall in line. i promise. and if they don't? then they already have. the magic of art is that everything we create is a snapshot of who we are at the time of creation. it's like a time capsule of human experience, and there's a beauty in that authenticity-- in the mistakes we make and the wrong turns we take. don't run from them. embrace them.

let their lessons flow through you and channel them into something tangible. if it's hard, then start with one word and keep going. don't erase it. don't start over. don't let yourself believe your story isn't worth telling because if you don't tell it, then no one else will. and that'd be a damn shame.

so one word a day. one sentence a week.

whatever it takes.

it might be tough letting go of the idea of perfect. silencing your inner editor. your inner critic. it might be tough realizing that your story will never meet your standards, not completely, but it won't be half as tough as looking back and wondering where all the days, weeks, and years went; that in the pursuit of perfection, you forgot to ever write a story at all.

so leave perfect behind. readers don't want it. why would they? they can't possibly relate to perfect-- none of us can.

instead, give readers a window to your imagination, stormclouds and all. you'll be surprised by how many stick around for the rain, how many relish the sound of your thunder, and how many cherish the worlds that only you could bring to life.

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

IT’S WARM IN HERE by Yah Yah Scholfield / 11.k words / Gothic Space Horror + Eldritch Space Horror

IT’S BACK! One of my favorite pieces and one of the first pieces of short fiction I’ve ever published! It’s Warm in Here is … ugh, it’s perfect, it’s got outerspace, it’s got intrigue and horror and fear, it’s reclaiming Lovecraftian horror from that racist white man, it’s written by a talented Black ingenue it’s so!

It’s Warm in Here, like all my stories, is about balance, familial and community bonds and the evening of scales. What makes something equal? How much blood is enough blood?

Like and reblog if you enjoy, and of course! Leave me messages and reviews!

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. 

We're all stuck in the perpetual hell of creating wips and then never writing them

Last Line Tag

Thank you @bitterwitchwrites for tagging me!

Here is an excerpt from the first draft of my novel that I’ve been blandly referring to as LL. I doubt this will be in the final version of the book but whatever!

An electrical hum stuffed his ears with cotton balls, silenced the jagged wind clawing at the trapdoor. When he called back to it, he was muffled out too.

Tagging: @memories-written-in-words @writingwithhotchocolate @writingisbae @raevenlywrites @yanittawrites @writingwithaddie @loki-writes

It’s been some days. What have I been doing—ha! actually writing! How relieving. The weather’s cold and I’m enjoying scenic walks to my local cafe, strapped w my laptop and headphones.

A bit early perhaps, but is anyone doing NaNo this year??