Word Find Tag

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 another novel. Hopefully, I’ll pick it up one day in the future, but for now, let’s just let it age like a fine wine on a USB stick, shall we?

Genre: Lit-fic/mystery? Logline:  Ellen, an aspiring university journalist, finds an envelope in her mailbox filled with photographs of upper-class houses. When she visits these addresses she finds they’ve all been vandalized -- painted a neon, school-bus yellow. When the two vandals engage with her via a virtual chatroom to propose that she cover their ‘art project’ for the local newspaper, she must do her best to write a non-biased recollection of the conflicts that ensue. Literal Logline: A bunch of young hipsters create pretentious art and go on tangents about eating the rich. Also, there is a creepy/psychopathic mayor candidate always wearing a signature yellow jacket and tie having an affair with Ellen’s mom! Fun!

Setting: Takes place in a small, fictional town in British Columbia. But a lot of scenes also take place in a chatroom, with virtual urban cities like Tokyo, New York and more. 

Excerpt from the chatroom scene! TW/NSFW warning: mild sexuality. Also I haven’t line edited much yet, oops!

My baby pink VR headset landed me 2050, Chinatown; a street puddled with neon lights swimming in oily water, reflecting a Tetris stack of knockoff Balenciaga retailers. A couple Hello Kitty shaped arcade machines silhouetted a bar window, casting a pink and blue grid over my friends, who caught sight of me and waved. In only 330 hours, 20 minutes, 12 seconds, I’d come to know them better than their own families. If I hovered over their bodies, too creamy and poreless to be truly photorealistic, a timer would reveal when we’d clicked accept, invited eachother into our second lives.

Cassie’s heart shaped face grinned, her bejeweled teeth blue in the ink of store lights. She tossed her metal bat up high, and caught it on her index finger, balancing it there. Jada’s newly installed robo arms were translucent plastic. There were wires tangled inside.

           Across the plaza, next to some motorcycles collapsed like dominos, a tall woman with a black veil over her face dragged a leash with a crawling half naked man in a bunny mask on the end of it, shuffling clumsily to keep up with her long strides. When she greeted us with nod, Jada let out a squeak before muting her microphone to safely burst into giggles.

           “So many weirdos tonight,” Cassie said lowly, staring at the slave’s bony butt disappear around the boba shack. “Alors.” Her hands came together in a prayer. “Matching tattoos. Glowing ones, from the new update. And don’t even think about saying no, I have enough coins for all of us. You’ve got no excuse whatsoever.” She linked her arm through mine and Jada slung her robo arm over my shoulder and they steered me across the street. A group of white-haired teenagers, teardrop wings trailing along their bare feet drifted past us at the traffic lights, which only existed to flash ads for fast food chains or reduced phone plans at the pedestrians. One of them poked out her tongue at me. Pastel blue and pierced with a tiny metal seahorse.

Ecstatic to say that I’m in that particular writing flow state again. You know which I mean—the one where time and space do not exist.

It’s so hard being a writer sometimes because you can tell yourself over and over again that you’re writing for yourself, and yet you will always crave the interaction, you will always want to share, and for people to like the thing you put your heart and soul into. It’s just hard when you can see the numbers, and the constant comparing, having the self-doubt and wondering why you even bother trying when there are people much better than you.

All you can do is keep reminding yourself that it’s your story to tell, and no one else can tell it like you. You love it, and there are others out there who will love it, too, and the numbers absolutely do not reflect your worth or your storytelling.

You’re incredible, and you’ve got to keep writing because your story is worth telling.

i should really do a proper intro

while you're reading this, go listen to Marche Slave by Tchaikovsky, so you get the vibe while reading the rest.

oh BONJOUR GLORIOUS PEOPLE OF TUMBLR

hold onto your tea and coffee -black, no sugar naturally- and delve into....

this really shitty intro post!!!

*enthusiastic cheering fills the air*

(jk i respect all types of coffee and tea)

about me:

I'm an aspiring teen writer and occasional anarchist. I started writing because I had developed 23 characters in my head and didn't know what to do with them.

Additionally, I've always read books (bibliophile from a young age) and I thought:

"wow, all these people express their worlds this way, let ME try it"

so i did. and I love it. It's the only thing keeping me together. I've gone clinically insane over people and worlds that don't exist.

more under the clip

5 random facts:

• I'm left handed!! so i use special pens which don't smudge!

• I acquire passports like America acquires oil.

• I like Polish stuff and patterns because Poland is COOL! I love the food and the folklore as well! If anyone wants to tell me anything about Poland, go ahead!

• My cat's name is hard to pronounce:

- Rudy (means ginger): [ɣoʊdi]

• I love PIGEONS

am open to asks and instructions on how to build a nuclear bomb (no joke I've had them before)

↑ I look like this ↑

My hobbies are playing the violin (I like Yiddish tunes and Allegro pieces), reading, writing OBVIOUSLY, looking at memes, planning murder, and ascending to a higher form obviously.

My favourite thing to do on a Sunday is to summon the ancient spirit of IKEA, and scream in Swedish🇸🇪 and watch the Grand Budapest hotel for the 51st time.

*cries in Eurovision ✨

I'm always open for tag games!

About my current WIP:

I am currently writing some sort of mystery, psychological steampunk thing? with an inkling of murder?? chocolate factories? I don't know where to begin.

also:

ITS TOP SECRET because I want to get it published.

i may post snippets though. mayyyybe

happy birthday!

SPACEMAN SPACEMAN WHAT DO YOU PLAN ON DOING NOW?

transcript

Keep reading

yess a bonus vid! 🤩🤩 my question is, as a discovery writer, what signals to you that a chapter isn't working? And do you rework them, store away in a doc--or scrap entirely? much luv, hope you're staying safe :)

Q&A - ask me questions!

Helloooo! I thought I’d do an end of year writing Q&A for a bonus vid in my YouTube channel. If anyone has questions, leave them as a reply on this post or send me an ask (make sure to indicate it’s for the Q&A)!

Some of y’all really need to learn the difference between “This character is badly written” and “This character is a bad person” and “This character isn’t my personal cup of tea.”

/gently taps the mic

It is my birthday today.

If you like, you can read the pilot chapter of RAVENOT right here for free.

Old books kind of ruined me for that. Cue me staring at my own three paragraph run on sentence while editing and not even understanding it

i love reading old books because they invent such ways to create a long ass sentence

🍟 @/aetherwrites

Share a gif that represents your wip. What Mr. Sinclair sees in the checkered corridor in his nightmare in Bug Box. (gif is from The Wall, 1982)