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#comma loving writers
madrewrites · 2 years
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i am not a superstitious person BUT can we talk about the fact that ao3 crashed on christmas adam, which is, as we all know, generally unsatisfying?
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pealeii · 2 months
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spider-man-2o99 · 10 months
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when are you gonna see the new spiderverse?
it's not set in stone or anything, but we're aiming for sometime within the first week of its release if we can afford it!!
(on the note of spoilers: i Strongly Prefer to not be spoiled, but they won't like. Ruin My Life or really even my Day, i just would prefer to not be spoiled cause it's. like. a dick move, y'know? thanks. love yall)
#talking tag#asks#atsv#across the spider-verse#generally movies r a luxury we have to wait a couple months after release 2 see but i have been waiting for This One for Five Years so--#--it is a very VERY special treat :}#...even if they did For Some Reason decide that THE best color to flash wildly during like. Every Mig Scene is Give Cap Migraines Yellow.#foolish fool fools. if you wanted to reference the end of Issue Number One you need a PALER more DESATURATED yellow or a red/black gradient#in fact pushing the Paler Colors would work a lot better to contrast against him in a properly colored BLACK AND RED SUIT. LIKE THIS DESIGN#sheesh he lives in The Bleeding Neon Future but they pulled Future Inspiration from one of those boring sleek white smooth round shape guys#Nueva York in the comics wasnt meant to be a Cool Future it was meant to be half-criticism of Modern NYC by ppl who Lived There--#--and the other half was Speculation abt what it Could Be if Nothing About The World In (e616s) 1992 Changed For 107 Years#(...dot dot dot. comma. As Written By Overwhelmingly A Bunch Of Middle Class Cishet White Comic Book Guys[TM]. LMAO)#(the good stuff is GOOD the fun stuff is really REALLY fun and the Bullshit in comic book fashion offers up new writers to KILL On Sight <3#look man im just. im rambling at this point but like i love marvel 2099 i think there are absolutely Some books that ARE worth reading--#--from the imprint and dismissing All Of It just for being 90s Comic Books is unfair to the many teams of people who worked on them yknow#i Do Not Like Pat Mills (MANY reasons.) but the initial art team behind Punisher 2099 (especially the penciler) put SO much passion into it#people only really remember Spider-Man 2099 today but e928 has a really rich developed lore that i get the sinking feeling we;ll probably--#--never actually See Again in any of the same capacity that it once existed at. but. yknow. time passes & things change & that's.. fine.
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theata00 · 7 months
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Poem on winter
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thedoorsofmyheart · 2 years
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Dear True Love,
I'm a writer without any words,
I'm a story that nobody heard,
When I'm without you.
I am a voice,
I am a voice without any sound,
I'm a treasure map that nobody found,
When I'm without you.
I'm a lantern without any light,
I'm a boxer much too afraid to fight,
When I'm without you.
I am a memory,
A memory bent out of shape,
A childhood already bruised with age,
When I'm without you.
I'm an artist without any paint,
I'm the deal that everyone breaks,
When I'm without you.
I am a whisper,
I'm a secret that nobody keeps,
I'm a dreamer of someone else's dreams,
When I'm without you.
I'm a farewell that came all too soon,
I'm a hand-me-down that dreams of being new,
When I'm without you.
What little that I have to give, I will give it all to you. . .
You're my one true love.
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muirneach · 2 years
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what a movie….
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chicago-geniza · 2 years
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to finish reading when i finish my Tasks
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Day One of Being an Author
Well, technically, that title is a lie. In some way, shape or form, we are all authors. However, I will use it to get my point across.
It is September 5th, 2023. I have begun crafting an idea to (finally) participate in NaNoWriMo this year, however, it has been quite a long time since I have written anything for the purpose of others to read for entertainment. I dug out an old "Things to Write About" book that a family member had earnestly gifted to me a few years prior, carefully flipping through the pages to find a prompt that spoke to me. Small bits of dust flew around me, reminding me of just how long it has been.
Once I had found the prompt for today, I grabbed my water bottle in preparation. Fall may have already descended in the Pacific Northwest, but it was still mildly warm. The importance of hydration has not yet been forgotten by me.
I carefully made my way to my laptop, beginning a new Microsoft Word document. As I typed out the prompt my book had provided for me, I felt the familiar wall that has kept my previous attempts at beginning to write again a fruitless endeavor. As a remedy, I created this very Tumblr blog that you are reading this on now. I've always been better at distracting myself than doing the simple work that I want to do.
I do hope that I don't come off pretentious. I am simply in need of beginning to write again. Holding the pen, so to speak. Although everything is digital now.
My goal is to try and update near daily. I am, however, a student. While writing is important to me, my studies will take priority. Nonetheless, I am anticipating participating in NaNoWriMo this upcoming November. I hope to see you there. :)
L.M Lewis
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sunsoak · 1 year
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Think I might fuck around and edit the always sunny Wikipedia page for grammar because there’s a criminally long run on sentence in the lead section
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mckennagrafwrites · 1 year
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follow me on Poetizer, TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook @mckennagrafwrites if you support the Oxford comma 🫦
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maccreadysbaby · 3 months
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Writing Tips; Dialogue
Does your dialogue fall flat, or feel thin and strange? Does it feel like your characters are talking like robots? Do your conversations sound repetitive and monotone? We’ve all been there. It’s a very common occurrence amongst writers. Here are some of my favorite ways to avoid the monotone robot characters and add life and movement into your dialogue!
In this post, we’re going to have an example sentence that changes as I talk about different additions. Here it is in its naked, base form: “I know it’s real I saw it,” Nico said.
Now, let’s hop into making it lively, shall we?
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1) PUNCTUATION
Commas and punctuation are your best friends! Use them. Use the crap out of them. Many people will say commas can’t go here and they can’t go there, but I say, in dialogue, it doesn’t matter. If you want your character to pause but you don’t want to use an ellipsis because it feels too long, use a comma. Put them wherever you want. Wherever your character pauses. If your character is rambling or talking really fast, take them out. It’s your dialogue. Use any and all punctuation to bedazzle up your lines. There is never too many or too little of anything if you want it that way, folks.
Keep in mind, punctuation can change the whole feeling of your sentence and the way your readers imagine your character talking. For example, your punctuation should differ between an excited and a sad line.
Here is the example sentence, punctuated in two different ways. “I know it’s real, I saw it!” Nico said. “I know it’s real… I saw it,” Nico said.
Can you see how just the change in punctuation changes the way you imagine him saying it? Really hone in on how your character is speaking and punctuate it to show that. (Keep in mind that this is your story and your character. You don’t have to obey punctuation rules and writing stereotypes, your story obeys you.) Put whatever punctuation you want there. Use thirty commas in your sentence. Use an ellipsis after every word. If it makes your character sound how you want them to sound, go for it, friends!
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2) ITALICS
Some people hate reading over-italicized works, but that’s their own preference. Italics is a great way to add interest, movement, and a characters natural inflection into your dialogue. (I freaking love italics.) Italics helps readers understand what the character is focused on, and how they’re speaking. Again, people will say not to use it too much or only to use it so many times in a paragraph… but the key here is still to write it how you like it. Italics can make your sentences sound more human and more authentic.
Here is our pair of examples, now with punctuation and italics. “I know it’s real, I saw it!” Nico said. “I know it’s real… I saw it,” Nico said.
Take a minute and read through the example dialogue, imagining each word italicized one by one. Pay attention to the meaning and context it gives it. (For example, if the ‘I’ at the beginning is in italics — I know it’s real — that could imply that he’s talking to someone who doesn’t know or believe whatever he’s talking about is real.)
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3) DIALOGUE TAGS
Tags. Tags, tags, tags! Tags are so important! Tags are brilliant for clarifying and identifying exactly how your character is speaking and how they intend for the statement to come across. If you ignore every other tip in this post, don’t ignore the tag! There are so many different words you could use instead of said that give life and context to your lines. Muttered, mumbled, yelled, shouted, exclaimed, whined, groaned, whispered, and a ton ton ton more. Use these to your advantage, like an outline for your dialogue. The tag is undoubtedly the easiest way to make your lines come across the way you want them to.
Here’s the examples with different tags! “I know it’s real, I saw it!” Nico defended. “I know it’s real… I saw it,” Nico mumbled.
Don’t be afraid to move your tag around, either! Sometimes, in order to make your conversations less repetitive, moving your tags are nice. You can put them at the beginning, middle, or end! (Middle tags are my favorite, I use them a whole, whole lot…)
Here’s the example sentence with a tag at the beginning and middle. Nico growled: “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico muttered. “I saw it.”
Don’t forget, tags don’t always have to be how they’re speaking. It can also be what they’re doing or how they’re acting, which can be just as telling as other tags. (I use action tags sooooooo much. Action tags in the middle of dialogue is my jam.)
The example sentences with action tags: Nico crossed his arms, huffing deeply. “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico averted his gaze, staring down at his shoes instead. “I saw it.”
Or, you can mix them both! An action tag plus how they’re speaking for maximum impact and description.
Here’s the example sentence with both! Nico rolled his eyes, hissing: “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico uttered, poorly stifling a shudder. “I saw it.”
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4) DESCRIPTION
Describing the way your character looks, moves, speaks, etc etc before and after the line can further help your readers know how they feel about what they’re saying. This is especially important if the character is not the main character and doesn’t have internal dialogue. Body language can explain things voices can’t or won’t. You can explore putting these descriptions before the line, after the line, in the tag, or after the tag. Whatever you prefer!
Here’s the sentence with descriptive sentences with it. I did one before the line & tag and one in the middle! He was practically fuming, his eyebrows knitted so closely together they looked like a single strip of hair. His eyes were flicking between his friends like he was trying to determine if they were joking, blue irises blurred with a rage-fueled haze. Nico finally rolled his eyes, hissing: “I know it’s real, I saw it!” “I know it’s real…” Nico uttered, poorly stifling a shudder. His eyes never left the floor, and he looked smaller, younger as he spoke. His breaths weren’t exactly even, but they weren’t too quick, either. “I saw it.”
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Look at those two very different scenarios we got out of the same base line! This is the power you hold, folks, the power to un-bland your dialogue and make it into something intense and memorable for your readers! The power to make it portray exactly what you want it to portray! No more worrying how your readers took that line, because you set in stone how it was presented.
Remember, making a paragraph like that for every line might get tiring or repetitive to read. Sometimes tags alone are good enough in fast-paced or long conversations, and sometimes, if the dialogue makes it clear who is speaking, the line can suffice by itself!
If you have any writing tip requests, drop them in my inbox!
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its-time-to-write · 9 months
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hi there! (ok FIRST AND FOREMOST i need to tell you that i am obsessed with your writing. you are by far my favorite jamie tartt writer, you characterize him perfectly and nail his speech mannerisms! not an easy feat! so thank u for writing what you do and for sharing it with us!!!! <333333 ok now that i've gotten that off my chest) if you're taking requests right now i'd love to see your take on a (slowburn?) enemies to lovers fic with jamie!!
I don’t know why I take simple little prompts and turn them into angsty monstrosities. This one makes up for the lack of plot in my other fics, and I’d like to apologize in advance😬
Oh also I am the queen of commas, in case you didn’t know 😇😇
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flipped the script
It cannot be considered murder if you’re provoked. It would be considered doing the world a favor. 
And by god, you are going to fucking murder Jamie Tartt.
He does absolutely fucking nothing but make your life fucking miserable and you’re fucking losing it.
The only thing you’d agree on is when it started. It was 4am and he was yelling at someone called Roy and you had to be awake in two hours for a fucking conference, and you’d only just fallen asleep at 1am.
So you marched out of your house to the sidewalk where your prick neighbor was arguing with his prick coach and told him to shut the fuck up or I’m calling the police.
He opened his mouth to retort, changed his mind, then made a snide comment about your choice of outfit while you glared at him. His prick coach had the decency to apologize and smack Jamie on the head, so you said, “You’re fine, Roy, I’ll see you at work next week,” and Roy said, “Ah shit, you have that fucking conference, yeah?” and you said yeah then flipped off Jamie as you walked away.
You really hadn’t had many interactions with Jamie before, but you knew him before you started your job as an administrative assistant for AFC Richmond since you were, after all, living right next to each other.
Your last job had paid incredibly well; you were basically the go-to girl for your last company for two and half years. You compiled all relevant information from the day and presented to your boss so he would be caught up on the company’s inner workings. You were observant when it came to valuable (or toxic) employees, and had gained a reputation for being an invaluable asset.
But your old boss was retiring and you were ready for something new, so you began looking around. You found a job at AFC Richmond, assisting a Mr. Higgins and just generally making sure his job ran smoothly so the club could run smoothly. 
It was mostly paperwork, but you enjoyed it. You collected data from all different departments and then ran it by Higgins and Ms. Welton. You weren’t above coffee runs; it was nice to get out sometimes and Ms. Welton would put your coffee on her bill. You got to take your lunch breaks with them and talk and laugh, and be appreciated, which is something you didn’t often get.
The nature of your job demands a certain level of… professionalism, shall we say, which can be misconstrued as coldness. You’re not. You’re just young and trying to be taken seriously, which is why it’s nice to be known both in a personal and professional capacity by Higgins and Ms. Welton. Higgins has even invited you over for family dinner and you’d invited his family over to yours. His boys had absolutely lost their minds at the amount of nerf guns you had stashed in each room, courtesy of your brother who often liked to drop by unannounced when he knew you were home and get you in the back of the head. Sometimes you regretted giving him a key, but not enough to take it back.
All that to say, it was a relatively seamless transition to AFC Richmond. You and Jamie would exchange a neighborly nod if you saw each other, but that was absolutely it. 
The next incident is, uh, kind of your fault.
Remember the brother-and-nerf-guns thing?
Yeah.
Your brother had sneaked over on a Sunday (parked around the corner so his car wouldn’t be seen on your security cameras) and you were chasing each other around the house. Your sister-in-law had warned you he was coming over (he asked her to drive him), so you were prepared and hiding in the bushes. He was nonchalantly walking on the sidewalk, hands in his hoodie, when you popped out and got him right in the chest then booked it into your house, which led to a solid fifteen minutes of running and yelling, with the occasional, “Ow, you jerk!” that siblings are always saying but never really mean.
The incident occurs when you’re once again in your front yard running from your brother. You look back to assess how far away he is when smack, you run into someone and feel their beverage go flying.
It’s Jamie, and his bright pink drink is now all over his clean white hoodie.
You both stop and glare at each other. 
You had stopped feigning civility after the 4am thing, so the glare is standard procedure.
Jamie says, “What the fuck?” as your brother comes careening to an abrupt halt.
You’re still glaring. “Why are asking me ‘what the fuck?’ You’re the one walking around here with that fucking awful drink that’s probably going to kill your internal organs. I mean seriously, it cannot be safe to consume something that bright.”
“Says the girl who’s addicted to diet soda.”
“Says the girl who’s fucking pissed that her sidewalk is stained fucking bright pink. How the fuck am I supposed to clean this?”
Jamie’s face is red now, and yours is too.
“A), it’s a fucking public sidewalk and b), what about my fucking sweatshirt? This cost more than your shitty car!” he shoots back, and that’s the moment a line is crossed.
“We live in the same goddamn neighborhood,” you hiss, “so shut the fuck up with your stupid elitist footballer bullshit.”
“Oi, at least I’m not a fucking stuck-up, self-righteous big-shot with no friends!”
You’re not sure what would have happened next because your brother grabs you by the arm and hauls you back inside, waving apologetically to Jamie. All the fight goes out of you as soon as the door shuts.
“What the ever-loving hell was that?” he asks. He never did like using the word “fuck.”
What the ever-loving hell was that? Well, it’s actually quite simple. In the seven months you’ve been at Richmond, you haven’t really made any friends.
Yes, you have Ms. Welton and Higgins, but that’s not the same as having people the same age as you to go out with and watch movies and drink and dance and just be stupid and unwind with. 
You’re not even necessarily looking for friends at Nelson Road, just friends somewhere. The problem is, you’re not even sure how to go about it. You’ve spent the last decade of your life (yes, decade) working your ass off to get where you are now. Fourteen year-old knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. You had hustled through school, made connections, grew your resume, and saved every fucking penny until you landed a job that you were definitely under qualified for, but you had nailed the interview. You weren’t sure why your boss decided to take a chance on you, until he told you later he saw the same spark his daughter had in your eyes.
His daughter, who had become a multi-millionaire on her own by the time she was twenty-seven.
So, because someone saw the grit in your eyes of all places, you had a chance to make a fuck ton of money and have a fuck ton of benefits.
You made more connections, including a realtor who set you up with your current home at a price that was insane to normal people, but a steal to the rich. You were signing papers before it was even officially on the market.
It had been labelled as a “fixer-upper,” but that meant a little bit of scuffed paint and slightly outdated utilities. 
And it was yours.
It all came at a price though, didn’t it?
That price was not seeing your family often, sleeping poorly, and no real friends.
That’s why your brother makes it a point to come around. He knows that your lack of contact does not equate a lack of love.
Not everyone saw it that way. You’d lost all your friends at this point, labeled a bitch and a workaholic. So, you though, why the hell not just lean into it. You could be a bitch and a workaholic if it got things done. It was easier to harden the shell around your heart than let people in again.
Ok, maybe taking out all that anger on Jamie isn’t healthy, but hey, he’s the one fighting back so hard. 
Things keep happening. His foot is stuck out just enough to make you stumble as you pass each other in the hallway, your car is parked on the street just enough so he can’t get into his garage, ferocious glares are exchanged. Any conversation you are forced to have is laced with sarcastic, biting remarks that only serve make you close off even more. 
The worst part? You’re both fucking brilliant at hiding it. 
You’d have to be, especially at AFC Richmond under Ted Lasso’s command. If he got wind of this, he’d be all over it trying to fix it and neither of you want that. 
You see, Jamie’s a little bit fucked up too.
You’ve been at AFC Richmond for a year, and you’ve hated Jamie Tartt for eleven months.
Yet somehow, you’re in fucking Paris. 
Not with just Jamie, of course, but the whole team.
Rebecca’s basically given you a paid vacation because there isn’t much for you to do here. It’s great, the city of lights or something, but you can’t enjoy it. 
You’re in your room on the floor, becoming slowly dehydrated from crying.
Everything is all fuzzy and you’re incredibly disoriented, so you think you might be hallucinating when you hear a knock on the door.
It happens again, more insistently, and you think it’s probably Rebecca so you drag yourself up off the floor, wipe your eyes, and open it to find Jamie Tartt standing in front of you, clearly wishing to be anywhere else.
He’s staring at the top of the doorframe as he says, “Coach sent me to see if you want to go out with the lads tonight,” looking down only when you’ve left his statement unanswered for far too long.
His look of annoyance changes as he clocks your puffy eyes and red nose. 
“You alright?” he asks and you don’t even have the heart to say, obviously, don’t I look it? so you just nod and move to shut the door. 
Jamie blocks it with his hand and pushes it back open, then past you into the room.
It’s pristine, all marble and gold; and far too big for you. You would have preferred something smaller, something less empty. Something less cold. 
All you can do is stand there mutely in your t-shirt and sweatpants, watching your worst enemy clatter around in the room’s fridge looking for a water bottle.
He retrieves one and hands it to you, cap unscrewed.
You don’t ask if he’s spit in it, just take a sip and look at him with dead eyes.
“You look like shit,” he observes, breaking the silence. 
It’s not a dig. You’ve heard enough condescension from his lips to know when he’s fighting.
You shrug.
“You gonna say something?” Jamie asks, and that’s enough to get you going.
“You’re the one who’s in my room,” you say and instead of firing back, Jamie grins. 
“We can go to mine if you want, love,” he winks and in a terrible, awful, panic-inducing moment, you are thrown completely off your guard.
How the fuck are you supposed to reconcile this Jamie Tartt with the awful neighbor you hate? And is he- flirting? Surely not.
He registers your face going through a million expressions in an instant and sobers.
“Go sit,” he says, and you comply without thinking. You’re cross-legged on the couch and he thumps down next to you. He’s not close enough that you’re touching, but you can feel the heat radiating off his body. It’s funny, because you feel so cold. You wonder for a moment if your heart has actually turned to stone and that’s why you’re shivering.
You hear someone say, “My ex is here,” and are horrified to realize that you’re the one talking, and not only that, but you’re continuing. 
“He fucking… knew I’d be here. I saw him in the lobby. He acted like it was some great coincidence, but he was never a great liar. And… he’s here with his girlfriend. Fiancée, I guess. Because he’s proposing to her tonight. They’ve known each other less than a year, and he’s proposing to her. I saw him in the lobby looking like this while he’s in a fucking suit and all I can think about is the fact that he broke up with me because I wouldn’t put out because I wasn’t ready. And how he said he wasn’t the marrying type.” You pause.
“I broke my back making time for him. Everyone thinks I’m a workaholic and maybe I am, but I make time for the people I love. I made time for him. It sounds funny to say, especially how I am now, but he’s why I don’t anymore. Make time, I mean. Nobody notices I’m gone anyway. Or when I’m around. Or anything I do unless I’m doing something for them.”
You risk a look at Jamie. He’s studying your face with an intensity you’ve never seen and you look down to find his hand in yours, and you wonder how that happened. Your knuckles are white from gripping it but he’s holding it back and it gives you just enough of a boost to keep going.
“I don’t even want the money for myself. Like, I’m able to buy expensive shit and that’s cool, but the only reason I have a house that big is because my brother and his wife have a shit-ton of kids, and sometimes they need a break. So they can come over to mine and run around and have space and be wild for a week and I don’t care. They won’t let me give them money, so I have to think of creative ways to help them out. I only have nephews- they each have their own trust fund. It’s not that big right now, but it’s growing. It’ll be a lot by the time they’re each eighteen. And my parents… They died when I was fourteen. It was a stupid car accident, this freak thing with the brakes even though they’d just had the car serviced a week before. My brother was twenty one and newly married because he’s an idiot and he was in love. He and his wife let me live with them.”
You shake your head. “No, that’s not right, they didn’t just let me live with them, they took care of me. Bought me clothes and fed me and let me have my own room even though I said I could sleep on the couch. They could barely afford things for themselves, but they made sure I had what I needed. That’s why I threw myself into work and pushed people away. It’s for them, because I know I can never repay them. But I want to, even if they won’t let me.”
You’re done speaking, finally, and your face is bright red. It normally is when speaking to Jamie, but that’s from the sheer anger you usually feel from having to deal with him. This time it’s different. It’s from the embarrassment of being vulnerable in front of someone.
Jamie hasn’t said anything the whole time, just let you hold his hand. Your knees are touching now, and you realize that one of you must have shifted to make that happen.
You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “Why are you here, Jamie?” you ask softly. “You hate me. I don’t even know why I told you all that.”
He looks straight into your eyes. “I don’t hate you,” he says simply.
That’s enough to fully shatter the shell around your heart, and you’re shaking with silent sobs again as Jamie pulls you closer, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you.
You fall asleep like that, and you’re not sure at which point Jamie left. But when you wake up, you’re in your bed under a blanket. You think maybe you dreamed the whole thing until you see the note on your nightstand in messy handwriting.
I meant what I said.
Neither you nor Jamie comment on it, but something has changed. You don’t hate him anymore. He sits next to you on the plane back and cracks jokes, and you have a weird opportunity to apologize. He tells you he’s sorry too, explains about his dad, and you form a strange bond of repressed anger as a way to deal with hurt. 
Ted is right, forgiveness is the way to go.
Jamie Tartt makes it a point to ask you to go out with the lads every time they do group activities. You meet Rebecca’s friend Keeley, basically the only other girl, and pretty soon she’s invited herself over for girl’s nights. Jamie recognizes Keeley’s car the second time it happens and walks over to say hey. She invites him in, and suddenly he’s a fixture at girl’s night. His movie recommendations are shit, but his skincare products are not.
Since things at AFC Richmond aren’t as hectic as you’re used to, you start to pick up some of your old hobbies. Cooking, for example. You get your hands on a copy of Jamie’s diet plan and start experimenting with ways to make it more interesting. So now he’s at yours for dinner more often than not. 
He pops his head over the fence one Saturday afternoon, hearing young voices all morning. Your nephews are over and playing football in the backyard while your brother and sister-in-law deep clean their house. You’re sitting under an umbrella with the baby in your arms and a pitcher of water, when you hear Isaiah, the oldest, say, “Whoa! Is that Jamie Tartt?” 
You look up from Daniel’s tiny giggly face to see Jamie hanging over your fence and waving. You roll your eyes and grin back.
“Wanna come over?” you call, and the words are barely our of your mouth before he’s hopped over and starting to steal the ball from your four walking nephews.
They’re at it for a good thirty minutes before he calls time-out and is jogging over to you, all sweaty and grinning. 
“Didn’t know you were good with kids,” he says.
“Could say the same thing about you,” you shoot back.
He grabs water then makes a silly face at Daniel, who giggles and waves his arms. You laugh and kiss the baby on the top of his head, which makes him gurgle. You look up to see Jamie watching you strangely, so you wrinkle your nose at him. “What?” you say, but before he can open his mouth to respond, Jesse is pulling on Jamie’s hand, telling him the time-out is over.
Your next interaction of note happens after your third consecutive Richmond match. You don’t usually go to them, as it’s not required and you didn’t really care. But since you’ve been hanging out with the team, you find yourself taking Rebecca up on her offer to sit in the owner’s box. It’s three days until the next match and you’re looking for Jamie so you can eat lunch together. You find him in the locker room of all places and hand him his bag of food, yet another one of your experiments.
You’re starting to get really good revitalizing Jamie’s meal plan.
His eyes light up when he sees you, and you both miss the looks exchanged between Ted and Beard in their office.
Jamie puts down the lunch and says, “Oi, I got you something.” He reaches into his locker and pulls out a Richmond jersey.
“It’s new, it ain’t one of mine, but now you can wear it to matches.”
You shake it open to see it’s a Jamie Tartt jersey, and this makes you unreasonably happy.
Jamie’s grinning too, and it’s the rare kind of grin where his teeth look sharper and his eyes flash.
You hug it to your chest and say, “I’ll be sure to wear it Saturday,” before you and Jamie head to the café to eat.
— 
Keeley, of course, has comments about the jersey. You pretend not to understand what she’s saying.
It’s girls night again, and you and Jamie are pulling snacks out of his cabinets when your phones ding at the same time. It’s Keeley on your groupchat.
Can’t make it babes, something’s come up.
You make a comment involving the words “Roy Kent,” and riffing on her excuse, which makes Jamie laugh.
“I guess I’ll head back to mine,” you say, but Jamie tilts his head and says, “Or you could just… stay,” so you do.
You’re on his couch again, like the night you stopped hating him: your back agains his chest as you rub your thumb absentmindedly on his tattooed forearm.
You’re midway through the movie and explaining to Jamie the limited plausibility of it happening in real life, when he says a soft, oh shit as you pause to take a breath.
“What?” you say, sitting up. “Is everything alright?”
Jamie rubs a hand across his face. “You’re gonna fucking hate me again.”
You squint. “Not sure that’s possible. You’ve got too much dirt on me.”
Jamie just groans. “Nah, you’ll hate me. But I’m gonna tell you anyway.”
He grabs your hand and looks you straight in your eyes, giving you goosebumps.
“I’m fucking in love with you,” he says, and your brain still functions just enough to crash your lips into his.
You’re on top of him and his fingers are tangled in your hair, but as your fingers ghost his waistband, he stills and grabs your hand.
You freeze too, afraid you’ve crossed a line, but Jamie says, “I’m not fucking you for the first time on my couch. We’re going to do this proper,” and then he’s whisking you off your feet and up the stairs.
You know that fucking someone you work with is a line you said you’d never cross. But he was your neighbor first, and you’re in love, so it doesn’t count. You’re lying on Jamie’s bed gasping for air after god knows how long and all you can say is, “fuck me.”
Jamie smirks. “Thought I just did, babe, but I’ll go again,” and you’re seeing stars for the third time that night.
He’s sucking a line across your collarbone when you say, “Wait!”
Jamie is off of you in a moment, and you feel strangely empty.
“You alright?” he asks, all concern.
“I never said it back,” you explain. Jamie’s still confused.
“I love you too. You said you’re fucking in love with me. I’m in love with you too. Just thought I should make it clear.” 
Jamie’s looking at you all strange again, eyes dark, so you roll him back on top and let him devour you.
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pealeii · 7 months
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i love proofreading friends’ fics
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xekstrin · 25 days
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Xekstrin Arbitrary Writing Rules V2
1) Sentence variety and paragraph variety is important.
Quick and dirty fix: make sure the FIRST WORD of EVERY SENTENCE and EVERY PARAGRAPH doesn’t repeat too much. (Some repetition is inevitable as you will see later.)
“Huh???” I hear you say.
Ex:
Here’s my example text. Here is another sentence. Here once again is another line of text and even though it has a different length (good) it still starts with the same word and it repeats a bit too much.
Here we have a whole new paragraph, a completely new sentence with commas and everything. However it still starts with the same word. Here you might say, “but I’m repeating it on purpose!” Repeating on purpose is usually fine. Repeating unthinkingly means you aren’t diving into your edits deep enough.
Not a hard and fast rule by any means, but it starts you on the path to thinking more closely about your work down to the itty bitty details.
2) Adverbs are fine… depending on what you want to do.
“It’s not like she loved me or anything.” Sally laughed sadly.
This is a fine brief sentence that still tells us a lot! We can move on to other things while still keeping Sally in mind.
But! If you want to linger for whatever reason… give us some physical details. Tell us what things feel like and sound like. Describe what is happening.
“It’s not like she loved me or anything.” Sally choked when she laughed. Tears were streaming down the distraught lines of her face. Every inch of her was pale and cold to the touch.
Both sections can be equally sad, depending on the context. More words does not mean more emotion! It merely is a tool to let the reader sit with something a bit longer than they might otherwise. You can then try to control the speed a reader is introduced to things, and set up a “wham line” by forcing them to linger somewhere else a bit.
Not every line has to be a poem. Unless that’s your thing. Use your best judgment! Every writer is different and will want to write a scene differently.
3) Said is not dead
I see you, trying to replace every other “said” with “exclaimed” “shrieked”“hollered” “hooted” “ejaculated” or otherwise use another verb to replace “said” for no other reason than you are trying to avoid “said”.
At first this rule seems to go against rule number one, not to repeat words. But “said” (or “says”) is a special word.
Why?
“Said” is effectively invisible.
Readers tend to skim or skip it on instinct. When you use any word OTHER than “said”, however, you are forcing them to make a brief pause and absorb this. Are you wasting their time? Is it notable or otherwise important that this character is doing anything other than saying their words? Use your best judgement.
4) Shi shi shi shi shi shi shi… who is “she”?
We’ve all seen that chinese poem about Shi eating the lions, right?
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Writing a lesbian threesome feels a lot like this poem. When in doubt, even if you feel like it breaks rule number one, just use a character’s name rather than an epithet (“the long-haired girl” “the shorter girl”.)
This is less of a problem with het romance but still worth mentioning.
Epithets have their place, if you’re doing it with intention. If you want to talk about swift-footed Achilles, you know your story better than I do! Just don’t use epithets as a backup because you’re scared to repeat yourself. Readers can smell your fear.
5) Readers can smell your fear
Don’t force it. Don’t write for an imaginary audience that is out to punish you. Don’t write defensively in case someone misunderstands. We can smell your fear and it distracts from the story. Trust in your story!
6) Words mean things.
Flexing your vocabulary is sexy. Using big words incorrectly is the writing equivalent of slapping yourself in the face and smugly saying “see how strong I am?”
7) No one knows your story but you. This is both good and bad.
When you are writing, you are trying to show off what’s in your head. The reader does not, CANNOT, see what you see. Mind-reading is impossible.
It’s YOUR job to immerse them in your fantasy as completely as possible. Be clear, be vivid, and engage all the senses. They should know how your fantasy feels, how it looks, what emotions are wrapped up inside it, how it smells, and what it sounds like. What it means.
But also you’re not gonna please everybody so you should just do what you like anyway.
Bye!
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its-your-mind · 5 months
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what the fuck the novel was his dream and his dream was the novel and he used it to escape his life except he never bothered to dream himself into a happy ending. except the novel was just her desperate, half-conscious attempts to save him, to keep him alive for just one more day so he could read the next chapter she wrote. except it wasn’t ever just a novel at all because it was the millennia-long attempt of one person to finally meet the being that so desperately wanted a person with no history and no past to have a perfect future, a happy ending.
except that novel! was never actually the point! it was just the vehicle some version of themselves all used to get everyone to the start of the story that actually mattered, the story that wasn’t pre-ordained, the story where characters became companions and the reader became the protagonist and the dream of a happy ending for all of them was possible. all of them were there - the reader, the writer, the protagonist… but the reader was just the reader, the writer was a plagiarist, and the protagonist was only at the start of his journey. this story, the real story, the story that hadn’t been written yet, was about how when the world fell to ruin, the only person with the instruction manual on how to survive decided to sacrifice himself over, and over, and over, and… and they made it. they got to their happy ending. but before they did, they learned about the dream. his escape that became a reality. and he didn’t know, he didn’t understand what it was, and so he stepped back, and watched them walk away. because it was the story written for him that caused this much damage, and he had to atone.
but the people who he saved, who he walked with to the end, who turned from characters on his screen to friends and companions who fought beside him, cried when he was gone, screamed at him when he came back, laughed with him, loved him, lived through hell with him, survived because of him… they knew that the story that defined him was not the story that saved him, that he escaped to when it was all too much, but his own story, the story he forged himself. and so dozens of them chose to dive back into hell just to forcefully turn his attempt at an ending, a sentence that ended in a period, into a promise of more to come, a clause that ended in a comma.
and then? the plagiarist who was never a plagiarist at all, but the author who saved him, she sat down and wrote his story. the one he made by their side. they compiled their memories - the memories of the author and the protagonist and heroes and villains and gods and angels and demons and dragons and prophets - into a new novel. and they sent that novel out to the stars to be told, a literal shout into the void to tell him that he was LOVED. that he deserved HAPPINESS. that it was okay for him to REST. that they were waiting for him to come HOME. and they hoped that this story would reach him just as the first had. that he would find it, and he would read it, and it would be the thing that saved him, that kept him alive, and that eventually brought him back to them.
he had promised, after all, to be the first reader of her next novel.
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