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em-dash-press · 2 years

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Plot Devices to Complicate Your Story

You're excited to write an upcoming story, but the plot seems pretty simple from start to finish.

How can you make it more complicated to deepen your themes, lengthen the story, or leave your readers with plot twists that make their jaws drop?

Try a few of these devices 👀

Add motivation to your instigating action

When the princess gets kidnapped at the start of your story, your hero will rescue her, but what's the antagonist's motivation for kidnapping her? If they're in love with the hero and take their jealousy to the extreme or secretly know that the princess asked them for an escape plan to avoid marrying your hero, the plot is much more compelling.

You could add this detail anywhere in your plot, even in the first chapter.

Layer a second motivation underneath an action

After the princess is kidnapped, the hero starts their journey to rescue her. The reader finds out in the second chapter that the hero is being blackmailed to retrieve the princess and return her to their kingdom's biggest rival to start a war.

Amplify the original problem

Your protagonist rescues the princess and brings her home, only to find out that she's had a twin brother all this time who has been taken hostage by the antagonist in retaliation for the princess' escape.

Introduce a second, more evil villain

The antagonist has kidnapped the princess for their own motivation, but the reader discovers in the middle of your story that they serve a more evil villain who holds a personal grudge against the princess' father and wants his whole kingdom to suffer as revenge.

Create conflict that brings your protagonist to their rock bottom

The protagonist rescues the princess, almost reaches their home kingdom, but she escapes. The king sends the protagonist to prison for their failure and sentences them to death in three days. The reader will feel the hopelessness along with your protagonist, which is where you can create something that injects new hope into your plot (like a dramatic jailbreak thanks to the protagonist's best friend).

Make a character betray another

The protagonist reaches the princess with the help of their best friend, but the princess stabs the protagonist in the back by trading their best friend for herself through an unbreakable vow

Reveal an unreliable narrator

Your protagonist agrees to rescue the princess for the sake of the kingdom, but the second or third chapter reveals that they are really on a mission to kill the princess for personal revenge against the king.

Reveal that the villain has known everything the whole time

Your protagonist and princess escape, but the villain factored that into their plan to start a war and have their forces waiting outside of her castle when they arrive home

Introduce sudden regret that changes a character's arc

The protagonist has to leave their best friend behind to ensure the princess' escape, but in leaving them, the protagonist realizes they've been in love with their best friend the entire time. Regret motivates them to head back for their best friend and risk their life twice as soon as the princess is home safe.

Temporarily kill a character

The princess kills the villain with some help from your protagonist, so they think they're safe. On their way back home, the villain sets a trap for them in the woods because they actually survived the attack.

Try using Chekov's gun

Before leaving for the princess, your protagonist gets a potion made by a family member. The directions? "Use it in your moment of greatest need." The protagonist uses it later when they're facing the villain or after hitting rock bottom, so the potion becomes a plot device that instigates your second or third act.

Accelerate the plot

Your reader thinks the plot is all about rescuing the princess, but she returns home in the first 100 pages. The real plot begins by choices or actions made during her rescue, which unravel into a much larger story/world event.

You likely won't be able to use all of these plot devices in a single story. You may not even have the first plot for more than one.

Consider what you're writing and what dynamics your characters/plot present to decide if any of these tricks could enhance your writing.

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ellisnyeland · 4 months

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writeblr intro

I need to make a new pinned post anyway, so it seems like a good time to introduce myself!

I'm Ellis Nye, and I'm a sci-fi and fantasy writer, with occasional elements of historical fiction, horror, and romance. Right now, I'm focusing on short stories.

Two of my short stories have been published:

Shelf-stable: "In a transitional post-post-apocalypse, Ada dreads the arrival of the witch who regularly visits her town." You can buy the issue of Solarpunk Magazine (@solarpunkmagazine on here) that it appears in here. You can see my posts about this short story here.

The Last Great Repair Tech of the American Midwest: "A story about love and community in the midst of an apocalypse of planned obsolescence, framed as an obituary." You can go to this page to find links to buy the eBook, plus the story will go up for free on the Reckoning website in July of 2024. You can see my posts about this short story here.

(For whatever reason, my published short stories lean more towards the lighthearted/uplifting end of what I write. This is going to make the eventual publication of some of my other stuff really funny.)

I write:

Retellings--mythology, fairy tales, folklore, ballads, classic lit, and more

Small, quiet stories happening in the middle of the action

Dialogue-heavy stories

"Found fiction" (Archive of the Odd introduced me to this term and I love it!)

Disabled characters

Queer characters

Stuff that I hope makes you go "wait that was kind of fucked up" half an hour after reading it

Stuff that makes me cry

Stories that did, actually, come to me in a dream

Gross stuff

I'm very into worldbuilding, but my current focus on short stories tends to limit me there somewhat. I do plan to go back to writing novels, with an eventual focus on getting published, but that's not in the cards right now.

I have a tag for each story I post about, so for example "story: deadname" for posts about my WIP "Deadname" or "story: in perfect light" for a finished-ish story I've started submitting places.

I also have a Twitter account with this same username, but I don't use it as much as I use this account.

#writeblr intro #writeblr introduction #solarpunk #short story writing #original fiction #science fiction #environmental fiction #solarpunk press #reckoning magazine #op #story: shelf stable #story: the last repair tech

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angelltheninth · 8 months

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Writing a short story: ok what if lab partners + forced proximity + sexual tension?

And then I remember that one pandemic virus erotica lmao. Has anyone read that? Is it good or is it bad in a good way?

#writing #short story writing

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sunnyanddumb98 · 2 months

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Sitting, playing cards, Talking with my nephew, Sipping iced tea, Watching butterflies, Fighting with someone, Dreaming life away, Of all that I could do, The time that I spend Between birth and death. So much more than verbs, Antonyms, acronyms of What you never tell, Never show, never do. Most time is up there Where nothing happens But existence itself. The time spent Wishing for a way out, Pitch-black garage, Still stagnant clocks, Faraway, muted, dusted, Blurry friends and family, Drowning in a bathtub Keeping the charade. holding my breath Keeping time away from walking from them or finding a way to my end Could never take back. Slowly, I drink my tea, Slowly, I start to see Everything that wastes time, Screaming life goes by, Daggers in my back Of words I never trust. Minutes are mine, And I use them freely, I know their worth In those I play cards with And laugh at jokes, Bring tiny tasks to Completion, fold the Clothes, and write Some more, about Wonders of never having been Really gone, just lost In the time I spend Between birth and death

February Prompt 12. to live @the-end-society

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auntieinthemushroomhat · 2 months

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Hey! So I'm writing a short story, and I was wondering if anyone would be willing to give me some pointers. I do know there are guides and tutorials online, but I wanna see what the community says, ya know?

My main question is, how do I end a short story? I really like writing it, but I fear I'll ruin it by making it way too long.

How do you end it? How do you make the ending pack a real punch and make it impactful?

Also, is it okay to switch back and forth between past and present tenses if I have a reason for it? (not a very good reason, but I am somewhat trying to make a point with it)

(for reference, I'm writing a vignette)

#writing #short story writing #writing advice #writing tips

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steamedbeefs · 5 months

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Chapter 1 - The Town of Drake's Cove

In the realm of Virelia, signs of summer began to bless the lands, from the flat grasslands that rolled as far as the eye could see to the snow-capped peaks of the Northern Mountains and every place in between. It was in the Dragon’s Woods in particular that summer was in full swing, with its abundance of colourful wild flowers popping up amongst the thick, green grass, with butterflies and busy honey bees pollinating them, filling the air with their buzzing. A warm breeze swayed the mighty oak trees of the forest, the sun’s bright rays filtering down through the leaves, casting patterns of light and shadow on the ground.

Despite the fact that his travelling companions had all peeled off their leather armour and cloaks, made damp by sweat by the summer heat, the elderly Firbolg shuddered, goosebumps exploding on his frail skin. He shrugged his thick cloak over his shoulders, hoping that the earth-colour wool would help keep the chill out of his old bones. However, he pushed on, leading his team of sell-swords down the decades-old beaten path using his equally old map clasped in his large hand. Every few minutes, the Firbolg glanced down at the map, his shaggy, wool-like fur on top of his head hanging down over his eyes as he scanned the crumpled paper.

“Aye,” he grunted, stuffing the map back into his cloak’s pocket, taking steady strides down the road, using his staff as a walking stick. “No more than another few more leagues until we reach town, younglings.”

Falling into step next to the Firbolg, his Halfling hireling tucked a loose curl of her auburn hair behind a long, pointed ear, giving him a quizzical look.

“Are you sure, Captain Skillet?” She asked him, glancing down at his pocket where the map was unceremoniously crumpled inside, fighting the urge to snatch it and read it herself. “You said that it was only a couple of leagues away when we broke camp at dawn, and now it’s lunchtime and you’re saying the same thing again. We’ve been walking for hours and we still haven’t seen any signs of Drake’s Cove yet. Are you sure we’re not lost, sir?”

The other two hirelings, a Triton with a tangle of navy curls on his head and eyes that glittered like gold and a Goblin with a mischievous smile and messy black hair that was cut hastily, named Nalu and Bullet respectively, fell behind their Captain and their Halfling companion. They listened intently to their conversation, as Skillet had been known to get the adventurers lost from time to time, and they both were eager to finally get to the village he was leading them to and get off their aching feet.

The Firbolg only just waved the girl off, chuckling to himself. “I know these woods like the back of my hand, Finch Waveborne,” Skillet had said to her, not slowing down his pace as he spoke over his shoulder. “This forest is where I used to play when I was just a youngling, not much younger than you three are now. The reason I am so adamant to get to Drake’s Cove, the town we are going to be selling our services to next, is because it used to be my home. And, here we are…”

With a flourish of his hand, the Dragon’s Woods began to thin around the adventures, and signs of civilization began to appear.

Drake’s Cove was an old fishing village, weathered by age and the sea surrounding it. Farmlands and small houses made of river stone and thick logs of oak wood dotted the land, their thatched roofs rustling in the wind. The homes were sparse at first, with patches of trees and large expanses of farmland between them, but as the land rolled downwards towards the cove where the ocean lapped at the stoney shore, the houses grew closer together and the farms became smaller. One main cobblestone road ran through the main part of town, in some places covered in mud from carriages or sand from the beach, while footpaths and rotten boardwalks branched off in every direction, beating down the tall beach grass.

Near the cove stood a large inn, with rickety wooden piers surrounding it on both sides, multiple fishing boats moored against them, bumping against the docks with soft thumps as the waves rocked them back and forth. Skillet smiled as the inn came into view through his shaggy fur, and he gestured for his young hirelings to follow him deeper into town.

Drake’s Cove was home to a variety of different races, from bulky Orcs chopping firewood or hauling water from the well at the center of town to dainty-looking Elves tending vegetable gardens and beating rugs on lines with large beaters, each one living together in peace. There was even a Dragonborne living in town from what Bullet could see, and he was exiting the bakery with an arm’s full of fresh savoury breads and sweet sticky buns. Each one raised a hand or gave a small smile in greet as the adventurers past, calling out their ‘good afternoon’s and ‘nice to see you’s to the Firbolg leading the three younglings behind him. Children played in the middle of the road, entertaining themselves by playing pretend with one another, large dogs chasing behind them.

Approaching the inn, the adventurers could see that it was two floors tall, with a high roof made of slate tiles, the only building like it in the whole town. The first floor of the inn was built from smooth river rocks, and the second was made of dark-stained oak logs, with large windows evenly spaced throughout. Even though it was summer, the large chimney billowed out thick, white smoke. A sign hanging from a metal bracket above the large double doors named the inn ‘The Salty Drake’.

Skillet sighed happily when he led the young hirelings to the front doors of the inn, reaching up with one large hand to bat at the sign, making it swing back and forth on the bracket, squeaking sharply. “This here is ‘The Salty Drake’, the best inn this side of the Dragon’s Woods. During my younger years, I spent many a night here after returning from my adventures, draining the poor barkeep of his ale.” Skillet chuckled to himself as he reminisced, the three younglings behind him hanging onto every word. It was not often that their Captain shared any information about his past, so learning about his old stomping grounds excited them greatly. Snapping the three back to reality, the Firbolg gestured to the door. “I know the barkeep well, as he is one of my very best friends. We’ll be able to get a cheap steading here as we work, and be able to fill our bellies with his cooking.”

With a wink as he promised the hirelings a comfortable bed to sleep in and a hot meal, Skillet pushed open one of the large doors and wandered inside, the three sharing an excited look before following their Captain inside.

The inn opened up into a grand common room, which was spacious and comfortable, with a low ceiling and a sitting area around a large stone fireplace that stretched almost half the length of the room, the flame dancing upon the glowing logs. At the back-end of the common room stood a bar with many tables and chairs surrounding it, each table hosting a patron or two as they sipped from their goblets of cold ale or spiced mead shamelessly in the middle of the day. A kitchen could be found behind the bar, with smells of cooking meats and baking bread wafted into the adventurers’ nostrils. The bar itself was clean and tidy, and an older Elven gentleman stood behind it, cleaning a goblet with a rag. He was a Wood-Elf, upon further inspection, with dark skin, long black hair tied into a tight bun on top of his head, a meticulously kept beard flecked with grey, and piercing grey eyes that have been hardened by life.

With the sound of the front door opening and the footsteps of potential customers, the Wood-Elf looked up briefly from his work of cleaning dishes, and a wide grin split his features at the sight of the elderly Firbolg. “S-Skillet?... Is that you, old friend?” He asked, his voice stammering a little as he placed the goblet down on the bar and came around the side to approach the travellers.

Skillet opened his arms as the Wood-Elf approached him, returning his elated smile and wrapping his arms around him, his much larger body swallowing the Elf up in his embrace. “It’s good to see you again, Thefni,” Skillet said as he pulled away, and Thefni straightened his apron, the grin that wrinkled his face never fading.

“I… I can’t believe this… I never thought I’d ever see you again!” Thefni said, looking the Firbolg up and down as if he still couldn’t comprehend the fact that he was standing here before him. “You left so many years ago without saying goodbye. Folks were saying you went to find that great adventure you’ve always wanted, some said you were going to get yourself killed. Where did you go? What did you see? Tell me, friend. Tell me all about your travels, I want to hear every detail!”

Skillet chuckled at the Wood-Elf’s excited ramblings and patted him on the shoulder as he mounted a stool in front of the bar, letting out a small groan as he finally rested his exhausted legs. “I will, I will, old friend, I promise. Maybe tonight, over a nice cold goblet of your finest ale, hmm?” Skillet said with a chuckle in his deep, rumbling voice. “But first, I must introduce you to my hirelings. This is Nalu, Finch, and Bullet…” Skillet gestured to each adventurer respectively as he told Thefni their names, each one giving a small wave or a curt nod in greeting. “While my days of solo adventuring and sword-fighting are far behind me, I’m still travelling the lands of Virelia with my new team of sell-swords. We were wondering if you would allow us to stay here at the inn while we are in town to provide our services. We won’t be here long, mind you, not much more than a week or two at most. Just long enough until we make enough gold to last us until we get to the next town over. What do you say, old friend?”

With the explanation finished and the four adventurers looking at him expectantly, Thefni let out a loud, hearty laugh, one that made the patrons at the tables around them look up from their drinks momentarily to see what was so funny. “Did you really think you had to ask permission to stay here, Skillet? You're just as hard-headed as you were before you left all those years ago. Of course you’re welcome to stay here, for as long as you four need to. There’s plenty of empty beds and ale for you and your crew.”

Thefni then cocked his head to the side and called out across the room to the inn’s barmaid, who was serving ale to a patron that looked like they had a little too much to drink already. “Falkrunn, dear, come show our guests to their rooms, would you?”

Falkrunn was short and stout Hill Dwarf with a tanned complexion much like Thefni’s, her face covered in a splash of freckles. She wore a simple green tunic and brown breeches, and a white apron tied around her waist and her long, brown curls were pulled back in a tight braid to keep it off of the food and drink she served. She perked up when her name was called, excusing herself politely from the drunken patron and silently gesturing for the adventures to follow her upstairs to where the empty rooms for rent were.

While the three young hirelings chased the pretty barmaid upstairs to offload their belongings and weapons, Skillet turned his attention back to the Wood-Elf, who had went back behind the bar to continue cleaning the dirty goblets.

“Say, Thefni…” Skillet began, folding his arms on the bar as he leaned in towards his old friend. “You wouldn’t happen to have any jobs that need to be done while we’re here in town, hmm? It is the least we can do, give you a hand around the inn while we’ll be sleeping in your beds, eating your food, and drinking your ale without paying you any coin.”

Thefni laughed once more. “Come now, Skillet. You know that you’re welcome here, coin or no coin,” Thefni repeated, but now he let out a little hum as he thought about the offer he was given. “Maybe I do have something you and your crew can do, only if you don’t mind that is…”

“Anything, dearest Thefni, anything at all!” Skillet said, trying to coax Thefni’s problem out of his throat.

“I’ve been noticing that my casks in the cellar are emptying faster than they usually do. I have even found some completely empty before I even get the chance to tap them. I believe that there might be rats in the cellar chewing open the casks, or maybe someone might be stealing the ale. Whatever it is, I needed someone to go down and investigate it. How about it, Skillet? Are you up for the task?”

“Consider it done, old friend,” Skillet smiled at the Wood-Elf, giving him a determined nod.

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Here is chapter 1 of 'The Adventures of the Merry Men', I hope you enjoy :)

2,285 words

#writing #writing on tumblr #writing wip #writer on tumblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #short story #short story writing #short story wip #dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd campaign #dnd homebrew #dnd oc #dnd stuff #dnd5e #the adventures of the merry men

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storiesgoeveron · 2 months

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How to write historical fiction

A step-by-step guide to crafting authentic historical fiction with thorough research, character development, and a balance of fact with fiction. #writingguide #guide #writingtips #historicalfiction #fiction #fictionwriting #writinghelp

Writing historical fiction can be a rewarding but challenging endeavor. Here’s a step-by-step guide to help you get started: Choose Your Time Period: Consider the time period that sparks your curiosity or holds personal significance. It could be a momentous event like the Renaissance, the Industrial Revolution, or a specific era such as Ancient Rome, Medieval Europe, or the Roaring…

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#Creative writing #Fiction #Genre Writing #Historical Fiction #Novel #Novel Writing #Short Story Writing #Tips & tricks #Writing #Writing tips

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wormdolls · 2 days

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Nail-Biter

I found an old story in my Google Docs from last year that I actually enjoyed re-reading. I might rewrite it one day but as of right now I'm not doing anything with it, so I figured I might as well post it here. I hope y'all enjoy!

I used to bite my nails.

Usually when I say this, people start to reassure me that they do so as well, and that it’s not anything to be ashamed of. What they don’t realise is this: when I say I used to bite them, what I really mean is I used to chew them down into pink stubs, tearing right into the quick, and nibble at the skin around them too. Frankly it’s incredible I didn’t get an infection from that old habit, but my fingers were always red and sore, with a tendency to bleed. But I kept biting. Whenever I was nervous, or agitated, or even just a little absentminded, my teeth would find my fingers and bite them until I physically couldn’t anymore. Then I would feel stupid and insecure for having such a shameful habit.

I used to joke about it, too. Whenever my more fashionable friends commented on their own nail polish, I would feel the need to bring up those little warped gravestones on my fingertips, as if by drawing attention to them they would become less of a burning point of inadequacy for me. I’d go even further and say I took pride in that rather ruinous part of my personality.

One day things changed—or more accurately, I forced the change upon myself. I went out and bought myself a tiny little bottle of black nail polish. That set me on a vague path to recovery, forcing me to consider whether it was worth wasting nail polish just for that momentary relief. It wasn’t an overnight change by any means, and I definitely chewed off more coats than I care to admit (and accidentally consumed more polish than can possibly be good for someone) but it gave my poor hands a chance to heal and made my nails much easier to look at in the process.

Months went by and my nails were now at a decent length for the first time in my life. It may sound trivial to some, but I felt good flaunting my progress, and they looked even better. I had even graduated to various other colours. It feels ironic that on the morning that changed I was painting them black once again. I was just finishing my pinkie finger when my phone rang, almost scaring me into smudging them. I answered knowing full well it would be my mum—nobody else would call when a single text would suffice. Sure enough, I heard the sour notes of her voice greet me. She sounded upset, and since I was unclear on whether I was the cause, I decided to treat her as one treats a landmine.

“Hi, mum.” My voice rose a few notes and I winced, blowing absently on my nails to dry them. “Is something up?”

“I’m just wondering,” I flinched at the accusatory tone—so I was the cause after all, though I’d be lying if I said I knew what I’d actually done, “Why exactly have you been lying to me.”

“Lying about what?” I said, but my mouth was dry and my chest was starting to fill with fear. I began to raise my hand to my mouth.

“Lying about your boyfriend. Or do you not remember? Come clean, Alice, I know you’ve not really been seeing him.”

“No mum,” I mumbled through my fingers, “I told you I stopped.”

I heard her irritable sigh through the phone and felt my ribs tighten. Mum always had liked my boyfriend much better than I had, enough that when we broke up she refused to listen to my reasons and instead insisted we still see each other. I may have told her, aeons ago, that Maybe We’d Try It Out Again, but I certainly hadn’t told her I was seeing him nowadays. She continued to sink her talons of disappointment into my brain with her next words.

“I don’t know why you didn’t stay with him. He was the best you’re ever going to get.” These words made my sore eyes overflow, and I started to sniffle. I don’t remember the rest of that dismal conversation. In all honesty I was just trying to get off the phone as fast as I could, but what I do remember is that when I did put the phone down, I realised that my hand was now free of polish and that my fingertips looked red and wet with spit. I almost howled in outrage—it was just like that woman to take my one good accomplishment and turn it against me.

In the next few weeks, I tried everything to set myself back to rights, but it was all for nought. As my mother’s words played on repeat in my head, my mood sank lower and lower, and my nails seemed to get shorter and shorter. My fingertips started bleeding again. I stopped wanting to show them off.

It all culminated in one particular night. It was raining outside and instead of being out with friends, I was just staring at the wall of my bedroom and biting relentlessly on what remained of my fingers. I could feel the warmth of blood trickling down my hand as I tore into my flesh but I couldn’t stop. My face was numb. Everything was numb, all sensation centred on my hands, as I ripped into them like a starved animal. My breathing sounded weird. My eyes were tearing up. The sensations intensified and I started to pant, sweat dripping down my face. And then…I wrapped my hands around the first bottle of nail polish I could find, and stared at it hatefully. If I hadn’t started painting my nails, I wouldn’t have had the fragile illusion of recovery, and I wouldn’t be stuck in this rut now, feeling so weak and helpless and…and…

Crash.

I don’t allow myself to be around my nail polish anymore. I scrubbed for weeks, but the neon green is never coming out of that wallpaper. I don’t really care anymore though. My fingers are worse than ever and I’m pretty sure one of them is swelling up, but I don’t care about that either.

I just can’t stop biting my nails.

#short story #tw: injury #tw: body horror #I guess #writeblr #creative writing #writing community #writeblr community #short story writing #tw: blood mention #ArkWrites

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delciastudies · 7 months

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[20.09.2023] ✧ view from Rochers de Naye cliff restaurant ; 2/100 days of writing

Today was a slow day. I am practicing working a little bit every day and writing down my inspirations. I have also been taking care of a lot of errands this week, so I am hoping I will feel a big sense of relief by the time the weekend arrives.

This summer, my partner and I stayed a week in Tossa de Mar in Spain. While we were there, I started writing a short story - something I've dreamt of doing for a long time. It has become a surrealist/fantastic short story based also on my inspirations from Leonora Carrington (I am currently reading a book on her written by Giulia Ingarao, peek my last post.) I feel super comfortable writing every day with regard to this story. And it feels so relevant to my current studies.

Anyway, first week back to classes was a success and I am already feeling strange about the transition away from summer. Will send more updates tomorrow. Wishing you all a lovely Thursday evening. x

#delciastudies #studyblr #aesthetic #rochers de naye #swiss vibes #100 days of writing #leonora carrington #surrealism #fantastic #short story writing

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somebirdortheother · 8 months

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Sometimes finishing a short story you had at “almost complete” for several weeks happens because of a silly tumblr poll. Mmmm, delicious peer pressure ❤️

Excerpt under the cut. Content warning: mentions of death.

This baby will need editing, and will be heading for a submission to a Canadian horror anthology in a month.

#writeblr #horror #horror writer #short story writing #cw death

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shizucheese · 1 month

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Hey everyone! So I hadn't posted about this previously because I was working out the logistics and getting all of my ducks in a row, but I lost my job at the end of January and I decided to take it as a wake up call that instead of continuing down the path of working a mindless corporate job just for the sake of a paycheck and benefits, I should actually put that degree I worked so hard for to good use and and do something that I'm actually passionate about.

So, Writers of Tumblr, do you have a book or short story you're looking to get published? DMs of Tumblr, do you have homebrew content you're planning on publishing on DM's guild, Patreon or elsewhere? I am a freelance editor available to hire!

My Qualifications: BA in Creative Writing from Knox College

Poynter ACES Certificate in Editing from the Poynter Institute for Media Studies. My Services and Rates:

Proofreading: $10.00/ 1,000 words (or $0.01/ word)

Combing through your work to check and correct spelling, grammar and punctuation.

Copyediting: $15.00/ 1,000 words (or $0.015/ word)

Combing through your work to check and correct spelling, grammar and punctuation

Ensuring tone is consistent throughout your work

Ensuring that your work complies with the style guide you designate

Fact checking

Developmental/ Content Editing: $20.00/ 1,000 words (or $0.02/ word)

Feedback on narrative structure, characterization and world building

Notes on dialog, voice and tone

Highlighting any plot holes

Creation of a style sheet to ensure the spellings of names and locations in your story are consistent, as well as any other word use that might be unique to your story.

If you're interested in making use of my services, please dm me!

If you don't have anything that needs editing right now, or you're not a writer, but still want to help, I'd really appreciate it if you could signal boost this. It would really mean the world to me. Thanks so much everyone!

#writing #book writing #short story writing #editing #publishing #copyediting #proofreading #d&d homebrew #D&D homebrew writing #freelance #freelancing

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anulithots · 8 months

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"Weather you like it or not" Philodendron. Episode one.

The tumblr houseplant series: Growing a garden of houseplants based off this weird thing called existence, "planted" by others from tumblr.

Funnily enough, someone said something along the lines of "all your characters have achievement issues." and "Your characters all sound a bit like you". Just passing comments, nothing major.

BUT IT DIDN'T FEEL LIKE THAT.

Insert a little crisis where I was wondering if I should rewrite this. Even though part of the reason I started the tumblr houseplant series was to not plan/stress too much over writing anything "good" and just enjoy the process.

Anywho, to say I relate to this seed is an understatement, and I really really (that's two reallys) appreciate @rainisawriter for sending this one in so we can explore this weirdly painful experience together <3

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A tumblr houseplant story from @rainisawriter

Seed post here

Note - this is still a first draft, any feedback is much appreciated <3

TRIGGER WARNING - slight self-deprecation.

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Philo loved the ever-changing sky, the wind swaying the trees, clouds, the sun and rain, stars dancing across the sky, dawn and sunset bathing the outside world in drowsy pinkish-orange light.

Philo loved the weather

And what did they not have in the garden?

Weather.

Well, Philo was set on changing that.

Fae spent days that turned to weeks - that turned to months -watching the outside, soaking in the comfort of the moonlight, the whispers of the clouds. The dance of the rain, the gentle caressing of the sunlight. Fae remembered all of it. Fae remembered the patterns of rain and sunshine. Fae remembered cloud formations and wind directions. All of it was accurately stored and kept. Fae didn't forget anything.. how could fae possibly forget anything?

To Philo, this was faer greatest feat, something to take pride in. Bringing weather and its wonders to the garden with faer remarkable memory. All the plants would surely rejoice over this, and not a single one would disagree. No more watching dust particles do the same dance over and over and ove-

"Would you like a dust cleaning?" Philo blinked and turned to meet the pollywiggin. Dottie.

Philo tilted faer head "Cleaning?"

Dottie fluffed out faer wings. "Yes! The other plants, er - Rose & Puddles & Venus- really really liked being dust free & maybe you would- I mean, if you want to... I'm just trying this out since my littles are more occupied now, Venus is really good at... wait a minute I've been talking too long oh no I.-.."

Dottie took a deep breath. "Dust free from Dottie... ta da ."

Philo paused. This might be the perfect opportunity to let the others know. Philo had enough observations and was finally ready to unveil the idea. To think, it would be more magical to have a day of weather rather than all faer window watching. Finally. After all these months.

Philo angled faer wings, keeping them still despite the barely contained, excited jitters "Well... imagine if you never had to worry about dusting again."

"Umm.... .. did I miss something?"

"The greatest of 'things', weather!"

" .... I'm lost. "

Philo faltered, the prior momentum coming to a grinding halt, like a stone tumbling down a hill before crumbling at the bottom. Fae forgot this part... to think fae had great memory? Preposterous. Fae couldn't even explain this properly.... Wait no... ignore.

Philo gritted faer beak. Fae can't have come this far only to crumble now . Fae can't.

Philo flicked faer tail "Weather? You know... it's weather. Absolutely splendiferous, for it contains all the changing seasons and conditions."

Dottie blinked. "So... no to the dust cleaning?"

Philo held faerself together... barely. "I mean... I shall bring weather to the garden and our lives will be that much richer, you'll love it. -.

"You'll bring weather... inside? How will that work?"

Philo blinked.

Stopped short.

And crumbled into a thousand pieces.

Fae must be the dumbest fairy alive. All this so called 'preparation- with no way to execute it? And Philo thought fae was ready to share it? Fae was dumb enough to think fae could share it?

Sheets of stinging rain washed over Philo. Fae felt their pinpricks behind faer eyes, the building distress in faer throat. Fae couldn't start crying and shouting out of nowhere. That would make it worse, not agian, fae couldn't.....

All faer time, faer memories, Philo faerself, it all meant nothing.

Philo ran to a secluded corner beside the window.

And cried as silently as fae could.

-----

Apparently sensitivity comes with a lot of.... side effects.

Reblog this with one kind statement to "water" Philo, let's spread some wonder to this convoluted place <3

And spread the word to anyone else who would like to add their houseplant to the garden, perhaps we can fill tumblr with houseplants.

[next episode - "What a debut"]

#writeblr #short story #self healing #short story collection #sensitivity #short story writing #the tumblr houseplant series #the tumblr houseplant series Philodendron #Philo the pollywiggin

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sunnyanddumb98 · 3 months

Text

If I were about to die,

I would not struggle with it.

I would not make a big deal,

been keeping up with big deals,

enough for one life.

I would make the objective of my day

to remember what life looks like,

take everything in my daily life

just one more time.

I don't think I would take a big trip or skydive,

I don't think I would bother myself

recording mi though or face for posterity,

no list of lessons, no advice.

I don't think I would spend it with my loved ones,

no lovers, no family, no friends,

too many tears, I have never liked

to console anyone.

I think I could not even change at all,

even go to work,

not tell a soul,

but I would take my time.

For the first time, I would watch

the tea bag infuse over three minutes

and find it fun, entertaining even.

I would take it away and properly squeeze it

before disposing of it,

I would not leave it in the corner of the sink

as I always do in a rush.

I could open the bin and leave it gently there.

In my daily routine, I would question the names

of every cloud, every plant, and

stop in my tracks to look it up,

just to nod and say ahh,

repeated out loud, tasting the sound in my mouth

until full and satisfied.

I would not search for a quick fling,

I think I would bake

those recipes where you have to leaven for hours on end,

several times, those where you measure and sift.

I think it would make me a better person,

a better listener at the very least,

not because I particularly care

or fear the eternal pain,

but I had nothing better to do.

I don't think I would stay still,

even in pain, I wouldn't rest,

there are so many stains on the ceiling,

there's so much self-pity.

I think I would pet every dog I see

and ignore every cat without feeling guilty.

I would remember if not immediately,

I would ask, not a hesitation in my mind,

the name of everyone,

even at night, I would sleep right away,

if day, I would do it anyway,

in the supermarket, in the job, in the street,

in the car anyway anytime.

I would like to think

I would insult way too much,

but I find it doubtful I even care that much.

The most I think about my imminent demise,

recoiling, more activities come to mind,

long tedious and fun,

that I've never been able to do.

The more time it took,

the more overwhelming my death became,

a long list of tasks to be made in a limited time.

The farther away I am,

the less time I have to just wait.

Oh, this again I was not supposed to struggle

this much when I'm about to dead.

February Prompt 10. Why this agony @the-end-society

#thoughts #am writing #writing things #new writers on tumblr #creative writing #journal #quote of the day #letters #spilled feelings #beautiful quote #agony #time #dead #writers on tumblr #short story writing #original short story #the end society

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