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neelihara · 8 months

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Hello Dearest Readers,

This moment marks the beginning of something very dear to my heart. I've finally gathered the courage to share my world of words with someone other than my notebooks and Word documents.

I'm sitting down right now and penning this very first post with a nervous heart and a pinch of excitement.

Writing has been my very own hiding place for as long as I can recall. Whenever life got chaotic or my thoughts tangled like mischievous fairies, I sought refuge in beautiful blank pages.

When I started writing this, I feel like I am sharing my deepest secrets with you, as if you'd discovered my personal diary locked away in the attic. But I welcome you to my page, which will soon be a universe of words, thoughts, and theories that have long existed within me.

I like writing lots of things, from stories to poems, from my thoughts on a movie to why I should have punched the rude guy on the bus, everything I can imagine or express.

I'm Neelihara. This might not be the name of my birth certificate, but this is the name I have given to the part of my brain that makes me want to write. I have taken it as my pen name.

If we were sitting face to face, I'd probably offer you a cup of coffee and talk about stories late into the night. But since we're meeting on the internet, I'll pour my heart into these virtual posts.

Expect to find fragments of my soul scattered across my posts– poems that whispered to me in the middle of the night, stories spun from the threads of my imagination, and sometimes, just my unfiltered thoughts on the world around me and sometimes a diary entry bearing depths of my heart and soul.

I'm hoping that you'll be at home here and that my words will strike a chord with you. This isn't just about sharing; it's about connecting with like-minded souls and friends who appreciate words' beauty and power.

So, welcome to my quiet corner of the internet, where every post is a piece of me, and every reader is a treasured friend.

But remember, dear readers, every word I pen carries a piece of my soul, and your presence here is an honour beyond measure. As I embark on this experience, I eagerly anticipate your whispers in the comments.

So here's to a new chapter in my life. May our connection grow stronger with every word you read that I write, and may this blog of mine forge a few lasting friendships along the way?

I also happen to be an artist, finding just as much delight in drawing as I do in spinning words. Behold a creative glance that shows the part of my mind where the love for writing resides, which I captured in my drawing above.

With lots of love,

Neelihara

#writers and readers #writersociety #women writers #writeblr #writerblr #writers on tumblr #female writers #desiblr #desi writer #desi writers #desi tumblr #writers and poets #writer things #write every day #readerblr #neelihara writes #neelihara #writer intro #writer introduction

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igotanidea · 1 year

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I'm a "writer".

Please don't judge me by my search history.

#writers #writers problems #writer #writer problem #write every day #writing process #writing research #writing resources

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girlrosie · 21 days

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04.04.2024

Dziś byłam na krótkim spacerze bo trochę padało. Potem zrobiłam mały trening na moje siły (z czego jestem dumna bo się zmusiłam ale finalnie czułam się po nim lepiej), trochę posprzątałam i kończyłam książkę. A teraz zaczynam słuchać Chopina i czytam tomik poezji Szymborskiej na dobry wieczór.

#po polsku #poezja #książki #books #wiersze #write every day #poetry #poems and poetry #poets and writers #poets cafe

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aeroma-soyam · 1 month

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Knotted nerves and Organs

Apparently, shattered bones and every part of flesh torn, bleeding, some of the pieces lay in the woods, some drown in the oceans. But I am bound to human existence, controlled by space and time; the world does not stop. So, I keep stitching, with knotted nerves to my organs, with flesh into bones. I am not my god or my mother; I can't rebuild myself... instead, I weave. If I cease weaving, I'd crumble into the woods or be swallowed by the oceans. So, I weave my continuity while drinking coffee, while gazing at the stars, while loving, while grieving, while writing. I keep weaving until I am a mosaic of threads and tangled nerves with a name.

- Soyam

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thespitefulpoet · 3 months

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Sometimes, I look in the mirror

I see things,

Dreams fading away

Forlorn, forgotten;

For the elites.

When I was young

I was a big dreamer

I dreamt big things

I dreamt of paradise

When I look into this mirror

I see fractured images

A lost child in a world of hate

Someone who dreamt better

Bigger things than this world

Could ever handle by itself

This child no longer

Sees those dreams

Instead, the inner child

Is very angry at the conditions.

When I dream about

The conditions

I see many things

Fractured dreams

Within a desolate reality

Some of them will

Never come true

Some of them will

Burn to the ground

Some of them will

Obliterate us

Yet I still dream on

These mirrors -

Are cracked and torn,

Lost images of inner children.

Are shown to those of us -

Seeing our own reflections.

Children angry at the conditions

Children unsure about the future

Children fighting over money

Children killing each other...

Brainwashed into hatred.

Conditioned to their liking

The children act out

They keep fighting each other

Until there is nothing left

Cracked, broken mirrors

Broken dreams, eternally lost

Forever blown apart for death

The cycle of life and death

Is a beautiful yet sad tale

The cycle of life and death

Is supposed to be a natural cycle,

Not a forged, forced cycle

Of blistering terrible horror stories

The occupation makes life hell

For anyone who does not fit

Their description of a human being

Bombing, shredding and destroying

Everything they touch.

Everything has to come to an end

At some point, this is true;

But forced endings are never ever happy

Instead they're full of sadness and woes

They're full of pain and desperation

Unlike most happy endings,

Where it's all white washed

For a certain demographic...

Washed of history and abstained

From true harrowing tales,

Certain people have

Washed their hands

That are tainted with blood

Absolved from true history

And hidden from view

Watching us like caged animals

Sheltered from the abnormalities

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writers-potion · 27 days

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I’ve seen your kiss scene and fight scene vocab posts and was wondering if you could do one about some things characters may do when they are nervous, or there is awkward tension — not necessarily romantic but just awkward.

Nervous Tension Vocab

Physical Reactions

have sweat beading/breaking out on one's forehead

have one's heart in one's mouth (or throat)

have one's heart pounding (or pulse racing)

butterflies in one's stomach

hand feeling clammy

knees bouncing

pacing back and forth

tearing up due to embarassment (wanting to cry)

Shift their weight from one foot to the other

Sway slightly where they are standing

Fidget with their hair, clothes, nails, or something they’re holding

Glance around the room or refuse to make eye contact with someone

Chew on their lips or nails

Hum quietly to themself

Tap their fingers on their arm, the wall, or a table

Wrap their arms around themself

Cross their arms or legs while seated

Pick at their lips or cover their mouth

Rub their own neck or shoulder

Sigh often

Sit with their knees up near their chest, or lay in the fetal position

Look stiff and uncomfortable

Check over their shoulder often, or glance around the room

Cough or clear their throat often

A pounding heartbeat, or the feeling that their heartbeat is in their head

Accelerated or heavy breathing

A tingling sensation in their fingers, hands, or legs

A rush of energy (which would suddenly leave them afterward, making them even more tired than usual)

Dizziness

Tightened muscles

Descriptors

fumbled

blushed

winced

fidgeted

cringed

stuttered

giggled

afluttered

agitated

robotic

hesitant

bothered

distracted

edgy

clumsily

awkwardly

distractedly

flustered

frantically

frayed

hypertense

nervy

jittery

jumpy

intimidated

paranoid

perturbed

rattled

queasiness

restive

restless

skittery

shudder

skittish

strung up

tenterhooks

tight

stressy

uneasy

unquiet

twitchy

unsettled

uptight

unrelaxed

Idioms

be at your wit's ends

be bricking it

be ill at ease

be on pins and needles

be under the gun

get in a sweat

have all the cares of the world on your shoulders

have kittens

like a cat on a hot tin roof

sweat bullets

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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lihimlihamtinta · 7 days

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Ubos na ang tintang nakalaan para sa'yo

Pero hindi tumigil ang pagtibok nitong puso

Hindi umaasa ngunit hindi nagsasawa

Ang mahalin ka ay panata at tanikala

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sleepydepresso · 9 months

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Hi, Hello! Just posting this little brain rot of mine. It's just an interaction with Mob Howdy and barely polished anomaly oc. I'm thinking Home is not the only anomaly that likes to mess with mortal puppets. Yeah, something like that.

And also... I'm not really a writer(so, sorry for all the wrong grammar). But writing is the only mods of manifesting those ideas. Too bad I can't draw.

Tepid city air breezed their face as another fast car zoomed past, beating the red lights. They could only huff in annoyance watching the car from a distance.

What a welcoming neighborhood...

Shaking their head they carry on with their listless walk to satisfy their never ending wanderlust in this concrete jungle.

...

The bar's activity slowed down for the night. Finally, Howdy could ease some tension tightly knitted on his shoulders.

Every member of the family was all in their respective quarters, his boss was still busy in his office, and most of the patrons who visited the bar already got their fill.

He was left alone.

A rare instance of reprieve for his worn down body. A moment of solitude without hearing any orders from the others. Or to always be in high alert in case of an enemy attack. Or just be in the presence of his boss.

Howdy dimmed the bar light a bit... sometimes he wondered if he was supposed to be a moth with how lights attracts his attention.

But he couldn't remember anything.

Empty...

With how his body never runs out of stuffings pouring out from every rips on his felted skin, was how much of hollowed out his mind came to be. No thoughts, nor will to fill the silence of his mind. Not even a smidge of memories to echo in the basin of his head. Nothing.

"... the bar close?"

Howdy's body reverted from tensing his shoulders again, then he open his lone eye looking down.

This person was clearly not a citizen of this city or the neighborhood if they just enter this bar without any hint of fear in their lax poise. Their round black tinted spectacle big enough to cover their eyes, giving him the impression that they might be blind, but with the way their head angled to look up at him, this person was clearly not.

Then their lips stretched, too fluid, too practiced... a polite smile for casual courtesy.

"Can I have a drink or are you closing up?"

Howdy conclude this stranger was one of those ignorant fools. People who didn't know any better and the one's who perish so easily.

The rug and glass he's been polishing carefully placed under the rack counter.

"The bar will close at four in the morning. What can I get you?"

"You don't mind if I stay for a while? Give you company?"

Howdy stare at them, rare curiosity stirring to wakefulness. Their odd inquiry struck him.

"No, I don't mind." Not that it mattered.

"Still better to ask, right? Even though I barge in here." A chuckle flutter from them, light and friendly.

The stranger took off their jacket and neatly place the dark clothing on the backrest of the barstool, an obvious sign they would stay for a long duration.

"Can I have whiskey on the rocks, please." They finally ordered after getting situated on their seat.

With practiced ease Howdy moved in such precision, even in simple tasks he prefer executing in perfection, being vain through and through.

He pushed the coaster along the glass of amber liquor on top to his lone customer.

"Anything else?"

"An ashtray, please if smoking is allowed of course."

Humming, he grabbed one of the ashtray stacked under the counter. He stood back to his usual position, still like a statue reverting to his usual trance of mindlessness.

"How long have you been in this neighborhood?"

"Been here ever since I could remember." Which he only assumed when he couldn't remember anything in his past... at all.

The stranger accepted his answer.

Silence slowly build up again after his reply. The stranger must have given up engaging him to a small talk.

"Mind sharing few things I should keep tabs with. You know—things that lurks in the dark?"

The hands tucked behind him move, discreetly pulling his ice pick, while he grabbed another glass and rugs refraining to his previous task.

"The only advice I can give you is to relocate. Look for another city to settle."

"Oh, that's a bummer." The stranger winced when they pull the glass away from their lips. Either from his answer or the strong brand of whiskey he serves them, he didn't know nor care. "Uhm, can I have an ale for this?"

When Howdy bent to open one of the drawer grabbing a can of ale his lips twitch a little before straightening again to a line. Then he place the can of ale to the only customer in front of him.

He might or might not purposely grab the tampered bottle of whiskey he purely reserve for special customers.

"So—" they started while busy pouring the ale. "Base from your answer every neighborhood in this city is claimed as a territory by mobsters. Of course, of course big cities always infested by those kind of groups, organized crimes and all." After filling up their glass with ale, he watched them taking another try of the alcohol now diluted in ale.

The hold he had on the ice pick behind him tightened, realizing that the person in front of them was more than what they appear to be. Blatantly speaking of their awareness of what occurs within the shadow.

"Anyway I just got here and you're the first actual person I interacted... God I need to socialize more."

Howdy went silent again. But the silence didn't live long when the stranger threw another inquiry at him.

"You don't talk much don't you? That's unusual for a bartender."

"No, I don't. And my boss didn't include entertaining customers to be part of my job. I only serve drinks, maintain the bar, and collect what is due." He said while looking down at them.

The first impression Howdy had from the stranger gradually changing the more he heard them talk. The person in front of him was not the usual fools prancing in the bar with arrogance, murderous intent, or hidden motives.

Howdy don't speak much. Having little to no will or opinion of his own, losing the voice of reason a long time ago, he doesn't indulge such interactions in form of conversation. It's his way to cope.

But his curiosity wiggling within the chrysalis of his remaining smidge of awareness, safely cocooned by fear. The terror of starting all over again empty and feeling lost, haunted by the feelings, of new stuffings weighs heavier, new stitches and grafted felted skin he couldn't even begin to recall having.

"Really?" Incredulity was thick in their tone. A sigh sounded almost like a whine break through them. "Man, you made one of the most fun job in the world tedious." They sigh again as if the knowledge burdened them a lot.

Unfazed, Howdy put down the glass he polished and proceed to fill another glass of whiskey for the sole customer. Without uttering any words he replace the empty glass with the one he just pour. Howdy leaned a bit lower, towering the stranger with his presence.

"It's on the house. An apology for not reaching the standard of an ideal bartender."

He pulled back, returning from polishing the glasses. Now he waits and watch.

"Wait? Did you just? Are you trying to pull—" they paused, even gasped in exaggeration.

That's the first. Most of the time Mr. Beagle would react violently since his apology always falls flat and bordering to being condescending. Apologizing became his habit of speech from the deep-seated regret anchored in his chest from the very beginning of his servitude to the family. And it's still a mystery why Howdy had this overwhelming regret weighing his unfamilliar body down.

The stranger start scratching the back of their head looking sheepish. "Sorry, my bad. I shouldn't have said something like that. Still, thank you for the free drink." Then they pulled up a smile cheery and carefree.

Every movement on his body came into an abrupt halt. There's an ache flicker in his chest. The pain awfully similar when his boss used his body as a pin cushion whenever his boss was having a terrible mood.

The sensation of thin cold metel puncturing his felted skin, digging deep in his stuffings. But instead of sharp coldness, the pain felt searing, burning in the depths of his emptiness. It's familiar yet still distant for all the consuming free space of his mind. Too soon and too fast the ache dissipate like the swirling smoke floating trails in the air.

The stranger blew a lungful of air to their side, he didn't know if it's a habit or on purpose to avoid the smoke going over his direction.

"You know I don't usually accept things from stranger, especially from a stranger that's obviously dangerous. It's something that really against the rule of my existence." A chuckle rippled between, while they pour the ale on the alcohol. "Also there's no such thing as free in this kind of industry."

There's an obvious shift in the strangers demeanor. Their laid back posture broadened into a poise that holds confidence. The curve of their lips no longer raised softly like a waving flag in the air, their smile now dipped with a sharp edge on the corner.

Holding the glass a bit higher the stranger tipped the glass towards his direction, a gesture of silent toast, before taking a drink.

"So, tell me. What do you want in return?" They asked.

A bit of a static like noise buzzed in his head while a thought slowly formed.

"..." The buzzing in his head grew louder and louder that the grip he had on his ice pick tightened into a breaking point. The wood handle starts to crack.

"What do you mean?" Howdy's curiosity finally found a crevice to the hardened cocoon. The buzzing in his head soothe a little bit.

"As straight forward it can be. What do you want? Can be anything." The stranger's voice also shifted into something eerie, where their words held uncanny meaning behind them.

Anything that he wants?

But Howdy doesn't have desire or the feeling of needing one. He doesn't have anything that he wants.

"Nothing."

The lights flickered before one of the lights nearby explode.

The stranger went still for a while, almost like they ceased to exist. Then he saw their shoulders hitched from the sudden jolt. A loud sigh rolled out from them.

"Well, this is a first. Sorry about the lights, you caught me of guard there." The stranger looked finicky, there's an obvious tremble in their wrist as they reach for their smoldering cigarette. "Are you sure you don't have anything you wanted to ask for?" They ask.

There's a stir of his intuition that he's doing something wrong so as usual he apologize.

"My apologies, but I don't have anything to ask for."

The stranger just nodded in return. "Guess I'll just save this debt for later. Maybe when I come to visit again you'll know what you want." Their smile reverted back from being soft and carefree.

"Debt?" He asked.

They stared up at him again, the intention for eye contact was there even if the tinted glasses covering their eyes.

"I strongly don't like owning something from people whatever it comes from small gifts or gestures. And like I said there's nothing free in this world. So, I owe you something in return."

Although he understood their reasoning, he couldn't help but think of them as dumb. Wasn't it foolish to give a man like him some sort of favor to ask in return, like a leverage when they meet again.

To give Howdy something he could own for himself, to make a conscious decision and choice. With this knowledge he didn't know what to do or feel about it.

But the word 'debt' tickled the emptiness inside of him. It reached the bottom of the abyss which he never knew existed when all he could ever see before was darkness. There lies an end that had been shrouded all along by the absence of light.

Light and debt almost sounded the same in his brain now.

His antenna twitch a bit. "I see. So, am I to expect some more visits from you for now on."

"Yes, but please don't take too long to think about something that you want." They said in an exasperated tone, he even noticed the wince they tried hiding behind the glass as they take a drink.

Howdy waited for the empty glass to slide in front of him, but the stranger started fumbling through their jacket, they pull a wallet. They placed their payment instead.

"I admit my impression of you isn't a pleasant one or the interaction I'm looking forward to end my night...but it's an interesting one." The lone customer's chuckle bounce through the quietness of the place.

He watched them gather their things and put on their jacket before looking back up again. The sunglasses never move or even mede a slight slip on their eyes, defying the motions and gravity.

"Make it worthwhile, ok." They said meaningfully like a reminder. "Have a good night and see you soon."

Howdy watched the odd customer walked out of the bar. The first customer who manage to walk out without the trembles of fear or tails tucked between the legs. Out of all the customers made out of the bar alive or not, they might be the first that would definitely visit back.

He was sure they'll come back, he mused to himself as he looked up to the busted bulb. This particular customer was definitely an anomaly.

...

Well, fuck. Now they're stuck here until they deal with that bartender. Great. When they ask for something different for fun they didn't mean this.

But, oh well it happened. Might as well go along with it. Go with the flow.

They sighed and just continue walking away from the bar without any place in mind.

#Sorry I really don't know what I'm doing.#How to be a better writer 101 #write every day #instantly failed #my brain is a deadass raccoon #lives in trash and cause mess #this is so random but yeah thank you for reading though #welcome home #mob howdy #howdy pillar #welcome home mob au

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gentle-author · 1 month

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My love

My love which I crave to see

Colour of my life

Owner of my heart

How much time do you have

Till everything falls apart?

Will we make it to the end

My love, am I catching up?

Do I have the time to make it stop?

Light of the stars

Soil of every pot

Spring of my heart

Love of my life, can I catch up?

Can you make your mind rush?

My legs are hurting and I can't make it stop

Where are you, oxygen of my lungs?

Will you breathe me some air, my love?

My love, which I crave to see

My flesh and bones all in one

Two notebooks may bleed my heart

But, is everything alright with that?

My love,

Do you know that I love you or are you deaf, my love ?

My love,

Are we alone in this cruel world, my love ?

My love,

Am I your love or something less, my love?

My love,

Am I a breath of yours or am I dead, my love ?

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thealmostfamouswriter · 2 months

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Indie Publishing Companies Versus Publishing Houses

There are pros and cons about writing a book. Fortunately, the pros outweigh the cons. The writing process of a story isn’t as challenging you would think it is, but the stress of what to do with your story once your manuscript is completed.

Aren’t we very excited to publish our first book to showcase our hard work, to be a well-known author, but mostly, to earn money from high-volume sales. Wow, the indescribable euphoric high we have flowing through our veins makes us lose sleep from excitement until we’re faced with the dilemma of turning our manuscript to print.

There are a lot of options to select from when it’s time to publish, however, it’s not as simple as you may think it is, especially for the majority of persons that are limited with financial means to pay for publishing. Yes, I said the naughty word: pay.

You need to pay for publishing and this is one reason people choose to not write because of cost. Reality is that this is an inevitable escape, but there are means to get your book published without worry.

Publishing Houses

There are so many companies awaiting good authors to add to their list of astonishing writers which helps build their brand as a reputable publishing company. Getting a company to invest can be quite challenging, but marginally thin to accomplish. High-end publishers have a team that reads manuscripts and if they are engaged in your story, they’ll offer you a contract that you must pay for and it is quite expensive. Publishing houses of onsite editors available to read your work and they will provide constructive advice to correct writing errors and redirection of your story if needed. This service is provided if you haven’t had it edited for a fee. If you did send your story to a private editor, some publishers will allow you to skip this part, but most won’t. If you don’t have a cover design, there is a team that can provide you a suitable design, of your choice, for a fee. Printing your book is next. There are cover types and book size that matter and that is costly. Then, to guarantee your book sells, there’s a marketing team that knows how to do that, but for a fee. Some publishers will include these services in their fees, so, it’s important to ask.

Always research publishing houses online. Call the ones that you’d like to work with - never select one, and ask as many questions that you think of and never hang up until you’re satisfied with the information you have. Compare answers and use your gut to determine which one is suitable. After you’ve learned the cost, you can save money to pay for services. Some publishers offer payment plans to help ease the burden you have. The average cost to do all of this can range from $4,000 and way more.

If your story is a must-have, certain publishing companies will offer you a check in a lump sum amount for predicted sales of your book. However, there’s a catch. You will need to repay the company for the advancement with royalties you earn from sales and after they’ve been paid in full, you will then get to keep your royalties. It’s wonderful that your story is favorable for this, however, this can be a hit or miss prediction and you’ll need to repay the company the remaining balance in full if your book isn’t as popular as they’d hoped it to be.

Indie Book Publishing

Publishing your book through non-publishing houses is a less expensive process, but you’re responsible to market your book entirely. Yes, these agencies, like Amazon, do offer editing, cover designs and marketing services for a fee, but it’s not required for you to use them. Research and ask reps the same questions you’d ask a publishing house.

Final Note

Your book is precious and should be safeguarded as much as possible. I’ve had my share of bad experiences with publishing companies and I wouldn’t want anyone to experience what I did.

Writers without financial binds will hire agents, and if you can afford one, caution should be heeded when shopping for a reputable book agent - I will offer advice for this in another post.

Think of writing like starting your own business. Time and money is needed and if you have a story to write, let the world appreciate your creativeness. You deserve to be recognized. Until next time, happy writing.

Photos: *Sloan Dental, Pan McMillan, Classcapades

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