Writblr - Blog Posts

Seems like the silliest question ever but every idea I have seems so unoriginal. Do you tips or exercises to get the creativity going?

Getting the creative juices flowing…

I do! I have plenty of pep-talks and resources for this sort of thing, so I’ve organized them here by method (prompts/playlists/advice/inspiration/etc)

Articles

Coming Up With Scene Ideas

Coming Up With “Original” Ideas

How To Turn A Good Idea Into A Good Story

How To Motivate Yourself To Write

Reasons To Improve Your Lifestyle

Tips & Advice for Aspiring Authors, Writers, and Poets

Healthy Forms of Motivation

How To Have A Productive Mindset

How To Fall In Love With Writing

Writing Through Mental Health Struggles

Why “Burnout” Is Oay - The Creative Cycle

How To Actually Get Writing Done

Playlists

Things To Listen To When You’re Working

Classical & Instrumental

Ambient

Sad Scenes

Chase Scenes

Epic Scenes

Fight Scenes

Angst Scenes

Fun Montage Scenes

Climax Scenes

Calm Scenes

Resolution Scenes

Romantic Scenes

Action Scenes

Science Fiction

Our Day Will Come

Contemporary Poetry

MORE

Prompts, Prompt Lists, & Writing Challenges

Dark Quotes & Prompts

Challenges For Different Types of Writers | Part II

Angst Prompts

31 Days of Prompts : January 2018 Writing Challenge

20 Sentence Story Prompt

Dramatic Prompts

Suspenseful Prompts

Sad Prompts

Romantic Prompts

31 Days of Horror : October 2019 Writing Challenge

31 Days of Fantasy - December 2020 Writing Challenge

Fake Relationship Alternate Universe Prompts

Assassin Alternate Universe Prompts

Soulmates Alternate Universe Prompts

Advice & Pep-Talks

Restarting Your Writing Passion

On Hating Your Old Stuff

Depression As An Inhibitor

Dear Writers Who Are Hesitant To Start Writing

“All First Drafts Are Crap” – My Thoughts

Getting Back To Writing After A Long Hiatus

Wanting To Finish A Story You’ve Fallen Out of Love With

Getting Motivated To Write

Getting Burnt Out Near The Finish Line

–

Masterlist | WIP Blog

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"Y'know let me just-."

Falls over onto my growing piles of WIPs, before going absolutely feral.

For all the writer's tips and tricks I've read advising not to head hop, it's very irritating to read a bestseller novelist do it. Here I was thinking that I'd imagined it or misunderstood as a child, but here it is!

Clearly, the lesson here is to do what you want!

St. Clara orando en el coro de San Damián, José Benlliure y Gil 

As they gather to pray, voice humming with holiness, the devil on my shoulder will whisper louder than their hymns :

"Take ! Take ! Take !

Make her yours !"

And I want ! Want ! Want !

- Aelenist

My character study

Hare with young, oil on panel, Henriette Ronner-Knip (1821-1909)

Whoosh, whoosh. This is, now, the time when sun holds its highest place in the sky. this is when you step through the warm field of blooming poppies, lily sprouts, and tulip buds.

On this path of nurturing life, growth awaits you, welcomes vitality. Make a wish for a spark of life. Whether you seek a bountiful harvest, the blossoming of youth or fertility, The path of the hare leads you to the temple. Encounter his effigy. Offer him your devotion. Present your prayer.

When your wishes align with nature’s rhythm, only the hare can satisfy it. Always leave offerings—young fruit trees, tender buds or fresh herbage—to display your gratitude.

- Aelenist

(Context : snippet of a story with different types of gods with different utility. Please give feedback !)

Short Stories #4

. 4 The Crossroads of Destiny

The large roof and deep eaves curved into sharp, intimidating lines while the bamboo walls reflected a blue hue, a symptom of the night, as the house on the hill stood aglow before me. Motionless, crisp air burned my lungs with each inhale and smelt like the dew filled grass. The bonsai tree is unnaturally still, as if realizing the gravity of tonight. Water from the fountain gushed but it, too, seemed muted, while the full moon serenaded this tranquil visage, molding an illusion of serenity. The deafening silence is unnerving, but I'm not here to be cowed. The weight of my cold katana on my back grounds me. I'm on a mission.

After picking the lock, I entered by sliding the main door open, a pleasant woody scent filled my nose. My entrance seemed to have alerted an elderly man. He stared at me, his ridiculous, white beard curling at the end, near the collar of his indigo yukuta, trying to make out my masked face in the semi darkness. How unfortunate. For him. A quick slash from my katana and he is gone before he could make a sound. Before I could catch him, he fell with a loud thud, his throat spilling disgustingly, the copper scent of blood wafts in the air mixing with the incense. This seemed to have woken up other occupants on the ground floor. Doors slid open and men stepped out. I watch as horror fills their eyes, then understanding, then rage. One man grabs his tachi and lunges at me. Ah, wrong move. I dodge, hold my foot out and he trips and with a swift swing from me, his body jerks and he's out like a candle. I pick up his tachi with my other hand as more men trickle in to attack me. Dodge, parry, dodge again, leap, I use the wall as a support to leap again, using my knee I plow another in his groin, and swing, he goes down thrashing wildly. I swivel and clash my swords with yet another man, who jerks back from my abrupt motions. Using his momentary distraction, I surge forth, and elbow him in the face, then under the jaw, and finally a shattering blow to ribs. Blood splutters from his mouth and he wails, and I drive my trusted katana through his heart. An agonized shriek pierced through my haze but only barely. A raging duel has broken out. Now I was fighting four men at once, all of them shouting expletives at me. The children cowered while two women threw household items at me. The men are able-bodied, athletic and burly but my smaller, quicker frame gave me an advantage of speed and efficiency. I dodge the plate thrown at me and it hits one man behind me, in the face. I swivel and cut his head cleanly off his shoulders with the tachi. A man screamed in rage and ran towards me. I moved out his way and he slams against the wall, while another man lunges toward me holding his tanto straight. I knew then it would pierce my heart. I rolled under him and kicked him from the back and his tanto went through the back of the man who was still against the wall. Horror welled in his eyes and I deftly swung my katana at his jugular. As the saying goes, 'Hit two birds with one stone'. When the aggressive onslaught of attacks ended up hurting their own people or themselves, did the men realize what a formidable fighter I am. They are good, I admit, and they meet my expectations for a warrior family, but I, I'm a master and have been for decades. I take them all down one by one, effortlessly, my motions mechanical. Oh, these men were really good. I'm slightly out of breath, blood dribbles down my forehead and there's an ache in my muscles. Not an issue. I move towards the remaining women and the children. The fear in their eyes and their wrenching sobs almost make me pause. Almost. Alas, it must be done. I raise both swords and swing. Blood splatters on the bamboo walls, on the tatami mat flooring and on the Shōji attached to the wooden railing. The smell is unbearable down here, sweat, blood, other bodily fluids and incense combined together create an unholy stench which should be called an assault in and of itself. Wrinkling my nose, I drop the tachi and move forward.

I scour the house for any survivors. None remain. Good. I make my way upstairs and eliminate all those hiding. Barely feeling my heart beating, I slide the door to the last room. The mother screams and shields the child with her body. One cut and she too spills crimson at my feet. And oh. How I waited and plotted and planned for this moment. The bane of my existence, stares at me with large eyes, darker than the sky. So this is the infamous "child of the prophecy". This weakling. The child stares, I sneer back. To think this silly creature could do me harm, is frankly laughable. I raise my katana to swing, I pause and my arm drops. I lift my arm again and the sudden realization of what I'm about to do, what I just did, crashed down on me. I am hesitating. Why? I already killed the family without remorse, why is this so difficult?! The child stares and stares and I want to end him so badly, yet….

A sudden wisp of black and white smoke gathers around my feet. The child falls unconscious in his crib instantly. Yelping, I take a few steps back and hold my katana in a defensive position. Two unearthly beings, the white one a few steps ahead to my right and the black one a few steps ahead to my left. Terror strikes my heart like lightning. Was this what the prophecy meant? Is this my end? As the smoke cleared, I gasped, my sword falling with a clatter. Me?! These creatures wore my face, but no…. I can see a difference. The one on my left, was pale as the moon outside, and held a perpetual, cocky smirk, while the eyes had a glint sharper than my katana. Clothed in a kimono as pale as its skin, this creature seemed to glow, but it had a curious black spot on its forehead, in between the two milky eyes. It's companion, however, was the opposite. Glistening, pure black skin, and an ebony kimono, made the white spot on its forehead more pronounced. It's expression was stern, and shrewd but its shadowy eyes were watchful and old. It seemed to have sucked all the shadows around it. In essence they had my features but in different shades. As formidable as their presence felt, they created a rather bewitching sight. The being in white looks charming and enticing, a delicate elegance to its movements, while the being in black looks so divine and mesmerizing, its stature refined and striking.

"Hello Human", the white one grinned, it's voice-my voice but airy and seductive,"I am your Yang and this is my companion", Yang gestured to the other,"Yin". Yin, however did not speak, just kept me under its watchful gaze.

"Are you my punishment?" I murmured.

"No.",Yin finally spoke, it's voice clear and firm, "We are your conscious, and I am here to convince you to make the right choice."

"Oh please my darling Yin, and human," Yang adds as an afterthought, "there is only a choice and what you do with it. Right and wrong are subjective."

Yin scoffs and rolls its eyes. Yang tiptoes over to me, each slight step made it look like it was floating rather than touching the ground. It picks up my sword, slings its arm over my shoulder and pushes my katana in my blood coated hands.

"Go ahead, do it. Kill the child, you know he's a liability to the empire you spent ages building." Yang whispered in my ear.

"If you have an ounce of humanity left in you will put down that sword!"roared Yin. "You have slaughtered his family! Now he will definitely come for you because YOU put that prophecy in motion!"

"Now, now Yin, let's not lose our tempers," Yang soothes,"the prophecy was put in motion against our human's judgement. No point crying over spilt milk is there? What we need now is for our human to kill-"

" -There will be no killing." Yin interrupts, snarling.

"We'll see." Yang bites back and turns to me, one arm still over my shoulder, the other forcing my katana in my hand.

"I-well-I can't let this child live!" I sputter out. "I've spent over a century building it from the ashes that my father", I spit, "caused. I cannot let my work go to waste!"

"That's more like it!" Yang exclaims, a sharp grin dancing across its mouth.

"Not let your work go to waste!?" Yin bellows. "Surely you do realize, if you proceed you will become the same person your father was! Have you forgotten what he has done!?"

I flinch back from Yin's words and my old scar, racing down from my jugular till my heart, tingles.

"You set that prophecy in motion, now you deal with the consequences that come with it." Yin clenches its teeth and forces out, self righteous anger held with scarce restraint.

"Well, so what? Morality is dubious at best." trills Yang, while deftly skirting around the cold body of the mother." Yes the prophecy is in motion and what of it? Just end the boy. There will be no issue of him, ah, 'hunting you down for sweet revenge'. Murder makes everything easier." A sly grin appears on its face. "As you proved downstairs."

"Enough of this. The least you can do is compensate the boy for the loss you caused. If you murder that child, will you able to live with yourself?" Yin inquires, soulful eyes knowing.

Yang comes to an abrupt halt, its face twisted, as it looks towards Yin, who hadn't moved an inch from its position.

"Must you always complicate situations?" it sneers, then turns towards me, suddenly cold and demanding, "Human, kill that child."

"No! Spare the child!"

"I said kill the child!"

"And I said spare the child!"

"Kill the child!"

"Spare the child!"

"Kill the child!"

"Spare the child!"

"ENOUGH!" I erupt, and fall to my knees. Tears of frustration and uncertainty well in my eyes. Both beings, taken aback, turn to look at me. I hold my head in my hands, and soon enough, sobs wreak my body, my shoulders shaking.

Yin's lip curls as it stares down at me.

"So this is what the 'Great Leader' does whenever faced with a difficult situation." it sneers. "Cry."

"I do not wish to be like my father", I sob, my voice hoarse, "I wished for peace and security for me and my people, and then this-this prophecy came along and ruined it for me. This child-you don't understand-this child is destined to be my fall! All that I worked so hard on, I can not let it turn to dust. I just-" my voice breaks off, gut wrenching sobs ascend to heaves.

The beings watch me carefully, quietly, none moving till I calmed down.

"Human." Yin spoke, its voice firm and somber, thrummed in me like residual vibrations from a gigantic church bell. I lift my head. Yin and Yang stared back at me without blinking. An unnerving silence hung in the air.

"You are at the crossroads of destiny." Yang crooned, at last. My blood smeared katana laid in front of me, a trickle of moonlight gleaming on the visible metallic parts. Yin and Yang, then speak to me, in a voice of one,

"What will you choose?"

________________End_______________

In life we often come across crossroads, hopefully none as severe as this, in which we have to choose between desire and morality.

Yin is harsh and unyielding but the white spot on its forehead shows the good in difficulty, the emotional and mental strength it takes to do what is right. It shows the beauty of struggle and the iron fist you must wield to abide by morality.

Yang, on the other hand, is seductive, fluid and ever changing. It shifts from place to place, with a ruthless callousness and it is, often, rather flimsy. It shows the temptation of selfishness, of the desire to take and never give.

The most difficult battles, in truth, are varying shades of gray, rather than just black and white.

The ending is left open for the readers to interpret as they wish and to ask themselves the big question,

"What will YOU choose?"

He said, with wise, young eyes, a single tear almost cascading down his cheek, "Ya ukhti, I cannot sleep. I had to bury my father, then my mother, then my sister." He swallowed hard, "Ya ukhti", his voice trembling, he continues, "Ya ukhti, my toys they bleed, I'm scared I'll have to bury them too."

We, humans, have a natural ability called neuroplasticity, which means we learn new knowledge and have new experiences, we can develop new networks or circuits of neurons and literally change our minds. But remember, if you're not having fun, you're not learning. There's pleasure in finding out things.

"The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new news"

-Marcel Proust

My atoms have always know and loved your atoms. Maybe that is why we understand each other like nobody else. Maybe our souls met in the beyond, since before our birth, in a place which escapes our imagination. Maybe we're atoms and dust from the same star, its explosion scattering us into the abyss. Yet we were fortunate enough to have met. Maybe it was our destiny to meet one another, our names written beside each other in elegant script from a divine pen and scribe high up in the heavens, watched upon by The King of all kings. We humans have labeled this partnership as "best friends" or "soul mates". Some even call us "family". These are the people who have learned the pattern of our atoms inside out and yet have the courage to love us and keep us company on this cold, space rock orbiting a burning star in the middle of nowhere. These people are always there for you, reliable and trustworthy and if that is so, then yes. Yes, you are my best friend, my soul mate, my family. May we meet again in the highest of heaven. Till death do us apart and heaven reunite us again.

“Et in Arcadia ego”

(Even in Arcadia, there am I)

I will tear my heart out; before this cathedral of flesh lets me go

The pink ribbon scars remain, delicate inscriptions of things I never dared say aloud

I have bled in silence, tried to scour regret with ritual and rainwater… but it clings, a second skin, soft as memory, heavy as guilt

My angel wings; once alabaster, now bound in velvet chains; a slow suffocation beneath borrowed holiness

They ache when the wind moves.

They remember flight.

My belly burns with the echo of choices, each one a blade turned inward, an inheritance of fire

There is no absolution here; only the architecture of longing, and the dust that gathers in the mouths of the dead.

I gave you a love so vast it could have swallowed cities whole. I built galaxies in my chest just to make room for you, carved out pieces of my soul and called them home so you would never feel alone. I was there and offering, but you… you only ever loved the echo of me, the shadow I cast in your mind, not the woman who bled herself dry to be enough. You didn’t love me. You loved the idea of being loved by someone like me. And that was the slow undoing.

You were never really there, not when I shattered quietly in rooms we shared, not when I fell asleep hoping you would see me again, not just look at me. I held up the heavens for us while you watched, arms folded, eyes elsewhere. And still, I stayed. Still, I gave. Foolish, maybe. Devoted, definitely.

Now, that it’s all gone. I have crossed oceans of pain to reach a shore where your name doesn’t burn on my skin anymore. I am somewhere better, freer, lighter. And just when I have stitched myself together with gold thread and midnight prayers, you come back.

You come back with a whisper of apology, a handful of words you never had the courage to speak when I was drowning right in front of you. Why now? Why always after?

It is the cruel theater of time, isn’t it? The final act where ghosts knock at your door once you have already exorcised them. People see your worth only in absence, crave your presence only when it is no longer a gift they are entitled to. Love should never be a posthumous award.

And yet, here I am, haunted not by you, but by the echo of who I was when I loved you. And that is the deepest ache of all.

(Darjeeling’22)

“He looked into my eyes and softly whispered how much this meant to him, holding on tightly as if he would never let go. My mind couldn’t help but tear up in front of him as his grip tightened. ‘You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, and I love you so much.’ I had never experienced love before. What is this feeling that suddenly made me cry without guilt? How can someone be so haunted yet so kind when every door has been shut in front of him?”

“I really want to meet his mother and give her all my love and affection in return for the son she bought into this world. Thank you for bringing such a kind soul who knows how to treat a person generously. I love your son, unconditionally and vividly that I want to be next to him for all eternity. Your son is healing something that he did not break, in the first place. Thank you for bringing him into this world so that we could happen for this eternity. I truly want to treat the two of you beautifully.

Yours truly,

Sumedha.”

[In frame: A Gerbera Daisy and a plushie that beholds a very beautiful purpose. My chronic episodes of nightmare and anxious panic attacks have been keeping me awake for weeks now. Even after all the efforts he has done from his end to make me feel safe, nights have been hauntingly hard. He believes that his gift will help me sleep better as he won’t be there next to me every night. He gifted me this for a better sleep. I pray every woman in this planet ends up with a human like him. Every person deserves a human being like my man.]

There is something enchantingly beautiful about books kept in old wooden shelves. The rich, warm tones, often polished by years of gentle handling. The slight creaks of them as you pull out a volume can evoke a feeling of nostalgia, reminding us of the many hands that have turned those pages before us.

[November’24, The Bookshop Inc., Lodhi Colony, New Delhi]

Full offense but your writing style is for you and nobody else. Use the words you want to use; play with language, experiment, use said, use adverbs, use “unrealistic” writing patterns, slap words you don’t even know are words on the page. Language is a sandbox and you, as the author, are at liberty to shape it however you wish. Build castles. Build a hovel. Build a mountain on a mountain or make a tiny cottage on a hill. Whatever it is you want to do. Write.

the worst

My second mood board for my book! ✨

(All photos from Pinterest, and my first board, along with what the book is about, is here)

Dear, soulmate…

Connected by lace,

An Invisible brace,

Energy unknown,

Charming me to roam.

She could be right here,

Yet I’m left to peer,

Through the world’s faces,

Snooping through spaces.

She searches earth too,

Darting through green, blue-

Or, at least, I hope,

She looks for our rope.

I can only dream,

That she’s a sun beam,

Caught in an eclipse,

Wishing for my lips.

Across or far from,

Desire pounds drums,

Belonging, beloved,

Her I wish to love.

If I walk and pass,

Would her heart of glass,

Ache with desire,

Set her mind on fire?

Do our feelings link,

Pour out in a sink,

That collects and holds,

What we wish to unfold?

Do my eyes deceive,

Make my soul believe,

I will not find her,

And I’ll fade and blur?

Gasping for some air,

I want to be there,

Able to breathe free,

But with you, I’ll be.

Together we’ll hide,

With unbreakable stride;

We’re two girls in love,

Love handpicked above.

I will search and search,

Till together we perch,

Will see you, soul mate,

Our sweet love awaits.

(I know some lines break the meter but I love them too much 😭. Let me know what you think! )

Me, Writertok completion open on my laptop and Writblr open on my phone

I definitely needed to hear this

Fanfuckingtastic writing advice!!

Beating yourself up about your writing DOES NOT HELP YOU WRITE! Cut that shit out, be nicer to yourself, take breaks, and remember it's a marathon not a sprint and also nobody likes running ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

POV:

The hot merman love interest saves the protagonist from drowning but they hate each other.

Any ideas why a merman would be enemies with a human during an apocalypse? I’m trying (and failing) to write an enemies to lovers but I can’t figure out why they are enemies!

Best: whatever resonates with your audience.

Because some people will read the second sentence and complain it’s too abstract.

Bad: "Her eyes were as blue as the ocean."

Better: "Her eyes were the kind of blue that makes you forget storms exist."

hey bitchess, thankyou for the tag lovely

@bookaddict05 @cheesysoup-arlo @auliisflower

How does your Pinterest sees you?

@drchenquill thank you so so much for tagging me on this fabulous game!

rules: search fashion/pantone/mood/food

(Yes i am a foody and I'd choose food over anything)

I'll tag @cssnder @finickyfelix @sshawthorne @ascotwriting @willtheweaver @agirlandherquill and anyone who wants to join me ♡

5 Ways to Make Your Writing Sessions More Productive

1. Set specific goals: Before each writing session, establish clear objectives for what you want to accomplish. This helps you stay focused and motivated throughout the session. Whether it's completing a certain number of pages, reaching a specific word count, or finishing a particular section, having a goal in mind keeps you on track.

2. Create a conducive writing environment: Find a quiet and comfortable space where you can minimize distractions. Eliminate clutter, turn off notifications on your electronic devices, and set up a writing area that inspires creativity. Some people find instrumental music or ambient sounds helpful for concentration, so experiment to find what works best for you.

3. Develop a routine: Establish a regular writing schedule and stick to it. Consistency builds momentum and makes writing sessions feel more like a habit. Whether you prefer to write early in the morning, late at night, or during specific time blocks throughout the day, find a routine that aligns with your energy levels and other commitments.

4. Use productivity techniques: Explore different productivity techniques to enhance your focus and efficiency. One popular method is the Pomodoro Technique, which involves working for a concentrated period (e.g., 25 minutes) followed by a short break (e.g., 5 minutes). Repeat this cycle several times, and then take a longer break (e.g., 15-30 minutes). Other techniques include time blocking, task prioritization, and setting deadlines.

5. Minimize self-editing during the drafting phase: When writing your first draft, try to resist the urge to constantly edit and revise. Instead, focus on getting your ideas down on paper without judgment. This allows for a more continuous flow of thoughts and prevents self-censorship. Save the editing for later drafts, as separating the drafting and editing stages can lead to increased productivity and creativity.

Here's some writing resources on worldbuilding, pacing, and story structure, since I see many people struggle with them.

Worldbuilding

Worldbuilding In Fantasy - The Best Advice, Tips And Guide

10 Worldbuilding Tips: How to Write an Engaging Fictional World

Worldbuilding Guide & Template: Your #1 Resource

Pacing

7 Quick Tips for Mastering Pacing in Your Story

Story Pacing: The What, Why, and How for a Fiction Writer

Story Structure

Story Structure: 7 Narrative Structures All Writers Should Know

The Hero's Journey: A 17 Step Story Structure Beat Sheet

Save the Cat Plot Structure

The Three-Act Structure

have fun <3

The “What-If” Writing Method

Sometimes when I’m writing, brain just....stops. No more ideas. No more words. Nothing. Sometimes, the solution to this problem is to simply take a break from writing and let your brain relax. Other times, though, you really are just at a block for ideas. This happened to me significantly more often than I would like, but thankfully, I’ve developed a solution that works well for me, and it’s uncreativly titled the “what-if” method.

Get a piece of paper and pen. Or a Google doc, or whatever works best for you.

Start brainstorming questions about your story, or possible “what-if” scenarios. (Ex: What if my character got framed for a crime they didn’t commit?)

Write down every single idea that comes to your head. Even if it doesn’t really work for your story. Even ones that deviate from your existing plot. Even the stupid ones. Especially the stupidest ones.

Cross out the ideas you don’t like, circle the ones that you do like.

Start coming up with answers for the questions you circled, or expand in the by coming up with more questions. (Ex: They would have to prove they didn’t commit the crime to regain their freedom. How do they prove it?)

Repeat until you have a full idea that you can work on/write with.

That’s it. That’s the whole strategy. I’ve used this a million times, and it’s gotten me out of a million cases of writers block, so hopefully it can work well for you too! Happy writing!