I Love Characters That Are Completely Harmless Until They Finally Unleash Their Power And Then They’re

Being an organ donor, when you pass on you can watch the lives of those people who have received you. You just so happen to have been the donor to both a super hero and their villain. 

A hero and villain know each other as normal humans and as their super form– After all, they’re related. Write what it’s like to have to fight your little sibling because yet again, they’re trying to save the world instead of doing the dishes.

something that stuck with me once, way back in middle school when i was still learning how to write - my teacher said "writing shock and tragedy is easy, it's humor that's the hardest."

i have been up and down the halls of academia. i have the fancy degree and the experience in publishing. i think i paved most of my own road with the little bricks of sorrow i had stored inside of me. i know i did it mostly with works that are blisteringly lonely. i know why we write like that. it's lifesaving.

but yeah, i mean. i also know how much people think that "sad" media is the same thing as "good" media. our human desire to connect is so hard-pressed that we immediately latch onto any broken themes. the bullied kids and the tales of inspiration. people keep saying things like "glass onion" and "everything everywhere" weren't actually good. because, you know, they're. happy. or happy-ish. happy enough. and we only value art if it's grimdark-adjacent.

do you know - people still consistently whine at me that my writing would be so good if i just capitalized things. i used to flinch. i get kind of a weird, vindictive little rush these days - i get to say thank you for the comment! i have chronic pain and this is how i conserve my hands so i can write more during the day :) grammar isn't real anyway! and now they're trapped in the room with me, you know? i get to pull out my map and show them how grammar is not the same thing as good writing.

writers have this thing. we scratch at our insides, constantly, prying our lives apart into splinters. prying the splinters apart into atoms. when we combust something into poetry, we control it. it cannot hurt us if it exists outside of us rather than burning a hole through the bottom of our lungs. it's not a wonder to me that so much of what i make comes out like a death gasp. i spent a long time at the bottom. i keep going back, too. when you're down there for so long, the only thing you can exhale is fumes.

but humor is hard. humor needs timing; which i can't promise in a paragraph. i can kind-of force it through careful spacing, but i have no idea how fast you're reading these things. humor needs a somewhat awareness of your audience, when really - anybody could be looking. humor needs us to understand what the joke is, why it's a joke, and to think - ha! that is funny. in tragedy, everyone understands the metaphor of a kicked puppy. in humor, you need to introduce them to the concept of a dog.

and forget about positivity. forget about anything not made for adults explicitly. every time i see a well-made children's media piece, i feel fucking horrible for the creators. most of the time, people see children's media as being sort of "not worth" applause, even though i'm pretty sure they have to work twice as hard. i have no idea how hard it must be to not be able to have your character just say. "well, fuck." something about a message of peace or friendship or caring - for some reason, that makes the media not for adults. like, okay. i'm pretty sure my father actually, out of all of us, could use a good book on how to control his temper and talk about his feelings.

but whatever. i write a short story about my ocd, and how it's fucking killing me. it gets an award. it gets published. i write a short story about my ocd, and how i'm overcoming it, and how my days are getting lighter and starting to flourish. i keep getting ghosted. no response. it just is lacking... something.

is this it, forever? you can be an artist, okay. but the trade off is that the things you make - if they're happy? if they're joyful? people will say it's stupid and pandering. you bite your nails off. you file your teeth. you hear something inside of you breaking.

the other day in a writing group, someone i'd thought of as a friend said: "you write so much better these days! i love what you make when you'd rather be dead."

Poetic Quotes #1

'Cause I was filled with poison, but blessed with beauty and rage.

Fall AUs

My dog yanked on its leash and now I’m lying in a giant pile of leaves and you stand there and laugh and STOP TAKING PICTURES!

I’m babysitting for the neighbors and the kid’s kite is stuck in a tree, can you please help us?

There is a competition for carving a pumpkin at the market and you think you can win against me. The Game is on!

It’s a torrential downpour and we both have to wait for the bus without shelter in sight but I have a small umbrella.

You told me you like spring better and now I have to convince you that fall is the best season.

You think it’s funny to scare me with your Halloween costume, now I’m going to show you how funny that is.

Our school has a strict “Do not throw with leaves” rule and we’re sitting in front of the principal with leaves stuck in our hair and other unfortunate places.

I have to take pictures of the colorful trees in the park for a project but somehow you always end up in all of them.

You can find more prompts at my sideblog: creativepromptsforwriting

You are a spy and are assigned to a mission that involves you getting married to the person that you are investigating. Unbeknownst to you however the person you are investigating is also investigating you. After a while you begin to fall in love. Write what happens when you find out your partner of many years is also a spy.

corrupted godhood. reluctant false messiah. prophecy as a creeping all consuming malady. does the oracle see the future or make the future? the horror of trapping yourself inescapably on purpose. the chains of destiny dragging you towards the path you are fighting tooth and nail to free yourself from. there never having been a chance to begin with. no other choice to make. but making that choice regardless.

You’ve come to the realization that your two best friends are actually an angel and a demon battling for your soul

you get used to it, but it's tiring, because they need you to understand your own life as a series of goalposts. what college are you going to, what's your major going to be, whatcha gonna do with that, oh where will you settle down, when can i expect grandkids.

for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?

where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.

but i want a yellow kitchen and a stand mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.

of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.

i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.

i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?

am i not ambitious? the other day i rearranged my furniture which doesn't quite fit into my apartment. i watered my plants. i'm going to try to propagate a cherry seed. my five year goal is to spend more time laughing. to lie down in a patch of sunwarm moss. to relax for a minute. to close my eyes and think oh thank god. this is why i stayed. this is finally it.

I wanted to write. What about? No idea.

I have so many stuff going on right now that I don't really know what to do.

For instance, the impending question, how do you know if you like someone in a romantic way?

This is lame, I know, but I've never *ever* had a crush on someone who is not a fictional character or an unreachable celebrity, and I'm having a real hard time separating my feelings, for I still have this stubbornness regarding our only being friends.

I think about him a lot, not too much, but he's constantly on my mind. What's worse, is that I haven't seen him properly for months, the day I saw him and chatted for two minutes three weeks ago not counting.

He went to a different high school, and at first, we continued chatting every day, never going as far as to phone one another . Then we grew apart, he stopped answering to my texts and I stopped trying to contact him, sure that he wouldn't answer. I texted him on his birthday, and after a curt greeting and a thank you, we didn't speak for a month.

I texted him first. I was lonely and sad because it was the anniversary of my grandmother's death, and I gave in tothe urge of texting him. He answered, thankfully, and we happily chatted for a week before he ignored me again.

It hurts a lot. It hurts when I think of how close we were and how he dismissed our friendship, continued texting a friend of mine who be wasn't that close with and focused entirely on his new girlfriend. It hurt that he had a new girlfriend, even if I had had no problems with the last one, but honestly, that had been over a year ago so I couldn't be sure if I actually felt jealous or anything.

Am I jealous?

I don't know. I've never even met her!

But even if we aren't close anymore...It just hurts, ok?

I don't know what else to write, and this is quite out of my usual style, so yeah, signing off,

A girl who knows very little about love.