#writer Tumblr posts

Sorry these all basically have the same theme

Poetry Challenge - Day 325 Trying Optimism

If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?

Laurence J. Peter

MURDA IN MY DREAMS

Aithne grumbled as she wobbled slowly to her feet. “Seriously, what is it with their terrible transportation?”

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring Aithne, who was taking great pleasure in cursing the challenge setters. “Guys, where are we?” All around us, I could only see a plain grassy field that ended nowhere.

Keep reading

We are two beings existing parallel to each other

I look forward and see our paths go on perpetually

I look at you and see how close we are to touching

If we reach for each other, our fingertips would touch

That I’m sure of

What I’m unsure of is if you’d reach for me too

If I reach for you

Your physical dynamicity parallels my imagination

I see your energy, swirling through you

Always wanting to be navigated out through movement

And I have these thoughts

Wanting to be poured from my deepest subconscious thoughts

Out to this note

And yet, we are parallel

Two beings existing side by side along a straight line

The true synergy that is latent and can’t be accounted by this path we have before us

I wonder, if I reach for you

Would that synergy bring us together,

Like the strands of DNA,

would we spiral with each other,

the momentum of colliding together

pushing us away from each other

but never far enough

because the same momentum would pull us back together

Forced apart to be pulled together

If I reach for you,

would the touch of our fingertips,

connect our paths

Or the other way around?

Maybe if I reach for you,

you’d be repelled by the action

And the once parallel line would turn into an asymptomatic one

I risk getting close to you

But I will not get close enough

Because even just the act of reaching you is enough

To break the staticity of our paths

That our parallelism is but a fragile connection

Held together by the distance that we have

So if i even try, even a  slight straying off my path, even a millimeter close to you

Would push me away

permanently

And the once parallel path would be nothing but history

I wonder and wonder

but i will never get an answer

Because in the end,

my dynamicity is just in my mind

and it will all depend on you

if you can find in the energy swirling in your body

the strength to reach out to me

Because I know that if you’d do that

There will only be one resulting path

I’ll let myself be attracted to your energy

And what once parallel lines would collide

the momentum pushing us away from each other

but never far enough

because the same momentum would pull us back together

if only you’d reach for me.

I’m sorry for not understanding your reason

I was clouded with anger

Because I trusted you

Blindly

I let you guide me through the dark

I even blindfolded myself

and assumed that you did the same to yourself

I hoped that we were on the same page

But no

You asked me if you could remove your blindfold

So you did

Turns out you have a flashlight with you

I felt betrayed

Because why did we have to walk blindly

Or rather

Why did I have to walk blindly

I thought we’d guide each other

Turns out I guided myself towards a betrayal

You shouldn’t have just let me blindly believe

that we only have each other

You shouldn’t have told me the truth

Because now I feel pity

I felt like I wasn’t worth it to be with

That while I was guiding us together

Turns out I was the only one who needed guidance

So I’m sorry for not understanding why you did it

And I’m sorry that I don’t want to care

I hoped that finding true love is easy

but it isn’t

It was supposed to be worth it in the end

But it felt like looking for something

you weren’t sure what exactly

There are a lot of tales and stories

of people’s great chronicle of love

But they dont really give you any clear instructions

on how to reach your destination

Imagine wandering in the middle of the dessert

trying to find your oasis

with no idea where to look

You’re searching for oasis

but what does it look like, exactly?

Finding true love is not easy

that sometimes it’s impossible

I just wanted to trust you

I told you everything you wanted to know

Showed you all my flaws

You’ve seen my curves and edges

I thought that our souls can twine intimately

But no

I decided to trust you

Then you immediately broke it

Seeing you felt like getting lost in a place I lived in my whole life.

I was walking down the street when I saw a shade of blue.

I turned to look at it and saw you.

Your love for your girl was visible on your face.

I felt odd, lonely and out of place.

Suddenly, I don’t know which way to go.

I felt like I was inside a masterpiece but I was the flaw.

Everything blended together perfectly.

Everything was soft and happy except me.

I walked forward with no certain destination.

I saw you glance at my way on my peripheral vision.

Then, I walked past you and her.

All I wanted to do was to get farther.

You were my home and my solace before you left me.

Now I’m lost and clueless, reduced to a nobody.

Without you, I’m just a piece of trash in the sea.

Sunday morning, I am falling

Was it from a cliff or a tall building?

Under this blanket, I am dreaming

What is this exhilarating feeling?

I feel the wind against my skin

And the gravity pulling me in

I see nothing but the sky

And moving patches of clouds up high

Look down, I need to look down

To see if jumping is worth the fall

Defy gravity, I need to jump back to reality

Whether what’s down there is worth the fall

I don’t want to know

I’m trapped in the limbo of falling

It seems endless and can’t be broken

But I wonder

Would I fall on the ocean with a wave of certainty

or would I fall on the concrete of cold hard reality

Let me see what’s down there

I want to see what awaits me

I’m helplessly falling for you

If you’re down there, will you catch me?

I was turning around when the fall broke

I was gasping for breath when I woke with a jolt

I remember the sensation of falling

And wanting the fall to end

Then I felt my consciousness waking

I never knew what could’ve happened

Quiero ser ese arte que deseo pintar, quiero ser ese deseo de ser artista que me llene las venas, quiero ser eso que me haga tan feliz con lo que quiero ser y no  puedo no lo encuentro o quizás solo no lo quiero ver, no sé si ser esa profesora de arte, no sé si solo quiero pintar y dibujar a cada instante llenarme de cuadros, dedicarle sketchbooks a mi novia cada vez que me compre una libreta nueva, que al regresar a casa halla una nueva pintura en la pared o que me encuentre en un cuarto de arte donde están los caballetes de ambas, darle pequeños retazos de dibujos en esquinas de cualquier papel, quiero ser algo que me rompa y me arme con el mismo poder, pero quiero saber y no puedo saberlo si es la decisión correcta o no y eso lo jode todo.

Fear and Loathing in Gonzovision Pt. I

“Obviously one of the things I have to appreciate about America, and if I didn’t I’d be either stupid or insane, is that for good or ill, I can function here and I don’t think there are many societies or political systems where I could function the way I am now. And perhaps a lot of people would think it much better if I didn’t and that’s the best reason for destroying the system - getting rid of people like me”

- Hunter S. Thompson

#STUBBS

SEARCHING!

#GHETTOHEAT #AUTHOR #BROTHERSBEHINDBARS #LOVEDONTLOVENOBODY #CLEVELANDOHIO #NOVELIST #WRITER #ESSAYIST #FICTION #CRIME #STREETLIT #URBANFICTION #GHETTOHEATHOTNESS #URBANLIT #READERS #BOOKCLUB #PEACEANDGHETTOHEAT #GHETTOHEATSTUBBS #HIPHOPLIT #IAMGHETTOHEAT #BOOKBITCHES #URBANFICTIONAUTHOR #STREETFICTION #PUBLICLIBRARY #INSTASTUBBS #AMAZON #GOODREADS #THEHOTNESSINTHESTREETS #GHETTOHEATMOVEMENT
https://www.instagram.com/p/CIMzbzbANCa/?igshid=1aj03fd056inb

What is tumblr but a modern version of a group of artists, authors, scholars and jesters throwing around dares to one another in a wooden log cabin on a cold winter’s night?

Every once in a while the jester makes a joke to keep up the morale and the atmosphere while the scholar scolds him for his actions

Scholar gives the writer advice on a subject, correcting their grammar and authenticity

The artist and the writer toss around ideas and admire each others’ works, occasionally critiquing some minor detail

The artist captures the moments onto the canvas whilst the jester gives them ideas for horrendous paintings

The writer takes notes from the jester as the scholar screeches in terror

And in the end

It is the scholar who cries of joy as he reads the opus written by the writer, with the cover given to it by the artist as the jester pours more tea for the group and laughs light heartedly

Sometimes, the jester, the writer, the artist and the scholar are mutuals, sometimes they’re complete strangers on a single post adding to it as they go on, sometimes they’re one person

Sometimes its chaotic and terrifying, sometimes it’s fun and light hearted, and sometimes, one of these people has an unexpected past with something nobody else expected to ever even hear about existing

BOOK 2: THE CURSED PLANET 
MATURE READERS ONLY

☼ ☼ ☼

They were all going to die. And many of them did…just as she’d dreamed. And she was no better off for the knowledge. Her classmates—the other seniors of Altirs. The juniors! Oh…the horrors came for them all that Harvest Eve.

Talita was human as far as she could tell. However, she knew something was wrong inside of her. Pain reverberated through every part of her with every movement but the pain felt far away, as if she were both feeling and not feeling it, the same as the agony she’d suffered in salugalu. The distortions of her reality—the lights, the sounds, the death around her—were worse than any part of her bad trip on Purple Dot.

Visions of Spencer overpowering her—both in the past and earlier that night—along with blinding pain that still wracked her from his bite and memories of a fearful Ava fleeing from his next attack, remained neverending in Talita’s thoughts. Numb now to constant terror and plummeting hope, she trudged along after Adam like a zombie.

Adam…Adam was there. Somehow he was there. And he didn’t abandon her once he saw that she was fucked.

She’d stumbled, alone, among the hissing creatures, cowering every time she heard a spray of bullets and screams—so sure that she’d awoken from her dark sleep into actual hell. Talita ran—and she didn’t know where she was fleeing to then, all that mattered was that it was somewhere away—but still a face she thought she’d never see again appeared. And he was still good. And she was there. He was so patient with her. She was sure whatever was going on with her had to make him nervous, no matter what he’d said about her past. Talita made herself nervous too.

Adam paused when she pulled on him with fevered force, turning in her direction. His clear blue gaze, now bloodshot from strain, passed over her as she held on tight. Her clutch was squeezing—in her daze she though he might disappear like the dream he was if she let go. The parasites still shuddered around them—she’d shuddered the same way a few moments earlier, toppled by an unseen force that stole away her consciousness until she was able to open her spasming lids, gazing into the same blue gaze that watched her now.

With her free hand she touched her chest over her heart and lingered there, waiting until he cemented what that movement meant to her. His attention followed as her hand moved to his chest and rested over his heart, lingering as well. He stood still, studying her hand, and met her eye again when she pulled it away.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “No problem. I’m…really glad I found you. That I could see you again. Means a lot to me.”

Me too, she mouthed to him.

“We’re getting out of here together. All right?”

Yes, she replied without sound. Together.

She thought he understood.

Keep reading

“Stop thinking about the end result, because no matter what happens, by telling the truth, you’ll be on the best possible path to happiness.”

That’s one of many little bullet points that I’d left over from last week. I was feeling tired, so I didn’t want to get into every detail of every thing that I was thinking or feeling at the time. But this one has rung a little true for me.

I’m rounding off NaNoWriMo with nothing done for this story.

It’s depressing, to tell the truth. However, I also picked up a new writing exercise. I’ll head over to the writing prompts subreddit, pick something, and write it. I did it yesterday. I did it for a prompt today that actually got taken down before I could respond to it.

So, I sent what I’d written directly to the poster of the prompt and I wrote a short for another one.

Writing itself doesn’t seem to be the issue for me. It’s my connection to what I’m writing that gets in the way of things.

The story that I’m currently working on was never meant to be taken this seriously. It was supposed to be an inconsequential collection of the story scraps I’d accrued while forming more viable ideas. But, a few months ago, I came to the realization that what I’d believed to be my magnum opus, the story I was crafting to put on my pedestal as my greatest work since before I was a teenager—a story that was a literal lifetime in the making—was a contrived mess that I couldn’t reasonably untangle.

It physically hurt, realizing that I’d fallen out of love with World Crown, formerly known as Vermillion Mythos, formerly known as YVK Chronicles. It’s interesting seeing how my ability to name things has grown as well.

Anyway, now it’s a carcass for my other creative efforts to scavenge from. And it’s a sizeable one, so I’m not short for ideas yet.

To pull myself back to the point, I’m now attached to this new project in a way that I wasn’t at its inception. And this wasn’t created for NaNo mind you; this story is, I think one-and-a-half or two years old. Even older if you consider the more rudimentary stages of its existence. And because I want my child to become accepted by the world rather than a wretched outcast, I’m keeping it locked away, where it can do no wrong in my eyes and where no one can judge it.

I don’t know when I’ll get into talking about the stuff I read in depth or anything like that, but I did come across this earlier today in How to Be Miserable by Randy J. Paterson:

·       People wo adopt reasonable standards generally achieve as much or more tan perfectionists, because they get a motivational boost out of success, enabling them to devote more energy to their efforts.

·       Perfectionism imposes a fear of trying out new things out of a knowledge that you will not excel on your first try. This results in a restricted life.

·       Perfectionism can cause you to spend a lot of time erasing minor flaws that no one else can see, inadvertently annoying people with your slowness and preventing you from shifting to other challenges.

There’s knowing something, and then there’s accepting something. The first two are things I knew, but need to remind myself to accept from time to time, so that I act instead of plan. The third one was something I’d never considered, but did resonate with me. A good friend of mine, a fellow writer, got tired of listening to my ideas for a long time because I never implemented or finished anything. And I know it got on his nerves.

So, what am I doing to rectify this?

Well, this is the second week of posting on Tumblr. I’d like to keep this going. I used to constantly burn myself out because I felt like I was screaming in the dark. And I know that’s the point, but accepting that it’s the point is the hard part. Acknowledging that I’m not the people I look up to. That these posts are for me and that in the future, I’ll have something I didn’t give up on to actually look back to and congratulate myself for.

I also want to keep writing these Reddit shorts. I’ll post them here once a week. Maybe there’s some gold to pan in there.

I don’t know how to end this post.

Salman Rushdie: On Storytelling