You Blew Me Away Sculpture By Penny Hardy

“You Blew Me Away” sculpture by Penny Hardy

“You Blew Me Away” sculpture by Penny Hardy

Make your margins wider in your writing

Writing what feels like a dozen pages only to figure out after that you haven't even gotten through half a page is a universal experience across all writers.

What I'm about to tell you is one way I've found helps getting through that psychological toll.

One day I was writing my novel (a-luchador-detective-versus-a-lady-vampire sort of affair) when I got a certain idea. I picked up my copy of Authority by Jeff Vandermeer that I had on the desk and decided to make the line length in my work the same as that paperback edition. Margins were widened and line spacing was adjusted, leaving me with a sort of narrow manuscript.

You've no idea how much my productivity went up.

Logically, finishing a line became much faster, which lead to quicker finished pages, which produced a longer-looking manuscript. Of course, this doesn't mean that my writing was immediately faster per se,

but the feeling of being faster placebo-ed me in a way that increased my output.

Now I'm hitting my daily word-count much more consistently and I believe this was partly responsible.

Humans like numbers going up, if we wouldn't both videogames and billionares wouldn't exist. Seeing my page count increase is a reward to my brain which gives me a boost to get to the next page. By decreasing the length between rewards I'm put in a more constant progression loop, no longer feeling the slog of going up a hill and being met with a thousand more.

And at the end, if I want to check my actual progress, the real gauge will forever be the total word count, which we shouldn't obsess over, anyways.

The journey to create a novel or other piece of long-form media will always be more of a marathon than a race, and should be undertaken with the mindset of a marathon. All progress is incremental, and you should not be emotionally punishing yourself for not finishing a quarter of your book in the last week, as if that were somehow possible.

The length of a novel is such that any time-saving and efficiency-increasing life hacks we apply would only be reducing our-time-finish by weeks at the most, so why the rush?

I believe the key to writing faster is to write constantly first.

Can't be fast without stamina. So go ahead; write and make writing easier on you.

The First Thing You Learn in University Creative Writing Classes

I was very fortunate to major in Creative Writing when I went to college. It was a great experience, but I remember being so nervous when I walked into my first class as a freshman.

I'd been writing stories since elementary school, so I worried that this first class would teach me something wildly different than what I knew about writing. Maybe there was some secret formula to creating characters or mental exercises that immediately dissolved writer's block that you could only learn from a professor.

When my first class ended, I was shocked.

The first thing you learn in a university-level creative writing class?

Read more than you write.

It's that simple. I thought my professor had lost his mind, but the many others that followed always echoed the advice.

The advice then saved my ability to write when I was getting through each day during some of the hardest times of my life.

Pick up the good books. The great books. The terrible books that make you quit reading them because they're so bad.

They will all make your writing stronger.

You'll learn how to write fantastic characters, weave plot lines, and paint worlds with words. You'll also learn what you don't like in someone's writing so you can avoid it in your own.

Even during the periods when I wrote nothing at all, reading kept that love for writing alive in my heart.

It's the best way to reconnect with that passion if you've lost it and the greatest way to develop that skill.

Read more than you write.

Your storylines and characters will thank you later.

Cyanide

For my last meal, I requested a shiny green apple and a marble bowl of cherries. They quirked their eyebrows at it. One of the guards cracked a smile I think. "What, no steak? No bucket of fried chicken? Hell, you didn't even ask for a pound of strawberries." "I wouldn't want to go out without this figure." I even flexed for them. "Fucking Christ, you've lost it. Flipping that killswitch can't fry that brain anymore." I shrugged, smiled, and watched them walk away. Minutes later, they brought it and left me to my devices.

I turned the apple in my hands, grinning at myself in the reflection of fruit wax. Even the bowl was right, black veins in white stone. All it took was a moment, one bite and I was gone, crunching away with the largest piece my almost unhinged jaw would let me take. My chin dripped with juice, but I chewed with my mouth closed. I wasn't an animal for God's sake. I chewed in a neat ring around it, carving the best of the meat from this meatless thing. I didn't care about the bits caught between my incisors. I gnawed and punctured the flesh with my canines, vampire sucking the juice out. At last, I dug the seeds from the core, cooing and saving the one with the root spouting. A life to begin where mine was to come to an end. Perhaps they'd plant it for me. I took the others in my fingers and shoved them in my pocket. I imagined taking the leftover pieces, the bit of the top with the stem, the part of the bottom with remnants of flowers, the core, the pile of bones out in my hands, tossing them out to feed the birds. At least, I imagined birds, sparrows, cardinals, even bluejays. A nice crow to come return the favor. I wiped my face on my sleeve, smiling at the sticky residue.

I took my chair and leant in the far corner of the room for the cherries. It wasn't a throne, but the recline would do enough for my mind to forgive the discrepancy. I lifted the marble bowl and carried it to my makeshift throne. I made a scene of them all, dangling each over my open mouth like some cartoon king. I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my empty throat at the halfway point. If only they could see me. But I was on a timer, they said, so they didn't have to sit back and watch my every move. Still, I put on a show, just in case. I continued my routine, dangling, chewing, spitting the stones in the stone bowl. The irony, or was it serendipity? I doubt they'd know.

Soon it wouldn't matter. At the end of it all, I had stones, seeds, and time. So I dumped the pits out and started smashing. Hammering away one after the other. I cringed at the cracks in the cherry seeds but they would do. Crack, shatter, collect. One pile of shattered stones. The marble bowl worked as a hammer, and I almost felt bad for wasting its rich life for my last act. But what else was it doomed for, other than to sit on some granite island contained in white walls and an open floor plan? At least here, things were quiet when all was said and done. I swept the seeds into my palm, sighing at the dust and dirt they'd gathered. Does no one take pride in their work anymore?

I lay down in the center of the concrete floor. One after the other, I dropped a seed from my clenched hand into my open mouth, chewing it into a paste before swallowing. I admit I grew impatient and started dropping pairs of them at once, though never more than two at a time. When the last of the cherry seeds had been ground up by my molars, I chewed the apple seeds for good measure and a little variety. I took the sprouted seed in my fingertips "One day, you'll be a home. I'd like to see it. With your leaves in the wind, a nest in your branches…" I folded the sprouted seed in my hands and rested them on my stomach. Letting my eyes close, I imagined straining my neck, open-mouthed, to a mother with a delectable bug paste she'd chewed for me. I felt her beak in mine, dropping the meal down my throat. What I wouldn't give for a pair of wings. A song to sing on the breath of the morning.

Except I wouldn't have breath for that much longer. Soon they'd come knocking. And my neck would be in a noose. Or a needle in my arm. No…no that wasn't it. Were they gearing up to shoot me full of holes? Maybe they'd slit my throat. No, too messy. I remember that much. No they…they'd press a big red button launch me into space. No, wait. Not a button. A switch. Killswitch. Fry my brain. Fry my brain up like chicken, but no they wouldn't eat it. I wonder what happens after. Whatdotheydo with my body? Duzzit go… do they burn it up? Do they bury it? Ashes, ashes, I'm already down. And out. I hope God doesn't punish me for stealing death from the executioner.

How to write a kiss scene

requested by: anon request: How do I write a good kiss scene? As how do I describe it? What details or words would make it good?

What goes into the writing of a kiss scene?

details to incorporate:

the sensations in their stomach, their chest, and their knees

the way their breathing changes shortly before the kiss

the feeling of the other's hands

the texture of the other's clothing

the moment they realise they've reached the point of no return

the feeling they're left with after the kiss

words to use...

... to describe the kiss:

tentative

tender

hesitant

quick

soft

gentle

delicate

languid

feathery

familiar

exploring

hungry

heated

fiery

frantic

impatient

sloppy

messy

aggressive

... to describe how they feel about the kiss:

nervous

excited

giddy

anxious

apprehensive

ambiguous

surprised

reassured

certain

confident

relieved

eager

greedy

... to show what the lips do:

exploring each other

brushing over each other

locking

devouring

touching

sealing

pressing against each other

capturing

lapping

tasting

crushing together

travelling (the other's body)

trailing (down to the other's chin)

grinning into the kiss

caressing

lingering

... to show how their body reacts:

feeling warm all over

buzzing

humming

pumping/palpitating heart

clenching lungs

joy bubbling up

tingly stomach

warm chest

burning cheeks

sweaty palms

blood rushing through their veins

... to describe what their hands are doing:

tangling in their lover's hair

wrapping their arms around their lover's neck

intertwining their fingers with their lover

resting on their lover's hips

pressing into their lover's shoulder blades

cupping their lover's cheeks

touching their lover's chin

curling their arm around their lover's waist

resting on their lover's shoulders

grabbing their lover's collar

sneaking up under their lover's shirt

brushing over their lover's bare skin

lightly squeezing their lover's butt

focus on:

the sensations instead of what's physically happening. (the protagonists might very well not know themselves what is happening exactly, but they feel very precisely)

I hope this helps <3