Creative Writing - Tumblr Posts

Smutty One-Liners

“I dreamed of your legs wrapped around my waist.”

“Don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago.”

“We should probably leave, before we start a scandal.”

“Stop looking at me like that or my knees will not hold me any longer.”

“I think you lost your underwear somewhere.”

“My tongue still remembers the way you taste.”

“Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

“The way your eyes get darker when you get aroused, is making me lose my mind.”

“I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips.”

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

“Oh no, there is only one bed, what will we do now?”

“I could make you feel better.”

“Get back down here, we’re not done yet.”

“Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned this.”

“I know I should care about the reason why you’re naked in my bed, but I will just enjoy it for a moment.”

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee! 🥰

Been there.

*thinks up an idea for a silly quick piece* okay haha let's whip something up real quick

*idea gets more complicated*

*idea gets more complicated*

*idea gets more complicated*

*idea gets more complicated*

oh no

Literally cannot emphasize enough that my #1 writing advice is to stop being afraid. Stop being afraid of sounding too cringe, or too stupid, or too horrifying, or too horny, or too weird, or too much, or too little, or too you. You need to put your entire pussy into your art. Sure, it won't be to everyone's tastes, but if you keep yourself to the blandest tamest safest roads possible you will be of no one's tastes, not even yours.

Writing Notes: The Five-Factor Model of Personality

Culture is transmitted to people through language, as well as through social norms which establish acceptable and unacceptable behaviors which are then rewarded or punished (Henrich, 2016; Triandis & Suh, 2002).

With an increased understanding of cultural learning, psychologists have become interested in the role of culture in understanding personality.

The 5 Personality Traits According to this Model

OPENNESS TO EXPERIENCE

Refers to a person's imagination, feelings, actions, ideas

LOW score: More likely to be practical, conventional, prefer routine

HIGH score: More likely to be curious, have a wide range of interests, be independent

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS

Competence, self-discipline, thoughtfulness, goal-driven

LOW: Impulsive, careless, disorganized

HIGH: Hardworking, dependable, organized

EXTROVERSION

Sociability, assertiveness, emotional expression

LOW: Quiet, reserved, withdrawn

HIGH: Outgoing, warm, seeks adventure

AGREEABLENESS

Cooperative, trustworthy, good-natured

LOW: Critical, uncooperative, suspicious

HIGH: Helpful, trusting, empathetic

NEUROTICISM

Tendency toward unstable emotions

LOW: Calm, even-tempered, secure

HIGH: Anxious, unhappy, prone to negative emotions

Applicability

The idea that personality can be described and explained by five traits (OCEAN) has important implications, as does the fact that most personality tests were constructed and initially tested in Western countries.

Western ideas about personality may not apply to other cultures (Benet-Martinez & Oishi, 2008).

2 Main Cultural Approaches for Researching Personality

Etic traits - considered universal constructs that are evident across cultures and represent a biological bases of human personality. If the Big Five are universal then they should appear across all cultures (McCrae and Allik, 2002).

Emic traits - constructs unique to each culture and are determined by local customs, thoughts, beliefs, and characteristics. If personality traits are unique to individual cultures then different traits should appear in different cultures.

Using an Etic Framework

Cross cultural research of personality uses an etic framework and researchers must ensure equivalence of the personality test through validation testing.

The instrument must include equivalence in meaning, as well as demonstrate validity and reliability (Matsumoto & Luang, 2013).

Example: The phrase feeling blue is used to describe sadness in Westernized cultures but does not translate to other languages.

Differences in personality across cultures could be due to real cultural differences, but they could also be consequences of poor translations, biased sampling, or differences in response styles across cultures (Schmitt, Allik, McCrae, & Benet-Martínez, 2007).

Personality Test/Measure Used: The NEO-PI

Most of the cross-cultural research on the Five-Factor Model (FFM) and Big Five (OCEAN) has been done using the NEO-PI (and its subsequent revisions; i.e., it is an assessment tool developed to measure the 5 dimensions of personality according to the FFM) which has demonstrated equivalence, reliability and validity across several cross-cultural studies (Costa & McCrae, 1987; McCrae, Costa & Martin, 2005).

Research using the NEO-PI found support for the entire Five-Factor Model in Chinese, Dutch, Italian, Hungarian, German, Australian, South African, Canadian, Finnish, Polish, Portuguese, Israeli, Korean, Japanese, and Filipino samples, in addition to other samples (McCrae, Costa, Del Pilar, Rolland, & Parker, 1998).

NOTE

Personality tests rely on self-report which is susceptible to response bias like socially desirability responding.

To evaluate this possibility, McCrae and colleagues (2005) recruited students from 50 cultural groups and modified the NEO-PI to be in the third person (i.e., he, she, his, her):

The research participants were asked to complete the form on someone else that they knew very well (McCrae et al., 2005).

The same 5 factors emerged in this study.

These results provided empirical support for the FFM and for the use of self-report instruments when conducting cross-cultural personality research.

There was no reason for the students to respond in a desirable way because they were answering questions about someone else.

Sources: 1 2

current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.

the vast majority of fanworks are bad, and that's fine, actually. they are bad for the same reason that the average number of legs for a human person to have is less than two: statistics. like with all endeavours and especially creative ones, most people who write fanfiction or draw art of their favourite characters are bad at it. if you line up all the crochet projects in the world, most of them will be, well, bad. some are bad because they're the first thing a person ever made, or the second or third or tenth, and this kind of thing takes practice. others are bad because the person who made them is just not very good at it. maybe they just learned how to make granny squares and they're perfectly happy to never expand or improve on that. most people who dance or bake or garden or braid hair are not amazing at it! and you'd never go to your kid's dance recital or eat your friend's homemade carrot cake and expect the same experience as you'd have at a professional ballet performance or award-winning bakery. And that's if we assume there is an objective measure of Good Art, which there isn't! Some art is just "bad" because you don't like it!

I think though that specifically with fanfiction, we sometimes forget that when we read a book or watch a movie, dozens of people have looked at it and given feedback and made changes and done quality control before the final product reaches our shelves or screens, and that's not counting the original writer's learning process and past experience. A published book is not anyone's first crochet project, even if it is their debut novel. But with fanfiction, the barrier to entry is so low (on purpose! this is a good thing!) that we do get to see a lot of wonky granny squares, and on sites like AO3 they're sitting on the same shelf as the hand-made silk lace wedding dress and you can't always tell just by looking at it which is which. The consequence of this is that we encounter fic that we think is unpolished, has bad punctuation, is out of character, and we are tempted to think "well, this is awful! how dare this person put this wonky granny square on the same shelf as the lace wedding dress!" But that's not how fandom is supposed to work! That wonky granny square is somebody who is really excited about this TV show they just watched and they are reaching out into the void to share their excitement with you. To scoff at them for not making a lace wedding dress is really, really rude. Even if they did make a lace wedding dress, maybe it's just really not your style, or you think they should have used a different pattern, and it's still their wedding dress. You don't have to wear the dress and you don't have to read the fic.

We all know that there is some fanfic out there that is incredible. I think it's important to talk about that! But the vast majority of people who post their writing online are just sharing their little hobby projects that they make for fun and I also think it's important to remember that.

“you’re a writer, can you explain your process?” yes. first, i panic. then i procrastinate. then, in a fit of productivity at 3 a.m., i create chaos.

The symbolism of flowers

Flowers have a long history of symbolism that you can incorporate into your writing to give subtext.

Symbolism varies between cultures and customs, and these particular examples come from Victorian Era Britain. You'll find examples of this symbolism in many well-known novels of the era!

Amaryllis: Pride

Black-eyed Susan: Justice

Bluebell: Humility

Calla Lily: Beauty

Pink Camellia: Longing

Carnations: Female love

Yellow Carnation: Rejection

Clematis: Mental beauty

Columbine: Foolishness

Cyclamen: Resignation

Daffodil: Unrivalled love

Daisy: Innocence, loyalty

Forget-me-not: True love

Gardenia: Secret love

Geranium: Folly, stupidity

Gladiolus: Integrity, strength

Hibiscus: Delicate beauty

Honeysuckle: Bonds of love

Blue Hyacinth: Constancy

Hydrangea: Frigid, heartless

Iris: Faith, trust, wisdom

White Jasmine: Amiability

Lavender: Distrust

Lilac: Joy of youth

White Lily: Purity

Orange Lily: Hatred

Tiger Lily: Wealth, pride

Lily-of-the-valley: Sweetness, humility

Lotus: Enlightenment, rebirth

Magnolia: Nobility

Marigold: Grief, jealousy

Morning Glory: Affection

Nasturtium: Patriotism, conquest

Pansy: Thoughtfulness

Peony: Bashfulness, shame

Poppy: Consolation

Red Rose: Love

Yellow Rose: Jealously, infidelity

Snapdragon: Deception, grace

Sunflower: Adoration

Sweet Willian: Gallantry

Red Tulip: Passion

Violet: Watchfulness, modesty

Yarrow: Everlasting love

Zinnia: Absent, affection

Not gonna say anything, but just know I’m thinking it.

💬♥️Snippet♥️💬

”No,” came the strangled reply. “No.”

Sharp nails digging into his flesh, with a muted thud of pain as his hands curled into a white knuckled fists.

He could only listen to the recording with a growing sense of dread. Had his heart stopped? Or maybe it was racing to fast he couldn’t feel the individual pulses. He didn’t know. All he knew, all he could feel was this…this…

cold.

This overwhelming rush that felt like being completely encased in ice.

A muscle thumped in his jaw as he croaked out, his brothers going deathly still at the pure heartbreak in his tone.

“Oh, Sweet Girl, what do you think you’re doing?”

-✨Dialouge Spark✨

~Po

Fallen

No…ok so listen *massages forehead* For the last time. I didn't “fall” in love. This was a premeditated attack!

I was tripped because let me tell you…I DiDnT fALl wILliNgLy!

This was not my fault! Don't you understand the gravity of this situation?!

semi colons are so funny because no one agrees on how to use them. i mean, i get that they separate two main clauses, but every book i've read uses them in a different way. you just kinda throw them in wherever you want

Tales from fiction writing class

Something you remember but you’re not sure why

I don’t know why I remember the light brown mushrooms that would sometimes grow by the flagpole. 

Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, when I would be a safety patrol at my elementary school, it would be my job to raise the flag outside at the front of the building. The pole was surrounded by a circle of concrete that was surrounded by a circle of yellow and purple marigolds. On the side closest to the building, occasionally, there would be a mushroom that would grow there. 

Somedays, I would walk over it and try not to notice it, giving it only a sideways glance. Then, somedays, I would enjoy stepping on it and feeling my shoe softly squish it down into the dirt. I would never touch it with my hands because it could be poisonous and it would get in my mouth and kill me. 

I stomp it down then wait a month for it to regrow then I stomp it back down. Then the school gardener found out about it constantly regrowing and pulled it out by the roots and I was sad.  

Tales from fiction writing class

Create a scene using details and imagery to convey a feeling without stating it directly, use like dialog.

"I'm just trying to help you. You ‘re going to go to Hell."

My throat dried out. It felt like those mornings after I had smoked a couple of Menthols 100s the night before while drunk at some bar. My nose was starting to burn as well, like when you're underwater and you breathe in. Caleb seemed to notice my discomfort after a moment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Just ... I'm sorry."

The lights in the restaurant seemed too bright all of a sudden. The other customers all seemed to be too happy to be real people. Even the glass of water next to me looks too pretty to drink. It's probably from the tap, filled with iron and rust particles. Drinking anything in this place sounded awful. 

Silence set in then. My eyes wandered over to the tables that surrounded us. There was a man in a suit with a bolo tie that didn’t like his salad but still eating it. A ceiling fixture on the opposite wall had an overlooked cobweb on it. A woman sitting a bit away wore a pretty summer dress with a pair of black and white Adidas sneakers, looking cute and quirky.

I heard Caleb start to talk again, but I continued to stare at her shoes." I think once you start going to worship with my family you'll really like it. The people there are so welcoming and nice. You know it kinda hurts my feelings that you won't even try to come just once." I wish I was cute and quirky.

The woman noticed me staring at her then and gave me a rude look. I slowly turned my body forward in the chair as my stomach contoured into a painful ball. Caleb was looking away now, but he felt my eyes on him. He took a deep breath and put on a forced smile before looking at me again.

“I got you something." He pulled a red jewelry box out of his pants pocket and slide it over to my side of the table. "Happy six months." The piano music was now very melancholy yet it hadn't changed keys. His hands started shaking a bit. He wanted me to explode into a smile and kiss him passionately, then he’d feel better.

"Uh… here." He reaches over and opens the box. It was a small heart pendant encrusted with three white diamonds. The one that’s super popular with many women right now. The one that his sister had flaunted at me two months ago over dinner and I had pretended to love out of politeness.

I should rub my eyes, but then I'll smear my makeup and it'll get in my contacts and it'll look like I'm crying and I'm not crying.

"Please say something."

“I don't feel well,” a hoarse voice says.

He has a look on his face. One I can't name, but I know it well. The one some old classmates I don't talk to anymore had. The one a street preacher had when he yelled at me for wearing a skirt. It seems a lot of people have this look. An old roommate had it. The cashier at Walmart. My mom. 

“You’ll feel better after you eat.”

Tales from Fiction writing class

Write a scene where a character has certain traits but those are never stated out but are made clear to through actions and dialog.

Traits: Jealousy, Ambition, and reflection 

Himmberton was not normal the type to give people much of a second glance, but he guessed today was different. It was probably because he had skipped lunch and his growling stomach was affecting his mood. 

The large crowds of people in the park were starting to make him feel little. The bench he was occupying was no longer comfortable but it seemed that there were too many eyes on him so he decided it would be better if he remained where he was. 

He scanned the crowd for anything that would capture his attention.

 There were two men dressed in suits, laughing while admiring their fancy watches as they gleamed in the sunshine. Himmberton didn't like those men. Sure, he loved shiny things as much as any creature, but they were being so showing about it. They were probably greedy and had gotten them by stepping on every bug that crossed their path for the fun of it. Bad men. They didn't deserve shiny things. He could afford one of those watches after a few months of working at the ice cream shop, but his money was suited for better things. He always served men like them in the store. Big, hoglike mounds of flesh, feasting away on the homemade ice cream. Then leaving a mess and no tip. 

After another moment, he couldn't take it anymore and looked back down at the grass. A Black Prickly Caterpillar towards his foot.

"Good Afternoon," Himmberton said in the most cheerful tone he could muster. " Is the weather being good to you?" The caterpillar continued its path towards his shoe.

"Oh! Allow me to help you up here." He picked up the little crawly awkwardly, trying his best not to scare it as he set it down on the other side of the bench. " There you go. We can't have you getting trampled now."

Himmberton looked away from his new comrade and back at the people in the park. 

"You know, the more time I spend here, I start to see why they prefer to be indoors," he said quietly. 

The caterpillar sat still in its spot.

"Oh, don't be like that! Look! At least the little ones are alright." Himmberton pointed to across the grass, where a group of little girls were chasing after a butterfly. 

He looked back down the caterpillar, hoping to see some reaction but the caterpillar remained at rest.

" I know you're right. Things can't stay this way. Say, I could use a hand with all this. Why don't you come with me? If you're so passionate, then you should do your part."

At that, the Caterpillar started to move again and crawl towards his lap.

" That's the spirit. Come on, we're burning daylight." In a quick swoop, Himmberton picked up the Caterpillar and dropped him into his front pocket. " I'm really glad I met you. I was having the worst day."

The two of them rushed out of the park and back towards the city to get started on Himmberton's plane. You see, Himmberton was no ordinary man. His body was actually a robotic human suit being piloted by a small bug. Soon all humans would pay for their misdeeds against his kind.

For you, J

I don’t know why I’ve allowed myself to think about you so much for so long.

I feel pathetic and stupid and starkery.

I hate what I’m doing to myself 

I hate that I’ve compared so many people to you

I hate that I feel like I annoy you.

I hate that I thought we could maybe be together but it’s dumb.

I hate that I’m so sad but I have no reason to be sad.

I hate that I have created cathedrals in my mind for you, even after I said I’ll stop.

I hated that when I told you I did, you didn’t understand what I meant.

I hate that only time you ever told me you loved me was when I was sitting on your lap in your car at four in the morning and you didn’t mean it. I’ll say it now though.

I love you.

I hate that I didn’t say it back, even if I wouldn’t have been able to really mean it, but at least I would have meant it more than you.

And I hate that I’ve lost my biggest fantasy.

You have someone new but even if it lasts till tomorrow, I know I still shouldn't try to get you back. 

You’ll never read this and I’m glad.

So, my somewhat ex-lover

This is me, signing off. 

Tales from Friction Writing Class

write a character that is unreliable

For as long as I can remember, I have loved Halloween. I don't remember why, but I do. Maybe because it was one of the only nights of the year when my parents wouldn’t fight. Maybe because I was able to dress in as much black fabric and red paint as I wanted without our neighbors pointing out that "Girls shouldn't dress so gloomy." Maybe it was because my favorite photo of my brother was him falling asleep in a stroller with a Kitkat in his mouth. For whatever reason, I always looked forward to October 31st. But after sitting in a holding cell at 2am, covered in fake blood, I have started to rethink all the hype. 

The officer walked in. "Moralez, let's go." I got up and saw that I had left a red stain on the wooden bench where I had just sat. I hoped the officer wouldn't see and add it to the charges. 

He escorted me into a small dark room with a single light hanging from the ceiling. It looked just like the ones in every cop show.

"Alright, let's get started." He sat me down in a cold metal chair. Once he sat, I was able to get a good look at his face for the first time.

"Hey, I know you. Aren't you the hero cop of Maylan County?" He looked taken aback but pleased. "Well, thank you, but that was two years." 

"I know, but still. I followed that story for two whole months. No one could stop talking about it. You got shot in the arm taking down a Meth Lab and saved two kids as well. That is amazing."

The officer started to chuckle. "You really know a lot about that case." He looked down at the papers in front of him, still smiling. "It's kind of my thing. I'm a Journalism Major."

"That's a great field to go into. A lot of opportunities for jobs."

"Thank you, sir."

He looked down again and seemed to remember where we were."So," he started. "What were you doing in the graveyard? "

I tried to make myself look small and innocent. "Pulling a prank, it's Halloween."

"A prank on who?" He backed off a bit.

"Melody Ginmen. She's the one who called you, right?"

"I'm not allowed to reveal that information." He wrote something down. "The witness said that they saw someone devil worshiping. They reported strange lights, smoke, and a dark figure bathing in blood."

"Yeah, Melody started a rumor that I'm a Satanist, so I decided to give her what she wanted."

He was quiet for a moment. "And are you?"

I laughed. "Of course not. That's ridiculous. I made sure that Melody overheard me saying I would go to the graveyard. Then I bought a bunch of stuff on Amazon and made sure that she followed me out there."

He kept writing. "Why would she start this rumor?"

"Cus she hates me. Ever since I stopped going to church with my family five years ago, she and her friends have had it out for me."

"Interesting."

"You've probably heard of her family. They're crazy religious zealots. They don't go to the doctor. They don't watch PG-13 movies. They bully people in town and protest Halloween events."

He finished writing after a minute. "I've heard enough. I'll be right back." He walked out into the hall and started talking to some other officers. After a moment, I heard a voice exclaim “I KNOW WHAT I SAW.”

Within twenty minutes, I was in the back of a squad car, being driven back to my dorm hall. The new officer asked, “So what are you studying?” 

I smiled, “Religious studies.”

Tales from fiction writing class

Write a scene where the characters are talking about an issue without actually stating it.  

We stood outside the bar, my mother and I. It was starting to rain, but she was smoking, so we couldn't go inside yet. I was slowly becoming miserable. 

"Can I go inside?"

"Gimme a minute. I'm almost done."

I didn't speak and she took another drag.

"How'd you start smoking anyway?"

"Your grandma."

Silence and a drag followed.

"Are you done yet?"

"Just wait… Jesus," she answered, angrily.

Silence. Drag.

"I really don't like this… you know," I said.

"What? Me smoking?"

"No."

The rain was still lightning falling. It reminded me of the end of a garden hose. How even when you stand under it, you never feel wet.

My mother finally spoke."Well, I do."

"I can't see why."

She took a last drag and threw the cigarette down without fully putting it out first. "You're too young to understand."

"Or maybe you didn't teach me well enough to understand."

Silence. No drag. "If you don't like it, then don't come next time."

I felt like crying. "If you're unhappy, I understand. But you can stop and do the right thing. We can do something and try to fix it. It's like when you remodeled the kitchen. You…".

She cut me off then. "The problem isn't in the kitchen, it lies in the foundation. Once the foundation's cracked, there isn't much you can do."

I wish I hadn't brought the topic up. "I don't think the foundation is cracked. I love our house. I want to save it."

Before she could say anything, the door to the bar opened. The bartender walked outside and came towards us. "My shift's over. Imma head out."

My mom turned towards him, happily saying, "Are you sure you can't stay?"

I turned away from them. I heard him say, "Yeah, but I'll see you around."

The joy in her voice died. "Around?"

"Yeah. So… bye."

They were quiet for a moment. 

He got into his car and turned on the engine. The radio started blasting some profane rap song. Once he was gone, we looked back at each other and I decided that it was time to head home. I walked to the passenger door of our car. My mother didn't say anything and walked slowly to the driver's door.

We started on the fifteen-minute drive back home still in complete silence. I decided to finally speak. "You know, even if the foundation of our home is cracked, you can't move into one of the fake room sets at IKEA."

She didn't say anything. Perhaps I had gotten to her. We pulled into the driveway and saw that my dad was already here.

I started riding the bus on Saturday nights

I started riding the bus on Saturday nights after you left. 

When the bus driver asked me where I would get off I told him the mall but I had no intention to. I would just ride around in circles, listening to music, and stare out the window at the buildings bathed in the night light. 

I don't know why you affected me so much. I'd like to say it's because I gave you my virginity, but I'd be lying. 

Maybe I just like the bus. Being there in the darkest, sitting in the silence, it’s almost felt like meditating.

Oh J

Even when I try to leave

You pull me back. 

Perhaps if I was a better poet, you’d like me for. 

writers and artists will go "this isn't good enough." my brother in christ, you're creating something new out of nothing and expressing yourself creatively. your productivity and unrealistic standards of perfection do not define you or the worth of your art. you're doing great.