Always the writer, never the reader.
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A reminder to all my lovely fellow writers: progress is progress, even when it isn't. Writing four thousand words in a session is progress. Writing a hundred words in a session is progress. Removing an entire scene because it doesn't flow well is progress. Rethinking your plan for the plot in order to get unstuck is progress. Development looks different for every writer and every story.
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i’m such a “🥹” girl. sorry not sorry i feel everything so deeply
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I just drank two cans of coca cola and wrote almost ten thousand words in one day. I'm a minor god. I'm a tattered woman in a cave. I'm a bodiless thing, a slowly lumbering deity.
I have to go night night now.
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there are two moods reading something you wrote months ago:
this is garbage
i am a GODDESS
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Honest Writer Thoughts
I need someone to create a successful live adaptation of one of my books so that I can be invited to and attend a red carpet event, where I can finally wear a glamorous and expensive gown.
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The real tragedy of writing is knowing where the plot is going, knowing exactly what happens in a scene, down to the exact sentences you're going to use, and somehow still not being able to write.
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I don’t write my characters, my characters write themselves and I just pick up the broken pieces left by their ill advised hijinks and repressed traumas and try to cobble them together into a coherent narrative
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I am pleased to report I’ve discovered the cure for writer’s block and I’m dismayed to say that it is, in fact, writing.
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Holding her hand, isn't just a common act for me.
The desire longing inside, without turning your head you reach, fingertips brushing the back of hand, the moment hers spider out to meet and connect.
A sense of calm, warmth that spreads in realms greater than flesh pressed together.
Unspoken energy in touch, the gentle pulsing squeeze, the thumb lifting up and softly stroking her fragile knuckle. The feathering of fingers for a moment to gain a stronger bond.
The feeling of wholeness, the quiet, sometimes absent minded trade of love we take for granted.
Unappreciated intimacy, protection, support, attention.
My hand, my woman, my love.
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quiet moments, one of my favorite childhood books was the very hungry caterpillar and last year my fiancé gifted my the little plushie 🌿reblog is ok, don’t repost/use
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