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#writers guild
theperplexedpoet · 7 days ago
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the collective (the pawn wandered aimless) - a new poem
the collective it gathers here in the power of words they come to share what matters here where they can all be heard as all the blocks get shattered so the dream it gets preserved the collective it gathers here in the power of words so the pawn wandered aimless through this web, widely woven pain and pen set to frame this scars borne out in the open but he knew there must be more than this cold path tread alone magic he had touched before and that he had once called home but that was before the storm broke what will he had within when it then became his norm to retreat into his pen from there he heard a choir singing a familiar verse then he approached the risers just as he had once rehearsed the collective it gathers here in the power of words they come to share what matters here where they can all be heard as all the blocks get shattered so the dream it gets preserved the collective it gathers here in the power of words so the pawn wandered aimless through this web, widely woven pretended he was blameless as each retreat was chosen still he knew there must be more when he heard the chorus sing magic he had touched before when his voice had little ring back long before the storm clouds gathered intent to break him too cold to ever warm crowds with sentiments forsaken and so he turned defeated from the guild's gilded tower here, ever the retreated no hero's quest or power the collective it gathers here in the power of words they come to share what matters here where they can all be heard as all the blocks get shattered so the dream it gets preserved the collective it gathers here in the power of words as the pawn wandered aimless through this web, widely woven for a chance to re-frame this knew he must remain open for he knew that there was more and it was empowering magic he had touched before that kept him from cowering that he had too long ignored in these waves of suffering so he sang again once more with the choir's offering he stepped up on the risers just as he had once rehearsed new counsel, new advisors and that old familiar verse the collective it gathers here in the power of words they come to share what matters here where they can all be heard as all the blocks get shattered so the dream it gets preserved the collective it gathers here in the power of words here the pawn found direction through this web, widely woven in flames of resurrection where a new fate was chosen (4/8/2021)
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novemberue · 5 months ago
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A rehearsal with you
Full dosage of ecstasy is forced down my throat, grasping the very larynx of my words, halting my laughs as I ride on the back of giant cats and catch my breath as I resonate with their purr—a pleasure of how good I pet their chin. I tell them a story of my stagnant growth, an eye-to-eye conversation of the lonesome day that I was born, first popped out like a naked mole rat then held by a kind, motherly arms; embracing all the ugliness in every inch of my helpless body. 
But months before I was born, she had planned to kill all the ugliness right there, in front of my nameless father. The burden of being committed to care for a new life in a world like this was something she hadn’t hoped for.
My puffy eyes sagged all the way down my face, sadness betrothed my meekness in things—      I couldn’t even carry myself      to see the reflection of my isolated knack for things; with a fragile spine like mine, a will against the world was too much for me to stand up for. I was only a new disturbance to the thrill of life that my mother had paced in her beloved daily things.
She saw me as a profanity language,      only given attention in wrong occurrences,      only spoken to when in anger,      only talked about when heated conversations fuel the meanings of my bent body—here and there, words were curved and broken by the very person who composed the first beats of my heart. And as I swirl in the big eyes of my only listeners, I saw myself in them, still with bags sagging under my eyes but now with a stronger spine for things.
It was through our unlikely meeting that I learned to gesture my ugliness through the acts of gleeful sway of arms and meticulous strike of fingers      —there was nothing more pleasing for my heaving breaths than to put myself in a lifeless sleep, after filling the corners of my room with the imaginary furry giants of my colorful childhood ecstasy.
I should’ve ended my story to them there, but another eye-to-eye conversation had piqued my interest,      this time, with a clueless reader who is reading a poem      of a girl who has been staring at her      since she opened the book of her circus life.  
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novemberue · 5 months ago
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more day, less dream
It was three a.m. when we found the similar rhythm of our steps as we walk on the calm streets of Muzon under the dark sky and the humid small province that were pinching our cheeks cold. I remember our lips, sharing the unsaid feelings we had in the name of Orion, big deeper, and other constellations that we named ‘sana’ and ‘tayo’.
We clothed them like a blanket over us— acting playful as if we were fifteen-year-olds again;   stomping on the construction site, kicking stones   to scare the aspins on the other side   of the building, and we let them bark at us   while we laugh at our silly schemes   —we were playful because our hearts wavered   at the thought of opening up the stitched-up wounds.
I knew it would only last for a matter of smile, the tender seconds of our faces leaning closer to each other only to look the other way and brag about the name of things we are both passionate about—but never in love.
We hailed a bus headed to Cubao, making sure to sit at the far back row sitting against the window seat, with you, on the left side
                                                          and I, on the right.
That’s how long we can stay silent about everything, three seats apart spoke our hesitation to embrace the warmth of our skin,          as we force our eyes to look at anything           but each other’s sleepy faces,           sana and tayo outside our windows           is fading in the forlorn of dusk ‘til dawn.
It’s ironic how we both feel different things despite looking at the same sky .  
Finally reaching the bus stop, we were greeted by the sunrise and the dividing rhythm of our steps. We returned to our twenty-something again: talking about our future careers and the current lovers we pretend to be our genuine love interest— but I know you are done pretending anymore.
For the first time, I saw a distinct light in your eyes,           too different from the constellations we named           when we were deeply involved in the playful years           of when we settled for the less of ‘us’.
I am still pretending.
Still placid in the way I look at you in secrecy as if I never brought you close to my heart.
That same day, when I went home to my beloved small town I had fallen somber when I gazed outside my window, and only saw sana that night.
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poetastry · 8 months ago
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In the middle of isolation, I fell to my worst habits. I did them too religiously that the concept of time began to feel like some sort of long-forgotten letters I hid under my bed; I know it's there, but I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to tend its need to be looked at. To be read like it's something urgent. Something important. Yes, I am in an inexplicable state of loneliness. For I never thought this kind of reality would meet me in the corner of my room; how the once comforting pat on my back finally came in a shape of a blurㅡI no longer know what love feels like. But thank God, I still know how to love.
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Thoughts on creating our very own little dark academia writers guild?
We could share our poems and stories, fanfics, whatever it is! We could then help each other with thoughts, critiques, compliments— I don’t know, I’m honestly just longing to converse with fellow writers.
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morphiccompendium · 10 months ago
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As long as police unions continue to wield their collective bargaining power as a cudgel, preventing reforms and accountability, no one is safe
Writers Guild of America East
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btxtreads · 11 months ago
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TXT WRITING NETWORK? 👀
so there’s a bts ghost writers page and im joining once they open again lol but is there a txt ghost writers page because i want in HAHAHAHA (ghost writers like,,,, slow updates...... like i do...... but im always here im just very slow.....)
(or should i make one bc moa we need content sharing and also i rlly want tumblr friends 👉👈)
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londonsiennaburning · a year ago
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Sienna Miller attends the 72nd Writers Guild Awards at Edison Ballroom on February 01, 2020 in New York City.
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poet-whisperer · a year ago
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Of course, because in the end how else are you influenced by their writing if not by their thoughts
@poet-whisperer
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poet-whisperer · a year ago
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If I could have a song for you It would be a cold winters embrace chilly and comforting like being snuggled in a blanket. If I could have a song for you It would a blossom in spring Filled with a tinge of honey and the earthy rain. If I could have a song for you It would be the scent of fresh air gentle and clean rubbing against my nose with a whiff of the sea to tickle. If I could have a song for you It would be a sweet yellow-red harvest in a fall ready to begin anew crisp and cold and damp and more. If I could have a song for you It would be to a tune that only you would understand It would be to a tune not even meant for me.
@poet-whisperer Just another seasonal poem
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lazywritersunite · a year ago
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sanity
"Stop looking at me like that! I have nothing to apologize for." She thought about how insane she would seem to an outsider right now. "It wasn't my fault and you know it."
She sighed. "But it wasn't yours either, so I'm sorry for snapping."
"Meow," her companion replied.
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sablefilms · a year ago
Link
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toloveawarlord · 2 years ago
Hi! I was wondering if you could tell me how in the world you come up with your stories?! I am planning to make my own webcomic, and I just can't think of anything to do with my characters. I know how they act, what they do, who they are, but I just can't seem to come up with a plot! I know that comics and stories aren't exactly the same thing, but I think your stories are really well written, and it would help me a lot if you could give some tips on how to make a good plot?? Thanks so much!
Hey young padawan!
I squealed with delight when I got this ask! I shall try myhardest to answer this as best as I can!
First off, lucky for you, I am also in the business ofwriting webcomics! On the 11th, my artists best friend and I entereda comic into a comic contest, but I digress.  Webcomics and written stories are not thatdifferent, save for the fact that webcomics have a visual element that writtenstories do not. A lot of the “written” part of a webcomic will be translatedinto panel images instead of simply being written. Dialogue and narration arethe only written words that go into a webcomic.
Plot on the other hand, works pretty much the same in kindof storytelling.
The first thing that I would suggest in creating a plot, isdeciding what genre you want the webcomic to be written in. For example, a Fantasycomic’s plot will revolve around some kind of adventure/journey and maybe a bigvillain to be battling against. While on the other hand, a slice of life webcomicwill deal with more day to day problems, like relationship issues, jobproblems, and more mundane and localized plot.
Writing advice is hard because what works for one person,might not work for another. Most of my stories come from years and years of reading both written novels and even other fanfiction and writing so manystories. This is probably said a lot by authors, but my plots mostly just cometo me from daydreaming and working within the stories that have already beenestablish, like my fanfictions that I write.
Plots are essentially made of a few things:
What the maincharacter(s) wants/needs to achieve
How is the maincharacter(s) going to work towards getting that?
What is standing in themain character(s) way?
How does the maincharacter(s) overcome that obstacle?
What are therepercussions/end result of the actions taken by the main character(s)
There are many other sub-plots that can be weaved into thestory, but I would say that those are the main things that need to be addressedto begin working toward a good story. Once you establish a basic plot line,then you begin to weave in smaller obstacles and sub-plots for the charactersto have to face along their way to the biggest obstacle in the story.
 For the webcomic that I wrote called “Glenn Haven”, the basisfor it came from my desire to write about a serial killer and how he gets awaywith his murders. That was the very first idea that I had, and then I justbuilt on it from there. Working out his personality, I learned that he used womenwho had a twisted enough personality and desire to kill but hadn’t ever actedon it, thus my second main character was born!
Though, that was still not enough to link the two characterstogether and have a solid plot line, and I brainstormed more ideas of exactlyhow he justifies the murders to a girl who has never acted on her desire tokill, because although it’s possible for her to just jump on board, most peoplewouldn’t do that without good incentive.
Along my research journey, I chose to make him a prophet ofa cult, as that would allow him a place to stay outside of the law, as they aretheir own governing body outside of the city that they kill in, and the cultused religion to justify murdering people because it was a ritual of “cleansing”the outside world.
 That’s how I do my stories, really. Start small, and build.Ask lots of questions about how this will happen, and what the results are ofany choices that the characters make. Brainstorm to make connections betweenthe details.
I hope that this was a little helpful. I’m not that great atadvice! Stories are something that come from inside me and a lot of the time, I hadzero idea where that idea originated. But breaking it down like I did my own webcomicexplains a lot of my thought process.
If I knew a little more about your comic, then I might beable to offer more solid advice geared specifically toward it. If you ever wantto reach out and talk one on one, I’m here ^_^
And this little plug goes out to anyone who follows me andwants a place to talk and brainstorm with others who are writing original work,there is The Writer’s Guild that I run on discord! Come in and chat with us,ask for beta readers, and brainstorm ideas! Shoot me a message if you want an invite!
-Ruka  
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tarralin · 2 years ago
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First Day
Written for @writers-guild-discord
Prompt: “You'll wish you never asked me that.”
Fandom: Original Work
Words: 752
Warnings: minor physical violence, slight spoilers for Fox Hunt
~☆~
Mabel sighed as she gazed over the property creek. It was exciting to have actual friends for once, especially since moving to Dallas and into a new gymnastic circuit.
But could she really do what they were asking of her?
“What if one if you gets badly hurt?”
Rica rolled her eyes. “Then we say we were practicing our contest floor routines.”
“How would that cover a black eye?”
Jules spoke this time. “We were all practicing at the same time and lost track of where the others were. We collided, maybe took a knee or heel to the eye.”
Mabel glared now. “How long have you two been planning this?”
“Since you took down those three bullies!”
“That was my first day at the gym!”
The incident occurred over a month ago. Her first rehearsal with her new team had just come to a close when she headed to her car in the parking lot. No one stopped her to talk, not that she expected anyone to. At sixteen, most of the performers weren't looking for new friends and only interested to see if the newcomer was talented enough to keep them from their Olympic dreams. Mabel had learned to control her own natural abilities to the point of fronting a false show of amateurism and lackluster performance, keeping the Olympic hopefuls off her back so she could focus on true strength gain.
She had just thrown her gym bag into her trunk when she heard heckling from across the lot. Her father's training ensured stealth as she snuck around a building wall, stooping down to be hidden by a dumpster. There were three male voices she didn't recognize from the gym but the two female voices she remembered from her new team.
“Don't you three have a puck to be chasing?”
“No, Jules,” -- that was the one called Rica-- “that's for actual hockey players, you know? Not wannabe benchwarmers.”
“What did you say?”
The ensuing scuffle was unmistakable. A gym bag fell to the ground with a thud and the rustling of windbreaker warm-ups told her someone had just been shoved to ground.
“Hey!” Both girls shouted at once.
Mabel scaled to the dumpster’s top and launched herself upon the trio. She hooked a leg around the torso of the nearest boy and used the momentum of the fall to slam him into another boy, sending them both rolling across the pavement. The third stood frozen and wide-eyed at the display as she paced the distance to the two girls who had been shoved into a wall, offering a hand to each.
“I think you and your friends should get to chasing that puck.”
That got the boy's feet moving as he backed away to run after the other two who were already scrambling to their feet and dashing around a corner.
“You two okay?”
“We are now. Thanks.” The Latina was first to accept Mabel's hand before turning to help her friend off the ground. “Why is it always your mouth that gets us into these situations?”
“Hey, they've never touched us before! How was I supposed to know that would happen?”
“You've ran into them before?” Mabel questioned.
“They love making fun of all the gymnasts when they can.”
“But this is the first they've actually followed us and did anything like that. I'm Juliana by the way, everyone just calls me Jules. Sorry we were late today and didn't get to meet you.”
“And I'm Rica, the reason we were late.”
That first round of laughter turned into a milkshake run and Mabel driving them home when they would have otherwise walked. Over the next several weeks, it surprised her to learn how many things there were to do outside her normal routine. Jules and Rica weren't daughters of career military generals like she was and looked forward to movies and shoe shopping instead of gun ranges and muddy forest hikes.
But now they wanted Mabel to train them as her father had taught her?
She glanced back out over the creek while her hand ran through her hair. “Are you sure you want my kind of training? My family has been doing intensive military exercises for generations and I still have a long way to go.”
Rica's brow arched with more attitude than if she had vocalized her usual ‘try me’ line. Jules simply shrugged. “We’re gymnasts, too. How hard could it be?”
A bark of laughter escaped Mabel. “You'll wish you never asked me that.”
~☆~
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jihbazfubyok · 2 years ago
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Ms. Masseuse,
I’m hear to call
A truce,
In need of your company,
And your sober truth... 
1999,
Citadella Wine,
Just looking to spend some time,
Perhaps even dine,
But really just spend some time,
At either your place or mine...
Simply to,
Converse,
Laugh,
Converse,
And converse some more...
I miss our friendship,
And you are still a treasure that
I adore...
My open and honest nights started with you,
And that’s a path I find myself returning,
So I can only pray this gets to you,
Because I’m longing for a night of
Dynamic conversation and laughter,
That only seems to come from time
Spent with you...
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toloveawarlord · 2 years ago
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Writer’s Guild!
Special Announcement!
@sleepyfoxspirit  and @alloveroliver and myself are running a writer’s guild!
This is for ANY kind of writing, original or fanfiction! We are aiming to create a space for writers to come together and share their knowledge and experience, resources, beta read, and edit! This is a place where we will build each other up as writers and have a community!
We have a group blog as well that you will become a member of as a place to showcase your work from our prompts and other events!
Please inquire with one of us Guild Master’s for an invite to the discord group! We look forward to meeting all of you writer’s out there!
-Admin Ruka
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jihbazfubyok · 3 years ago
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Destiny
I always struggled with the thought Of destiny... If I decided my own destiny, Or if I was already destined to be Who I was going to be, And if that's the case and I'm just me, Then I'd never have to change, And let whatever meant to be, Be... That mentality, Was no good for me, For depression began to sow, Deep into my heart, I'm talking 40 days and nights of rain, With no ark... As the years go by and now Destiny is clear to me... We are all destined for greatness, For we were created by The Greatest, But all though destined for it, Blessed and cursed we are with Freedom of choice... So yes your destiny is preplanned, But wanting to attain your great destiny, Is in your hands...
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stcrwhiz · 3 years ago
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MY ENTIRE DASH IS DEATH
STOP REBLOGGING THE DAMN WRITERS GUILD DEATH DAY FANFICS I GET IT IM CRYING ALREADY
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themikewheelers · 3 years ago
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The Day Is Coming
"That meadow was never meant to be a graveyard. When 8-year-old Nancy found it, it was just a place to play. She used her imagination to see it as a castle, a courtyard, a ballroom, but never a graveyard."
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dualredundancy · 4 years ago
Video
youtube
In this week's episode David and Kyle discuss the winners of the 69th Writers Guild Awards (1:45) and of the 59th Grammy Awards (13:25). They also discuss Katy Perry’s unique song release strategy (17:35), Monopoly’s token voting contest (21:30) and how a film used fake news for promotion (29:25). Finally, we review the series premieres of Big Little Lies (36:45) and Crashing (48:40).
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