Meet Jonah, the main character from my WIP debut novel, The Drop, set in 2055:
“I was eleven years old when the world went to shit.
Literally. It just started falling away, chunk by horrifying chunk.”
@original-writing
Peter Solarz
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
todays bird
Mike Driver
Xuebing Du

Janaina Medeiros

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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
sheepfilms

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d e v o n
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@rshopson
Meet Jonah, the main character from my WIP debut novel, The Drop, set in 2055:
“I was eleven years old when the world went to shit.
Literally. It just started falling away, chunk by horrifying chunk.”
@original-writing

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
~ The Things We Lack ~
Thought I’d share one of my poems with you, Writeblr. I haven’t written poetry in a while, but it’s a medium that really opens me up emotionally; to process, to heal, to explore the boundaries of convention.
I wrote this particular poem about my relationship with my estranged father and the ways it would show up in my life still. I’m no longer in this place, but I love the person who was so deeply, and reading my old poetry reminds me of how far I’ve come in this journey we call the human experience.
Thank you for reading!
R.S.
Don't Wait for Your Muse (Using Sources)
In the same way that artists collect reference photos, fashion designers collect fabrics and textures, and interior designers collect paint chips, writers must collect sources. A source could be:
Evocative, funny, or interesting dialogue
A description you’ve never heard before
Interesting and rare words
A cool dream you had
A paragraph from a book you love
A specific feeling or experience
Something you saw out in the real world
A snippet of conversation you passed by on the street
A smell that gives you a particular memory
Any other piece of art, writing, music, design, a sense, story, etc. etc.
Essentially, anything that sparks your imagination, that’s evocative of the human experience—of that humanity and closeness we’re always trying to capture. My creative writing prof said to us, “why are you waiting for a ‘muse’? Go to your sources. Don’t just wait for inspiration to strike.”
She cautioned us not to try to make sense when we put together our sources, but rather make meaning. The nice, easy part is that anything you put together will create meaning. So here’s what we gathered to get started, but I also challenge you to carry a journal or a place on your phone to start collecting things you find out in the world.
Choose a one-word or sentence theme that describes your project. For this theme, collect:
A photo, taken by anyone at any time
A poem, written by anyone
A paragraph from a newspaper or magazine article, then scramble it using the “cut up machine”
A screenshot of something posted on social media
A series of text messages, emails, or other communication between parties
A screenshot of the abstract of a scholarly article
Good luck, and if you’re comfortable, I’d love to see your collections!
Sometimes I wonder if my pup would survive the apocalypse.. Maybe there’s a story brewing here - “Woof: The Last Good Boy” 😂

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
You’ve always had a literal guardian angel- but she’s currently bleeding out on your bedroom floor.
Blood.. so much blood. It poured out of the side of her body in rivers of glittering purple.
“Call the agency! Quick!” Avalys sputtered. “They’ll know what to do! And they can send a temp G.A. to cover for me. Hurry-” another bloody cough - “there’s no… time!”
Time. TIME! Frantically, I glanced down at my wrist then felt relief wash over me. Grandpa’s old watch was still there, hands stuck forever ticking at 11:33 until the prophecy was fulfilled. The would-be assassin had not only missed me and died trying, but he had also failed to secure the watch. The demon prince would be livid.
“Right… agency… OK..” My shaking fingers flew across seemingly empty air. Muscle memory took over and within seconds, a shimmering mist in the shape of a head formed in front of me, illuminating the room.
“Thank you for calling the G.A.A. How may I direct your- OH MY HOME IN THE SKY! - what’s going on here??”
“Ava’s been shot! I… I need an angel medic, NOW, and a temp guardian. Strythnor is after me. Please, he’s trying to kill me.”
“Okay, Mister, erm.. Harris, I have confirmed your policy,” the mist said. “Medic and interim angel covered. Good thing you invested in insurance. You really dodged a bullet this time. Literally.”
“Oh for Maker’s sake, Phtaer, it’s not the time for your bad jokes,” Avalys said. “Just get a new guardian here now before the Ilthroy come back!”
“Ava, please..” I said, choking back tears. She was weak in my arms, and one of her blood-soaked wings was already disintegrating. I couldn’t believe this. She’d been with me my entire life. “Save your energy.”
“Help is en route,” Phtaer said. “Hold on, good Avalys. And, Mr. Harris..?”
“Yes?”
“I must warn you. The new guardian we’re sending, his methods are a bit…unconventional.”
“Unconvention—”
“Toodaloo! And thank you for using the G.A.A.!” The shimmering mist vanished. Not two seconds later, my bedroom wall burst into rubble like the Kool-Aid Man himself had kicked it down.
That… is how I met Dave.
@original-writing @writing-prompt-s
Was surprised and thankful to be gifted with two typewriters this holiday season - one very old (from 1930!!) and one new. Can’t wait to get writing on these. Wishing you a great end to your 2022 and a happy new year.
Just Stick To The Plan Bro
Afrofuturism gives me and others hope because it counteracts the trauma porn we have to consume, and replaces it with the ability to see Black people in imaginative ways, not only as a form of escape but also creativity, making one dare imagine a world of were Black people get to live better lives than what have been offered to us. It gives me hope that Black liberation is possible and the experiences for Black lives do not have to be the same.
A look at what Afrofuturism means, how the movement might be changing and must-read books in the genre, from Octavia E. Butler to N.K. Jemis
Afrofuturism gives us an opportunity to discuss critical topics in other-real settings, imagine a path beyond the boxes put on Black people since as long as people have been recording and (misrepresenting) history. And most importantly, for me, imagining the stories of the future are a way to shape the present, re-presenting Black joy and limitless potential.
📖 Snippet from my WIP sci-fi novel, The Drop. Twelve-year old Jonah reflects on the bleak future ahead as Earth disappears piece-by-piece. Full excerpt below…
Earth, 2056 (Drop Year 1)
The neighbors had placed offerings along the last bit of sidewalk in front of where our house had been. We packed them up as best we could and stood huddled there, clinging to each other and what little we had left until our tears ran dry. It was time to move on.
“We can’t stay here, kids,” Mom said. “The neighbors mean well, for now, but…”
But.
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. There was only so much Earth to go around.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s how the world will end, then… with one lonely person balancing on a tiny patch of ground, holding what little they can’t live without, surrounded by absolute nothingness.
And I wonder, if it were me, would I stay standing or simply… step off?
• • •
Follow me and/or head over to rshopson.com for more. I’d love to hear from you.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
HOW TO: WRITEBLR;
so youve migrated from writing twt to writeblr -> what now?
the following is my masterpost on the ins and outs of navigating the writeblr landscape! while it can be scary to deep-dive into the world of writing on tumblr for the first time, there are a few actions you can take to make it a lot easier to interact and share your writing.
psa: this is neither an extensive nor complete list of writeblr tips! but i hope it can help :)
💬 Helpful tips for those who are new / back on Tumblr like I am. The community, culture, and creativity here is amazing.
Excerpt from my WIP novel, The Drop:
2065, Drop Year 10
On the eve of her 21st birthday, Jonah looks out over the wasteland that once was Houston. Giant gaping voids open at random to and beyond the horizon, swallowing more of the world.
“The strange rain came again tonight. I watched it drench the city I was born in, a city now unrecognizable. It’s been this way for ten years. What’s the point in wondering why anymore? Better to just try and enjoy the light show before the sky disappears, too.”
Are you guys as excited as I am for the Ice Pick Joe prequel movie? I’m glad they got an unknown to play him. Joe was always one of my favorite characters in Goncharov. So much nuance and conflict..
“I can’t be at the bottom of your bottle no more, Marie. I just can’t.”
😭😭😭 Fall 2023 can’t come soon enough.
“Good fiction’s job is to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.”
— David Foster Wallace
Read on for an excerpt from my WIP scifi novel… (photo taken and edited by me)
Drop Year 0, 2055
“No matter what Cal said, he wasn’t too old to enjoy the carousel. In the Great Before, we would go there every weekend after church. Over time, I’d graduated from the individual pony that glided up and down, cream-colored with purple trim and a caramel-painted mane, to a sophisticated, padded carriage more befitting a young woman of my eleven-now-twelve years. Cal had attachments to that thing and its dancing sculptures that I wouldn’t understand.
“Come on, Nugget,” I said to him. “I know where your cowboy hat is!” He tried to hide a smile, tucked the holoreader under his arm, and stood up, ready to play Nat Love.
And so, that morning found us bouncing up the steps to the mall, determined to celebrate what we could and put what we could not out of mind for just a little bit. Cal wanted to race, so we did, but carrying everything I cared about in the pockets of the two coats I wore on top of each other, I felt like I might pass out before we got to our destination - 100 degrees in the middle of September. Should be illegal. Summer never ended anymore.
Cal would have beat me by a landslide, but I lunged for him and grabbed his jeans playfully right before the top. We fell over in a pile at the top of the stairs. It was cheating, sure, but it was also lucky. When we looked up, we saw it happen. The mall and the carousel in the center of the outdoor food court, tons of people clinging to a semblance of normal life, all of it.
The air above us and a few feet ahead wavered slightly - in the way that air dances from the heat above a campfire - so slight that you question whether you saw it at all… but over a much larger area. And then, a perfect blackness swallowed all that the ground had been, and everything atop it began to slide out of existence.
The screams of the scrambling shoppers, the carousel-riders, and their attentive parents were skull-shattering, then they were a faint echo, and then they, like the three department stores and the cream-colored pony with the purple trim, were nothing but a memory. It all happened so fast. All we could do was… watch.”

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The chokehold this scene has on me… Goncharov (1973) was so ahead of its time.
“We all start out as strangers,” Sofia said, shrugging. We watched the tiny flame dance in the moonlight between us.
“Don’t you ever get tired of the games, Sofia? Of pretending not to care?”
“Oh, Katya…” She took a long drag of the cigarette burning between her slender fingertips, let the smoke-wisps float up to her face and frame it like a halo. “Reality is just a matter of perspective.”
She would never, could never understand, Katya realized.
Time. Time is reality. And it was running out.