I'm serious. Please write it. If you need a sign to start, continue, or whatever is inbetween, this is it. Go do it.
I spent the past couple weeks indulging myself in some BookTok recommendations. While some were indeed good (Kings of Sin, my beloved), some were just...I don't need to finish my sentence there.
I DNF'd some books for the first time since I read Lord of the Flies (sorry Golding, you put me to sleep with your descriptions) and I powered through others in hopes that they would eventually get better. The general consensus I ended up getting was that I could not understand for the fucking life of me how these books got published. The writing in some of them was no better than that of a 2010s teen writing Maximum Ride fic on Wattpad for the first time, with the characterization abysmal enough to match.
I don't want to knock any specific author or book here, because I will concede one thing: they finished their books. They got them published. They're successful. For that, I commend them, because I'm still on my way there myself and I can't take that away from them. Jolly good show.
But that brings me to my point: if they can do it, YOU absolutely can do it too.
If some of these Amazon and NYT bestsellers can have prose on a Wattpad level with characters that have enough poorly-written cognitive dissonance to make Deadpool or Walter White jealous, your fleshed out, deeply intuitive, and remarkably creative epic can sit right alongside them no problem. Whether you're writing the next GoT or a romantic slice-of-life, there is a not a goddamn thing on this planet stopping you from rolling up with the big dogs.
If these guys can do it, so can you.
So, stop telling yourself you can't. Stop letting other people tell you you can't. Stop comparing yourself to these authors who, respectfully and bluntly, can't write for shit (or at least need to fire their fucking editors, good lord).
WRITE YOUR DAMN BOOK. PLEASE. WE NEED IT.
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Having so many ideas for stories (Original or Fanfiction) can be such a blessing and a curse at the same time.
Yes, it’s cool to have enough concepts to be able to write until the end of time. But, what do you mean they all want to be written NOW?! Get in line guys! I can’t write that many stories at once!!!
Chaos does not destroy art. It is the very womb from which art is born. Art does not fear chaos. It dives into it. It drinks from it. It lets the storm tear it apart so that something truer can emerge from the fragments. The blank canvas is chaos. The silent mind before the first note is chaos. The raw, screaming material of life – pain, memory, desire, destruction – is chaos. And the artist is the one who does not run from it, but steps inside and begins to listen. In the heart of true art, chaos is not the enemy of form. It is the wild heartbeat beneath the form. Without chaos there is only decoration. With chaos there is depth, tension, life. The greatest works do not hide the crack. They make the crack sing. They let the fracture become light. A painting that looks perfect from afar reveals trembling, broken lines up close. A symphony that lifts the soul carries within it dissonances that almost break it. This is the secret: art does not resolve chaos. It reveals its hidden music. The role of chaos in art is liberation. It frees the artist from the prison of control. It teaches the hand to tremble honestly. It teaches the soul to speak before it understands. In the chaos the artist loses himself – and in that loss he finds something larger than himself. Something ancient. Something eternal. The creative act is always a small death and a new birth inside the whirlwind. Chaos in art is the echo of the universe. The stars were born in cosmic violence. New galaxies emerge from collisions. So too with every real creation. The artist who avoids chaos creates pleasant things. The artist who embraces chaos creates living things – works that bleed, breathe, and remember.
Chaos in art is not the absence of order. It is the birthplace of a deeper order. An order that does not command the storm, but dances inside it. True art does not tame chaos. It falls in love with it. And from that dangerous love, beauty is reborn – wilder, wiser, and free.
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 Welcome to our 12th Spotlight Of The Week! This week’s writer is . . .Â
@the-ellia-west!
This week’s author mostly writes whump, romance, and fantasy. She’s written fanfiction when she was a little kid, and she prefers writing very long projects.
She’s got a writing sideblog! @whump-since-2010, make sure to check it out!
Blurbs for her stories!
Jest of Royalty (post: here):
Ever since his sister was born, Ronan has been the provider for his family, a hunter and a fighter. Seventeen and in charge of funds and food since his father is unable to find work with a paralyzed leg and his mother dissapeared years ago, Ronan is the only one who's had to deal with the whispers and rumors of 'curses' on the Terrys family. He shuts the rumors up quick with his fists, and has gained a reputation for himself in town. When you hear the footsteps of the forest elf, hold your tongue, or he might tear it out. And in this, Ronan has found himself face-to-face with a unique foe, his long-time nemesis, the young god of chance and gambling, Mangrove. However, as tensions grow thin under the watchful eye of the new Trifold-Coast Alliance and policies of peace.
But when Mangrove ambushes Ronan on a hunting trip, taunting him and threatening the safety of his home, Ronan decides he's had enough and takes measures to make sure this is the last time he has to deal with him. He takes Mangrove's staff, his godly artifact and only claim to power and home in the realm of the heavens, and shatters it against a rock, letting the pieces fall into a small hole between the four realms, the power of a god gone in an instant. Horrified, Mangrove flees, and under the light of an ensuing meteor shower, the Starfall, Ronan returns to his home to find it torn to the ground, a poster in the remains detailing the deliberate and swift execution of his father for 'Traitorous Heresy'. Ronan buries his family, taking up his father's old bow, and swears vengeance right then and there.
Along his journey for and revenge and answers, Ronan decides to head for the one place he always wanted to go, The Archives. In his quest for power, he crosses paths with two Harpies of good heart with an uncertain love story between them, a powerful faerie mage fascinated by any magic and her brother, a broken and angry Satyr, each other all they have left, a merchant with dreams of love and joy, an emotionless phantom with a sadness buried beneath a stone heart, and the very same old enemy he slighted to start the whole ordeal. With the loss of old families haunting their steps, together, they make a new one.
The Red String (Post: here)
Knives and targets, blood and tears. A Shadow, a chameleon in the crowds of the nobles, a hundred identities, a hundred faces. But he knows only one name as his own, Puppet. That’s what she calls him. The woman who owns his every thought. Lady Eilene Hallon. Her wish is his movement, her life is his breath. Not a person, but a possession. 026. The Northwing Facility’s newest weapon. And as long as 026 can remember, that’s all he’s ever been. A life lived in a ditch, the constant taste of blood and lingering agony of Eilene's rage. Pulling himself back to his feet, alone.
Raised since childhood for the scope of a gun, 026 should know better than to feel remorse for his prey. After all, that's all they are. Prey. But the blood on the walls and the screams for mercy haunt him, his only semblance of freedom found in high nights and Dreary mornings. Everything slowly goes from bad, to worse as 026 begins to lose his grip on everything that kept him sane. Until he fails. His target leaves alive. And Eilene is furious.
Tortured for half the evening and left to die, 026 accepted that he would, ready to meet the darkness with one last sigh, anything would be better than this. Until he wakes up, temporarily blind with a couple dozen broken bones in a place he doesn't recognize and people he doesn't trust.
Eve, the farmer's daughter who fished him out of the alleyway and hauled him home. Cole, the easily-excitable little boy with a lot of questions and an empty space in his life for a protector. Iris, the matriarch and the watcher who waits for 026 to prove himself to her. Lucian, the friendly church book-keeper and retired Therapist. And the Watchful eyes of a God 026 never believed in, whispering that his life has a purpose, and it's not his time to die just yet.
Also, she has a concept series called Butterfly! Check it out here.
She adores exploring things like how behaviors can affect your life and relationships and overall how people bond, why, and what family and redemption looks like! She’s a Christian, and her religion impacts a lot of her work, especially in seeing the beauty of human beings, relationships, and other things!And that’s a wrap! Thanks so much for reading all the way to the end of this post ;) And if you or anyone else you know would appreciate being nominated for a post like this as well, check out the intro post here or pinned to the top of my blog and make sure to nominate!
