#write often

Ahhhhhh I am all here for this with some shitty quotes which render all my shitty quotes redundant.  It’s totally intimating to say these things because the advice I will give is already out there, it’s been said before, in much better, more profound ways. But I won’t let that stop me from saying the same sentiment again, but in my own voice. 

I feel this way all the time.  Comparing yourself directly to the greats of writing is counterproductive. When you read back your writing, judge it against your own progress.  It’s okay to not be brilliant right away, to feel like your never going to get to the ‘masterpiece’ levels that you adore, but you will. You’re probably not doing as badly as you think you are.  

If you write something and you hate it,  leave it alone for a few weeks, hide it.  forget about it and then come back to it later and see how you feel, see how you want to improve and rewrite it. No one creates a masterpiece in their first draft.   

 To become a better writer there are two things you must do. The first is to read, continue reading your favourite authors,  but read everything else as well. Read outside of your comfort zone, read terrible books. Read books about dinosaurs or quantum physics, read poetry and children’s books, read drama and horror. Read everything you can and imagine how you would have written it differently. 

The second, is to write. That’s it. Just write. But again, write out of your comfort zone.  If you want your writing to improve, don’t just practice writing the same type of thing over and over again.  Because you will get better at what you practice, but if you practice bad habits, you’ll be really good at writing in a way that you might not like. Mix it up a bit. Practice writing in different genres and times and voices and characters.  

And the hardest advice to follow of all: don’t worry about it.  Write anyway.

 Your writing is bad?  Don’t worry about it. Write anyway.  

Someone else is better than you? Don’t worry about it. Write anyway. 

You just read an amazing book and are stuck in that world and voice and never want to leave?? Don’t worry about it. Write anyway.

 Feel intimidated and in over your head? Don’t worry about it. Write anyway. 

People asking you questions you’re not sure how to answer? Don’t worry about it. Write anyway. 

Writing an answer way longer than the original question? Don’t worry about it. Write anyway. 

Not sure if you’re being helpful or pretentious? Don’t worry about it. Write anyway.

 Everyone has a hard time. But try not to dwell on it. You totally got this! 

Goodluck, and keep writing! :) 

Span. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy” - Franklin Roosevelt  

“Practice makes perfect, so be careful what you practice” 

"I've been giving a lot more thought, to the whole, humans cohabitating, thing." Cataleya took a soft puff at her nearly needle thin cigar. On the exhale, smoke danced out of full lips onto tan skin, before disappearing at her perfectly upright, pointed nose.

The sun was setting her up to glow beside her brother in all of her 6'6 glory. Bare feet attached to mile long legs in painted on black denim. More than half of her midsection was bare, with a long piece of black fabric tied around her chest, and the long end of one of the strands of the knot hanging down the right side of her body; it might have been a scarf.

"What's been on your mind, sister?" Stout, 6'2 Keylo hopped up from the curb in one fluent motion that required absolutely no effort. His bare, dark skin glistened in sweat as the direct sunlight kissed his skin. Beside his sister, he pulled his full, black, curly hairy into a bunch in his hand, before sliding the band off his wrist and doing a weak job at containing the locks.

"I understood that during the extinction, humans existed together, the strong ones, anyway. Like it would make sense to have your strongest soldiers to-"

"You don't have any cigarettes on you, do you?" Keylo interrupted while dropping four hits of enthia in his right eye.

"Give me a moment," Cataleya was gone from the left side of her brother instantly.

With Keylo on his fifth round of enthia in an hour, he let the instant effect help him to enjoy the other wise boring view of nature reclaiming an abandoned gas station out of a viable quadrant. Vines wrapped around what was left of three pillars holding up the roof by the pumps. A tree, broken entirely through the concrete in the corner of the lot by the half dirt, half cement road. Branches long, and full swaying in the stirring breeze of the afternoon.

It almost had an opportunity to be captivating, if the soft sound of an uneven flutter hadn't made Keylo jump thirty feet north, one hand to the ground, legs bent to leap at a moment's notice.

From sixty yards away, he had spotted what had to be an uncharacteristically small demigon dart into the tree, as to conceal itself. Like maybe the unusual flutter was that of an unusual enemy, maybe one of those damn things near death; hard to say when there had never been one so tiny to emerge from a portal. At least not in his 124 years.

And to see something out of the ordinary, after knowing his ordinary for over a century, especially after his brush with death, he was more than reluctant to investigate what could be a brand new threat; and he wasn't going to climb back into that damn bed again.

No leap to get there, no sprint. His steps were light, and deliberate, bare feet sure not to snap a twig, or brush a pebble. He even stopped breathing, so he knew, from what he could distinguish between the wind rustling the leaves, and the steady drip from what was left of the room of the ruin like gas station, that whatever had darted into that tree, was no longer fluttering. Which could have meant a couple things.

Like maybe, it had been some dying demigon, that existed outside of the six to eight foot height he had been accustomed throughout his life, and throughout history. Or maybe, whatever it was, had spotted him from a mile away. Maybe, whatever the small black, fluttering thing was that had fallen silent, was waiting for the right time, to dart across the space between them, and drive itself through his chest. He stepped lighter, like he might get the jump on it, and picked up a heavy rock for a projectile, if that flying thing was the latter.

He's maybe five yards from the base of the tree, wind tussling lose strands of black hair, when the small black winged thing flies from the bottom of the thicket. Without hesitation, Keylo fires the rock from his hand, clipping one of the wings, and with feeling like he has the jump on it, darts to where it had plummeted back to earth.

Five feet away from him, in some tall grass, was the small black winged beast. It had to be maybe the size of his massive hand. Symmetrical as all hell. Two appendages coming out of the base of the body that were, twig like, with three claws at the ends of them. The bulk of it, compact, tiny, covered in, maybe, hair, but not like any hair he had seen. It was black, sheen, and very uniform, tight, all over it's body, as if each of the black hairs grew out of the base of another firmer hair. The same hair adorned the right wing, and what would have adorned the left, if the stone hadn't torn it off.

A couple steps closer, before leaping back fifteen feet when it started to writhe before him.

"What's that?"

"Fuck," on instinct, Keylo shot around with an open right palm to attack the new entity behind him. Which ended up being a mistake, when his sister's quicker reflexes only had him crashing his hand into an invisible wall, which prompted another, "FUCK!"

"Christ, Keylo, what's wrong with you," Cataleya said with a cigarette between her teeth as a lighter floated up to the end, and ignited it.

"You gave me a fright." Keylo was forcing his palm back into alignment to ensure proper healing.

"I see that. You really went full force there," a long drag before floating the cigarette to Keylo's full lips.

"Yeah, I just, there's this I guess-demigon." He turned his attention back to the shaking black, hairy, beast, the size of his hand, with some kind of, appendage, jutting out of what had to be eyes.

"That ain't a demigon like I've ever seen." Cataleya floated forward passed her brother.

"Wait, Cat. You don't know what it's going to do." Keylo took a stride to stay beside her.

"Calm down, brother, I've got it."  The bird began to levitate off the ground and head towards the two of them until it was right at eye level with the siblings.

"Did it attack you?" Cataleya had it flipped over in the air to examine it all over; always the curious one.

"I think it was readying one. It took flight on what I thought was a stealthy approach." Keylo was positioned slightly to the side of the beast, facing his sister, like he was still waiting for it to overpower his sister after finishing regenerating.

"How long has it been like this," she motioned towards the missing part of the wing, before pulling the cigarette from Keylo's lips and taking a good drag.

The wind kicked up and the ends of their excuse for ponytails thrashed behind their heads.

Keylo took back the cigarette from his sister, "Just a short moment, I barely made contact with it," a long drag, then a relaxed exhale.

"It's not regenerating." Catalaya twirled it in the air again, "feel for yourself. It's pulse is erratic."

She rested the immobilized beast into her brother's hand. And when her mind decided to let go, Keylo could feel the all over the place flutter of the tiny winged beasts heart.

"Either way, I suppose I kill it before it gets the chance; we should probably think about reporting it as well. I can't imagine the council wouldn't want to know about a new threat." Keylo began to tighten his grasp on the small winged beast.

"Give me a break, Keylo," Cataleya snatched the cigarette from her brother's lips to take a drag, "two visits to the council and all of a sudden you report to them."

Keylo didn't respond, focused more on to the incremental increases in pressure from his grip. The fluttering heart beat faltered, then slowed, then picked up immensely, before stopping entirely. When the winged beast heart stopped beating, he opened his palm, to see the mangled corpse, and to let the wind take away the ash of the soon to be disintegrating body.

"It's dead." Cataleya was nearly hovering directly over her brother.

"Yes, it is. I-I don't know why it hasn't started turning to cinders yet. Maybe it really is defective."

Two minutes had passed without the winged beast burning away to nothingness. It didn't even take two minutes for the serpents the size of skyscrapers to disintegrate after death.

"I think something's wrong..." Keylo said it low, eyes only on the nearly indistinguishable blood covered eyes of the small winged beast. And it might have been the enthia, but tears were pooling in his eyes.

"I feel it too." The wind rustled, kicking up the siblings hair once more, before Cataleya used her telekinesis to take it from her brothers hand, and tear it to nothing herself.

Your book isn’t written in stone. 

Remember that it’s okay to change your story.

P2: and it sparked the idea that maybe I should transition my book into fantasy/medieval time - I can totally see how it could transition over and improve the book idea even more, but the problem is I am terrified of writing fantasy. I have no vast knowledge about any kind of creatures that live in fantasy worlds. I have absolutely no idea how to even make a fake world or write a medieval like setting. Do you think I would be in over my head if I went through with it? Thanks a bunch for 👂  

Hi!  thank you so much!!! :) :)  

 Okay,  excellent rant/question.  I have two main pointers… 

Firstly, I am always in over my head. Everyone takes on projects they’re not ready for.  We learn along the way. It’s okay to be scared of taking a leap of faith, but the most important thing about fear, is not letting it stop you. My chiropractor gave me some nice advice,  it was to analyze fear.. and before you listen to it, make sure it’s not just False Evidence Appearing Real.   Fear of walking across a tightrope between buildings is very different from fear of writing in the wrong genre.  Don’t hold yourself or your writing, back because you think you’re not ready. There will never be a ‘right time’  You got this, it might be hard work, but you can do it!!   Building a fantasy world doesn’t really have any rules,  it’s your universe, you are it’s creator, you are it’s god. 

Secondly, sure some stories work better in different genre’s/ time periods than others… However, if your plot is strong enough and your characters are relatable and interesting people, then it shouldn’t really matter what your setting is.  It might be more fun on a remote island in the 1840′s and it might be more dramatic in space in 3054.  But the fundamentals of your story, that you’ve been building for the last fives years, are likely to be interchangeable. 

Hope this wasn’t too intimidating. Have a play around with ideas, both in your head, and written out. Maybe try a chapter  or a scene in different settings and see which one feels best when you read it.   Write what feels right to you. 

Also note that it’s okay to feel bored with your own work every once in a while, keeping inspired and happy all the time is impossible, you got this!! :D 

Keep writing, 

Hey there @ghostlyturkeybananamug  :)  

I am about to give you the most annoyingly simple advice in the world… ready? 

‘Just relax and do it. ’  

 It’s super frustrating right? My brother gives this advice out all the time. It’s his go to baby. Even when you don’t ask for advice, and really don’t want any,  he gives it regularly anyway.  However, I think  in this case he’s right. 

 You  just have to start somewhere, anywhere. Literally just put pen to paper, or open a fresh document and start writing out ideas.  

Use the cliches at your fingertips if you need them.. ‘once upon a time…’ ‘ In a galaxy far far away…’ ‘Dear Diary’ ‘In a world..’  Quite often I like to start by writing as if I am telling my story to someone I know well and like, but they don’t know anyone I’m talking about. So I choose someone in real life, often my sister in law for familiarity, so that the casual voice is there, and then I start writing her a letter.  ‘Dear reader…’   These can be annoying but it’s a structure to start from. Once you’ve begun you can always come back and change things. That’s the beauty of writing, the re-write.

Some people find it helpful to write out a plan they can follow along or a timeline, a sort of brainstorming  of ideas for their book. So the ideas don’t run too far away from them while they are writing.  I start my story long before I start writing it. It emerges in the notes section of my phone or in scraps of paper on my desk and in my sketch book.  I think about the plot and then start writing later.  

 Another quick thing, ‘Enter late, Leave early.’ Start your story somewhere interesting. Begin in the action.  You can always set the scene during or after the event that you lead with. Begin with something intruiging and maybe a little mysterious to instantly enthrall your reader. 

Hope this long, not so simple response helps. Also once you begin writing,  write every day. Momentum is everything

Helly Nonnie!  

Ooooooh what kind??  This ask is making me burst with questions. Is your android your main character? Are they AI? Do they only have the physicality of a human or also their mental capabilities?  How do they feature in your plot? Do you want your reader to empathise with them? Or are they all machine?  Is their decision making more clearly rational than emotional based?  

Read  The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells.  All Systems Red is fantastic! 

Watch Bicentennial Man (but be warned Robin Williams will tear your heart out)

What I am getting at here is media absorption. Take in as many different versions of the same  type of story as that which you are writing and let them be a source of inspiration for you. 

 Ahhhh yes, what an infuriating piece of advice ‘show don’t tell’ can be.  I love it, but it’s true. You just have to break down what that means in practice… On a basic level it means  ‘a man walked into a bar’ vs ‘ the timber creaked underfoot, the dark room smelled of liquor and cigarettes. Every eye in the joint turned at the sound of the slamming door.’  On a more over-arching level it means to express your story line rather than state it. No matter the perspective, include feelings, textures, smells and sounds. Make your story rich in the senses. Have events happening and active instead of a stated history.  

I try to make myself a habit of writing with that richness. However if I find myself telling instead of showing, especially in my first draft, I don’t worry about it in the slightest. because I know I can come back and flesh out the descriptions and the bare bones to make my scenes fuller.