Spooky Time, Losers! Get Out Of The Writing Crud, And Let's Do This!

blossoming romance writing prompts:

accidental hand touching

eye contact across a crowded room

exchanging secret smiles

first conversations alone

admiring them from afar

asking them about their family

visiting them at their place of work

discovering common interests

exchanging gifts for the first time

a surprise encounter

picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face

nervous embarrassment around them (blushing, fidgeting etc)

complimenting their appearance

looking at their lips as they talk

finding excuses to be alone with each other

naturally gravitating closer together

noticing their individual quirks

hello/goodbye hugs that linger

talking late into the night

clumsy attempts at flirting

sharing long term dreams, goals and aspirations with one another

playful teasing

being unable to keep their eyes off of them

attempting to find out if they are single/available

finding comfort in their scent

creating art inspired by them

sharing an umbrella in the rain, or a coat/blanket in the cold

surprising them with their favourite treat

visiting their home for the first time

confiding in them

Bye, little Jay

TW: sadness, slight mention of rape?

Character: Jason Voorhees

Ps: okay, it's just something a little sad <3

Jason was a small child, driven into the abyss of his own vile and unhappy thoughts, mired in darkness. His blue eyes from childhood were sad, full of pain and resentment. The boy is not to blame for the strangeness of his appearance. And yet Jason was in the midst of this empty madness; the hum in his head was moaning louder; from somewhere above, strangely worried voices were heard, Voorhees could swear that a pale child's hand was reaching for him; but he could not reach; he could not breathe; after a couple of seconds, when the body became heavier and heavier, a terrible chill ran through the skin, mixed with an electric current beating every cell of consciousness, and the lungs became more and more cramped and painful, burning pain filled them with cold water.

You've been driving along the highway for a long time, hoping to see the familiar sign "Crystal Lake Camp". And even though your sister said that it doesn't make sense to return to this place, even after almost fifteen years, and anyway you're just crazy, you didn't listen to her. There was a burning desire in my chest to see these familiar places again, albeit with a bit of longing and disappointment. After all, this is where you spent the best part of your childhood.

Finally you saw the cherished yellow sign of the camp and turned right. The road was overgrown, massive trees arched around the path; it seems that there have been no people in this place for a long time. You don't know why you decided to take a car at all—after all, you could have hitchhiked to the forest and then walked — but at the time of departure it seemed to you the best idea.

Parked at one of the old cabins, you happily got out of the car. The hardness of the earth and the tall grass tickling your ankles, not covered by jeans, added to your confidence. It was overcast. The wind played with your hair, and you blissfully closed your eyes. All the accumulated anxiety over these gloomy fifteen years has disappeared by hand. A long-forgotten calm reigned in your head, for the first time in such a long time you did not hear these terrible whispering thoughts. Emptiness.

After going further into the camp, you entered the cabin that once belonged to you. It was located next to the cabin of Jason and his mom. You pushed the door with a soft movement, and surprisingly, it gave way. It was stuffy inside, and there were grains of dust in the air. You went inside, looking around the contents of the room with an enthusiastic gaze. Everything remained in its place. You left immediately after the incident, your parents felt that you should study with a psychologist, and not be in this place, reminiscent of the tragedy. It was your shortest shift.

You sat down on the bed. The opposite wall was filled with drawings. You didn't have time to pick them up. These were your doodles that you drew during creative hours (there was even your drawing of shiny pasta hanging on the wall!), as well as Jason's pictures. He was always good at drawing, that's what the boy really liked. Therefore, on the third day of your impromptu friendship, you gave Voorhees your brand-new double-sided pencils, which you haven't used on this shift yet. You will always remember his shining eyes when he took a bright box.

Rummaging around the nightstand, you didn't find anything remarkable, in the end, the rest of the things were probably taken by the counselors. You stood up, dusting off your hands and jeans. This place is abandoned.

You came back here the next day. The weather was sunny and cool, so it seemed like a real pleasure to wander through the forest. This time you were in more suitable clothes: a spacious T-shirt, which is not a pity to get dirty, and soft fabric shorts. Birds were chirping in the foliage of the trees, and in some places you even saw squirrels with copper fur running around. Charm.

After getting everything you need out of the car, you returned to the cherished cabin. A strange, but effective plan appeared in your head, which you wanted to make a reality. To live for such a long time with a heavy heart, with guilt because of his helplessness on that ill-fated day became harder with each passing month. And it's not even that you couldn't save a person, but that you really treasured him. Jason was your best friend at Crystal Lake Camp, your only friend. Perhaps he was something more, as far as the childish naivety allowed. And the fact that you lost him left a deep wound in your soul. Now you wanted to get rid of these feelings by creating a kind of crypt of your friendship in your old cabin. Was this idea strange? Absolutely. Did it bother you? Not a drop.

After washing the room, you tried to return it to its former state: a carelessly made bed, scattered T-shirts with the name of the camp, stacks of books on the floor, bedside table and by the window. In addition, you took out of the car a massive duct-taped box with the initials "J.V.". You kept it throughout your entire life cut off from this place. Tearing the tape with a stationery knife, you laid out on the table a lot of clumsy drawings, soft toys, old magazines, Jason's favorite games. You placed all this around the perimeter of the room, as far as your faded memories allowed. The cabin turned out to be very cozy, however, due to the lack of proper lighting, everything seemed gloomy and abandoned, but this did not interfere with your joyful mood.

Over the next couple of days, you've made this house and the lot around it presentable. The grass had to be trimmed a little, to remove excess garbage, to wipe the outer walls of the cabin. In general, it turned out to be in very good condition, if we take into account the coming of fifteen years. It seemed that this particular place was untouched by rains, thunderstorms and thickets that covered the steps and walls of other houses. A God-forsaken place. Your own paradise.

When you went into the cabin again, you saw a bouquet of bright blue flowers on the table. Outwardly, the plants resembled simple buttercups, which could be found around the perimeter of the camp, but they were different: the petals had a delicate blue hue. The stems were pulled together by another, especially long flower. You smiled and, this time securely, tied them together with the green ribbon you found in Jason's box. And although you didn't know where these flowers came from, you didn't feel any threat from their addressee.

Finally, when you thought you had done your best with this house, you were sitting on your old bed again. Painfully running your worn fingers over the bedspread, you looked around the room with a sad smile. Just like that day. Absolutely everything. And now you felt like that little girl of eleven in a red plaid shirt that you stole from your mother's wardrobe, and black breeches, with a wreath on her head. That day you wove identical wreaths for yourself and Jason. You remembered everything down to the smallest detail, how you painted his hands with crayons, how he smiled cheerfully, and how you got together for this trick from his mom. Pamela has always been kind to you.

And now you've made two wreaths again. One was resting on the table, the other was tangled in your hair. You gently tucked your hair behind your ear, humming sadly.

"It all started here," you smoothed the yellow flowers with your palm, "This is where it ends."

The cherished relief did not come immediately. And yet, when you got into the car and took one last look at the neat cabin, you smiled bitterly. Time to move on. It is impossible to exist all your life because of one tragedy, and even more so to blame yourself for it. We need to live.

Pressing the gas pedal, you turn the car around and look back at the cabin through the rearview mirror again. Something shone sharply in the bushes. You shifted your gaze to the road and tensely frowned. Now everything will be different.

"Bye, little Jay."

Writing Strong Opening Lines

This is the kind of information your first line should provide:

the name of the character (the speicifcity creates and illusion of reality from the get-go)

Notify that something bad is about to happen.

Provide a feeling of motion (it doesn’t neccessarily have to be the character moving)

Talk about a (small) disturbance to the character’s everyday life.

Types of Novel Openings

Action (in medias res)

Jump into the story with no delay - have something interesting happening.

“They threw me off the hay truck about noon."

2. Dialogue

Show conflict between the characters speaking.

“Isn’t it true you ahve a motive to lie?” / “Excuse me?”

3. Raw Emotion

Make readers sympathize with the MC, who is experiencing a strong, universal emotion (like sadness, anger, etc.).

“I do not look. I don’t ask where. I don’t because Annie’s mother died seven months ago. I stand motionless in the line, looking just like everyone else except for the hot tears that have begun to sting my eyes.”

4. Look-back Hook

Suggest that there is a not-to-be-missed story that’s about to be told

“The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years — if it ever did end — beganm, so far as I can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newsppaer gloating down a gutter swollen with rain”

5. Attitude

When using first-person narration, show some attitude and unique voice.

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

6. Prologues - entice the reader to move to chapter 1

Action Prologue: Start off with some big scene, often involving death

Framing a story - give the reader the view of a character about to look back and tell the story.

The teaser - present a scene at the beginning that will happen later on in the book

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee! ☕

Reference: <Write Great Fiction: Plot and Structure (techniques and exercises for craftin a plot that grips readers from start to finish)> by James Scott Bell

Different Ways to Describe Brown Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Her eyes were the color of honey, irises swirling like the sweet nectar.

His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned her over with nothing more than a wink and a smile.

They had eyes like mud, perfectly matched with the frown that permanently stained their face.

Her eyes were as bright as the raging sun and the color of dancing flames.

They wore blue eyeshadow to contrast their dark brown eyes.

Her eyes were as beautiful as the leaves of trees in autumn.

His eyes were nearly black, like a void that held a lifetime of secrets.

Dirt. She had eyes like dirt. They were almost as dirty as her personality.

Their eyes reminded her of old brick libraries and vintage books.

She had the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they bothered to steal pieces of art.

His eyes made her think of the sandcastles she used to build as a kid.

Their eyes were the same color as the old oak tree their great-great-grandfather planted in the backyard.

His eyes were the same color as the bottle of liquor in his hand.

They had a smile like spring, but their eyes were autumn with a hint of passing summer.

Her dark eyes were flaked with gold.

His brown eyes had tragedy weaved behind his irises.

Brown, copper eyes that paired with the dry blood stuck to their face watched him as he stalked across the tiled floor.

A small experimental and messy comic about the queer hate to queer pipeline that seems to affect a lot of people, and since it’s pride month and I don’t see a lot of artistic commentary on this…here you go? I’m a baby gay, not even able to legally drink yet and only recently realized my sexuality so I’m sure there’s people who have suffered from being raised in bigotry much longer and much worse and I’m willing for this post to be the place they can share their stories! I’d be honored to hear stories from people like me. Happy pride month!

(Writers Note for page two- I am aware of sexualities that stem from trauma like Caedsexual exist and are 100% valid! I am referring to the belief that ALL under the LGBTQ+ umbrella are sick and are just ‘confused victims of abuse’ in a not so nice sense.)

petition to make it real:

It needs to be real for me.

a scooby doo series set in community college where the gang is in a criminology class and end up in a huge debate on the first day of class that leads to them starting a podcast talking about local urban legends, only to realize things aren’t quite adding up and they go to investigate for ~journalistic authenticity~ and end up solving a real-life crime disguised as supernatural occurrences. this happens every week and they’re frequently featured on the school newspaper. they only have twenty listeners

i wish people would let creators finish their fucking stories

Flashback to 2020 (tw depressive rant)

So, I’m pretty tired with myself today…

I’m so fucking lonely here you know?

No one around to talk to, everyone doing their own things?

It’s stupid…

Why can’t I love someone like how I love myself?

Am I that fucking insane to do something like that?

I guess I am…

I’m so fucking lonely…

I don’t hang out with many people anymore because of COVID….

I miss my old friends so much that I forget I even exist…

I think about people all the time that I become a completely different person.

It’s stupid.

It’s dumb.

It’s crazy what you do for love.

I know you will all be reading this and think, “What the fuck is this shit?”

I don’t know what I am either…

I’m just the chaos and the calm…

The sun and the moon…

Forward and backwards….

I’m everything people want to be and don’t want to be…

I’m the person that could help you or hurt you….

I am the person that talks to everyone or stays in the shadows…

I am myself…

I am not myself…

I am something I’m not…

Something not human…

Something not myself…

What even am I?

Why am I here?

Why do I even exist?

I don’t need to exist… at all!

Fuck me! I don’t give a shit!

Leave me alone for once!!!

I hate myself so fucking much!!!

I’m worthless!

I’m nothing.

I’m nothing without her.

I’m nothing without him.

I’m nothing without them.

I’m nothing.

I am nothing to no one…

And now I'm done with this...

This mask of a smile I've worn for so long...

It's gone...

The mask of happiness for my friends and families to see...

For the happiness I've falsely felt for an enternity...

Slam my fist in the wall.

Throw some shit and give me a call.

I'll scream at you for however long I feel like.

How are you doing?

How are you doing?

Are you bleeding like me?

Are you hiding behind a mask like me?

A mask like mine?

Are you here?

Are you surrounded by your own peers?

Are you looked down on or looked up to?

Are you still trying to be the version of yourself everyone thought you were a year ago?

Are you still faking those smiles?

Are you burning the horrible memories, that made no one trust you anymore?

Are you lying to people that don't deserve it?

Can you stop, cause I am far too gone?!

I need to stop and listen.

I need to do this, evenly.

I am a giant wave crashing into the shore line.

I am myself.

I am not.

I am the calm and the chaos.

I need help, but no one ever listens because, they have their own issues.

They have no time for you, it's true.

Leave them behind and don't go running back to them or they will hurt you more....

Or maybe not...

Maybe they're something more.

Like a soulmate or friend....

Maybe I should reach out to them for help...

Can I reach out for help?

Myself in 2020, not in the right headspace.

What if I look inside myself and I don’t find any gems? What if I’m just a rock? WHISPER OF THE HEART / 耳をすませば (1995)

Height difference - Dialogue

"Can you stop putting everything on the top shelves?!"

"It's not my fault you're vertically challenged." "What did you just say?"

"You do realise I'm in the best position to punch you in the guts, right?"

"You're like a kitten, small and cute." "Say that again and I'll kill you."

"You're the only one who can fit in there."

"Hey, skyscraper, you're blocking my sun."

"I'll kick your shins if you don't immediately lean down."

"I'm not sleeping in your bed, it hurts when my legs dangle over the edge, you know?"

"Why don't you like my hugs?" "Because you always almost suffocate me! Stop squishing me like a plushie and then we can talk."