Black Star Shine

NaNoWriMo mode for the next month. bring it on.

28. Just assume everyone has a weird fetish they’d like to keep secret.

You don’t start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it.
That’s why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence.

Octavia E. Butler (via fictionwritingtips)

(via myloveformcrwillneverdie)

English Pronunciation

acrumblebatchwithcustardfreeman:

pantlesscait:

sherlockismysuicidenote:

kanrose:

If you can pronounce correctly every word in this poem, you will be speaking English better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world.

After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he’d prefer six months of hard labour to reading six lines aloud.

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[source]

OUR TEACHER MADE US READ THIS OUT LOUD IN CLASS AND I DIED

I still can’t say anemone

I only stuttered like twice and I’m stupidly proud.

(Source: kanrose, via horsescarsanddykesohmy)

The mind of a writer can be a truly terrifying thing. Isolated, neurotic, caffeine addled, crippled by procrastination, consumed by feelings of panic, self-loathing and soul-crushing inadequacy… and that’s on a good day.

—Robert De Niro (via maxkirin)

(via batman131)

owe-you-so-much:

the most unrealistic thing about young adult novels is that none of the teenagers swear

This. This is my justification for the swearing In my books. Yes, I know people who choose Not to swear who are awesome and unique and all that jazz. But people swear! I swear! In my thoughts, out loud, under my breath, when I’m angry, happy, or anything in between! There’s nothing wrong with having swearing in a young adult novel because it’s more realistic if there is some.

When I read Nick and Norahs Infinite Playlist I was mind blown that a novel like that could have so many curse words. It improved my writing to know I had that freedom.

But!!!!! I also know From reading books that a novel doesn’t have to swear either for it to still be a great book!

(via rainbowsandfood)

If only
I was like
lightning
and struck
you with
my chaos,
I bet you’d never
forget me.

But no—

I was
like the London rain
and you didn’t
have a raincoat,
a nuisance that
drenched you
but never
left a mark.

It’s raining hard here, and you’re on my mind. (via mystrangesilhouettes)

(via mystrangesilhouettes)

I was just a river, while he was the ocean. Same as I was just the artificial UV light on some busted flashlight, while he was the innate Sun. I know this now. He doesn’t need to remind me. I was the decaying memories of my youth, while he was the elixir for all lonesome nomads. He is the desperation you grasp against your fingers, the knowing hero amongst all those hopeless. It’s not why you need him, but what you need from him. Like a sleek cigarette, offered in front of a recently non-smoking person. He is the plethora of everything that shouldn’t be within and around you, yet you welcome such hanker for his touch upon your lips. It took me 5 years to rid his manly hands off my body. But it would take an eternity to wash away the scent of his dogmatic linger upon my skin. I feel him most, on my silent meanderings. Where my thoughts call me to rest my weary heart, and let him knock upon my door.

I was a river. Now, I am just a tiny well, muddled with solemnity and ashen waste. I’d hear the echo of his name, reverberating upon the cylindrical prison. But my sweet Ocean, never came.

You took my name, and just left. (via mystrangesilhouettes)