Pinned
So the preorder link stopped working for folks, but here's my book released and ready to go out into the world!!!!
@inks-books / inks-books.tumblr.com
Pssst
Hey, are you an artist or writer with WIPs?
Come here... I got a secret for you pssst come ‘ere
waiting in deep suspense
Psst you ready here comes the secret
Here it comes
I am also very curious about this secret
Your time spent enjoying the creative process is infinitely more valuable that any final project you create. So stop putting yourself down for never finishing or posting those WIPs because every moment you spent creating something you loved is a moment not wasted. Your progress and talent is measured by your passion not your number of posts.
This post went from 3k to 7k overnight and that just goes to show how many of you need to hear this so make sure you don’t ever forget it
I would love to see a fantasy novel where the lore that the reader / protagonist learns at first is not true
These are the trials of learning to write creatively. You will face each in your creative journey, and it literally doesn't matter if you overcome them or not.
That's literally it, if you like writing what you write it doesn't matter if it's "good" or not, you can just write and have fun.
Some of my favourite pieces of fanfiction of all time were probably written by some college student with permanent bags under their eyes at 3am on AO3 in the most chaotic writing with an author's note along the lines of "My grammar says no but my heart says yes".
Trust me, everything you write is worth the time and effort. Do whatever you want. Have fun. Just fucking write.
have you guys done that “what kind of reader are you” quiz and if so what did you get
here’s mine
This is so fucking spot on holy shit
good dynamic: character who’s too deeply rooted to a fault + character who’s never been able to form roots anywhere before
yeahyeaheyaheyeahyeahyeahyeah
Where we love is home—home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
He looked at him. He looked at him in a different way. Blinked. He tilted his head. He looked at him sideways. Under his lashes. In a unique kind of tilt. In a violent sort of way. He stared at him in a kind of way you haven’t read about before. He sighed. He looked away. He looked at a different away. He stared. Considered. Pondered. He was silent but it was interesting, somehow. It was a questioning sort of silence. Puzzled. He was still. He went even more still. He was barely breathing. He was dead with anticipation. He tensed. He relaxed minutely. The seconds ticked by, silently. He waited. He narrowed his eyes. His eyes widened. He followed you with them. His eyes. He did something that was nothing but filled the required beat of a line. He
I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.
They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.
They left the girl readily.
The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.
She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.
The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.
She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying.
Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother.
(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)
((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))
The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.
The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.
I am such a happy ending girly give me love conquering all give me struggling together and coming out victorious give me facing our demons together and making each other stronger give me beating the odds give me we are stronger together give me there is always hope.
SHARING THIS WITHOUT THE UPDATE IS EVIL
I’m watching Splash (1984) which is a romcom about a guy who falls in love with a mermaid, and when she chooses a human name she chooses Madison and guy says “that’s not a real name, but alright” which seems to imply that Madison was not a name until at least the 80’s and all girls named Madison are actually named after the mermaid. thought you should know
I think...you might be right
what the fuck
"it builds character" ok but if i go through any more character development my character might develop into the villain
this hit me like a truck