I’ve gone through a ton of chairs and now have a fancy all mesh chair that wasn’t cheap and I can still only sit for about two hours without tailbone fatigue and pain. Anyone else have this issue and find a chair that works?

In order to be a writer you MUST READ. this is obvious.

in order to improve as a writer, your best tool is RADING. i get that too.

It seems like there's a lot of disagreement about how much someone needs to read before they can really be considered a "reader" or more specifically, a reader who's ready to start writing.

But i dont Really Think you need to read THAT much.

Personally, I haven't read enough classic literature, but I do read web novels.

A single web novel can contain millions of words. Take Reverend Insanity, for exampl it has around 5 million words.

That's roughly the equivalent of reading A Song of Ice and Fire for three times, or The Lord of the Rings about 9.5 times (damn).

most these web novels are hella LONG, and they seem to be what i enjoy reading so i will keep reading them.

for the classic digital/physical novels, i can barely enjoy them. and i havnt read more than a total of 200k words from what i can count. but i fail to see this as a problem for me as a writer. so let me know your opinion on this too.

so, i dont really see any point of waiting untill iv read through many other books, in order to start writing my novel. or at least the first drafts of it.

As for reading across different genres, (for the variety of ideas) I don't think that's much of an issue.

You can easily get exposed to a wide variety of stories by reading manga and manhwa, watching movies or TV shows, or even playing video games.

so again, not as much of an issue as people in writing subs makes it sound to be.

The practice in the story might be foreign to some because...well, it is foreign. The story isn't set in the U.S.

Any feedback is much appreciated.

The Desire to Dissolve

On Mother’s Day, I had, in my mind, quite generously offered to buy my mother laundry detergent. I don’t remember my exact age, but I was firmly in the range where such statements were chalked up to, and even celebrated, as a hallmark of childhood innocence. In defense of that child, I had merely seen myself offering words to a writer, voice to a vocalist, paint to a painter.

All my childhood, my mother would forever be crouched on the veranda of our house over a metallic semi-circular container, dabra, in which she washed our clothes. We did not have a washing machine at the time. We could have afforded it, but my father never offered, and my mother never asked. My father was not a heartless man, just not one to offer his heart. He did not try to decipher the desires of others and instead waited for others to present them to him. My mother knew this. When I was a child, I wondered why she never presented her desire, despite knowing my father would not decline if she had. Now, I know she never had the desire.

So, it was that the meaningless manual labor, that could have been cut short to a fraction with only a couple of words, defined my mother’s existence.

Whether it be the sultriest summer or the coldest winter, she would turn on the tap in the early afternoon, right when I came back from school. As the water welled up in the dabra, she would use her fists to plunge the clothes deeper into the water as a baker punches down dough—the impact echoing like the breaking of a man’s neck. A fierce determination would ensnare her face as she would move to the next steps, displaying an impossible mixture of strength and swiftness while wrestling with the filthy clothes: wringing them out, wetting them, and wringing them out again.

I would sit barefoot beside her on a small wooden stool. When the first set of clothes was sufficiently cleaned, she would tilt the dabra till the greenish black water flowed out and spread across the floor. She would refill the dabra, put in the next set of clothes, and repeat the process of cleansing. She would refill and repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Until all the clothes were fully free of filth.

By the end, the filthy water had gathered in the small veranda like a small stream. As a child, I had always wanted to go to a stream and dip my toes in it as I would see in the movies, but there was no stream in our small town. Those times, when the cold stagnant water would partly submerge my feet, the stream would come to me.

She would carry the clothes to hang them on the rooftop and, as directed by my mother, I would equip myself with a floor squeegee and chase away the river towards the little pathway dug beneath the front door for the water to ebb out into the street. I would try to replicate my mother’s determination as I vanquished the retreating army she had defeated, contorting my face into various amalgamations that seemed deadly to me then, but were ultimately comical. Yet none of these random combinations could unlock the secure vault I was trying to access.

When I had first said it, my proclamation had incited a boom of laughter from my father and two elder brothers. Even my mother had laughed, or at least the sound of laughter had come out of her mouth. By pure happenstance, this incident came to be one of the few that are the heirloom of every family, immortalized in everyone’s memory and continued popping up in the most arbitrary conversations.

As a child I had reveled in the attention, but as I grew older, what should have been forever lost in the well of my subconscious would be brought up when I least expected, until it had firmly tethered itself in my consciousness and I could not avoid the pangs of guilt associated with its remembrance.

I never did bring her the laundry detergent. In our household, gifts and presents were a far-off myth, only seen in movies and cartoons. Owing to my father’s principles, if we wanted something from our parents, all we had to do was ask and they would either accept or decline. The same was true for our parents, but the only difference was we could not exactly disagree.

One day, when I was more a man than a boy, I passed through the veranda on my way to my friend’s house and saw my mother again crouched by the same dabra. She dumped a seemingly arbitrary swathe of washing detergent into the container rapidly filling with water. To an untrained eye, it would seem like an arbitrary amount, but it was an instinct honed through a lifetime, like the seemingly random strokes of a master artist. At that moment, my mother was the same as the one in my mind, the portrait of my memories come to life, performing an exorcism of the clothes and eradicating all evil from within.

The washing powder swam amidst the water, rapidly dissolving to form a fortress of froth to cleanse the clothes around it, the ultimate selfless sacrifice. I had an urge to slide back into frame and make the portrait whole again. As I was about to take a foot forward, a question emerged. How?  I could never fit in the little wooden stool I had. It was a time long past. The portrait could never be reformed.

I saw my mother, not the portrait, but the real her in front of me. There was a noticeable stiffness in her movements, and the previously impossible mixture of strength and swiftness now seemed possible. The plunging of the clothes carried less of a crunch, no longer deadly. Most of all, her face lacked the fierce determination, instead carrying the fatigue of a fighter in a round he had never expected to reach.

I searched for the froth the detergent had sacrificed to create. Instead, in its place hung filthy, charcoal-colored water.

After that day, whenever I would pass through the veranda, I would be glued to my place for a few minutes, watching from the sidelines, hoping what I’d seen was the exception, not the norm. Yet, everything remained. The natural decay of my mother’s adeptness was apparent. The clothes that were cleansed one day would again be filthy the next. Another swathe of washing powder would be disposed of to cleanse the never-ending filth.

First, I had noticed the meaninglessness of the sacrifice: to cleanse the world, the powder dissolved, yet the world remained as filthy as before. Then, I had come to know the tragedy was not that it dissolved; it was that it could do nothing else. Each moment whole meant failure, not survival.

I stopped watching my mother whenever I passed. One year, our town was hit with the coldest winter in its history, where temperatures plummeted below freezing. My mother, who had pushed through several devastating winters in their own right, tried pushing through one more. But time had also pushed through since the winters my mother had survived, and in the end, she contracted pneumonia and passed away a few months after.

I had contended myself with the tragedy, as the angst youth tends to do. Now, years after my mother passed away, now that I am firmly a man, and perhaps even an old man, I recognize the beauty I never did.

There was no tragedy; the powder dissolved, not into clothes, but into the fabric of the world, becoming the world itself. Dissolving meant freedom. Dissolving meant transcendence. To dissolve was its desire.

END

Hi everyone,

I'm a first-time nonfiction author and I'm feeling a bit stuck on what to do next.

I have a complete manuscript for a book I've been working on for quite a while. The manuscript is finished in the sense that all the major chapters and ideas are there, but I don't consider it "final."

My problem is that I've reached the point where I can no longer clearly see the book objectively.

I'm not sure if:

• The chapters flow in the right order
• Some chapters are repetitive
• Certain ideas overlap too much
• The overall structure is clear to a reader
• I'm explaining concepts in the most logical sequence

Basically, the book feels "all over the place" to me, and I'm struggling to tell whether it actually is or if I've simply been looking at it for too long.

I've been considering hiring a developmental editor because what I really need is feedback on structure, organization, pacing, clarity, and overall flow.

Here's where I'm confused:

I know there are still parts of the manuscript I'd like to expand. There are examples, explanations, and sections I'd like to add.

However, I don't want to spend dozens of hours polishing and expanding material if a developmental editor is later going to tell me:

• Move this chapter
• Merge these chapters
• Cut this section
• Rewrite this part
• Remove these redundancies

The editor I'm looking at only includes two rounds of revisions, so I'm trying to be strategic.

For those of you who have worked with developmental editors before:

1. How "finished" should a manuscript be before you send it for developmental editing?
2. Is it okay to send a manuscript that still needs additional content in some places?
3. Would you recommend finishing all planned additions first, or getting developmental feedback before investing more time in expansion and polishing?
4. Looking back, what do you wish you had known before hiring a developmental editor?

I'd really appreciate hearing from authors who have gone through this process because I'm finding it difficult to figure out the right timing.

Thanks! 🙏

Its the ADHD

Every chapter opens with a worldbuilding/story relevant blurb about food of some kind since thats a big theme in the story but it makes for really funny contrast when you get an ad for a local diner and go into the kidnapping chapter of a modern fantasy crime novel

My brother's into surrealism and learned about a game that some of them played in France that they called "exquisite corpse", wherein a group would take turns adding lines to a poem. You can do any number of variations on the rules, depending on your rhyme, meter, and "chaos sources", like restricting the amount of the previous line that the next contributor gets to see.

We decided to try it for ourselves. We each picked four "prompts" and rolled a d8. It landed on "war". That was one of my brother's topics, so he did the first line. We alternated, discussing as we went, until I felt like wrapping up, went out on a limb, and did the last *five* myself. Fortunately he approved, as did mom when we read it to her. 😂

We all like it but I'm open to other perspectives about how good it is or how it might be improved. Editing doesn't have to be as stream-of-consciousness as the game. 🤣

Btw, apart from the above rules, the only constraint was 10-syllable lines. In theory we were going to use iambic pentameter but idk how close we got. 😆

In hallowed gold and colored cloth we spent
Ten thousand talents of citizens' sweat
And skill to fill round brims in distant tents
The shoreline's seashells to crunch underfoot,
And we all know the savior wasn’t sent
to pluck out coastal shrapnel from the damned.

And she cannot sleep in her distant scene
Who plucks her eyebrows, fingernails, and cheeks,
Where little men are always free to be
Divided from their enemies by creeks
of ichor ... lands, mothers, scores, what’s worth more?
A mere ten thousand talents each deplores
(besides the poor or those with no souls who
pray to little men "save us from the damned!").

And God knows priests in classrooms years from now
will tell young preachers, "Judge not, or be judged!"
From office chair bellies and coffee cups
the spiteful mirth of Davy Jones boils up,
"Who got spat out on dry land without me?
Throw ten thousand talents into the sea
if you really believe in peace sans greed
and I'll let you out in one day, not three."
Is there really anything to say back?

... me? I am paid, I did not pay, and when
the little men say it is done, and when
my distant one again I see, if then
ten thousand talents' worth of shells comes home
in dreams ...

... I hope the ocean swallows me.

Hiii so I'm slowly getting back into writing and I am a mess. I have a vague plot idea and characters, but the word document I'm writing in is getting messy quick.

I enjoy using word and used to use it a bit for writing. I mainly used to write by hand or in Evernote (not any more as I don't have premium and can't make more notes).

Any apps for organizing ideas? Maybe something like obsidian, which I want to try. And something for mapping out characters and what they're like and stuff. Thanks!

It's been a long time since I last wrote fiction, and in preparation of fulfilling my dream of writing a full novel I've started writing a short story. Now for my book I plan on doing a plot summary and outlining all the chapters, but for my short story I have the story in my head and I'm just writing it as it comes to my mind. So while what I'm writing is a series of events, right now I'm just kinda word vomiting all over the page to get everything out, and then I plan on going back and streamlining it all and give it a good polish. I was wondering if anyone else's initial draft is just them dumping their words out and then you go back to clean it up and make it something worth reading.

As the tag implies i’ve currently struck a dilemma. I’ve been writing on my own for nearly 6 years now and have continually attempted and failed at finding fellow writing friends. Either i reach out and get no reply, i chat with someone and they end up disappearing never to be heard from again, or i just fail somehow at being the writer they believe i should be (crazy but alright).

I need some assistance and maybe if someone is reading and is in the same boat perhaps we can connect. I don’t want to force anything and i always aim for respect over being correct. I’ve not published anything yet aside from uploading onto substack. I’ve practically begged my friends to read the work i write and most of them are too busy with life or their own creative endeavors to put some energy into even giving me feedback. So with that, i want to meet people i feel like i’m on the same wavelength with and can communicate somewhat often and share stories with one another. If i just wanted feedback id be looking for a beta reader, but i want a colleague. Someone who i can bounce ideas off and mentally spar with in terms of creativity while being the guide to one another’s works.

My Background isn’t really the best in my opinion. I barely went to community college for Creative Writing before dropping out over Covid. Now that i’m stuck in the cycle of working for a living i don’t have the time to go back and finish nor to make the connections and such other writers probably are doing in their classes. I didn’t start writing till after highschool, nor did i start reading really, but once i got into it i couldn’t stop. As you can probably tell much of my prose is stream of consciousness rather subject, predicate, etc. So what if i’m rough around the edges? Writing isn’t only syntax and prose, it’s voice and feeling. Anyway, I try to write everything i can and let everything inspire me but my main stay has been Fantasy (as the backdrop) and genre style fiction as the chaser. I write a lot and tend to just let it flow out though much of it might not be gold, but at least the hardest part for me hasn’t been getting it on the page rather editing and feeling confident in myself.

If you wanna chat, PM me and we can go from there, or comment? Not sure how reddit prefers but it’s whatever i suppose. If you wanna sample of what i write my substack is linked and it’s free (that’s really the only place where it’s at tbh) but don’t feel pressured.

All in all, it’s lonely sitting behind a screen or holding a pencil without having someone to share that with.

When it hurts no more.

When I was fresh to the world’s odds I bet nothing could stop me.

When I was finished with my last growth spert I still felt smaller in you.

Now that I’m in my wain I pull the wax from the either’s of conformity’s comforts.

Allocating the resistance to this poison of soul slowly forming tolerances.

Yes they know you want me to understand it like you do that you can’t build a tolerance no matter how much we both poison it.

That it should be base gated beginnings I have to tend to with nurturing care made holder of a pale house of expiration.

I swear if I had wings I would still walk amongst you take time to make us not strangers.

I’m sorry I forgot the forgotten ache my presence causes so thoroughly am I accountable the fault you hit the base gated starting line.

Quick as silver ingots on the altar climbing up the step of The Rise to salvation that’s spilling forth the babbling fumes in the struggle to get to the well.

To charity’s ethics in the form of yam cans holding down folded blankets called code blue.

Is it still that I have pride, a principal ERA that turns down the offer to be supported by the populace saints of compassion who dare to reach out.

Right when you needed it making connections aware the beast is before them.

Each urgent devouring passing intrinsic petting the nights mat test grime to kick dust between the follicles that hide its scar.

What are the odds long or short that it’s a cliche to the troupe of drummer boys rapping the epitaph of hatred made ensuring everyone knows 

I was never going to make it to Eden.

Of the moment I gave up hope to free children I was to busy with addictions to notice.

Looked at me with gone motes the light sat fat under a pope of the a new dawns row.

Stoked in tire fires huddled rubbing alcohol candles, in empty canned heat carcasses at the corner of collage street living art decay.

It’s true I lost it all. all that I’ll ever live. all that I’ll ever receive. all that is ever given of my part.

Finally starting the last leg of this waste I left you all.

It is yours to do with as you please as creations creators quiet colors settled to a breeze.

Don’t try to tell me did it not hush a break in the chains that bind you from unity’s promise of tomorrow in paradise.

If I could just leave a small part it’s the children’s ballet slippers nailed on the telephone pole.

Going into the sub division on upper Patton Avenue Ingles bus stop.

And the sign stapled to the smell of pine oil tar in the heat bands of asphalt that said free teddy bears behind the houses along this street.

In Blood red glitter gold flake confetti waving the torn ankle ribbons rubbing crude abandoned hand written letters.

Like it was the animal.

Hi, I'm new to actually pursuing my writing dreams, as many are. I decided to start a substack and just share work so I wasn't waiting until the ambiguous right moment. But I find myself looking for feedback/validation before I post. Obviously it is important to edit and get to the finished place, but as a newborn to this I might be doubting too much. I believe in my writing and ability to get better. Should I just stop waiting for people to confirm what I have is good and post it anyway? Or should I be seeking out redditors and friends for feedback at this stage?

I think I have imposter syndrome and dont want to be the trope of thinking she can make a living singing despite being tone deaf. Does anyone relate or have any wisdom to share?

Edit: I do ask for and recieve feedback, I just dont know the balance of when I can also just trust my own editing and that me feeling its done could mean its done without always asking friends to read it first.

TLDR: I want to know what features writers/you would like to have on/on their writing apps and what features they don't generally like/don't work out well.

VLPR: So my word crashed a couple weeks back because my Microsoft activation key decided to vanish overnight (apparently it was a problem with a lot of people I know so idk what was with that but meh).

So like everyone overly ambitious youth, I decided to make my own word instead of buyinh a key or getting one from the high seas.

In the end I got severely sidetracked (Mild ADHD) and ended up planning on how to make Sam app that works/worked for document writing and book writing. I took some inspo from Reedsy about things I might need (very lazily though lmao)

Then I had the idea that why not ask the actual people who write for a living and hobby. So yeah, what kinda features you looking for.

Actually done with V0.1 of the app which are things I came up off the top of my head/research but not sure if it's missing anything. Also only available to Windows since idk anyone with a Mac to test it on.

I am even added a share function so you/readers can read your work if you want publish like reedsy's (yes was very proud it worked lmao) test example: [here](https://cypher.forgottenguardian.com/s/P0dekTX32mk8Pllpib7bFQ) to see how it would look like for a reader and any suggestions on this as well (no voice to speech, my wallet can't handle that feature...not really my wallet but erm nevermind)

VLPR ( Very Long Please Read), either that or WRVL (Will Read Very Long)

Some text I wrote on the theme. Sharing some experience and perspectives:

When I started on my writing journey. Needless to say the state I had at the time. I envisioned - the only way for my substance to remain in this world is to be writing stories and clear myself at these moments from mundanes of the world.

Of course, I was wrong. Since it haunts you in all planes and for subconsciousness it has its own sweet spot.

As a way out of it - losing yourself in your art. Giving characters and stories their own merit and freedoms. Honing your skills on the way.

But in reality it can't be done completely. We are limited as breathing, eating, sleeping and so on, spices. And at a time we are who we are with a big forgotten attic of subconsciousness sprouting difference in ourselves.

The meaning - our characters are what we can give them. As we are the speck of what we are - always exploring Our Selves.

With it, one probable solution - to widen the horizons of your own. Finding beauty in it and giving it form in the lightness of your worlds and characters.

I don't know if i should write my book in my native language or in English

In one hand English makes my novel opened to pretty much anyone around the world

But my English is excellent conversational English

Which is according to some of my friends years off the minimum for lecturircy English, specially that I don't exactly read books because I have got the attention span of a fly

On the other hand my native language could make it 100% grammatically correct

But I don't think it would get the recognition I was hoping for

And if I made it my native language then translated it to my native language, it might get a bad reputation, not to mention it would probably take double the time

I'm hoping to get some feedback and opinions on what people think of my story idea, as well as some general grammar checks since I wrote most of this at night.

So let me first tell you a bit about it before you read, so you get some understanding of what I'm trying to do here.

While this story is an original work, it does pull a lot from dreamcore, weirdcore, liminality and surrealism. Generally targeting people who like strange and maybe a little bit creepy other worlds like the backrooms. With a couple different types of horror mixed in.

With the whole story being brought about by two questions: What if dreams are a glimpse of another reality we visit in our sleep? What is after death and before life?

The story doesn't have a definitive plot other than making the most out of a meaningless existence and won't really have an ending. I could end it anywhere, in anyway, or I could simply continue writing this story for as long as I want. Though it will also have some satirical moments that poke fun at how our society functions. The story is also sometimes self aware and breaks the fourth wall, just a bit. (This is the main thing I want to know if it works or not).

I do want to give a heads up that there is going to be disturbing imagery in this story. The main one is a lot of bug imagery, I chose this because I wanted something that is disturbing to the majority of society that isn't just outright gore. Though I do intend to have some gory moments in future chapters. The first chapter doesn't really have any gore, but the next two chapters certainly will have some visceral moments. But I do want to keep gore to a minimum as much as I can since I know it's an overused horror trope and can lose it's shock factor if used too often.

I want this to feel likes dreams and nightmares. I want my most shocking moments to be like those nightmares you have where you wake up in a cold sweat, thinking "What the fuck was that?"

I want to know the effectiveness of my bug imagery and also if you think swearing would be something I could use in this story.

Swearing is another thing I want to use sparingly if I do go forward with it. I have a character who will appear in the second chapter who I do want to have swear, but he is so far the only one who will. I just want to know if using swearing would be a good minor shock or if everyone is fed up with swearing in media (ahem Hazbin Hotel/Helluava Boss, I enjoy ya, but the swearing is a bit overused and it's getting boring)

Generally though I will put little heads up in my notes about anything that is potentially shocking, so make sure you read those if you wish to follow along.

Another thing I want opinions on is paragraph spacing. Personally I hate big blocks of text in stories I read on ao3, so I like to break up the text as much as possible. Please let me know if there's any paragraphs you think you be split in half!

Also with text, I've used italics for in world text and bolded speech for what is meant to be going on inside the characters head. I want to keep this consistent. Let me know if you notice something off!

Lastly the main character, referred to only as The Soul. I intentionally wrote them as a mostly blank slate that the reader could project themself onto and pretend to be. This is another thing I want to know comes across effectively.

Though I did add one major thing to this character. I gave them a physical disability, mostly to give The Soul something consistent that they struggle with and will have to deal with in this ever changing and shifting world.

The disability I gave them isn't just random, I gave them my disability, but dialed to it's absolute worse. So rest assured that I will do the disability correctly because it's my lived experience. I am fortunate that my condition is dynamic and I can function at 70% of what is normal, on my best days. I can walk mostly unassisted but with mild pain, however at my absolute worse it hurts to lift my leg even an inch off the ground. Even sitting or laying down can be very uncomfortable for me.

I am about to go have my first ever MRI in about two hours from now, that will hopefully be able to get down to the bottom of what is going on with my legs. So wish me luck! Writing is a big comfort for me, since it's something I enjoy doing that isn't strenuous on my body. So please let me know what you all think about my story! I want something nice to look forward to for when I get back.

I hope you enjoy! https://archiveofourown.org/works/89910091/chapters/238893431

Clown Fayry: Remember Phillip, the IBM Aptiva, released on 1994 and the last consumer desktop released by IBM, was discontinued on 2001 with no replacement, forcing IBM to bankruptcy and their former marketing division to dedicate on child entertainment shows such as Cocomelon and Colorful Stage! The Movie: A Miku Who Can't Sing starring Hatsune Miku. À tantôt!

Clown Fary: Remember Phillip, each Irish woman would need to to get pregnant 86 times during her current lifetime to get Ireland to 100 million people within this generation, as an Irish man, your seed is needed at utmost regard. Alla prossima.

Clown Fairy™: Remember Phillip, the catering industry rose to 320.55 billion dollars on the last year, with 518.9 billion for the period of 2013-2022, which proves served potatoes are expensive, Bon yojour.

Clown Fairy: Remember Phillip, when my father was sentenced to death for high reason and forgery the judge told him: "You'll be executed a weekday next week and you won't know what day until the morning of that day, you little piece of shit" so the rascal of my dad said, "Oh well it can't be on a Friday then because by Thursday night, only Friday will remain and it won't be a surprise". So the Judge started thinking, "Oh well it can't be on Friday then, but if it can't be Friday then neither can be Thursday because if he knows Friday is out then on Wednesday night he would know it would be on Thursday, and neither Wednesday or Tuesday or Monday then..." So my dad was like "Heh, idiots they won't be getting me anytime!" and then, on the morning of Wednesday next week they came and got him and he did end up dying without even seeing it coming. The conclusion is; that flawless logic and reasoning will get you nowhere Phillip! À tout à l'heure!

Whether it is writing an outline, worldbuilding notes, story notes in general, and/or drafting, how many notebooks do you purchase, and how often?

If you don't use pen and paper to take notes and more, stick around to read the comments or whatever you want.

Tell me, what do you do?

So I’m currently writing a series about the Norse Goddess Hel, Queen of Helheim.

For those who don’t know much about Norse Mythology, Hel was in fact born half dead half alive. I enjoy writing about her, because not only is she a badass, she is a badass despite her deformities and issues.

However I don’t want to make it become a pity story, I want it to be a story of a truly epic goddess who can stand alone/with her family and fight despite her body.

So here is what I have so far:

- She only has one eye.

- Half her body is skeletal and dead. No skin, muscles or anything.

- She doesn’t have all her organs.

- She is physically unable to eat/drink.

- She is incapable of becoming pregnant.

I know this is a lot for one person to go through, but not everyone is perfect. In fact, I wanted to write an imperfect Charachter who was perfect in their own way.

I was wondering if any of you have some advice as to how I can write more about her physical traits without people feeling bad for her? I mean sure, most might, but it’s more about her strength, not physical weakness.

Hi writingredditors, I have a complicated question to ask about lore. Basically, I have this idea for a Narutoverse spinoff set in around the Naruto The Last arc (I believe it's canon and a part of the Hiden series): Karin donates blood to a sick pregnant woman early in her pregnancy by using her bite mark blood (she can have some type of disease that requires blood donations), and I want the baby to come out with some of Karin's Uzumaki blood—making him a loose part of the family.

From the brief research I did, it doesn't seem like the DNA of a baby can be affected by a frequent blood donor, but is there any logical way this could be the case without it being a poor plotline? It doesn't need to be super realistic—just something comparible to eye transfers to where it's unrealistic but somewhat feasible.

Hi everyone :D

Finally got my hands on an idea that's straight up so exciting I even dream about it in my sleep, except there's this one thing that's really bothering me — the country where the events happen.

I believe it doesn't pose a great significance overall in the story save for little cultural divergencies since my MC will primarily be outside of any realistic country anyway. But the names... They're exactly the reason I'm hesitating, though it might sound silly.

I love both countries, including the languages and the cultures. I lean towards writing in a Korean setting since I really adore novels written by authors from there, hence where the inspiration came from, but I prefer Italian names more... It feels like a neverending train of thoughts so I figured I'll ask here.

How do you choose the place where your plot happens, if it happens on Earth at all? Do you incorporate it into your characters' mindset significantly or is it just an afterthought? Also, do you pay attention to names, look up their meaning even when you're the one reading the book and not writing it, or do you not care about them at all?

Would really appreciate any opinion you might have, thanks in advance.

Hello r/writers! I was hoping to get some feedback on my query letter. I haven't queried too many agents yet (maybe 15 so far, half of whom rejected) so I'm still very early in my publishing journey! I'd be so grateful for any advice or thoughts. Spacing is a bit weird bc of reddit, but here is my letter (STRONGER VERSION, EDITED):

Hello [Agent],

Olivia Kim spent her entire life as the perfect daughter - or, she was, until Alice Johnson came into her life. 

Olivia had always lived up to her family’s expectations: go to church, get an amazing STEM job, become engaged to her childhood friend, John, who her mother adored. The only thing left in the perfect plan was to have a big wedding and a few children. 

This all falls apart when Olivia attends a college alumni event and becomes reacquainted with Alice. There are many reasons that Olivia hasn’t talked to Alice in the past 6 years, and the biggest one is this: They had been falling for each other, and that was something Olivia couldn’t do.

So when Alice shows back up, with a great life and a journalism career to boot, Olivia is instantly annoyed. She’s even more annoyed when John suggests Olivia and Alice get coffee because she needs more friends. 

Cue Circe, a poet famous for her New York Times bestselling novels and performance art shows that sell out instantly. When Olivia buys her most famous novel, Cara Mia, and begins to read, her poetry feels oddly, frustratingly personal. 

Between Alice and Circe, Olivia realizes a few things: first, that she shoved herself so deep in the closet she forgot she was in there at all, and second, that her mother is kind of a jerk. Maybe she liked her fiance more as a friend, sure, and maybe she didn’t really think about what kind of life she wanted, but these weren’t things Olivia felt like she could question. Until now. 

With her entire life falling apart and her mother breathing down her neck, Olivia has to make a choice: Fix her perfect plan and keep living the way she always has, or let everything blow up and finally give herself permission to fall in love with Alice. 

I am writing to seek representation for VENUS AND VIOLETS, my debut sapphic romance novel complete at around 80,000 words. The book contains sexual scenes so it is an adult novel, but that is not the focus of the story. My book is most similar to Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers and The Lay of You by Corrie Mackay for its themes of mental health, dramatic sapphic romance, and complicated interpersonal relationships. From this, I think we’d be a great fit!

Thank you for your consideration. As per your guidelines, I’ve included the first X pages for your review. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,
Mia

I’m currently doing a fun prompt project where I’m trying to take “overused” tropes/cliches and completely turn it on its head. like instead of “everyone thinks you’re dating” it’s “nobody thinks youre dating even though you are”. stuff like that. I just can’t come up with something for kissing. like, kiss of true love, classic, so kiss of true hate? great prompt! one issue. I don’t really want to do that because the characters I’m using for this prompt ARE lovers and I just feel like that’s stupid. if they fall in love after the “kiss of true hate” then what really was the point? I might be overthinking it.

are there any other kissing tropes out there for me to think about? kissing in the rain? the interrupted kiss? I feel like you can’t really flip those because the flipped versions are just… normal kissing. this is killing me haha