A Lonely Occupation

Scribblings of thelonehuman

115 notes

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block
A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

He ran down the alleyway, refusing to look back and see whatever it was that had started chasing him several blocks back. He knew that Jack was gone, there had been a short scream and a wet crunch behind him a few minutes ago, but he figured that would keep whatever it was busy for a while. He was only a business partner, he could find another one. Besides, if he got out of the neighborhood he would get twice the cut he had expected originally.
He heard a roar several meters behind him, followed by loud footsteps.Still refusing to look back, knowing that whatever unearthly horror he would see would stop him in his tracks, he began sprinting harder than before. After several moments, the footsteps stopped abruptly. He didn’t stop sprinting, but found the silence somewhat reassuring. This left him a moment to examine his surroundings for the first time since he had begun to run.
He was at the edge of the neighborhood, he realized. It was a massive stroke of luck that he had been chased in the very direction that he had intended to go in anyway, and he let out a sigh of relief. Taking a longer look around, he spotted the space between two houses that he and Jack had entered through. He jogged over to it, making sure to keep the package in his jacket pocket safe, and walked into the roomy space between the walls of the abandoned homes. 
Around the halfway point of his walk to freedom, he heard footsteps from behind. After a moment, he heard a loud creaking from the dilapidated walls around him. He began to run once more, trying his best to reach the end of the makeshift tunnel before anything happened. Another moment passed and he felt the walls closing in. He preemptively sidled up against the wall to his left and began to slide across as fast as he could. 
He reached the end, one hand outstretched, when the lights appeared. Beyond the houses was supposed to be an empty stretch of land, reaching into oblivion. Now, all he saw was a blinding light and a silhouette framed against it. He shut his eyes and turned away until his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, then opened them once more. The walls had closed around his body, leaving only centimeters for him to attempt to maneuver his way out. It wasn’t happening, so he returned his attention to the silhouette.
It was definitely the body of a woman, he thought, although there was also something inexplicably strange about it. The edges of her body, framed against the backdrop of blinding light, seemed to be flickering somehow. Wavering up and down, not maintaining any real physical form. He felt his heart drop. This was what had killed Jack, he was certain. He tried to say something, but failed.
"You have something of mine." The silhouette’s voice was indescribable. Several voices, high and low pitched, twisted together into one, united monotone.He remained silent, stunned into speechlessness.
"Give it to me, and I will let you out of the walls."
He didn’t see any other choice at this point. “I…Can’t move…” He said, the walls restricting his movements to small jerks and twitches. The moment he said it, the walls returned to their natural positions. He rubbed his side and pulled the package out of his jacket. He tossed it toward the silhouette, who he didn’t see catch it, but must have because it was in its hand.
"Don’t know what the big deal is," he said, "Just some rock.""The Philosopher’s Stone is much more than that." The silhouette flickered angrily, "You should never have come here. Tell me the name of your employer, and I will let you leave."
"Yeah, sure, uh… He called himself Voight."
The silhouette remained silent, then appeared to nod. A second later, it vanished along with the lights, leaving him in the darkness of the night once more. He looked around for a second, decided that he was safe, and began to walk forward. He ran into an invisible barrier, and began to panic. The silhouette appeared just a few feet beyond it, facing him silently.
And now he could swear that he heard heavy footsteps falling behind him…

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block

A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

He ran down the alleyway, refusing to look back and see whatever it was that had started chasing him several blocks back. He knew that Jack was gone, there had been a short scream and a wet crunch behind him a few minutes ago, but he figured that would keep whatever it was busy for a while. He was only a business partner, he could find another one. Besides, if he got out of the neighborhood he would get twice the cut he had expected originally.

He heard a roar several meters behind him, followed by loud footsteps.Still refusing to look back, knowing that whatever unearthly horror he would see would stop him in his tracks, he began sprinting harder than before. After several moments, the footsteps stopped abruptly. He didn’t stop sprinting, but found the silence somewhat reassuring. This left him a moment to examine his surroundings for the first time since he had begun to run.

He was at the edge of the neighborhood, he realized. It was a massive stroke of luck that he had been chased in the very direction that he had intended to go in anyway, and he let out a sigh of relief. Taking a longer look around, he spotted the space between two houses that he and Jack had entered through. He jogged over to it, making sure to keep the package in his jacket pocket safe, and walked into the roomy space between the walls of the abandoned homes. 

Around the halfway point of his walk to freedom, he heard footsteps from behind. After a moment, he heard a loud creaking from the dilapidated walls around him. He began to run once more, trying his best to reach the end of the makeshift tunnel before anything happened. Another moment passed and he felt the walls closing in. He preemptively sidled up against the wall to his left and began to slide across as fast as he could. 

He reached the end, one hand outstretched, when the lights appeared. Beyond the houses was supposed to be an empty stretch of land, reaching into oblivion. Now, all he saw was a blinding light and a silhouette framed against it. He shut his eyes and turned away until his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, then opened them once more. The walls had closed around his body, leaving only centimeters for him to attempt to maneuver his way out. It wasn’t happening, so he returned his attention to the silhouette.

It was definitely the body of a woman, he thought, although there was also something inexplicably strange about it. The edges of her body, framed against the backdrop of blinding light, seemed to be flickering somehow. Wavering up and down, not maintaining any real physical form. He felt his heart drop. This was what had killed Jack, he was certain. He tried to say something, but failed.

"You have something of mine." The silhouette’s voice was indescribable. Several voices, high and low pitched, twisted together into one, united monotone.He remained silent, stunned into speechlessness.

"Give it to me, and I will let you out of the walls."

He didn’t see any other choice at this point. “I…Can’t move…” He said, the walls restricting his movements to small jerks and twitches. The moment he said it, the walls returned to their natural positions. He rubbed his side and pulled the package out of his jacket. He tossed it toward the silhouette, who he didn’t see catch it, but must have because it was in its hand.

"Don’t know what the big deal is," he said, "Just some rock."
"The Philosopher’s Stone is much more than that." The silhouette flickered angrily, "You should never have come here. Tell me the name of your employer, and I will let you leave."

"Yeah, sure, uh… He called himself Voight."

The silhouette remained silent, then appeared to nod. A second later, it vanished along with the lights, leaving him in the darkness of the night once more. He looked around for a second, decided that he was safe, and began to walk forward. He ran into an invisible barrier, and began to panic. The silhouette appeared just a few feet beyond it, facing him silently.

And now he could swear that he heard heavy footsteps falling behind him…

Filed under my writing Weird Things

92 notes

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block
A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

"This is where the boss is, huh?"
She recognized the building. It was her old elementary school. The years hadn’t been kind to it. Weeds and overgrown plants covered what remained of the playground, and some of the windows appeared to be broken. They were all broken in the same place, though, which seemed odd. Despite the obvious aging of the environment around it, the building itself seemed bizarrely untouched. Bricks were smoothed over, and had a strange, glossy quality to them, much like the other things in this world. 
Elliana held the umbrella closer to her shoulder. The rain seemed to be stopping, but she still liked to have it close. A raincoat and umbrella hadn’t been her idea of armor and a weapon when she had started out, but she supposed they would have to do. She still wasn’t sure what the point of all this was, if she was going to be completely honest with herself, but that was beside the point now. She walked toward the chain-link fence surrounding the playground slowly, taking deep breaths and trying to prepare herself for what she would find inside.
The school had been where all this had started, arguably. They had noticed her unusual behavior, then tracked her without her knowledge before taking her in for psychiatric experimentation. Nobody would say when it had happened, but her guess was third grade. She remembered some strange men in lab coats talking to her teachers back then, pointing at her. It seemed fitting, then, that she would end everything in the school as well.
The inside of the school was exactly as Elliana remembered. A large, gaping hallway, lined on the sides by blue lockers. They were cleaner than she remembered, and there weren’t any children running about, but the architecture was the same. Her third grade classroom was a floor up, so she began to make her way toward the stairwell. Dim sunlight filtered through large windows hanging above the entryway, casting a copper glow on the hallway around her.
Just as she took her first step onto the stairs, Elliana heard a noise behind her. A clicking sound, familiar. She spun, opening the umbrella just in time to deflect the bullet aimed at her back. More useful than I thought.
At the end of the hallway, a figure stood silhouetted against the receding sunlight, a gun smoking in their hand. She was dressed in a school uniform, although she was far taller than any elementary student. As Elliana tentatively withdrew the umbrella, she realized who she was staring at. There was no time for surprise, and no need for it, only a need to survive. The figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing her face, and confirming Elliana’s suspicions.
"Hello," Elliana said, watching herself emerge from the shadows, “Elliana 2.0."

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block

A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

"This is where the boss is, huh?"

She recognized the building. It was her old elementary school. The years hadn’t been kind to it. Weeds and overgrown plants covered what remained of the playground, and some of the windows appeared to be broken. They were all broken in the same place, though, which seemed odd. Despite the obvious aging of the environment around it, the building itself seemed bizarrely untouched. Bricks were smoothed over, and had a strange, glossy quality to them, much like the other things in this world. 

Elliana held the umbrella closer to her shoulder. The rain seemed to be stopping, but she still liked to have it close. A raincoat and umbrella hadn’t been her idea of armor and a weapon when she had started out, but she supposed they would have to do. She still wasn’t sure what the point of all this was, if she was going to be completely honest with herself, but that was beside the point now. She walked toward the chain-link fence surrounding the playground slowly, taking deep breaths and trying to prepare herself for what she would find inside.

The school had been where all this had started, arguably. They had noticed her unusual behavior, then tracked her without her knowledge before taking her in for psychiatric experimentation. Nobody would say when it had happened, but her guess was third grade. She remembered some strange men in lab coats talking to her teachers back then, pointing at her. It seemed fitting, then, that she would end everything in the school as well.

The inside of the school was exactly as Elliana remembered. A large, gaping hallway, lined on the sides by blue lockers. They were cleaner than she remembered, and there weren’t any children running about, but the architecture was the same. Her third grade classroom was a floor up, so she began to make her way toward the stairwell. Dim sunlight filtered through large windows hanging above the entryway, casting a copper glow on the hallway around her.

Just as she took her first step onto the stairs, Elliana heard a noise behind her. A clicking sound, familiar. She spun, opening the umbrella just in time to deflect the bullet aimed at her back. More useful than I thought.


At the end of the hallway, a figure stood silhouetted against the receding sunlight, a gun smoking in their hand. She was dressed in a school uniform, although she was far taller than any elementary student. As Elliana tentatively withdrew the umbrella, she realized who she was staring at. There was no time for surprise, and no need for it, only a need to survive. The figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing her face, and confirming Elliana’s suspicions.

"Hello," Elliana said, watching herself emerge from the shadows, “Elliana 2.0."

Filed under My Writing

122 notes

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block
A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

"Anna, it’s alright."
Anna stumbled backwards toward the wall. The blood was starting to dry on them. She wasn’t sure if it belonged to her or to him at this point, but she didn’t particularly care either way. It didn’t change anything.
"Anna, he was hurting you. You did what you had to."
Sylvia stared at her friend, standing with her back to the wall. Anna had called her in the middle of the night, not saying what had happened, but screaming for her to come over immediately. Sylvia had known what had happened. She had seen Anna’s diary weeks ago. It had been a matter of time. She took a couple steps forward and put a hand on Anna’s shoulder, the sweater molding to the contour of her hand. She stared at the room. Blood everywhere. It was a good thing that she had become a janitor to pay off college.
"Look, he was hitting you, and…" Sylvia trailed off. She sat against the wall and put her head in her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were red. “I knew what he was doing, I found out a couple weeks ago… But. I didn’t stop it. I should have… I don’t know why I-"
"It doesn’t matter now," Anna muttered. “It’s over. Done. You can help with this." She gestured to the bloodstained bedroom.
Sylvia got up and wiped her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Look, I know you’re shaken up because of what you did, but it was justified. It was-“
Anna shook her head. “I’m not worried because I did it,” she said. She lifted her bloodstained hands up to eye level. They fell out of focus, leaving the body behind them completely clear. “I’m worried… Because I enjoyed it.”

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block

A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

"Anna, it’s alright."

Anna stumbled backwards toward the wall. The blood was starting to dry on them. She wasn’t sure if it belonged to her or to him at this point, but she didn’t particularly care either way. It didn’t change anything.

"Anna, he was hurting you. You did what you had to."

Sylvia stared at her friend, standing with her back to the wall. Anna had called her in the middle of the night, not saying what had happened, but screaming for her to come over immediately. Sylvia had known what had happened. She had seen Anna’s diary weeks ago. It had been a matter of time. She took a couple steps forward and put a hand on Anna’s shoulder, the sweater molding to the contour of her hand. She stared at the room. Blood everywhere. It was a good thing that she had become a janitor to pay off college.

"Look, he was hitting you, and…" Sylvia trailed off. She sat against the wall and put her head in her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were red. “I knew what he was doing, I found out a couple weeks ago… But. I didn’t stop it. I should have… I don’t know why I-"

"It doesn’t matter now," Anna muttered. “It’s over. Done. You can help with this." She gestured to the bloodstained bedroom.

Sylvia got up and wiped her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Look, I know you’re shaken up because of what you did, but it was justified. It was-“

Anna shook her head. “I’m not worried because I did it,” she said. She lifted her bloodstained hands up to eye level. They fell out of focus, leaving the body behind them completely clear. “I’m worried… Because I enjoyed it.”

Filed under My Writing Short Story

97 notes

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block
A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

The gas began to clear from the room, and officials in gas masks began to remove the bodies. There were thirty rebels who had been sentenced to death, and gassing had been the most efficient method of punishment. It had been done in a public forum, an old castle that had been turned into a hotel over the years. It was meant as a deterrent for future rebellions, and for those who remained from this one.
As the officials cleaned out the bodies, one stopped moving. He stood transfixed, his eyes pointed towards the end of the hall. Another, his supervisor, stepped forward.
"C’mon, keep moving. I know it’s not the most sanitary work in the world, but  we’ve gotta do it."
The official didn’t stop staring. The supervisor turned to see what he was looking at, a crowd member who had gotten sick or a particularly deformed body, she thought. She was wrong.
At the end of the hallway, red gas rolling around his body, stood a man. His head was bowed downward, long hair obscuring parts of his face, but she recognized him all the same. The supervisor had seen him step into the gas chambers, with the others, had escorted him there herself. The gas was fatal, it killed within thirty seconds of initial exposure. he had been exposed for five minutes. 
And yet, he was still alive.
Without speaking, she drew her weapon. A standard pistol, nothing special. It was an execution, nothing was supposed to go wrong. She signaled to the others, three ordinary soldiers, to draw their own weapons as well. The survivor remained standing, his naked chest unprotected against the coming assault. 
They stood like this for a moment, opposing one another in silence, and the supervisor could feel something. A nagging at the back of her mind, that she wouldn’t make it out of this chamber alive. Her breathing, slightly strained, was muffled by the mask covering her mouth. She closed her eyes as she pulled the trigger a moment later, and hit… Air. Nothing stood where the man had been moments before. Before she could react, the chamber locked down, metal shutters covering the exterior and red lights flickering on inside.
She turned, and found the body of the first soldier to notice the man. His neck was broken. The other two soldiers were nowhere to be seen, trapped beneath the cloud of toxic gas. Before she could turn again, something slammed into her back. A hissing noise sounded from behind her, and she knew that her oxygen tank had been ruptured by something. The man was still nowhere to be seen. 
She ran to the door, knowing that there were only seconds before she would run out of breathable air, only to find that the door was locked. She pounded on it, to no response.
"Please… This… It’s cruel… Let me out!"
The voice came from behind her, and she knew it was the survivor immediately. “You should have thought about that,” he said. “Before you killed those people piled up outside the door.”
The oxygen tank stopped hissing. The supervisor was out of air. She slumped to the ground, counting down the seconds until she lost consciousness.
Thirty… Twenty nine…Twenty eight…
"Who… Are you?" Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy, hard to place.
Twenty… Or maybe fifteen? She lost track. The survivor stood for several moments before looking down at her.
"I… Am an arbiter of justice. True justice."
He vanished, or maybe he didn’t exist in the first place. She couldn’t tell.
Five…
Although he was right.
Four…
Justice was being delivered.
Three…
She could see that now.
Two…
Her eyes closed.
One…

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block

A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

The gas began to clear from the room, and officials in gas masks began to remove the bodies. There were thirty rebels who had been sentenced to death, and gassing had been the most efficient method of punishment. It had been done in a public forum, an old castle that had been turned into a hotel over the years. It was meant as a deterrent for future rebellions, and for those who remained from this one.

As the officials cleaned out the bodies, one stopped moving. He stood transfixed, his eyes pointed towards the end of the hall. Another, his supervisor, stepped forward.

"C’mon, keep moving. I know it’s not the most sanitary work in the world, but  we’ve gotta do it."

The official didn’t stop staring. The supervisor turned to see what he was looking at, a crowd member who had gotten sick or a particularly deformed body, she thought. She was wrong.

At the end of the hallway, red gas rolling around his body, stood a man. His head was bowed downward, long hair obscuring parts of his face, but she recognized him all the same. The supervisor had seen him step into the gas chambers, with the others, had escorted him there herself. The gas was fatal, it killed within thirty seconds of initial exposure. he had been exposed for five minutes. 

And yet, he was still alive.

Without speaking, she drew her weapon. A standard pistol, nothing special. It was an execution, nothing was supposed to go wrong. She signaled to the others, three ordinary soldiers, to draw their own weapons as well. The survivor remained standing, his naked chest unprotected against the coming assault. 

They stood like this for a moment, opposing one another in silence, and the supervisor could feel something. A nagging at the back of her mind, that she wouldn’t make it out of this chamber alive. Her breathing, slightly strained, was muffled by the mask covering her mouth. She closed her eyes as she pulled the trigger a moment later, and hit… Air. Nothing stood where the man had been moments before. Before she could react, the chamber locked down, metal shutters covering the exterior and red lights flickering on inside.

She turned, and found the body of the first soldier to notice the man. His neck was broken. The other two soldiers were nowhere to be seen, trapped beneath the cloud of toxic gas. Before she could turn again, something slammed into her back. A hissing noise sounded from behind her, and she knew that her oxygen tank had been ruptured by something. The man was still nowhere to be seen. 

She ran to the door, knowing that there were only seconds before she would run out of breathable air, only to find that the door was locked. She pounded on it, to no response.

"Please… This… It’s cruel… Let me out!"

The voice came from behind her, and she knew it was the survivor immediately. “You should have thought about that,” he said. “Before you killed those people piled up outside the door.”

The oxygen tank stopped hissing. The supervisor was out of air. She slumped to the ground, counting down the seconds until she lost consciousness.

Thirty… Twenty nine…Twenty eight…

"Who… Are you?" Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy, hard to place.

Twenty… Or maybe fifteen? She lost track. The survivor stood for several moments before looking down at her.

"I… Am an arbiter of justice. True justice."

He vanished, or maybe he didn’t exist in the first place. She couldn’t tell.

Five…

Although he was right.

Four…

Justice was being delivered.

Three…

She could see that now.

Two…

Her eyes closed.

One…

Filed under my writing

188,178 notes

the-fandoms-are-cool:

Ultimate Writing Resource List

a massively extended version of ruthlesscalculus’ post

General Tips

Character Development

Female Characters

Male Characters

Tips for Specific Characters

Dialogue

Point of View

Plot, Conflict, Structure and Outline

Setting & Worldbuilding

Creativity Boosters* denotes prompts

Revision & Grammar

Tools & Software

Specific Help

I made a very small noise to express a very large amount of happiness.

(Source: ladyknightrps, via get-scribbling)

5,393 notes

These are some of my favourite writing related resources. I’ll be adding to this list as I find new things, so check back!

kycochran:

Tools

Doing the Thing

Character-Related

Articles

The Practice of Writing

Inspiration

Freelancing

Prompts

The Professional Side of Things

Publishers You Likely Didn’t Know Of

Miscellaneous

Blogging (because you should seriously consider starting one for your writing)

Blogs

Tumblrs

Non-Tumblrs

(via devotedtodiversityinart)

176 notes

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block
A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

The house had survived the apocalypse, and it was almost completely intact. That was a surprise.
The girl led her dog, Dog, through the weather-beaten door of the old house. Brass numbers next to the door’s frame read ‘2401’. She assumed that people must have used them as a form of code, a way to identify where specific people lived in the event of an emergency.
It had been pointless in the end, obviously. The house had been abandoned at some point, just like the rest were. It had managed to escape any bombings, though, and there weren’t any immediate signs of carnage, which was more than could be said for many of the other houses on the street. The only superficial damage was the complete removal of its coating of paint, and the impressions of several people imprinted onto the side of the building in ash.
The girl wandered inside the house, stopping to look at several photographs strewn on the floor. They had been in frames at one point, as evidenced by the nails left in the wall above, but had likely been thrown out when looters came through to try and pawn them off in some black market or another. The people back then were interesting, scrabbling over something as inconsequential as picture frames while the world collapsed around them. 
She reached down and picked up the first photo that she could reach. It had been taken inside the house, in the room next to her. A woman was holding a baby up in the air. She looked happy.
The girl raised the photo, aligned it with the room it was taken in. She pondered where the woman was, what happened to the baby, how someone could be happy like the woman seemed to be in the photo when her world was clearly doomed.
She stood there for a long time.

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block

A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

The house had survived the apocalypse, and it was almost completely intact. That was a surprise.

The girl led her dog, Dog, through the weather-beaten door of the old house. Brass numbers next to the door’s frame read ‘2401’. She assumed that people must have used them as a form of code, a way to identify where specific people lived in the event of an emergency.

It had been pointless in the end, obviously. The house had been abandoned at some point, just like the rest were. It had managed to escape any bombings, though, and there weren’t any immediate signs of carnage, which was more than could be said for many of the other houses on the street. The only superficial damage was the complete removal of its coating of paint, and the impressions of several people imprinted onto the side of the building in ash.

The girl wandered inside the house, stopping to look at several photographs strewn on the floor. They had been in frames at one point, as evidenced by the nails left in the wall above, but had likely been thrown out when looters came through to try and pawn them off in some black market or another. The people back then were interesting, scrabbling over something as inconsequential as picture frames while the world collapsed around them. 

She reached down and picked up the first photo that she could reach. It had been taken inside the house, in the room next to her. A woman was holding a baby up in the air. She looked happy.

The girl raised the photo, aligned it with the room it was taken in. She pondered where the woman was, what happened to the baby, how someone could be happy like the woman seemed to be in the photo when her world was clearly doomed.

She stood there for a long time.

26,143 notes

Character Sheets and character creation →

thatfrenchhelper:

image

When creating a character, there’s a lot of questions you ask yourself. Whether it’s an original character or one you’ve been playing for a long time, using a character sheet to get to know your character better can always be a nice idea. With it’s help, you’ll be able to think about things you didn’t necesarily thought about, and ask some important questions to yourself that might activate your character’s voice, or help you to get your muse back with them. Everyone has their favorite character sheets, some people prefer to have a lot of questions, some others like it a bit more vague, so here’s a masterlist of the character sheets I found on various websites and found quite interesting, plus some other things that could be used to help you see, for example, how other character view yours. 

With these sheets, you could also try to find your character’s Jung and Enneagram Type or use the Moral Alignment tool. All of these things can be really useful to get a better grip on a character.

Then, if you’re trying to create a character, and do not have many ideas, or get stuck, I’d suggest for you to roam around TVTropes, which gives you a lot of tropes used for character creation. Maybe you could try to mix a few of these and create an original character?

Or, if you’re a skillful writer and know how to make your character different from another, make a list of characters in fiction you happen to find interesting and why. Try to keep it short. Then, maybe, try to mix and match things from two or three characters, take a character and change their backstory, to see what would change. Play with them to inspire yourself and create something new, original and truly yours.

Oh, and here’s a little guide to Mary-Sues and OCs, just in case you want to make sure your character isn’t going to become a Mary-Sue or a Gary-Stu

And last but not least, this article about building fictional character definitely seemed interesting to me, and is full of many other links that could guide you during the creating of your character and help you file one of these sheets.

(via fuckyeahcharacterdevelopment)

99 notes

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block
A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

“I had a dream just now.”
The words echoed through her mind, words from decades past. She wrung together her wrinkled hands and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves and remembering.
“I died. Nothing special, nothing unique. The sickness got me. Closed my eyes and fell asleep, only to find myself closing my eyes again. I was on an operating table, though. Then I woke up, in the dream I mean, and saw something… Know what it was?”
“No.” She spoke the word, repeating it in her mind, the way she had said it the first time. She remembered the tears, and they arrived again. Like clockwork. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and one blew onto her shoulder. She ignored it and continued her ruminations.
“A tree, next to a well. They were on the shore, above the ocean, some mountains in the distance. The tree was blooming. I was still wearing my hospital gown. Isn’t that odd? Anyway, I walked up to the well and sat there for a moment, and… I felt a sort of peace. Like I belonged there. There was a half dollar coin next to the well. Actually, there were two, but I felt like one was meant for somebody else, and I threw it into the well. I made a wish, and then I woke up, wish granted.”
“And what did you wish for?” Her hair, short as it was, still twitched back and forth in the wind. It moved rhythmically, the same as the leaves of grass beneath her feet. 
“You. Here. Now.”
“Oh.”
“Somebody needs to know about this dream, Annie. I don’t have much longer, and-“
“Don’t talk like that.” She remembered wincing slightly. It had been true, only three days away, but she had still refused to accept it.
“Okay. But I want you to promise me that you’ll find it.”
“Find what?”
“The tree. The well. The ocean. Try Maine. Near my uncle’s old lighthouse. Just tell him about us and he’ll take you there. Only after, though. I need you until- For the next few days.”
She remembered nodding, kissing her forehead, and the memory ended. She opened her eyes. The well stood in front of her, a half dollar sitting on its edge. She threw it in, waited several moments, and turned. Her wish had come true, and stood only yards away, leaning on the tree’s trunk.
“What did you wish for?” The woman leaning against the tree asked.
“You. Here. Now.” 
For the first time in decades, Annie smiled.

thelonehuman:

writeworld:

Writer’s Block

A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

“I had a dream just now.”

The words echoed through her mind, words from decades past. She wrung together her wrinkled hands and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves and remembering.

“I died. Nothing special, nothing unique. The sickness got me. Closed my eyes and fell asleep, only to find myself closing my eyes again. I was on an operating table, though. Then I woke up, in the dream I mean, and saw something… Know what it was?”

“No.” She spoke the word, repeating it in her mind, the way she had said it the first time. She remembered the tears, and they arrived again. Like clockwork. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and one blew onto her shoulder. She ignored it and continued her ruminations.

“A tree, next to a well. They were on the shore, above the ocean, some mountains in the distance. The tree was blooming. I was still wearing my hospital gown. Isn’t that odd? Anyway, I walked up to the well and sat there for a moment, and… I felt a sort of peace. Like I belonged there. There was a half dollar coin next to the well. Actually, there were two, but I felt like one was meant for somebody else, and I threw it into the well. I made a wish, and then I woke up, wish granted.”

“And what did you wish for?” Her hair, short as it was, still twitched back and forth in the wind. It moved rhythmically, the same as the leaves of grass beneath her feet. 

“You. Here. Now.”

“Oh.”

“Somebody needs to know about this dream, Annie. I don’t have much longer, and-“

“Don’t talk like that.” She remembered wincing slightly. It had been true, only three days away, but she had still refused to accept it.

“Okay. But I want you to promise me that you’ll find it.”

“Find what?”

“The tree. The well. The ocean. Try Maine. Near my uncle’s old lighthouse. Just tell him about us and he’ll take you there. Only after, though. I need you until- For the next few days.”

She remembered nodding, kissing her forehead, and the memory ended. She opened her eyes. The well stood in front of her, a half dollar sitting on its edge. She threw it in, waited several moments, and turned. Her wish had come true, and stood only yards away, leaning on the tree’s trunk.

“What did you wish for?” The woman leaning against the tree asked.

“You. Here. Now.” 

For the first time in decades, Annie smiled.