ironinkpen:

102 Resources for Fiction Writers

vulpesinculta:

Are you still stuck for ideas for National Novel Writing Month? Or are you working on a novel at a more leisurely pace? Here are 102 resources on Character, Point of View, Dialogue, Plot, Conflict, Structure,…

(Source: ruthlesscalculus)

solati:

nicklugo:

wehatecollege:

worlds saddest chair 

whats wrong buddy

The world’s saddest chair had been sitting down for quite some time now. He wasn’t going anywhere soon. People walked by, others took a quick glance and went back to their lives.

However, one teenager took a glance…and then a double take. He then walked closer, and closer, until the chair saw the boy’s shoes and finally looked up to face the human.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” The teenager boy almost innocently asked.

And our chair hesitated at the question, for there was so many things wrong.

“Do you have some time, son?” The chair simply asked the teenager who took the time to pause in front of the world’s saddest chair.

The latter shrugged and nodded. “I don’t really have anywhere to go, so why not.”

And so, the chair told the story of his life.

———————————————————

From the moment he “woke up”, our little chair reveled in the company of others. The first thing he saw was his brothers and sisters shuffling along the conveyor line with him. With them on his side, he knew that his dream would come true.

He had a specific job to be done, after all, and he along with his many sibling had the task of making humans’ butts comfortable by having a place for humans to…”sit down”, as the humans called it.

Of course, He was delighted to have such an important task. It seemed to be such a fulfilling thing to do: helping others, being happy.

Soon, he was shipped to a lively restaurant, where customers and waiters were hustling and bustling over delicious  morsels of food and seating arrangements.

The ceiling had the brightest afternoon sky painted on and the walls had trees painted on them with birds that would never leave.

Our delightful little chair couldn’t help but squeal a little and wiggle in delight at such joy his purpose gave him. Yes, he couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else but be here, right now and forever. He would become the world’s happiest chair. 

He wiggled into a dance whenever any human would sit down, and squeaked to invite said human to dance with him. All they had to do was wiggle as well. A wiggle duet, as they would call it.

When it was night time, after a hard day’s work, the waiters and waitresses would flip them upside down, to give the chairs’ legs a good night’s rest. But our little chair didn’t like this position, for he wanted to wiggle and wiggle for the rest of his night. But it was just fine as well.

Before the staff left the restaurant for the night, the waiter who put the little chair into resting position popped his head into the manager’s office.

“Sorry to intrude but…I was wondering what we should do with the uneven chair? There have been more complaints from customers! It squeaks as well.” 

The manager was packing his belongings and looking away from the waiter, so he swiveled in his chair to face him.

“A squeaking chair with uneven legs? Meh, it’ll be fine. I mean, we just got these chairs. Let’s just wear this bunch out and order some new ones later on or something.”

And perhaps, it could have simply ended there. Wait for the chairs to be worn out and simply replace them.

However, the world’s happiest chair simply wouldn’t tire out. He had a reputation to hold up, and a job to fulfill! No no, there was no way he would break down no matter how tired he was.

Until, of course, the humans decided it was time. The chair had a good run, they said. They were thankful for his hard work. 

And it was only then when the chair finally admitted to himself that he was tired. After many years of serving the humans and meeting with various butts, he wanted to sit down too. 

When a waiter grabbed him to fulfill that wish, the chair finally had a revelation of what he really wanted to do with his life.

But before the chair could feel any regret, the waiter set him down next to a green bin in an alley behind the restaurant, and intently stared at the chair deep in thought.

The previous world’s happiest chair didn’t know what the waiter was thinking about. All the chair could think was, At least I’ll finally sit down for once. Yes, yes. For once in the world, a chair got to sit down.

But finally, the waiter knew what to do, and the chair would painfully know as well. The waiter cautiously flipped the chair over in the resting position for the very last time, before breaking the chair’s legs. Flipping the chair back onto his standing position, the chair noticed that somehow, he felt a lot lighter. He finally got to sit down and think for himself. He no longer had to wiggle, even though he had found such joy in doing so before. But now, he had all the time in the world to simply think and ponder and do nothing except watch the world pass by him.

If only he wasn’t so dead set on helping humans feel comfortable, the chair mused to himself.

He would have noticed the beauty of the world before, where birds chirped and winds would whistle. He would have noticed that the sky wasn’t always just blue as it was in the restaurant, but it changed throughout the day. Trees weren’t evergreen (at least, not all of them) and the leaves would fall to the floor.

While there was a bustling and hustling environment in the restaurant, outside also had that—but there was other types of joys and other kinds of laughter he never heard in all of those years cooped up in the restaurant. He envied the humans, for being able to walk and travel to places unknown. He was reliant on them to get from place to place.

Thus, he found that his simple dream of fulfilling purpose wasn’t special—not that it was without merit. But after all, there would always be generations and generations of chairs. Chairs that didn’t squeak or wiggle. Prettier chairs and better chairs. More comfortable chairs.

So our little chair realized that instead of being cooped up in the same room, he wanted to go out and see the world. But it was most definitely too late. 

The world’s saddest chair sat down for the first time…just to dream of a better life.

———————————————————

After the story, the teenager couldn’t help but feel like the chair had it all wrong.

For while there were many things that were beautiful in the world, there were ugly things too. There was so much ugliness in the world that the average human would go to these restaurants and shopping malls and movie theaters to forget about the corners of the world that had major problems.

There’s still war, famine and murder. There’s inequality, poverty and corruption.

The teenager boy felt he shouldn’t tell the world’s saddest chair, though, for he already had so much on his mind.

“……It’ll get better, chair. You’ll see.” He said before checking the time on his watch.

“Oh, I have to go for now, but uh…I guess I’ll stop by to talk to you tomorrow?” The teenager scratched the back of his neck. 

“Got nothing else to do I guess, so I’ll keep you company. I would take you home, but I’m pretty sure my parents would throw you out, like, immediately, so….I don’t know, maybe I could tell you what’s going on in the world too, and show you pictures and stuff. I mean…if you want, of course.”

And he swore he saw the chair smile.

“Thank you, boy. Thank you.”

neil-gaiman:

Neil Gaiman

1 Write.

2 Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down.

3 Finish what you’re writing. Whatever you have to do to finish it, finish it.

4 Put it aside. Read it pretending you’ve never read it before. Show it to friends whose opinion you respect and who like…

Writing by hand is the best way for me to create a first draft. The texture of the black or blue ink on fresh and crisp paper can never replace typing.

Sure, I type fast when I’m not thinking—like copying down what teachers say in class—but for the most part, I find myself hitting backspace too often, which means the document stays blank forever and nothing gets done.

Furthermore, I find that once I write something down on paper, when I transfer it onto Word, I get a better sense of where I wanted the story to go, a sort of in-between draft check.

Draft 1.5 of some sort.

I’ve never been one to really spend time on any piece of writing as it is, but I’m losing my touch.

What used to be so natural and easy seems almost challenging that I almost feel like I can’t walk again.

In fact, sometimes I feel very numb when I try to grasp a concept into my memory bank.

Thoughts disappear as soon as I take a breath.

Words mumble and jumble when I try to read.

Ink bleeds. Paper stabs.

But most importantly…part of a creative mind has perished in this very rushed piece.

meichwan:

dooooooooooop was listening to THIS while drawing, so I was probably influenced. LOL.

meichwan:

hi. ignore me.

please, i insist

meichwan:

ho hum

meichwan:

sadfayce

constantly erasin

yup

meichwan:

ho hum ho hum bald people

idek why i want to keep this i guess to remind myself of osmething

burp

oops

scary….mei LOL

doop doop