Archives for the Date November 14th, 2018

Fanfiction – Promise Not To Fall



In relation to this post, @notevenjokingfic, @missclairebelle, @pissedoffsoka13 and @danielledreamsthedayaway lovingly pressured me into
writing this oneshot (“Hooker AU”). It’s not to be taken too seriously, it’s just a way
to express my love, how I miss writing and to stretch my creative legs a bit without much thought. Until I have the time to give you
proper stories again. Love, always. X

Promise Not To Fall

All my life, I’d lay my head sideways on the
pillow with my belly down, yearning for the comforting sound of my own
heartbeat. With my ear pressed tight against the fabric, I was able to turn
inwards into the cave of my chest, exploring stalactites of unspoken desire and
underground rivers of pain, barely hidden in the soothing and rhythmic sound.

When I saw her
for the first time, it was as if I had laid down to listen to my heart once
more, just to realize it was sitting in front of me. Everything about her beat, with purpose and the slight regret
of a tired heart.

I had crossed the Charles Bridge at sundown, my eyes almost numb with the sparkle of
the setting sun and appearing lights over the Vltava river. Prague always sang its most beautiful song in the
twilight. Eighteen bridges stretched all over the horizon, strings of a guitar
that I wanted to play until my fingers were calloused and dormant.

I strolled down Karlova Street, losing myself amidst the myriad of voices that
spoke a dozen languages, my elbows brushing past cameras and selfie sticks. The
scent of pungent sweat, melting ice-cream (cappuccino, stracciatella, pistachio, two different
kinds of chocolate
) and distant rain dripped down the back of my throat,
until I felt the urge to cough, for a second wishing to have air inside my
lungs that was only mine.

The crowd was getting larger by the minute,
mainly walking in the opposite direction, a mob furiously pushing towards the
last good minutes of light for a perfect photograph. I sighed in defeat,
unwilling to bodily push my way across the long street, and swiftly entered a
quiet establishment. The lights were dim inside, as if the night had been
sitting around waiting for its turn to move on the city with a cocktail in
hand, and the decoration was swanky. I quickly estimated that a beer in such a
place would probably cost me more than an entire meal elsewhere, but soldiered
on and sat at a high table.

I was distractedly munching salted peanuts,
crunchy with sea crystals and a tang of smoke, when a clipped English voice
made me turn my head towards the bar.

“Whisky, neat.” A woman asked the bartender,
placing her small purse next to her elbow on the counter.

The Englishwoman was wearing high waisted black
trousers, that highlighted her striking figure, and a white blouse with sheer
fabric in strategic places – while it promised everything, it revealed nothing.
Her hair was a mass of brown mutiny, with curls that weren’t exactly perfect,
each of them unique in its half twists and incomplete turns. Watching them made
me long for home. They seemed just right for a hand to be immersed in
them, caressing and pulling, as they flowed against eyelids
and the side of a nose, gluing themselves to lips, sticky with too many kisses.
Her beauty didn’t take my breath away – it gave me all the air I could possibly
hope for, inside me all at once,
occupying every empty space that had been aching.

I finished my too-sweet beer, forcing myself not
to stare at her. What was it about her that compelled me so?

I couldn’t tell if she was waiting for someone,
or just enjoying a night by herself. Something about her demeanour seemed open, while simultaneously maintaining
an odd reserve and aloofness. The woman was just like the loch near my home –
lazily embracing the glen, commanding the landscape. And yet I almost drowned
there when I was young; the dark waters told nothing about small boats living
underwater after storms or coins tossed to its currents in hope and prayer. Her
depth was unknown. Unfathomable.

Not knowing what possessed me, I walked to the
bar in a pretence of thirst not yet quenched. I ordered another beer and
casually sat on a stool next to hers, fidgeting with my fingers, avoiding to
glance at her.

A Scot.”
A warm voice spoke, and the relief that washed over me almost made me laugh. I wasn’t invisible to her. “Drinking beer? There’s a sight to behold.”

I smirked and raised a brow, gulping down slowly
before I answered her. Pacing myself.
“Dinna trust what they pass for whisky around

“Fair enough.” She conceded, raising her glass
in salutation. “I’ve been away long enough to behave like a pagan, I’m afraid.”

“Do you live here?” I asked, striving for
nonchalance. The way her eyes reflected the whisky’s colour almost made me
dizzy. Thoroughly inebriated. “In

“Yes.” The woman leaned over, her fingers
brushing against her temple. “You’re a backpacker, aren’t you?” She asked,
raising her elegant brows with a light smile.

“What sold me out?” I asked, returning her
lopsided smirk. I felt awkwardly eager, as if the thump of my heart had moved
closer to the edge of my ribcage. If I blinked, I could be heartless in a moment.

“Rumpled shirt.” The woman gave me a throaty
laugh, almost breathless. I scratched the back of my neck, suddenly embarrassed
by my blue attire. When I had donned it that morning, after rescuing it from
the pits of my battered backpack, it had been the last truly clean item of
clothing I possessed. After a month backpacking across Europe, what I missed
the most about home was a washing machine. “And all those stars in your eyes.
Like you couldn’t quite believe how lucky you are.”

“Really?” I bit my bottom lip to avoid myself
from cackling aloud, incredulous and self-conscient. “Moon-eyed, am I?”

“Yes.” The remarkable woman pushed her hair to
her right shoulder, exposing the soft flesh of her neck to my eyes. I swallowed
slowly when I noticed the scattered goose bumps, coming alive. Would my own
fingertips tingle, if I touched her there? “The fact that you have coins from
several different currencies in your wallet helped as well.” I had dumped the
contents of my wallet into my hand, looking for change to pay the bartender, a
few moments before.

“Observant, I see.” I tilted my head in a nod,
implying that I was impressed. “Did ye see anything else of note?”

“You’re homesick, because you came straight to
me when you noticed I was English.” She licked her lips, looking at me appraisingly.
“You might be a gentleman, because you wouldn’t have pressed me for conversation
if I hadn’t approached you.” Her eyes
averted mine, as if immersed in contemplation of the bottles displayed on the
wall. “There’s an old tan line on your finger and you keep brushing against it
with your thumb without noticing, so you were probably married once.” Her eyes
searched mine, with a hint of mischief and curiosity. “Am I close?”

“Aye.” I said hoarsely, clearing my throat to
steady myself. “Remarkably close. I’m
Jamie, since you seem to already ken everything else about me.”

She hesitated for a moment, as if she wasn’t
sure her name would be safe on my lips. Eventually, she offered me her hand to
shake in greeting. Her palm was cold, but dry. Her index finger touched the
scar on my knuckle, a moment too long – as if she was tracing it -, and I
shivered.  “Claire.” Another fraction when her voice faltered. “And I know
something else, as well.”

“Oh, aye?” I encouraged her with a teasing
smile, playing with the rim of the glass in nervousness. The dull material
didn’t sing under my fingers.

“You – you don’t seem like the type that would
pay for my company.” Claire stated softly, observing me with eerie calmness, as
realization dawned on me. Words planted as seeds, blooming into disappointment.
Expecting me to walk away in a heartbeat,
I instantly realized.

“Ye’re a – a call
, then?” I asked fearfully in a low voice, hesitant to pronounce the
words. It felt like I was shouting it to the crowd outside; once I put a name
to what she did with her body, everyone would know forever. I would tarnish her.

She snorted, amused but sardonic. “That’s about
as mild as you could put it. Hooker, whore, hustler, prostitute, working girl, tart. I am all of those things, if you need to label me. Call me
whatever you want.”

“Why are you telling me this – confiding in me?” I questioned, when I
trusted my voice not to sound entirely shocked. I seemed to have acquired
several shards of glass, churning inside my stomach and chest, ripping through
me. “Ye could have simply dismissed me or fooled me.”

“As I said, you don’t seem like the type of man
that would give money away to shag someone.” Claire shrugged, turning her upper
body to face me directly. “I don’t want you to waste your time, or mine. Not when you seem to be a decent chap.”

“Ye’re here working, then.” I gulped down. She
gawked at me, her eyes softening considerably.

“I only come at bars to work.” Claire said
mildly, her nose scrunching. “When I’m
, I only want to be home, clean-faced and wearing pyjamas.”

“How can –“ I swallowed hard, desperately
searching for appropriate words. “How did you end up –“

“How does a woman like me end up in a trade
like this one?” She smiled
mysteriously, almost wickedly. But her eyes betrayed sadness, loss, grief. Her eyelids seemed heavier, burdened
by a story, words like rocks against her open eyes. “Every woman is like me, Jamie. And I am every woman. I arrived here by choice, as we all did at some point.
Maybe the choice that dictated it arrived sooner
or later, clearer or at the end of
many crossroads.
” Claire’s full lips pressed in a thin line. “No one forced
my hand. And it isn’t as degrading as you might think, if you manage to
disentangle sex from other emotions. If you do it on your own terms.”

“Is this the moment when ye tell me it isna
really about sex?” I raised a brow, looking intently at her. Studying the faint
pulse on the side of her neck, the small and almost invisible scar on the right
side of her chin, the pure golden spot amidst the darker butterscotch of her
eyes. Playing with the pieces that composed her on the restless fingers of my
mind, struggling to get a clear image, where everything would fall into place.

“I cannot tell you that.” Claire sipped her drink, the corners of her eyes wincing
just so with the full force of the malting. Her voice was seductive and husky,
a trick of the trade or her truest self beckoning me. “Most just want what’s
between my legs. Some want me on my knees, the power of towering over me, to
have me feel just slightly afraid.
But many want the fulfilment, the fantasy, the one-sided expectations – to fuck
a stranger, to be called “daddy” and “sir”, not to be concerned whether I came
or not.” She shrugged, her eyes piercing mine. She was the whore, and I was the one naked in front of her. “It is about sex. But sex isn’t simple at
all, is it?”

“And how do ye build a life for yerself in the
midst of all that?” I pressed softly, tilting my head to take her in. The creamy
and velvety skin on the top of her breasts was clearly visible through her
shirt and I wondered, with inexplicable pain, how many men had found a path of
desire so close to her heart. “How do ye keep yerself grounded – what remains
that is truly yers?”

“I always promise not to fall.” She affirmed,
her voice serious even if her lips turned up on a knowing smile. “My heart is
never on the line. I keep it with me at all times.”

Claire grabbed her purse and started to put on
her short leather jacket, while I was still completely scattered and speechless
after her admissions. She gently caressed a strand of my red hair, her long
finger riding the wave of fiery copper, in a gesture surprisingly tender and unanticipated.
“I might take the night off. Fancy a Starbucks before I head home?”

This is a gift and not at all the crack that the tone in the original post that inspired my begging implied. You’re an artist with words Kal. This paints a picture and FEELS like Prague. The purposeful reveal of bits of her character tell us a lot but almost nothing. You’ve set a scene and created a world with a commendable economy of words and I love it.

I won’t beg for more because the rest being up to the reader is nice. I am totally picturing the Starbucks over by the sex museum in Prague, a cappuccino that maybe turns into a late ice cream by the astronomical clock, and then they part ways better for having had just an evening of someone to listen, nonjudgmentally and without the burden of future.


wehadfacesthen: Marlene Dietrich, 1956, in Monaco for the…


Marlene Dietrich, 1956, in Monaco for the filming of The Monte Carlo Story, an Italian film with an international cast.

strawberry-kiwi-darling: onlyblackgirl: Explain…



Explain this.

Dolphins have zero respect lmao

改革開放四十年、全面小康社會三十八年的天空 去年供暖後京津冀關閉停工企業達十五萬,大家在藍天下還可呼吸一口新鮮空氣 天津第三季GDP負數,河北應該好不了到哪裡,於是不關店不停工,然後呢? 在一個要不無法呼吸,要不沒工開沒飯吃的時代國度,如何從惡性循環裡走出來?

改革開放四十年、全面小康社會三十八年的天空 去年供暖後京津冀關閉停工企業達十五萬,大家在藍天下還可呼吸一口新鮮空氣 天津第三季GDP負數,河北應該好不了到哪裡,於是不關店不停工,然後呢? 在一個要不無法呼吸,要不沒工開沒飯吃的時代國度,如何從惡性循環裡走出來? Uploaded by 吳海寧 2018-11-14T01:26:04.000Z from Facebook via IFTTT

Editing  & Proofreading Cheat Sheet





– A lot of questions I receive revolve around editing and proofreading, so I decided to make an extensive guide to editing your own writing. I collaborated with some amazing friends on this post so this is dedicated to them as well as all of you. I hope you find it useful. Enjoy!

Know The Difference: Editing vs. Proofreading

Editing is about the content, proofreading is about the technical detail and accuracy. Once you know the difference and you separate the two into different tasks, going through and actually doing it will seem less daunting. Deciding which to tacking first depends on what you’re like when you edit, but if you struggling with focusing on actually improving the content because you get distracted by grammatical errors and spelling mistakes, then proofreading first may be a good idea. 

Be Intentional With Your Vocabulary

  • Avoid adverbs
  • Be frugal with unique adjectives
  • Only use dialogue tags when absolutely necessary
  • Be mindful of overused words
  • Take the time to find the right words

The words you choose can make all the difference so pay special attention to them.

Just Keep Snipping

A basic rule to editing that people often forget it, if it doesn’t serve a purpose, you should cut it out. A short book that is amazing all the way through is better than a long book that is redundant. Don’t worry about leaving your readers in the dark or not having enough content. As you edit, you’ll find ways and places in which to input more information.

Flow & Rhythm

This is the part where you make sure the writing itself sounds how you want it to. It’s important to read your writing aloud during this stage. Some things to pay attention to regarding flow and rhythm:

  • sentence length/variation
  • sentence structure
  • syllables and how they fit together
  • how your writing sounds out loud


Say it once and say it clearly. Redundancy bores readers so quickly, so when putting information forward, be clear, concise, and don’t add fluff. You don’t need to write a whole paragraph about how a character feels in a situation. It’s important to give the reader just enough to read between the lines.


Common Grammar Mistakes To Look For

  • Subject-verb agreement errors
  • Sentence Fragments
  • Missing Comma After Introductory Element
  • Misusing The Apostrophe With “Its”
  • No Comma In A Compound Sentence
  • Misplaced Or Dangling Modifier
  • Vague Pronoun Reference
  • Wrong Word Usage
  • Run-On Sentence
  • Superfluous Commas
  • Lack Of Parallel Structure
  • Sentence Sprawl
  • Comma Splice
  • Colon Mistakes
  • Split Infinitives

List from here x {Explains these further and more in depth}

Improper Use of Phrases

  • “could have” not “could of”
  • “My friends and I” not “me and my friends” {If you take away “my friends” or “I”, or one of the nouns in a sentence in general, the sentence should still make sense}
  • “I couldn’t care less” not “I could care less”. This should be a no-brainer.
  • etc.. I could go on.

Familiarize yourself with these common mistakes and avoid making them at all costs. It’s also helpful to have someone read over it and let you know when they find issues with phrases you used. Please be attentive to these mistakes because making them can destroy your credibility as a writer.

Utilize The Senses

If you’re describing something in your writing, you should be slipping in words and little details that appeal to the reader’s senses, When editing, look for opportunities to slip in how a place smells, how a food tastes, how something feels to the touch, etc. It’s unbelievable how much this enhances your story.

Punctuation & Format

Punctuation Rules In English

Source x

When proofreading and marking up your manuscript, it can save a lot of time and energy if you use marks instead of actually write out everything, so here is a little chart I found that may be useful to you:


Other Things To Look Out For

  • Make sure you know who is talking
  • Keep tense consistent
  • Vary the tone from scene to scene
  • Run-on sentences
  • Inconsistencies in story details
  • Plot holes
  • Causes and effects of events are explained
  • Facts and technical details {Make sure you’ve researched them well}
  • Deviations from established background (know your story really really well and make sure your reader does too)

General Tips

  • Go in assuming that your work is full of errors. Maybe it’s not, but it’s better to be prepared for the worst and solve the issues now rather than when it’s too late
  • DO NOT BE SENTIMENTAL. Yes, easier said than done, but it’s possible. 
  • Make the text less recognizable to yourself in order to catch details you may not otherwise.
  • Print out your manuscript and physically write out the changes.
  • Read your writing out loud. Sometimes writing looks like it makes sense, but in reality sounds wrong. 
  • Do it in short periods over time so that you don’t inevitably get lazy with paying attention to little details
  • Keep in mind that editing usually takes longer than actually writing the draft because it is less fluid and requires more thought and problem solving.
  • Don’t rely on spelling and/or grammar checking software; they’re not always correct and can easily misinterpret what you’re trying to get across. 
  • Check for a single error at a time. It may be time consuming and tedious but it’s more effective than the alternative.
  • Give yourself time and read slowly through it multiple times
  • Split up large chunks of text to make it easier to handle. Don’t go through your whole manuscript page by page as if you were just reading it as a book. Go chapter by chapter or scene by scene or even sentence by sentence.
  • If something seems off, investigate it. Don’t take a chance and leave it be. If you’re stumped, highlight it and have someone else look over it.
  • Have a strategy. Maybe not at first, especially if you don’t extensively edit your work regularly, but with time you’ll find what works for you and what doesn’t. Create your own system and use it to save yourself some time and confusion.

Support Wordsnstuff!

I just want to add that I once proofread a classmate’s creative writing assignment and her character said “What in carnation?”

And she didn’t get it. She had no idea.

A very good list! Though I deliberately break a few of the grammar rules for style, because I want my writing to sound colloquial (me and my friends) and things like sentence fragments and run-ons do a lot for pacing and/or jokes. So … proofread within reason, yeah? Some books are going to be great if you follow these grammar rules, and some books will be less good afterwards.

I wholeheartedly support the rest of the advice, though.

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