caffeinewitchcraft:

sassy-un-classy:

lifeandlovesofemmalinethewriter:

kjsama:

thlayli-rah:

snapdreygon:

andercas:

I feel like when you’re writing, organizing chapters and dialogue is easy

but jfc, the amount of time it takes to constantly keep people moving and make sure they’re in the right spaces and trying to come up with wording for it is always such a shock. 

Like, fuck, I made you pick up a coffee cup, you need to put it down at some point. also I can’t remember what I dressed you in, can you push up your sleeves? I don’t remember if you even have your shirt on.

and YOU. YOU OVER THERE, you got out of your chair earlier, but did you come back yet? Are you coming back? Where did you even go and why’d you get up? Fuck, I can’t make you sit down again already, you just stood up, go…over there. go get more coffee. Did you bring your mug with you? fine. bring the pot to the table and—wait, wasn’t the coffee pot already over here? shit, hold on, I need to go back and re-read and re-write

this is the most relevant thing i have ever read.

I think one of the most wild things as a writer is the sensation that you’re not actually directing your characters– they’re sort of directing themselves, and you’re scrambling around attempting to copy down whatever it was that they just did, but they don’t wait for you to finish copying. They just keep walking and talking and moving around and existing of their own volition and at some point you look up and you’re like “WHOA OKAY EVERYBODY BACK THE FUCK UP WHERE ARE WE”

It’s kind of like trying to write sheet music for an orchestra while it’s playing

#thatwritinglife

@cats-galactic @kyleandthekids

It’s kind of like trying to write sheet music for an orchestra while it’s playing 

Oh my god its in words

“Listen,” my main character says reasonably, “I’m not just gonna sit still while he goes on spouting that nonsense.”

I, the writer, frantically scribble down a rough map and route. “No, obvious now, but I still have to write the part where he yells–”

“I’M BEING IGNORED,” the antagonist yells and begins to flap his arms. “LOOK I AM ALSO DYNAMIC.”

“Whoa there,” the main character says mildly and begins to do squats. They pull out a weapon. “Take a look at this escalation!”

“No!” I cry, “he took your gun, like, five minutes ago–”

“Second gun,” the main character says and cocks it. Pauses. “Was I on a low squat or a high one just now?”

“HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN BLOWING RASPBERRIES?” the antagonist wants to know, still spinning.

“When did you start spinning?” I ask in despair.

There is no escape.