1. Only you can write this.
2. You were born to write this.
3. People need you to write this.
4. The world is waiting for you to finish this.
5. One day, someone will tell you how much they needed to read this.
6. You can write anything you set your mind to.
7. This has a glimmer of brilliance in it.
8. The crappy words will fall away in revision.
9. My vision of the world matters.
10. I see people in a new way.
You don’t need to believe that this is going to be a bestseller. You don’t need to believe that you’re going to be a household name. You don’t need to believe that someday people will study your book in college. But you do have to work to counteract the relentless voice of defeat in your head that says:
1. No one will ever read this.
2. I am banging my head against the wall here.
3. Who am I to think I could be a writer?
4. My father/mother/partner is right. I should give up.
5. I don’t know how to do this. I never learned. No one ever taught me.
6. My voice doesn’t matter.
7. My experience is too different from anyone else’s to connect with readers.
8. I don’t know what happens next.
9. I feel too exposed. I want to hide and protect myself more.
10. I can’t expect anyone to pay me for this when they can get so many other things for free.
To begin with I want to thank you for your support, whether it has been through personal messages, for giving my praise, for showing me inspiration through you and for sharing your work with me while I share my writing with yours I thank you all.
Now I have a favour to ask of you.
In the novel I am working on I have a character that is very instrumental to the entire plot, he is not the protagonist but he is the secondary lead. The problem is that I have written nearly 60k words and still do not have a name for him!
I finally thought that who better to turn to for inspiration than the people that provide it for me on a daily basis? I need your help to find a name for him. A name that fully encompasses who he is, his very nature, his background, his moods and feelings and the manner in which he perceives himself as well as how others perceive him. I need the perfect name!
Here is the spin for this contest: If the name you have given this character is selected for use I will write you into the novel. That’s correct, you will be written into my novel.
Now you may not have a lead role but I can promise that you will not go unnoticed. Depending on how many people want to enter this I may also randomly draw a select group of people to make cameos as well.
I figure that since you have all supported me that I could give back something, however small, while I continue writing my manuscript.
Make sure to like this post or even reblog it if you support the concept and soon I’ll find a more defined way of going about this. I will be providing a comprehensive history of the character, their main traits, their relationship with the protagonist and other characters in the novel and more so that you will have a firm idea of who the individual is that you are going to craft a name for!
Thanks again to everyone, you’re the best.
How I feel the conversation is going to progress when I pick up the phone and it’s my boss calling.
Conversely, how I would like the call to progress every time I call him.
And as I closed the door behind me, with my back slowly arching and pressing against the stiff wood there was little silence. I could nearly hear her whispers and soft whimpers between the creaks of the floorboards and turn of the handle that my elbow rested upon. My eyes would betray any resolution I made to conceal my true, tarnished emotions; ribbons of guilt that pulled back from behind my white globes that caused them to roll back into my head. My throat cracked. I drew breath in and became undone.
The soft pink tones that she loved had been flared into feverish pitches of red around my sockets, thick and uneven brushstrokes of defeated hues had pushed forward to the surface, glistening as tears fled the globes pulled and strained by the ribbons, themselves scarred by guilt and rushing to escape me before my eyelids closed. Even they were ashamed of me; I wept and wept and my morality tried to eject from my body and unintentional directive. She was right, I was the one constant between all of those who I previously shared embraces with. No matter what the circumstance or any perceived faults they possessed it always ended with them fleeing, and burning all bridges that led to me.
My neck craned forward and I opened my eyelids, I allowed it all escape in droplets upon the ground. It deserved to be rid of me, just as her hushed and delicate voice deserved the opportunity to recede from my ears.
"Please dear, let me in."
"Just step away from the door, I’ll join you, just you and I."
I sighed heavily.
"You misunderstand, I know you can enter the room, I just can’t let you in.”
There was a silence. It lasted some time, unimportant how long, it’s meaning was measured by standards other than that arbitrary notion. The passing seconds would not decide the fate of this snapshot in my life.
"Alright dear," he remarked softly "I’ll be outside for whenever you need me. Just call me and I will be here."
I heard his footsteps gently glide across the floorboards outside of the door that my back rested upon and my body collapsed into itself as I slid down along it and drew myself onto the ground. My knees came to my chest, my head lowered between them and the full extent of my misery could have been said to be measured by the pink hues that patterned themselves upon my face. Flushed cheeks, a terror of heat that had run through them as the emotion first came upon me when I spoke to her; the deepened crimson that ran along a thin line upon my bottom lip where I had bit while I recounted a story to her earlier that night.
There were the uneven brush strokes around my eyes that painfully acted as spotlights for anyone to spot the guilt that hid behind the white, sunken globes. In all of it was a reflection of her, all that had been shared, all that had been held back, her own fear as well mine and more.
I rubbed at my eyes, smearing tears across my cheeks. The reflection of her grew larger, and in it even more could be seen. Raw and tender glances, my voice and her eyes looking down before drawing themselves up to meet mine. Every time I saw that look I felt like I would cave in. She took the wind from me. She never knew. I imagined the black ash that fell to the ground as journal entries died upon the night wind while the angry flames that sat within an abandoned alleyway ate their secrets and licked the ebon sky.
And as my lover walked down the hallway I wanted to call out to him to ask a favour yet he had remembered, he always did and I should not have doubted him yet the illogical fear persisted. He made sure to turn off the hallway light. No more brave slivers entering my room. No more memories threatening to wake me. No more terrible secrets to relive once again. It was the last true secret that I had told her, the importance of the absence of light in the hallway for me to sleep. Now the only light that entered the room was by way of the moon, and it’s blue hue cast upon me some small amount of relief. Perhaps she was right, that it was stagnation to live by that colour and to craft your journey by it’s cycles yet it seemed to give me pause. Perhaps she was right, just like all of the others.
I walked across the plain room and sank into the soft, uncomfortable bed. I felt my heartbeat grow quicker and I looked down upon it. All I could see was the one place on my body that lacked the pink that she so desired, it was an arrogant blue that defied the world around it. Trapped inside of me was the blue that she considered to be of stagnation, of decline, of eventual death; and yet if released to the world it would most certainly be enriched by crimson hues of pink while it took it’s last breath and me with it. She would have her pinks yet hold her heart so distant, so far, so deep inside. She never realized how blue it was. It may have lived in a palace of intimate and intricate layers of flushed ambitions and a mosaic of living and pulsating colour yet it alone remained such a colour of what she considered suffocation, and the fuel it gave to us was once again this eventual death she spoke of.
I was so conflicted, I could not take my thoughts away from her. I placed my hand over my heart, my dear blue furnace, and told myself that I was safe. I told myself that at very least I was safe. And I looked towards the door and darkness claimed the hallway. I was safe, and I curled up under the sheets and closed my eyes. I had lost her even before we had one another, and even for me that was a new record.
There is something keeping me from you, and it could be that I am fully preparing for the inaugural occasion, however time may be secretly on my side and protecting me from what may still come to pass.
It all seemed so arbitrary. I applied for a job at this company because they were hiring, I took a desk at the back because it was empty, but no matter how you get there or how you end up, human beings have this miraculous gift of making that place home.
— Creed Bratton Se:9 Ep:23 “The Finale” The Office
I only write when I’m inspired, and I make sure that I’m inspired every day at 9 a.m.
— Peter DeVries