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Never love as a last resort. Never tell yourself that it may work out because you have been too scared to leave. The worst thing about dependence is it is often mistaken for love- this is not to say that you should not depend on those you love, more that you shouldn’t love because you can’t be alone. See, I have been alone, I have been alone with fingers intertwined with mine, a hand on her waist and the tangled web of hair from her head suffocating me like the web of lies I wove with my tongue each time I said “I love you”. I have been in love but not with her I should have left long before she did. I didn’t want to be lonely but I wanted so badly to be lonely- a love like a packet of cigarettes; you can see it running out and you know it’s gonna kill you but you don’t care, you breathe it in and out and in and out until all that’s left is an empty box with a scent of everything you’ve burned



I only need the three C’s in life:

• Cash

• Cock
• Clothes

the only C’s you need are

  • Christ
  • Church
  • Confession

I’d much rather: 

  • Consent
  • Clitoris
  • Climax

We are going to be sad. So we do sad things. We sit in the dark and listen to sad music. We write sad things in notebooks and blogs decorated in dark colours. We do this; and we feel sad. We do these things and we feel this way. Because when we are sad. We just want to be sad.

And it is okay. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to do all those things. It’s okay to WANT to be sad. As long as you know that you’re not going to be sad forever. Sure. Bad things happen and that can be shitty. And shitty as it may be. We cannot let ourselves fall into this pattern or routine of sadness. Because suddenly, you’re twenty-three years old and all you have felt is recurring sadness and you have dwelled upon it for so long that you can’t remember what it is like to feel something less heavy on your shoulders. But it’s okay. It’s always been okay. You’ve had those moments; those sad songs, those sad notes, those sad pictures and words and you have felt better in between them. In between the dark and cold nights. You have felt the warmth of the sun. You have heard the comfort in music and witnessed the beauty of the human soul.
It is because you have felt these things that you are allowed to want to be sad.

You’re going to be fine.

Things I wish I knew ten years ago.
One day, the people you call at 4AM when you’re drunk will become nothing but memories that you drink and call other people at 4AM in order to forget.
Wanna know the fucking truth? Nobody is fucking happy. Nobody has skin made from oil paint and sunlight. Nobody fucking understands this world. Fuck, nobody probably understands math as much as they claim. You’re here one day and the next you’re not. God? Religion? I’ve learned a lot more about the world by eating acid and swallowing pills. Tell me what your church has done for you? Tell me if you have holes in your mouth from speaking lies? Wanna know the fucking truth? Pity is just another word for pathetic. Drink beer and watch the sunrise from every rooftop. Take photographs naked. Take photographs kissing. Take photographs having sex. Stop making everything about sexuality. Wanna know the fucking truth? Nobody really gives a damn if you lost your virginity at fourteen or if you were the president in high school. Wanna know the fucking truth? There is no such thing as the right person. People leave. They change like ocean currents, they leave you with bruises in your calves. And you wanna know the fucking truth? You get better. You learn to love. You find God in between the cracks of a wall when you’re puking your limbs out. You wanna know the fucking truth? Go find it.
something someone should have told me when i was eighteen  (via irynka)


What word was used before “selfie” was a thing

Self portrait. That could be the term you’re searching for.

The pain you have felt has hurt for so long that it no longer feels like pain. Instead, you’re left with this numbness that can only be cured by more numbness. You need to feel more to feel less.

You used to fear death, the thought of killing yourself scared you like the dark corner of the house when no one is home; you know there’s nothing there - but you want to know for sure. These thoughts were dangerous…

You would sleep with music on all night because it filled your head with voices other than your own. If you couldn’t hear yourself think, then you couldn’t have those thoughts. Those thoughts that told you that you weren’t good enough - that waking up wasn’t worth the effort it took. You would give anything to feel nothing.

You soon learned that your misery was not something that could be cut out of you, you could not extract it from your arm like a tumor. You could not unravel sadness like sutures gently threaded through patchwork skin.

Your sadness was not poetic and death was not a warm fire to come home to. It was a constant hand on your shoulder reminding you of the dark corner of the house. But the sun is rising soon. The light is coming.

Numb - Sam Nancarrow

World Suicide Prevention Day is important. I have spent my whole adolescent life around sufferers depression and bi-polar disorder. My friends had all dealt with these illnesses and I had spent my time with them in hospital, or tending to their cuts when they were too drunk to do it themselves. I watched a friend overdose and lash out when I called him an ambulance. It is important for everyone to understand that these illnesses are very serious and potentially fatal. If you know someone who is suffering or fighting depression. Never be afraid to ask if they’re okay.If you, yourself are fighting depression. It’s okay to be vulnerable. It is okay to not be okay. 
Never be afraid to ask for help.
I love you all. Stay safe.

She was my night’s sky in the winter, the cold wrapped it’s fingers around my throat and dragged the warmth out from my lungs.
The city lights ate away at the galaxies dancing above us. It was never truly dark.

Spring would come and the days would eat away at the night. The flowers would bloom and the fingers around my throat would lose their grasp. But she was still my night’s sky. There was just less of her.

By summer, the cold was a distant memory and I no longer missed the night’s sky. I was poisoned by the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. I slept through the night with the curtains drawn.

The leaves fell like ashes and the sun set fire to the horizon as it fell. The night grew cold and I could feel the icy fingers luring me home. The stars struggled and faded into black above the burning city.

She was my night’s sky, she was beautiful. But she was empty.

Seasons - Sam Nancarrow
Writing Advice: by Chuck Palahniuk

In six seconds, you’ll hate me.
But in six months, you’ll be a better writer.

From this point forward—at least for the next half year—you may not use “thought” verbs. These include: Thinks, Knows, Understands, Realizes, Believes, Wants, Remembers, Imagines, Desires, and a hundred others you love to use.

The list should also include: Loves and Hates.
And it should include: Is and Has, but we’ll get to those later.

Until some time around Christmas, you can’t write: Kenny wondered if Monica didn’t like him going out at night…”

Instead, you’ll have to Un-pack that to something like: “The
mornings after Kenny had stayed out, beyond the last bus, until he’d had to bum a ride or pay for a cab and got home to find Monica faking sleep, faking because she never slept that quiet, those mornings, she’d only put her own cup of coffee in the microwave. Never his.”

Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present the details that allow the reader to know them. Instead of a character wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader wants it.

Instead of saying: “Adam knew Gwen liked him.” You’ll have to say: “Between classes, Gwen had always leaned on his locker when he’d go to open it. She’s roll her eyes and shove off with one foot, leaving a black-heel mark on the painted metal, but she also left the smell of her perfume. The combination lock would still be warm from her butt. And the next break, Gwen would be leaned there, again.”

In short, no more short-cuts. Only specific sensory detail: action, smell, taste, sound, and feeling.

Typically, writers use these “thought” verbs at the beginning of a paragraph (In this form, you can call them “Thesis Statements” and I’ll rail against those, later). In a way, they state the intention of the paragraph. And what follows, illustrates them.

For example:
“Brenda knew she’d never make the deadline. was backed up from the bridge, past the first eight or nine exits. Her cell phone battery was dead. At home, the dogs would need to go out, or there would be a mess to clean up. Plus, she’d promised to water the plants for her neighbor…”

Do you see how the opening “thesis statement” steals the thunder of what follows? Don’t do it.

If nothing else, cut the opening sentence and place it after all the others. Better yet, transplant it and change it to: Brenda would never make the deadline.

Thinking is abstract. Knowing and believing are intangible. Your story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking and knowing. And loving and hating.

Don’t tell your reader: “Lisa hated Tom.”

Instead, make your case like a lawyer in court, detail by detail.

Present each piece of evidence. For example: “During roll call, in the breath after the teacher said Tom’s name, in that moment before he could answer, right then, Lisa would whisper-shout ‘Butt Wipe,’ just as Tom was saying, ‘Here’.”

One of the most-common mistakes that beginning writers make is leaving their characters alone. Writing, you may be alone. Reading, your audience may be alone. But your character should spend very, very little time alone. Because a solitary character starts thinking or worrying or wondering.

For example: Waiting for the bus, Mark started to worry about how long the trip would take…”

A better break-down might be: “The schedule said the bus would come by at noon, but Mark’s watch said it was already 11:57. You could see all the way down the road, as far as the Mall, and not see a bus. No doubt, the driver was parked at the turn-around, the far end of the line, taking a nap. The driver was kicked back, asleep, and Mark was going to be late. Or worse, the driver was drinking, and he’d pull up drunk and charge Mark seventy-five cents for death in a fiery traffic accident…”

A character alone must lapse into fantasy or memory, but even then you can’t use “thought” verbs or any of their abstract relatives.

Oh, and you can just forget about using the verbs forget and remember.

No more transitions such as: “Wanda remembered how Nelson used to brush her hair.”

Instead: “Back in their sophomore year, Nelson used to brush her hair with smooth, long strokes of his hand.”

Again, Un-pack. Don’t take short-cuts.

Better yet, get your character with another character, fast.
Get them together and get the action started. Let their actions and words show their thoughts. You—stay out of their heads.

And while you’re avoiding “thought” verbs, be very wary about using the bland verbs “is” and “have.”

For example:
“Ann’s eyes are blue.”

“Ann has blue eyes.”


“Ann coughed and waved one hand past her face, clearing the cigarette smoke from her eyes, blue eyes, before she smiled…”

Instead of bland “is” and “has” statements, try burying your details of what a character has or is, in actions or gestures. At its most basic, this is showing your story instead of telling it.

And forever after, once you’ve learned to Un-pack your characters, you’ll hate the lazy writer who settles for: “Jim sat beside the telephone, wondering why Amanda didn’t call.”

Please. For now, hate me all you want, but don’t use thought verbs. After Christmas, go crazy, but I’d bet money you won’t.


For this month’s homework, pick through your writing and circle every “thought” verb. Then, find some way to eliminate it. Kill it by Un-packing it.

Then, pick through some published fiction and do the same thing. Be ruthless.

“Marty imagined fish, jumping in the moonlight…”

“Nancy recalled the way the wine tasted…”

“Larry knew he was a dead man…”

Find them. After that, find a way to re-write them. Make them stronger.

(via 1000wordseveryday)

I need to go back to school.

(via cordeliagablewrites)inspiration

(via thescienceofobsession)

My learning is ofwficially insignificant. My writing minor and all those classes do not make me as qualified as reading this has.

(via kikukachan)

…It’s something to try. If the technique works for you, use it. If it doesn’t, toss it over your shoulder and try something else. All the writing advice out there is like a huge virtual hardware store, and all of us who’re concerned about leaning to do what we do better are wandering up and down the aisles together, looking for the tools that will work for us. There are a thousand thousand ways to write well, no two of them exactly alike, and neither are the tools used in the work. So pull techniques off the racks, try them out, see if they perform as advertised. Then get to work…

(via dduane)

I always told her she was my night’s sky. She was beautiful. But she was empty.
Sam Nancarrow
Easy and worthwhile are not synonyms
 Ollie Renee Schminkey

I met a girl with hope in her eyes. She had the widest smile and her throat danced when she laughed. She spent her youth buried in books, and now words slide off her tongue as though they were scribbled, drafted, proofread and re-written on paper with utmost care.

She spoke with her hands; choreographed movements so precise that it seemed her words could not exist without them, she was so beautiful…
She spoke of winter while her hands moved like a warm breeze. Her words assured you that the cold was only temporary and that the warmth was coming home after being gone for so long. You couldn’t help but believe her…

She always kept her sleeves down. She wore skinny jeans in the summer… She was often asked how she was, but never how she was feeling, and her response was always “fine.”
She was always fine, but never okay.

Behind closed doors, her skin was a map, and her fingers traced every line to memories of places she wanted so badly to forget. But like pages in her favourite books these lines could not be unwritten, they begged to be understood.

I met a girl with hope on her lips, she had the widest eyes and her hair danced in the wind. She spoke so beautifully of the things she understood, but could never find the words to talk about herself.

Hope - Sam Nancarrow
All I know is, I would go a night without breath to watch you breathe deeply in your sleep. To feel your fingertips brush against my knuckles and slide in between my fingers. I would go months or years without laughter because all I need is yours. To share a blanket with you for one night, is worth a million cold nights without.

When you are 13 years old,
the heat will be turned up too high
and the stars will not be in your favor.
You will hide behind a bookcase
with your family and everything left behind.
You will pour an ocean into a diary.
When they find you, you will be nothing
but a spark above a burning bush,
still, tell them
Despite everything, I really believe people are good at heart.

When you are 14,
a voice will call you to greatness.
When the doubters call you crazy, do not listen.
They don’t know the sound
of their own God’s whisper. Use your armor,
use your sword, use your two good hands.
Do not let their doubting
drown out the sound of your own heartbeat.
You are the Maid of Untamed Patriotism.
Born to lead armies into victory and unite a nation
like a broken heart.

When you are 15, you will be punished
for learning too proudly. A man
will climb onto your school bus and insist
your sisters name you enemy.
When you do not hide,
he will point his gun at your temple
and fire three times. Three years later,
in an ocean of words, with no apologies,
you will stand before the leaders of the world
and tell them your country is burning.

When you are 16 years old,
you will invent science fiction.
The story of a man named Frankenstein
and his creation. Soon after you will learn
that little girls with big ideas are more terrifying
than monsters, but don’t worry.
You will be remembered long after
they have put down their torches.

When you are 17 years old,
you will strike out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig
one right after the other.
Men will be afraid of the lightening
in your fingertips. A few days later
you will be fired from the major leagues
because “Girls are too delicate to play baseball”

You will turn 18 with a baby on your back
leading Lewis and Clark
across North America.

You will turn 18 
and become queen of the Nile.

You will turn 18 
and bring justice to journalism.

You are now 18, standing on the precipice,
trembling before your own greatness.

This is your call to leap.

There will always being those
who say you are too young and delicate
to make anything happen for yourself.
They don’t see the part of you that smolders.
Don’t let their doubting drown out the sound
of your own heartbeat.

You are the first drop of a hurricane.
Your bravery builds beyond you. You are needed
by all the little girls still living in secret,
writing oceans made of monsters and
throwing like lightening.

You don’t need to grow up to find greatness.
You are stronger than the world has ever believed you to be.
The world laid out before you to set on fire.
All you have to do
is burn.

When I was young, I used to pull apart my toys, just so I could fix them again. Every time I accidentally broke the arm or leg off of one of them I would surgically re-attach it with a combination of scotch tape and putty. When I was thirteen, I thought that I could do this for my friends, I thought that with my words and my love, I could fix their sickness. She unzipped her forearm and I held the wound shut. I told her she would be okay in the same way that my toys would be okay with the tape around their arms; that is to say, they were held together, but never complete. She went into hospital, it would be eight years until I saw her again. She was the first good thing I couldn’t fix. She was nothing but a friend to me and I never wanted more, but I wanted her to be okay. I saw her again after eight years and she had survived adolescence , but she will never be okay.
080714 - Sam Nancarrow