DarkAutumnWrites

Illustration of someone looking through a giant keyhole, with moon and stars where they have come from, and sunlight and sky where they are looking

‘There is nothing to fear, because you cannot fail... only learn, grow and become better than you’ve ever been before.’
— Hal Elrod
writingforwellbeing.co.uk

Black background with white text reading: He’d been grasping for the collective word - a murder of crows - but as that word hung in the damp night air, it felt less like a linguistic triumph and more like prophecy. He looked back and shivered, clutching his spear a little tighter, suddenly wondering if he should have asked the stranger his business, but the shadow was already gone. Inside the ‘Pewter Tin’, the atmosphere was a thick soup of heavy pipe smoke, spilled yeast, and the desperate boisterousness of men trying to forget the day’s labor. But the temperature seemed to drop the moment the door clicked shut. It wasn't even with a slam; just a soft, final sound that caused the nearest table of guards to lose the thread of their joke.

Part 2
#Unprompted #Cliche #Dark #Stranger #WritingCommunity #CreativeWriting

Black background with white text reading: ​A flock of crows cawed harshly, a black, ragged ribbon settling into their nighttime roosts just as the traveler strolled through the gate. The evening’s watchman, leaning on a spear that had seen much better times, watched the birds and thought to himself, there’s a word for that… ​He eyed the stranger suspiciously but didn't bother with a formal challenge. The late arrival hadn't come through with a flourish or shout; he was weary and travel-stained, certainly, but each step contained a decisive, feline certainty. He moved like a man who had long since memorized the village’s winding veins before he’d even set foot in them. ​As the stranger’s silhouette began to dissolve into the ever deepening shadows of the main thoroughfare, another crow called out—a sharp, solitary croak. ​"Murder," the watchman muttered to the empty air.

Too many ideas! Still tinkering with the others, but another start has made it's presence known ofc 🙈

#Unprompted this time.

#cliche #dark #stranger

Writers seldom start writing a novel from the beginning. Instead, they put words on paper until they reach the start. Sometimes they love those words and even want to cling to them because they were in the soup of potential when they wrote those words.

#writingcommunity #booksky #writinglife #write

Boat made out of book pages with small figure standing inside reading

‘You should read and read, to find out what kind of writer you want to be, and then write and write, to find out what kind of writer you actually are.’
— Colson Whitehead
writingforwellbeing.co.uk
#writing #WritingCommunity #WritersCommunity

I find the opposite, I feel I can write more on my phone, and feel it's more... Effort...? Almost? On a keyboard/laptop? I think it's as I feel it's more like 'work' to get ready and situated, compared to my mobile 🤔 🤷 ✍️

How do you store your creativity? Old school recording, paper and notepads? Digital documents online or on hard disk? Or mobile? I'm more a mobile notes/docs app user, it helps to be able to note things especially when I'm out and about ✍️
#amwriting #write #creativewriting

You don't look above average. The way you justify attempts to make people quiver in fear - like you do inside - all that does is make you a bit of a monster.
But it's a monstrous world & you above-averagely love a self-serving monstrous connection. You'll do just fine.
#horrorprompt #vss365 #quiver

You don't see what the point in muting it is - the faint thrum from something that heats or cools. You know it's possible now. But you can connect a thrum with the crackle of a fire in a world where that is tech's apex.
And how we've not outgrown the need to tend.
#scififri #vss365 #thrum

tag yourself i’m I AM MANOEUVRING WITH DIFFICULTY

A small update? I've been under the weather this week 😷
Toran's Story is still being worked on, but C̶l̶a̶r̶a̶ ̵a̶n̶d̶ ̵L̶e̶o̶'s̶, sorry, #Bartholomew 's Story is paused while I figure out if/how it wants to continue! 🌵✍️🤔

Thanks for the inspiration @sonnetsmith.bsky.social and @ignorantfairy.bsky.social 🙏

A black background with a monochrome photo portrait of Robert McKee and his quote "Write every day, line by line, page by page, hour by hour. Do this despite fear. For above all else, beyond imagination and skill, what the world asks of you is courage, courage to risk rejection, ridicule and failure. As you follow the quest for stories told with meaning and beauty, study thoughtfully but quite boldly. Then, like the hero of the fable, your dance will dazzle the world."

#Writers #CreativeWriting #WritingQuotes #Motivational #WriterSky

Everything Hurts but My Shoes   I was born with a voided warranty. My genes read like a horror script. An inherited soup of sorrow. Childhood was a slow-motion crash. My teenage excesses left their mark. Motherhood came with consequences. Somewhere in my twenties, pain checked in and never left.   I wake up sore from dreams of running, but my only race now is to pee. My spine files daily complaints. My knees whisper threats of relocation. Every other joint speaks up in solidarity. Even my hair is breaking.   Hope belongs to science fiction. Comedy hurts my ribs. Too much drama upsets my stomach. I’m a documentary of disease. One in a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand. All that remains to achieve is a high score in obscure ailments.   Some days the sun forgets to mock me. I almost feel like a person. I walk without wincing. I laugh without consequence. But mostly, I limp and I swear, And everything hurts but my shoes.

"I've only ever seen one case before"
"Yeah, that was my Mum"
"Oh"

"You haven't got this, it's very, very rare"
"My Dad's got it"
"Oh"

They should not have reproduced.

#poetryprompt
#MPPrompt
@malformed-poetry.bsky.social

Black background with white text reading: "Great," Leo said, slowly releasing the tension on the mat. "Now, let's go finish the coffee before Peter decides to make a break for the window?" He stepped back, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. He looked at the cactus, and then back at Clara, a fresh wave of understanding washing over him. "You know what?" Leo said, nodding his head. "I get it now. He’s not judgmental; he’s just demanding. He's going to make us earn this stability." Clara smiled, relieved the damage was minimal. "Maybe. Or maybe he just needs a better coaster." She added, looking suspiciously at, and poking, the skewed bamboo mat he was sitting upon. “A flimsy mat? Clara, he needs a dry dock! If he rolls again, I'm calling the Coast Guard and the UXO Team” "Then…," Leo suggested, stepping out of the bathroom and pulling her back toward the kitchen, "maybe we should just move the next kiss somewhere Bartholomew can't see us?" The long haul was going to involve a lot of plant management, but Clara suddenly found herself looking forward to every demanding, messy minute of it.

Part 23
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #WildWalkPrompt #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove

When our loves they have to leave us
When our minds so frail unwind
When we’re nothing left but empty
Can we say our lives were kind
No, hell no, detonate my soul
Spread a dream, perfect infinity
Scatter our exploded souls
Deep within whales and songs
Let missing pieces be retrieved
One day revived

I'm the opposite to @daveashleypoet.bsky.social, I have broken at least one bone in every part of my body, except my collarbone, which incidentally is the only bone in your body designed to break!

#AcrosticJanuary #BONES

Broken!
Oh no!
Not you again:
Emergency room
Serenade.

Black background with white text reading: Together, they heaved. Bartholomew was a surprisingly dense specimen. He, and his pot had a heavy, water-logged weight that required them to put their backs into it. As they hoisted the mat, the cactus shifted, his bronze hooks snagging the fibers of the rug with a series of tiny, aggressive rrrips. For a second, the weight shifted entirely toward Leo. He braced his feet against the base of the tub, his biceps tensing as he steadied the malignant mine. Then they swung him upward, a coordinated, if graceless lunge that ended with the heavy ceramic base thudding back onto the tiled tub ledge he called home. Bartholomew, settled back into his spot, his spines gleaming under the vanity light, appeared entirely unharmed, yet infinitely more grumpy. They didn't let go immediately. They stood there, hunched over the tub, both still gripping the corners of the bathmat like they were holding a captured beast in a net. Leo was breathing a little harder, and a stray lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. "Stable?" he wheezed, eyeing the cactus. "Stable," Clara breathed, looking not at the plant, but at the way Leo was looking at her; triumphant, slightly disheveled, and completely unfazed by the absurdity of the last sixty seconds.

Part 22
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove

A man's face close up. He's wearing a hood smirking side eye at the camera, and pointing with his finger with thumb raised at an 'A B Normal' brain in a jar. Still image is from Young Frankenstein by Mel Brooks and the acter is Marty Feldman playing Igor.

So funny 😂 Still! I absolutely *love* this film.

If you can, try to fill your life with curiosity, kindness, and wonder.
Also, books, burritos, and boozy milkshakes so strong they would make the old gods blush are pretty good too.

Strings pushed
Tighter to the neck
Pulled, stretched, cut
Deeper through calloused
Flesh, blood reverberates
Through frets as pain
Becomes music and
Suffering a song

#thingstowriteabout
#music #poetry
#writingcommunity
#blueskypoetry

Gibberish bad AI text reads II. Tail wags his a left, III. Circuırity begins drips whine, III. Dog just smels fat ani down, FV. Still matr grind on. AV. Built gets its eyes glass and rust, FII. Turning has end. VI. Childrer hour to running low, VI. Children poin to go, grall that stick fetch, XII. Dog ais made of done. XIBH. Dog still turns the meat. Your purpose is cleal for: to rotate, thieles eall stick fesh, ining that the the more constant austim you programed is never never hunger

www.nature.com/articles/s41...

Hm. Something tells me I think we're still safe? Though this does look like it's trying to be an archaic old English poem

#BadAI #Nonsense

Black background with white text reading: But seriously though, doesn't he actually look like one of those spiky naval things from old war films?" He crouched beside her, squinting at the dense, barbed spines. "One. Wrong. Move – and the whole bathroom goes up in a cloud of potting soil and tetanus…” he whispered. "Just help me lift him," Clara instructed, rolling her eyes. "But don't grab the body," Clara warned. "If you hook a spine, it's not just a little prick; he doesn't like to let go." Leo hovered his hands over the cactus, looking like a man trying to defuse a bomb with his eyes closed. "...Right…?" "The bathmat," she pointed, as a plan formed, "We can use it as a sling? Grab the far corners, I’ll take these. We lift on three?" They knelt on the tiles, faces inches apart as they moved the thick, plush fabric under the curve of the Ferocactus. Leo’s shoulder brushed hers, a steady, warm pressure that made the danger of the plant feel like a secondary concern. "One," Clara counted. "Wait!" Leo cried, locking eyes with her. "If he rolls toward me, tell my mother I died doing something remarkably stupid." Clara huffed a laugh. "Two?" "Three!"

Part 21
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #PlantLove #Bartholomew

I'm indexing an academic book, and have come across 'Pratdip'. One could be forgiven for thinking that's a pithy Yorkshire insult. But it is, disappointingly, a town in Catalonia...

Black background with white text reading: Clara was already looking past him, down the hall toward the source of the noise. The bathroom door, which had been left slightly ajar, now stood fully open. Bartholomew, apparently, had rolled. The massive, indomitable Ferocactus had somehow tipped itself over and tumbled straight off the edge of the tub, landing with the heavy thud on the protective plush bathmat. He was now lying on his side, his bronze spines pointing forlornly at the baseboard, looking less like a dignified sentry and more like a spiky, disgruntled beach ball. "Oh. My. God," Clara gasped, rushing past Leo. "Bartholomew! Are you alright?" Leo followed, stepping into the bathroom. He took in the scene – the enormous, tipped-over cactus, the perfect imprint he was leaving in the bathmat, and the slightly dislodged potting mix and small stones around his base. "Stones! I told you." Leo said, his voice laced with mock fear and genuine awe, "I think he's trying to lodge more than a formal complaint." Clara knelt beside the fallen giant, gently checking the spines. "He's fine,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “Just dramatic." Leo approached slowly, cautiously circling the fallen cactus. "No, Clara, I think this is a protest. We just had a perfect, stable kiss in his general vicinity. He's throwing himself off a cliff to register his disgust with the sudden shift towards commitment.” He paused for dramatic flair.

Part 20
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove #Bartholomew #StrongFeelings

Tbh I didn't know it'd still be 'growing' on this far either 🤣
But thank you! 🌵 😂 ✍️

Black background with white text reading: Leo’s eyes softened, a look of profound understanding replacing his usual playful glint. He didn't rush across the counter or make a grand gesture. Instead, he simply reached out a hand and lightly touched the side of her face, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Neither am I, Clara," he said quietly, "No off-switches. No running." He then leaned slowly toward her, closing the final, terrifying distance between the chaos of the past and the careful, hopeful possibility of the present. The second first kiss wasn't anything like the first - it was deliberate, stable, and carried the faint, clean scent of fresh coffee and gritty potting mix. When Leo finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing out a small, quiet laugh. "Optimal humidity achieved?" he murmured. "Still an awful line" Clara agreed, feeling a lightness she hadn't experienced since she last tossed out a dead relationship, rather than a dead leaf. Then, a sound broke the peaceful domestic moment. It wasn't the distant hum of the city or the gentle bubbling of the last drops of water in the Chemex. It was a sharp, almost violent thwump from the hallway. Leo immediately jumped back, nearly knocking his mug off the counter. He spun around, his eyes wide. "What was that? Did I knock something? Peter!?"

Part 19 🌵✍️
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove

Black background with white text reading: Leo grinned, picking up the Chemex. "A refill, then," he said, moving to the coffee maker. "And maybe after that, we can discuss the optimal humidity levels for a successful first kiss?" “That… was cheesy. A God awful pick up line”, a wry smile spreading across her face. "Leo," she reminded him gently, leaning back against the counter. "We've already done the first kiss. Several, in fact. Usually involving too much tequila, bad lighting, and once with the distinct possibility of being thrown out of the bar before 4 AM." He paused, the Chemex suspended halfway over her mug. "Ah. Right. Yes… the chaotic first kiss. Or kisses. That's a different thing entirely. I'm talking about the second first kiss. The one that happens when we're both sober, rested, and fully aware of the long-term emotional implications." He finished pouring the coffee and set the glass apparatus down with care. "And," he added, turning back to her, his gaze steady and warm, "the one that happens when we've properly secured our root systems." Clara took the refilled mug. The warmth of the ceramic felt grounding. The difference between the dizzying shots and this stable, measured moment was immense. She met his challenge, the confidence fueled by the fresh coffee and the honesty they’d just shared. "Good," she said, taking a deliberate sip, the rich flavor a pleasant jolt. She set the mug down firmly. "Because I, for one, am not planning on being the one who chickens out this time." The words hung in the air - a confession, a promise, and a bold move that acknowledged the pattern of self-sabotage that had defined her previous interactions with him.

Part 18 🌵 ✍️
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #PlantLove #WildWalkPrompt

Most paranormal crime scenes contain the same basic elements. Lone practitioner, ancient grimoire, a mangled corpse, and a #slapdash binding pentagram. Folks, before you try to restrain the essence of Hargash the Doombringer maybe learn how to draw a straight line first.

#vss365 #microfiction

Today is a good day for self care.
The groceries and laundry can wait.
Try out a new hobby, like haunting the attic of a mansion on the moors, or disappearing into a malevolent fog and becoming your own terrifying folk tale.