I used to keep separate books (fiction, journal, ideas, etc) but I found I could only personally keep consistent if I just wrote them all in one book I keep with me all day whenever the idea pops into my head
Most stuff only gets edited or expanded upon if after a few days I keep circling back to a passage or page
In the past, I would have an idea for a story and attempt to start writing it start to finish with barely any notes on where I wanted the story to go or any kind of outlining. I would have it all in my head and try to fool myself into thinking I could finish writing an entire novel just by only writing what needed to be written and not wasting any time anywhere else. This is why I’ve never finished any large writing project, and any writing I’ve considered “finished” is usually under 5,000 words. I would either get bored because I didn’t have a clear goal written down, or I would give up because I decided the story wasn’t good enough.
Now, after becoming obsessed with my latest story idea, and hyping myself up and convincing myself that I WILL finish writing a novel, I’ve learned that in order for that to happen I need a lot more tools and organization than what I was previously trying to do. I’ll start by doing brain dumps any time I have any amount of inspiration, this allows me to quickly put down what I want to happen in the story without needing to describe what is actually happening in the story. It’s fun to go back to these pages after I’ve written a section and see what’s changed from then to now. I now have a lot more appreciation and understanding for why certain Star Wars characters originally had very different concepts and stories (Han Solo/Jaba original concepts).
After getting all of my ideas out, I then like to organize them. I’m currently using Fabula cards on a digital board called miro. Not trying to shill, but just to show you what the cards are, here’s the link: fabuladeck.com It took me a lot of time to understand that using a story formula to write doesn’t necessarily mean your story is formulaic, and if I want to attempt to subvert any expectations while also not upsetting my readers, I first have to understand what people expect in a story. I’ve also been reading “Save the Cat Writes a Novel” to try to get a deeper understanding of storytelling. I’ve always had good instincts when it comes to storytelling, but I’ve learned that I can’t completely rely on my instincts and I have to learn from people who have been doing this much longer and much more successfully than I have. I also have a copy of Ursula K. Le Guin’s “Steering the Craft” which I hope will also give me some more useful tools.
After I have everything organized the way I like, then I feel like I can start actually writing what I want people to read. I try not to think too much about it being perfect and only focus on writing it good enough that I can come back later and edit it to make it perfect. I have to remind myself that the editing process might take just as long as the writing process, so I shouldn’t waste too much time trying to edit while I write.
On top of all of this, I’m constantly filtering anything I consume through the lens of my story. I know that if I stop being obsessed with it, I will give up on it like all of my other projects, and as a result I’m constantly thinking of ways to include themes and character types from other stories that I enjoy.
Heh, I feel a little qualified to provide some thoughts here. I have ADHD, and technically just barely kind of qualify as 'pro' (three whole Patreon patrons!), but I do have over 200k words published with almost 900 followers, so there is that. And this is what has worked for me, it won't work for everyone.
Figure out if you are a planner or panster. If the task of creating an outline means that you will probably never get around to writing, then you are best off being a panster.
If you are a panster, you probably want character-driven stories. Sure, you can have conflict and antagonists, but your characters are going to be acting and doing interesting things based on their personalities and desires. Plot happens to help drive character development, so don't try and make the plot anything too complicated, it's just a tool of your real story.
Write the story you want to tell. Create a few characters that you like in a setting/scenario that you find interesting. These should be people you want to get to know, and a situation at least moderately interesting to see how they cope with. High-stakes drama is not required (and may not be desirable).
Let yourself daydream about the story when doing the things that make your mind wander anyway, such as washing dishes or other chores. And if you daydream to go to sleep, do it then too. Keeps ideas churning about future developments.
Figure out how much (or how little) extra stimulation you need. This may vary. I often but not always enjoy having a music selection playing (Heavy on the Final Fantasy OSTs), and I have a civ game running that I can take breaks with for a turn of play and then back to writing (it's not hard to set up a modded game where it takes an hour to process a turn once you have enough cities)
Have more than one story to tell in the same world. This way every bit of world-building you do for any story helps all of them, and you can switch to writing a different story when your brain fizzes out on the primary story.
An expansion on 6: Each of my stories (I have three serial-type stories, though I am only currently publishing one of them) is on a separate continent, and with an undefined temporal relationship. I am not getting any of these groups involved in world-spanning plots, so I don't have to define where they are in time relative to each other.
This makes things a lot cleaner, I don't have to worry about discrepancies or conflicting narratives.
When my brain gets a certain level of fuzz when I try to concentrate, I go take a quick nap. Sometimes it's longer than 'quick', but that means I really needed sleep. But much of the time, I really do just need that brief bit of rest and reset to let my brain chill.
Alternatively, I'll go take a shower, or deliberately take a break from writing to take care of a household chore. Just, do something to break things up.
To expand a bit on point 1 - you won't truly know what you are until you try. I wanted desperately to be a pantser, wrote a terrible novel, and hated every moment of it. Then I tried planning and I'm having a much better time.
The perfect feeling of naked skin sliding across clean sheets washed over my body as I slipped into bed. The sheets were cool, almost cold, but a warmth could be felt coming from the other side of the bed. I began to shuffle closer to the source. I slide my arm under his pillow, I continued to silde closer. I reached my arm around his side and placed my cold hand on his chest. He wrapped his arms around my hand as if it was a teddy bear. I pulled him toward me and we connected like two puzzle pieces.
"Your hands are cold" Kurt said to me.
A shot of confusion ran through my head.
"I hope I don't have a cold" Kurt said.
My senses snapped back. The crunching sound of gravel under foot mixed with the whine of the cicadas. The road stretched forward, seemingly, forever. A gray gravel road flanked by green trees and shrub against a blue sky. The sides of the road were filled with swaths of orange flowers.
"Where are you Ethan?" Kurt said to me rubbing his nose and letting out another sneeze. He could never sneeze just once.
"I'm here, I just got lost in my thoughts. Also you don't have a cold, it's probably allergies. You are probably allergic to these orange flowers."
"Tiger lilies, it means it's July". Kurt reached down to touch one and let out another sneeze
"I can't keep doing this Kurt. We haven't seen another person in months. I smell bad. I'm dirty. I'm sore and I'm scared."
Kurt turned around. He had plucked a tiger Lily.
"You see me every day" he said as he begun to use his fingers to comb my hair.
He leaned in and smelled me "you smell like you, which is not bad to me.
He used his open hand to brush my shirt "you may be a little dirty, but I like a little dirty" he said with a grin
"And" he tucked the flower behind my ear "you are still the most beautiful and fashionable person I know"
I smiled
"I'm also the only person you know" I laughed
"Technically true" Kurt laughed back.
Kurt reached out and grabbed my hand.
"As soon as we get to the next town I'm stealing you a new dress" Kurt said through an enormous grin as he looked into my eyes
I find it helps to intentionally "break it in". Draw something silly, write a bad poem, write a journal entry upside down, freehand a chart/page layout with bad lines, etc. Do something to make it no longer "perfect" to get yourself out of the mindset that the paper pretty notebook deserves a level of care and attention you find exhausting and ultimately disappointing when you can't keep an insane standard of care.
What makes them nice is the experience of writing on them. Not that the writing in them is a certain quality. Do you go back to your spiral bound notebooks? What if that content were in nice notebooks, would that change your behavior? I'll bet it depends on the content, not the paper it's written on.
If you stop writing in them as soon as your writing devolves, let it do that immediately and keep writing. If you want a perfect notebook, the only way to do that is to exhaustively transcribe from another source, and who has the time to do that?
The point of a notebook is to write on it, fancy or plain. If you enjoy the experience of writing on fancy paper, treat that as the goal instead of creating something worthy of the paper. Paper, even expensive paper, is cheaper than the time you spend writing on it. Ergo, give your writing time the paper it deserves, rather than giving the paper the content it "deserves".
TLDR: Immediately "ruining" the paper can free up your mental block on wasting it. You bought nice paper to write on, but paper quality should not dictate the quality of what goes on it. Unused paper is more wasteful than messy writing.
Elves… As wise as they are old. And of course they all old, right? I mean, it’d be unthinkable for the wandering Elf spouting wisdom of the ancients for the low low price of $699.99 (plus gratuity) to not be old. R-Right?
points at my wife's Pathfinder character, a 16-year-old kitsune pretending to be a 116-year-old elf girl
Check it out! Fashion revolution, new styles and the hottest new designs to wear in the post-apocalypse world!
So, Post-apocalypse JoJo's Bizarre Adventures?
A deep intrigue story filled with deep plots where everyone has their own interests. It’s for a baking competition.
But we already have The Great British Bake Off. ;P
My 2 cents is that as you get more used to ADHD symptoms, you can learn to ride the waves a little bit. The intensity of your interests can be powerful, and you'll find ways to partly channel it. A few tips:
Practice being kind to yourself. Accept that you'll get derailed, and learn to get back into it.
Get used to your patterns. It takes ~20 minutes to get into a task and ~2 minutes to lose focus (less for us, lol), so remember that there is always a 20-minute wall of effort every time you need to get going. That's the barrier you'll get better at pushing through as you practice.
Build your environment to suit: get rid of clutter (if that bothers you), close doors or wear noise-cancelling headphones if you need quiet (I'll always love rainymood), you close other apps, leave your phone far away, and turn on self control.
Consider multiple media. When I'm stuck it can help to switch from typing to writing, diagramming, or going for a walk and talking aloud, using speech-to-text on my phone.
Note: I'm a content writer rather than a fiction writer, but there are a lot of overlaps (research, ideation, drafting, revision...). I was diagnosed with ADHD in college ~12 years ago, was on meds for 8, and have been off them for the last 4, which is also roughly the period in which I've built a freelance career. My relationship to ADHD has changed dramatically over that time, per the above.
The author of the article touches on a few good points that I liked, thanks for the share! However, this is a complicated topic, because to me the center issue is quality, and originality.
Something new is something not seen before. Now days it's hard to believe it still exists, and rarer than it used to be, but then something comes around and you go "oh right". This is even more special in prose, and perceivable, imho.
I work on the field, I am also a writer, and I have played with composing stories using LLMs. The reality is the quality is at best a B, and thats if you give very detailed outlines, tone parameters and instructions, adjusting, generating and regenerating responses. Basically, it just felt like a lot more trouble than actually writing the freaking thing myself.
For revision, it does a decent job with finalizing drafts, but get some experience with a real, good editor, and you will see the world of difference, it's too silly to even compare.
Another issue, and this one I heavily believe is the reason we have seen an influx of optimistic, positive look stories now days, is that GPT guidelines prevent it from going into dark places, working around the bad side of the human mind and behavior. This is like cutting the whole point of writing prose to me.
Now, the real issue is that, with good marketing, this at best B, always positive, meaningless piece of entertainment, is more than enough for high execs trying to make a profitable quarter.
So yeah, AI art is crap, and it is killing authors.
Do whatever you please, it can be bad or good. But being bad is also, yes, the point. Your shitty writing is not only welcome, it's also the guest of honour and I'm kissing it on its lips.
Yeah. When you write you end up having to prove to yourself that you're a good writer. It's sort of an ego thing, and when you make something bad you sorta worry that it will reflect poorly on you.
I don't expect anything to ever fully cut through that anxiety. But providing a space to be "bad" in is something valuable.
Genuinely. If you're not comfortable posting your writing, I'd still be more than delighted to send some activities, fuck it, I'll post one now that I stole from Zoe Bee. It's where you take the meaning of a sentence and try to write it's inverse. So, like, "The dog was sleeping on the ground" becomes "The cat was awake in the roof" or what have you. Ofc it works better with more complex sentences but yeah.
Sorry, got taken away there. Prone to tangents. But yes. You don't have to post something complete if you can't manage it. And you sure as hell don't have to post something good. This is, after all, a silly little forum post.
And thank you again, I really like this whole idea. I get that impression (the tone of this forum) is way more supportive and relaxed place... certainly less intimdating than other writing communities I've lurked around. Most places I'm so intimidated I don't even consider posting, I just lurk and read the advice haha
I'm glad!! It's a quiet place here, so every voice really counts, and posting when you can is really the best thing you can do for a small community like this :)
I've seen it happen on here a few times, but sometimes the main thread switches and the comments remain from the thread switched from due to a website glitch. I saw your thread had switched in soon after I posted my response to the writing prompt thread I was originally on. I wouldn't think it would be a problem to post links here since I've seen so many. You can probably use your own discretion to determine whether it would be safe to link to where your writing is.
I always enjoyed crater hopping. The trips between the craters are always a bummer, but once you get down there it can be really interesting. There aren’t a whole lot of idiots like me who would risk it just for personal interest, but what can I say? I’m an explorer at heart. If I die it will be doing what I love, and I almost suffered a few lovely deaths over the years. This looked to be one of those times. I’d seen some weird stuff but not quite like this. I was standing in one of the old buildings, but it was pretty unique to the other ones I’d seen. For one thing I was up to my waist in the floor. If that’s confusing to you, please believe that it was more confusing to me. I could look down and bend over as much as I could but all I could see was an oddly preserved tiled floor and the top half of myself. My legs were in the floor. I didn’t get it but I could move around well enough so it didn’t seem like a problem yet.
I’d never seen glass windows other than in drawings. I never knew that in real life they floated in the air a few meters away from the wall but still somehow showed whatever is on the other side of the wall. Curious about how it worked I looked between the wall and the window but when I did that I couldn’t see the window anymore. I knew the old-worlders were nuts but honestly I couldn’t begin to guess why a building would be designed like this. Maybe some kind of decadent design aesthetic way over the head of a crater kid like me?
“Welcome!”
I turned from my window study to see a woman standing on the floor somehow. Probably a local. Looked like the local mutations were pointy ears and skin as white as a whirling ash storm. She was tall and oddly thin which didn’t give me confidence about the local food resources. She looked like she was in a very good mood, so I figured maybe the drugs down here could balance that out. I put my hands in the air to surrender and responded, “Hey there, I just made it down here from the surface. I don’t mean any harm and I’m willing to work for whatever you can spare. I may have some things in my bag which can make life down here easier on you too.”
She beamed and responded, “We are a local community of organic nutrition developers. Using our proprietary system of biological engineering, our goal is to reintroduce a natural way of living. Please observe the rustic practices of our developers, who we call ‘farmers’.” She made a sweeping gesture toward the floating window.
I looked, and it was definitely still crater on the other side of the window. Maybe the drugs could also be a problem… “That is so interesting! Is there a—”
“I am D’elsa’kilyn’irmoira P’e’r’c’e’r’a’n’’’’’’ . For four hundred years my purpose has been to replicate the ancient practices of cultivation as faithfully as possible. For $699.99 (plus gratuity) you will receive a starting kit guaranteed to provide the materials and training to use biochemical processes to convert inert organic matter into nutritional substance through the exploitation of organisms we call ‘plants.’”
That name had a dialect trill I hadn’t heard before. Sounded like some kind of motor. There was no way I could pronounce it. I knew I would have to be careful in case they had thin skin about names, but she was clearly so high it probably wouldn’t matter if I said it in my accent anyway. I took the risk, “It’s great to meet you Delsakilynirmoira Perceran. That sounds like a great deal. The numbers on the dollars in my bag add up to a few million. You can take all of them.”
She pleasantly responded, “Error.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, “I don’t mean to offend you in any way. Breathing the surface air has damaged my vocal cords severely. I mean no disrespect. I hope I haven’t done anything to damage our new relationship in any way, but if I have I can leave immediately. I promise I won’t be a problem.”
She responded again in the same tone, “Error.” Suddenly her entire left half separated itself from her body and came at me so quickly I couldn’t see it move. I jumped back. Maybe I’d been drugged? The air down here full of hallucinogens? Just as quickly the roof and one of the walls turned into a smooth tapestry of multicolored squares. Before I could even think, everything went black.
I blinked through a blinding light and everything started to come into focus. There was a crowd people around me studying me intensely. The one in front was dressed in some kind of long white robe adorned with a patch of cloth full of little black tubes on his chest, and he was right in my face. I tried to stand up to greet him but noticed that my arms and legs were tied down. Great. He took notice of my discomfort and said, “Only a precaution, you see. You never know who will come down from the surface. We’ve been through your bag and watched how you behaved in the simulation. You do not appear to be a threat to our community and I do think we can help each other.”
He went to untie my left hand and said quietly into my ear “prove us wrong about this at your peril.”
As he untied me, I asked “So that was some kind of vetting program?”
He chuckled and a wave of giddiness washed over the until that point very serious crowd. He told me, “Oh no. It served that function this time, but our purposes were greater than that. You see we are in a bit of a friendly competition with our neighbors. On a recent excavation we discovered documentation of something called a ‘cake’. It was described as the most delicious food ever invented. We are quite privileged down here and have more than enough-- you are welcome to sustenance as well – it’s the least we can do for your assistance-- I mean our communities are in a race to recreate a ‘cake’ as described by the document. One of the primary components of a ‘cake’ is a substance called ‘flour’ which is derived from ancient organic plant life. This program is our secret weapon. Our neighbors would probably attempt to synthesize it, but if we could make it naturally through plant exploitation our product would be obviously superior. As you found, the program is very damaged but we believe it contains all the information necessary to re-create plant life. Each of us has attempted to access the information to little success, but of course since we share many of the same biases we hypothesized that an outside perspective may be helpful. You fell into one of our stasis traps on your way down here, so it seemed quite serendipitous. I apologize if your experience was jarring, but to control the variables as closely as possible we needed to ensure your experience with the interface was as genuinely yourself as possible.”
I put my hands out wide where everyone could clearly see them and stood up, “Don’t worry, all things considered this is probably the easiest time I’ve ever had crater diving. If you heard what I said… uh… in the other place, I meant everything. If you need more help with this whole ‘cake’ thing I would be more than happy to oblige.”
If I knew then how serious these freaks were about cake, I would have bolted then and there.
My process has been to dismantle all my useless and limiting expectations and structure which I was arbitrarily applying to myself and failing to meet. Now I write whatever whenever at my own whim which I have been having much more fun with. Writing isn't my job, there's no deadline, there are no laws regarding what structure it has to take, and no minimum requirement for how much I must produce on any kind of basis to be "worth it" at all. I do it because I like to write and read it, and sometimes other people like to read it as well.
Well, I think that if it is done in a tasteful manner, that is, not flooding the community with posts, there is no issue with posting you blog or just copy-pasting here, if you prefer.
Keeping in mind that this is a specific community for original shortform and longform writing, stories, worldbuilding, and other stuff of that nature.
"According to my calculations, should be right over this ridge," said a male voice that sounded like Jason Stathom for some reason.
"Gosh it's such a beautiful day, Mr Sticks," Kentaro got to the top of a grassy hill and stretched. It was a beautiful sunny summer day, he looked out over the overgrown valley, an abandoned village ahead. Kentaro was a seven year old boy with a bowl cut and glasses.
The left side of Kentaro's body was orange and sponge-like, the left side of his head was sprouted with hundreds of filaments, each with a tiny eyestalk that moved independent of Kentaro's brown eye. The left side if his head still had hair, all the eyestalks sticking out. Mr Sticks had a toothy mouth below Kentato's ear.
"We don't have much time," said Mr. Sticks in his grim voice. "We have to get to the tape while the coast is clear."
"But if the coast is clear, can't we take a break? I'm hungry."
Kentaro walked to a piece of rubble and sat down. He started rooting around in his backpack.
"YOu don't understand, the fate of the galaxy is at stake here. Kentaro. Kentaro?"
Kentaro hummed and continued pulling things out of his bag, a thermos, extra socks, a half dozen action figures, comic books.
"Didn't you pack anything for the search?"
"What are you talking about I packed tons of stuff. Cookies!" Kentaro pulled out a cardboard box with bears all over it. "You want one? These are great!"
"Make it snappy," said Mr. Sticks.
While Kentaro stuffed his face Mr. Stick's 2000 eyes looked in all directions, wary.
"I think someone's coming," said Mr. Sticks. "Stop eating cookies! If we don't get that tape, the intergalactic army of doom's gonna destroy your whole planet. Don't you care?"
"Sure I care, I care a lot," said Kentaro, still eating cookies.
"THEN COME ON, kid. We don't have much time."
Kentaro looked at his Doraemon digital watch.
"It's only 10:15!"
"That's not what I mean! Get moving kid,"
"Sheesh, okay. You know if you had a cookie you'd probably feel better," Kentaro offered the box to Mr. Sticks again.
"Focus, kid. We need to get into that old TV station, and we need to find the room where they store the tapes. It's an old episode of Brave Star Warriors. Number 621. The tape is down there."
"Why did they hide the secret code on an old video tape again?"
"Wasn't my people's idea. Last time we trust earthlings again."
"But you trust me, right? Mr Sticks? We're friends right?"
"Uuuugh. Where's the entrance?"
"Over there!"
Kentaro smiled brightly, pointing to the front door of the old TV station. It was brown bricks, crumbling and overgrown with vines. They passed an "OSAKA TV" sign, rusting at the corners.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sticks' many eyes started to look around with increasing worry.
"I sense someone's approaching. We have to hurry, kid. Shouldn't have stopped to eat cookies."
Kentaro stopped again.
"What?!"
"The sign!"
Kentaro stood before a more recently installed sign, a laminated board on a pole. It read "AREA IS UNSAFE, DO NOT ENTER - 500,000 YEN FINE!"
"We can't go in there!"
"UUUUUGH," said Mr. Sticks. "Just go."
"I don't have that kind of money."
"Kid, the universe it at stake here."
"But what if we get in trouble?!"
Mr. Sticks starts to cuss under his breath,
Just then they hear rustling in the tall grass and vines growing in the old parking lot beside the building...
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