Universes

Creativewriting

creativewriting

Is there anyone here that does RPG kind of creative writing? With made up characters? Almost like short novel stories or joint dialogue stories?

Role-playing text based

Strength 🤍

Fixation

My love language is blurring the line between passion and obsession via expression. In other words insanity, for those who only glance quickly upon the surface. Harmonious and symmetrical order within absolute chaos for those who widen their lenses, zoom out their optics and absorb the bigger picture and recognize the expressive interwoven  fractal like mandala within this beautiful random mess where data reacts with each other in rather a spontaneous and impromptu fashion.
A dialect native under the language of love is vengeance as well, it throbs its angry battle cry loudly from the heart, my subtle bodies tightly hitched to my pride with a cord of ether as well as the roles I take on to serve this function of  fiery love for my loved ones.
A son.
A brother.
A lover. 
A father.
A friend.
A teacher. 
The list goes on.

If I fail to live up to these roles even by a whisker, I'll take it upon myself to have the last laugh or to execute the knock out blow, facing my opposition even at the experience of fear I ground myself and begin transmuting that fear into a creative force of anger which packs a Sandwich behind the fire i stole feom the infernal depths of my shadowself,  its shaped and directed through my conscious will unlike the volatile unstable force of rage, ready to explode and go everywhere with no target locked in.
If the hook connects -it surely will get the job done! puts an end to looking over my shoulder to protect my loved ones, feeling deep contentment through my mind spirit and body and I could move on to something more deeper, another dialect that comes naturally through the deepest feelings of affection, wishing nothing but pure joy and fulfilent, the dialect of nurturing rolls easily from my tongue onto my loved ones - encouraging them to explore the crevices that they'd rather leave and not light the candle of their awareness onto - I whisper calmly into their ears, I'm right here, I give them a slight push in the right direction and light their candles, discovering precious stones that reveal gifts pockets of creativity just  waiting to be equipped by the uts rightful owners, their biggest insecurities now are balancing on the scales as their greatest gifts simultaneously. Confusing at first? I know that very well too. Id never take them know a journey that i ain't sure of.

My love language

poltergeists making a ruckus in my inner space i might just leave if the rule is that winner stays
its a mess here, typhoon of stress and fear, press skip, next thing any near? the  flickering of this flame within urges me to harness this nous, to see clear

is there not any other way that could bring comfort as i navigate this abyss
time is precious, my psyche signals itself and all dimensions of whats this putting together the ether, emotional and body of the mind, subtle than mist
maybe the only way is to roll with the punches, mindful awake, present in this

dreamscape, a melting pot of metaphors, beyond surfaces, deeply probing in
my conscious awareness, a flashlight, that helps me navigate this unfolding thrill symbols, living and breathing, calls to be made whole by the alchemist, intuition & will spirit and instinct, soul and the flash, subtle & gross, stay with nous, see what the umbra reveal  only concealed by the absence of our own acknowledging, bullied by schemas of my own to land myself where i direct my fate,  blast the photons of self on the golemns, archetypal shams
the inner sol, symbolising the wholeness of self, expressing and celebrating this union of one
showering out the warmth of this vibration, a language understood by all spirits, love that overcomes triumph

Al Shams

Marinate in the ever brewing pot of our funconscious minds, where chaos embedded with infinite data of luminosity, space and sonic waves that comes alive unto the ever extending space of which beauty plus the unfolding phenomena which waltzes hand to hand with the senses both the subtle and the physical, through all realms of existence simultaneously, achieving its function as a conduit which delivers inspiration within this small window of mutual physical perception until it dissipates into  the cauldron of all there is, never  forgotten within the psyche of  the universe, ready to burst forth onto the continuously generative expressions upon the canvas of khaos, where the creative spark spills its guts, revealing volumes of meaning far from from static, from the depths of the abyssmal ocean of the all - aporia beyond the logos where change is constant upon the morphe of vast array  of stimuli which translates into the senses and beyond, witnessing the kosmos of these expressions as old as mankind and the primal archetypes standing timeless and cohesive, prior to the secondary pathways which the spark of creation breaths life into.

Marinate in beauty

Moving forward

A woman’s depth

A poem.

Lost in translation.

Just thoughts…

I'm the over fed serpent that lives in your gut, blooming words throughout your chest so that you may breathe air. Your heart feels so cold and bare from this dreary world that I feel the need to breathe warmth into you like a lantern so that you may fly higher. Leave this place with my breath into the diamond filled void that shimmer like the oceans from forsaken tears wasted away into the corrupt void beneath us all. Our blood dotting the floor like freshly fallen rain. This curse oh this curse of the breath within us that forces us to stand. Within us is this spark. Faint or dull. light or lighter. It is our own breath that I give you that blows it out.

🐍

Let's do an exercise! Write something in the comments for this prompt. "Write about a house of mirrors."

How now are you so full of hate, dear creatures ungodly where evil dictates. For what sheds light? For doth darketh seek darketh, & that there of light? Is the spectrum both maleable & endless in fright? So where'th the horizon if so it exists, from no lifeform escapes where within its midst. For has thou not gathered endeavour truly, veracity unwilling and forsaken. But to its potential, a matter of morality forgoing stuffs of realpolitik. Ungestered in a realm of unrighteousness, for dreams depart before evil lands, lest thou have no fear of the one true creator, & sadness falls but not unspoken, as Adonai hearken's & all is spoken. Deceit among thievery is a path not well chosen, but to the art's, & Robin Hood, & promises broken. A go gatherer of charitable conquest, deeds among thieves, warlocks & mortals, stand tall among seeds grown near close to their potentials. & thence at this peak where go getters, travellers, & nobleman seek, Frankensence, gold, & tales of Old, with fortunes less meek. Of witches & Warlocks, bandits & harlots, thievery & mastery, & cauldrons so dastardly. Alas Goodmorrow fair Elves, but now is good night, & of good tidings & such stuffs. I wish thee farewell upon our return to rest this morrow filled dusk. Prayer virtue in its nature, shall discernment fall greatly till our eyes grasp sight, where our dreams take flight, & thus our souls burn brightly.

*At the height of my skills though. Oosh.

Of Fables, Elves, And Angels 💫

This is one of those moments in life that reminds me that we should always make some time for our creative passions, and we shouldn't give up on them. 💭

No matter how fierce the competition is... regardless if others think it's a "waste of time", and even if ✨ you ✨ think the chances of succeeding in a creative career pursuit aren't high...try anyway. Put yourself out there anyway. Learn and grow anyway. Make it a side hustle anyway.

Creative writing is my first career dream. 📚 I was 12 and my grade 7 English teacher inspired me to seriously consider the profession. When I was at a low point as a pre-teenager, stories had a transformative power that emboldened me to take chances in life and helped me evolve from a self-conscious kid to someone with healthy self-esteem, persevering toward her goals despite the odds. 

Fast forward to the future, and I found an opportunity where I could share a moment in time that was meaningful to me through a short story contest with Plan Canada. Through this story, I wanted to share a lesson about healthy self-esteem and body image that took me years to learn but developed from a particular moment with a compassionate and strong woman. 

Perhaps it was luck that my story was chosen, but in all honesty, I believe that luck is simply when hard work and preparation meet an opportunity. 💭

So to you, fellow reader...if you have a creative passion or dream--nurture it. Protect it. Let it grow over time. Be your #1 cheerleader. You've got this. 

Here's the link to the winning entry for anyone who'd like to read it (it will later be published in October by Plan Canada in their Youth Engagement newsletter): https://www.wattpad.com/story/348180464?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading&wp_uname=mocha_blossom_vibes&wp_originator=r%2Fu6%2BZGPViwOzRqe8BJVyAQJ3qgJcGz4riK%2Fh4XgloVZ5UjwHmgLvnF4bCIJr65OfcBjfBcMBvlgWjiuUjq0RVa2oLzOfUhhPcCM7c0wlRdFpEedzBmwgTloQJUThEgr

Peace in. ✌️
- Kelsy

Have Faith in Your Creative Dreams 💭

In 25 words or less describe what you think being in a healthy relationship would be like.

For example here's mine: An aquarium where the fish live in a deep cerulean harmony except for the occasional shark.

Writing exercise #1

Something I am working on, My friends said I should call it Whiskers of destiny. I took a lot of inspiration from DnD. Enjoy the read. 

Chapter 1: Veil of Shadows 
The Mystwood Jungle stretched out before Single River like an endless tapestry woven with secrets and shadows. It was a realm of untamed beauty, where nature's symphony played out in the rustling leaves, the distant calls of creatures, and the ever-present hum of life. Towering trees, their trunks adorned with vines and tendrils, reached for the sky, their canopies interlocking to form a verdant canopy that filtered the moonlight into shards of silver. 

Single River's velvety fur, as dark as the night sky, seemed to meld seamlessly with the shifting darkness around her. Every step she took was a study in grace, an intricate choreography of silent footsteps and fluid movements that betrayed years of training and instinct. Her muscles flexed with each step, her lithe form moving with the elegance of a shadow in motion. 

Her eyes, sharp as daggers and gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence, constantly scanned her surroundings. They were windows into a mind honed for survival, assessing every detail, the sway of a leaf, the twitch of a branch, the glimmer of an eye in the underbrush. Her ears, sensitive as a forest's heartbeat, caught the symphony of sounds, the whispered conversations of leaves, the trill of distant birds, and the rustling of benign and malevolent creatures. 

As she prowled through the jungle, the air was alive with the distant calls of creatures unknown, a symphony of voices woven into the fabric of the night. A gentle breeze, laden with the earthy scent of moss and the tang of decaying leaves, carried the stories of the jungle, of life and death intertwined in a delicate balance. 

Single River's keen senses absorbed it all, the subtle shifts in the air, the rhythm of the jungle's heartbeat. Her very being seemed attuned to the pulse of nature, her connection to the jungle's mysteries running deeper than mere observation. It was as if she and the jungle were of one essence, a tapestry woven from the threads of life and secrets. 

In the midst of her solitary prowling, a figure emerged from the foliage ahead. Moonshadow, her fur speckled with shimmering silver, stepped into the moonlight. Her presence contrasted Single River's darkness, a dance of light and shadow in the moon's embrace. 

"Always the vigilant one, aren't you?" Moonshadow's voice held a playful edge like cascading notes in a melodic stream. 

Single River's lips curved into a small smile, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "The jungle is not just beauty; it's a realm of hidden dangers. Vigilance is my tribute to its enigmatic nature." 

Moonshadow's laughter echoed through the night, a sound that seemed to ripple through the leaves and linger in the air like a cherished memory. "Ah, but there's beauty in the unknown, don't you think?" 

As they strolled side by side, the jungle seemed to come alive with their laughter. Their footfalls became a part of the symphony, the whisper of leaves underpaw, the soft crunch of fallen twigs. Moonlight dappled their fur, casting patterns that seemed to dance in time with their steps. Like twin pools of moonlit water, 

Moonshadow's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Perhaps one day, you'll learn to embrace the unknown, just as you do the shadows." 

Single River's smile deepened, and she cast a sidelong glance at her friend. "And perhaps one day, you'll realize that even in the shadows, mysteries are waiting to be unveiled." 

As they continued their journey through the heart of the Mystwood Jungle, their camaraderie was a testament to the balance they struck, one between vigilance and curiosity, darkness and light. In embracing the jungle's mysteries, they moved like two dancers, each step a harmonious blend of caution and wonder. The moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting a mosaic of light and shadow on the forest floor. Their path meandered through ancient trees, their trunks adorned with intricate carvings left by generations of Tabaxi who had called this jungle home. Whispers of long-forgotten stories seemed to linger in the grooves and notches, adding to the place's mystique. Like a chime of silver bells, 

Moonshadow's laughter broke the silence. "You know, there's a legend about a hidden grove deep within these woods, a place where the spirits of the ancestors are said to reside." 

Single River's ears perked up, her curiosity piqued. "A hidden grove?" 

Moonshadow nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "They say that those who find it are granted visions, glimpses into the past, the present, and the future." 

Single River's lips quirked into a skeptical smile. "Legends are often woven with threads of truth, but they're also entwined with tales spun from imagination." 

Moonshadow's tail flicked playfully. "You, of all Tabaxi, should know that sometimes the most profound truths lie in the shadows of our myths." 

Their banter carried them deeper into the jungle, a dance of words that mirrored the dance of shadows and light around them. The scents of blossoms and the hum of insects in the air created an atmosphere that seemed to resonate with the jungle's heartbeat, a rhythm of life and secrets. 

As they walked, Single River's gaze was drawn to a cluster of fireflies that flitted through the air like stars fallen from the sky. Their soft glow illuminated the path ahead, casting a warm, golden light on the forest floor. It was as if the jungle offered a guiding hand, a reminder that even in the heart of darkness, there was beauty to be found. 

"The jungle is a realm of dichotomies," Single River mused, her words reflecting her thoughts. "Life and death, light and shadow. It's a delicate balance we must respect." 

Moonshadow's eyes glinted with agreement. "And perhaps, in that delicate balance, we find the essence of our own nature, the intertwining of our strengths and vulnerabilities." 

The deeper they ventured, the more the jungle responded to their presence. Vines curled around tree trunks like curious serpents, and flowers bloomed in vibrant bursts as they passed. It was as if the Mystwood Jungle recognized them, warriors who moved in harmony with its heartbeat. 

As they rounded a bend, the foliage gave way to a small clearing bathed in moonlight. A pool of water shimmered in the center, reflecting the starlit sky above. Moonshadow's gaze held a mix of excitement and wonder. "Could this be the hidden grove?" 

Single River's eyes traced the outline of the clearing, her instincts whispering that they had stumbled upon something special. "Perhaps." 

With cautious steps, they approached the water's edge. The pool seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence, reflecting the moon and the stars above. Moonshadow knelt beside the water, her gaze fixed on the mirror-like surface. 

"Visions of the past, the present, and the future," she whispered, her voice tinged with reverence. 

Single River hesitated before joining her, her gaze meeting the moon's reflection. The water's surface seemed to ripple as if touched by an unseen hand. In its depths, she saw fleeting images, the faces of ancestors long gone, the moments of her childhood, and the shadows of battles yet to be fought. 

As the ripples subsided, Single River's reflection stared back at her, a guardian of shadows, a seeker of truth. She looked to 

Moonshadow's smile tugged at her lips. "Perhaps there's more to our myths than meets the eye." Moonshadow's smile was a blend of wonder and understanding. "Perhaps the grove itself is a testament to the dance between shadows and light, a reminder that our journey is one of balance." 

The two friends lingered by the pool, their reflections melding with the moonlit water. In the heart of the Mystwood Jungle, they were guardians of its delicate balance amidst its whispers and mysteries. As the night wove its tapestry of stars and shadows, Single River and Moonshadow found themselves intertwined in a dance that mirrored the very essence of the jungle, a dance of vigilance and wonder, of shadows and light. 

The night deepened, and the air grew cooler as the moon climbed higher in the sky. Single River and Moonshadow remained by the pool, their thoughts carried away by the symphony of the jungle, a chorus of rustling leaves, distant calls, and the occasional soft hoot of an owl. The pool's surface remained placid, a tranquil mirror reflecting the night's mysteries. 

Single River's gaze was drawn back to the water's surface as the minutes stretched into moments. In its reflection, she saw both herself and Moonshadow and the intertwining threads of their lives, the paths they had walked together, and the paths they had yet to explore. 

"The dance of shadows and light," Single River murmured, her voice a quiet reverie. "It's more than just the realm of the jungle. It's a dance we all partake in, a dance that shapes who we are." 

Moonshadow nodded in agreement, her eyes never leaving the pool's reflection. "We're shaped by our experiences, by the choices we make. And in the end, those choices determine whether we become shadows or beacons of light." 

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, casting a shiver of movement through the jungle. The air seemed to hold a sense of anticipation, a whisper of the jungle's secrets waiting to be unveiled. The pool's surface remained calm, but Single River felt a flutter of something deeper, a connection to the spirits, the ancestors, and the mysteries that had guided her since childhood. 

"The jungle has its own rhythm," Single River said, her voice carrying a note of wonder. "Its heartbeat reminds us that we're all part of something greater, a dance that extends beyond ourselves." 

Moonshadow's smile was soft, touched by the moon's silver glow. "Indeed. Just as the jungle embraces both life and death, we must embrace our own complexities, our strengths and vulnerabilities." 

The friends sat in contemplative silence, their presence a part of the jungle's symphony. Time seemed to lose its hold as they allowed the night to envelop them, the dance of shadows and light, life and secrets, weaving around them like an eternal melody. 

Eventually, as the moon descended, Single River stood and turned her gaze to the horizon. "The night wanes, and the jungle's secrets remain veiled. But perhaps that's as it should be." 

Moonshadow rose as well, her eyes reflecting the moon's farewell. "Some secrets are meant to be uncovered, while others are best left to the realm of myths." 

With a shared understanding, the two friends began to make their way back through the jungle, their steps accompanied by the rustling leaves and the fading echoes of the night's chorus. The Mystwood Jungle seemed to sigh in contentment, a living, breathing entity that whispered its tales through the dance of shadows and light. 

As the trees arched overhead, Single River's heart felt lighter, as if the mysteries of the night had woven a tapestry of connection between her and the jungle. Her velvety fur blended seamlessly with the shadows, a guardian of secrets and a seeker of truth. Moonshadow walked beside her, a companion in their journey, a friend who understood the delicate balance they all danced upon. 

And so, under the canopy of stars and amidst the mysteries of the Mystwood Jungle, Single River and Moonshadow ventured onward, the echoes of their footsteps a testament to the ever-unfolding dance of shadows and light.

"Whipsers of Destiny"

You know the feeling you get when you've had one to many drinks? you get light headed, and the room starts to spin. Well that's what my life feels like. Spinning completely out of control. as if the sun is missing from my galaxy. The pieces of my life are in disarray. And, I find myself hurtling through space.
Falling a thousand miles an hour﻿, I shatter from the pressure of oblivion. Bottom after bottom, face first I collide with the cold welcoming concrete. Time after time, I lose myself trying to hold on to what was. I black out and break. The idea that my world could ever end, left me...open and raw. I find the blade at my neck, but I had made the first cut. Now I flail desperately, hoping to put back what is spilling away. Life. That precious life, is on my hands. Hoping for a reprieve from despair and insanity. The never ending pain this cycle brings. When does it end? Why me? There is no, "rock bottom" I came to understand. Only more misery, more pain, more of the gut wrenching nothingness that consumes my life. I'm weak, weakened by that which I let to go unseen and unchecked...No, I've allowed myself to grow weak. Gritting my teeth I hit another floor and pass through. Oh! Blessed pain! Maybe, I deserve this...to be battered and broken. Forced to face myself, what I see isn't me. It's a flailed and tortured man and I'm holding the cane, no sugar. Breaking this man down has been my greatest accomplishment. Day after day, minute after minute, second after everloving second, I've flogged this man for his insecurities and deepened them. Poured salt in his wounds. Sewed his mouth shut. Isolated him from everyone. Denied even his screams. Eventually, he stopped moving...And, just stared at the encroaching inevitability of another bottom. I pound against the confines of my cage. Taken in by hatred, locked up by fear. Driven to insanity by what I can no longer taste, feel, and hear. And, by that which guides me, my light and hope has also, failed me...I am now...Senseless. I've come to realize, that's me! I'll probably always struggle in the process of creating a better self. Someone who is not so…indecisive, timid, and worried about what others think.
This is the dark-side of me (lol, as if there was a light side).
The epitome of my soul.
It screams for change
And claws at the cage.
An eagle with clipped wings,
Who hasn't given up on the sky.

Severance

I like my man how I like my coffee, strong, sweet and light in complexion, like I've added a bit too much of sugar and creamòra. How do you like your partner? 😅😊

I just downloaded it a few days ago, and it's taking me some time to get used to, but it seems like a generally good tool.

Has anyone used story plotter to write?

For me, I often think back to a world studies project I did in middle school where we designed an island nation. As we learned about the different parts of how society functions, we developed those parts of our nation. It became a fully fledged out mini-world in my mind that I often think back to.

What typically inspires you to write?

This is a little something different to what is normally posted on here.  Anyone is welcome to use this image as a creative writing prompt. Leave what you come up with in the comments below. Happy writing!

Creative writing prompt

Darkness falls on the swampier area of interior of the Carroway Peninsula as spring moves into summer, and with it, the eerie glowing motes grow in number and brightness in the waters and in the trees and along the ground, and the sound of numerous human screams grows in number and in volume.

However, this is not a procession of the damned, but rather the beginning of the breeding season of the local frogs [possibly toads, more study is required as the area has only recently begun to be settled by colonists and immigrants - might need to be corrected in future editions]. They are known as the spectral slime frogs, or as he newer inhabitants have started calling the "the damned frogs", but whether this is due to the combination of their appearance and their croak or merely the volume of their wailing call is up for debate.

The local Mwahahan tribe has a legend to explain their call, and it is one of their more "disturbing" stories, though the term is used somewhat loosely, which will be explained later on.

According to Mwahahan folklore, the frogs screams are truely the screams of people, but those of the living rather than the dead. The frogs release the screams of pent up frustration, annoyance and stress from those who are unwilling or unable to do so themselves, often from stubbornness.

The reason this tame reasoning is considered among their few unpleasant legends is due to the tribe's collective jovial and almost unnervingly peaceful nature, and only 4 of the 33 stories which hqve been fully translated involve anything more unpleasant than a character or creature being bored. One of the few recorded events of violence attributed to them, including those of the 7 other tribes in the region, occupied around 3 weeks ago at time of writing [more precise date required]. This event involved one colony resident being beaten to the point of several broken bones due to a disagreement on the structure of a humorous story, and involves the only known casualty in a Mwahahan conflict, as a Mwahahan who was watching the event unfold died laughing while watching the beating.

[Editor's note: Filmore, please would you remove the story of the brawl. I am still recovering from the bruising and the broken bones, and the opium is not providing much relief.]

[Writer's response to Editor's note: My apologies Winston, I was not aware that it was you. I was wondering why why you were bandaged up and using a crutch. I hope the recovery goes smoothly]

A story I came up with a few days ago. Please provide comments, corrections, suggestions and criticisms

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