Tag Archives: writer

Don’t Be Afraid to Write Crap

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It’s true, we’ve all done it. Started out on how many books that we never completed because we read back over it and it sounded like crap!

Well it’s okay if your first draft sounds like crap, did you expect your best work from  stuff that just spilled from your head. Drafts are meant to lay the groundwork, the roadmap. They are a means by which we get our ideas for our story down on paper. They are not the finished work by a long shot.

Our job is to take the crap we’ve shoveled out and make a work of art. That takes editing, refining, and reworking the groundwork we laid in the beginning. The important thing is to get that first draft written. It’s worth it.

My best piece of advice. Do whatever you have to do to keep yourself from reading your first draft until two weeks after you’ve finished writing it. So much will have changed from the moment you began to write, the characters will have evolved into themselves and your world will have slowly sprung to life.

Now, after stepping back for a moment, you can approach your story with a fresh set of eyes and begin to sculpt, what may often appear to be garbage, into the masterpiece it was meant to be.

Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

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Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

Use this prompt to think outside the box, to go somewhere with your writing that you had never dare go before. See what kind of magic you can work with that brilliant mind of yours. You are a story-teller so this should be a breeze.

Maybe you could use this prompt to add a scene to the current book you are writing. Maybe you could start a short story that you can give away for free to subscribers of your blog. A picture like this can spark ideas you may never have considered.

The Rules

There aren’t really many rules, just enough to get your blog some attention and get new people interested in your writing or the current book you have to offer.

  • Write in any genre you like – poetry too
  • Tag this post in your post (share this post to your WordPress blog as a new post) so I can find you (it will ping back to this post), then I can check out your work, and promote you on my social sites.
  • If you want, when you’re done, Check which famous writer you write like with a statistical analysis tool, which analyzes your word choice and writing style and compares them with those of the famous writers. Just paste your completed work at  I Write Like – You will be given a badge that says which famous author you write like and you can paste the html into the end of your Wednesday Visual Writer’s Prompt, if you like, to show us all your badge! AWESOME!
  • You have until the following Tuesday to complete this writer’s prompt, then I will be posting a new one on the following day, next Wednesday.

If you have any suggestions for future Wednesday Visual Writing Prompts, please let me know in the comments:-)

I look forward to reading your writing.

(if you post past the deadline I will do my best to read your work and share it on my social networks as time permits).

Have Fun!

Short Form Tale In Response To: Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

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The neighbor boy called and she left the house in a hurry to ride bikes around the neighborhood. She felt a nagging in the back of her mind the instant she saw his face that this would be the last time she spent time with him. She shook her head when the idea came to her, thinking she was weird. She peddled hard and raced him to the end of the lane and passing an elegant but rundown place that almost looked like a plantation house. She immediately sensed something dark lurking there and turned away. It was all she could seem to conjure in her mind since she saw the hand the night before. This place was taking a toll on her imagination and she hated the creeps it gave her.

She was certain after only a short part of the day had passed that she really didn’t like the boy much. At her age she was equipped enough to know a little about character and make a fairly clear judgement on his. He was demanding and rude, wanting everything his way. Penelope was clever and could turn most of their disagreements in her favor. It made him slightly short-tempered and he would decide he wanted to do something else almost immediately. But she remained friendly toward him despite his behavior because of the dull nagging.

They stopped into his house for lunch made by his mother. It was a nice gesture on her part and Penelope could tell that she spoiled him. They ate in his room where her suspicion of spoiling was confirmed. He must have had all the latest toys, she surmised, as she scanned the room. He even had an old Weeble Wobble, something you punched in the face and it would pop back up from the floor to punch again because of the way it was balanced on a round bottom. He had already gotten upset about something and stomped out of the room before they had finished their lunch. She could hear him complaining to his mother.

Like a child he ran to his mother , she didn’t really even know what had made him upset until she heard his whiny voice complaining about his sandwich. She was about thoroughly disgusted with him at this point. But the nagging was there, reminding her to play nice, like she owed it to him. She was starting to wonder if she was going crazy, the world was just turning upside down with all of the recent events and the ideas that were running through her mind just weren’t normal. She had to actually try to come off as a regular girl, not that it mattered to this spoiled boy she was somehow compelled to be around today.

When he stomped back into the room he was short of breath. It was then that she decided she would just let him win because she strangely believed that today was his last and final day. This made her feel bad for him, whether it was true or not, it had set her mood. She sensed that he somehow saw his coming demise and decided that his attitude stemmed from the knowing, it made it easier for her to put up with him. They played video games for the rest of the afternoon and it surprised her that she had managed to stay around him that long. She noticed his anxiety creeping in toward the end of the day and wondered if he was tuned in to what she was feeling and thinking. Whatever the case she felt it was her responsibility to be with him today, up until he no longer allowed it she had decided.

His name was Adam, and it was bouncing from side to side in her mind now that she thought of it, leaving a trailing echo as it went. She noticed how his mouth twisted a little when he dropped to the beanbag chair and grabbed for his game controller. She wondered what he thought about right now in this moment, if he knew that it was precious time he was wasting. If today truly was to be his last day, what were to be the last of his thoughts. Considering him this way, just as a boy, a regular boy, pulled her into a sad and sympathetic place. She didn’t really know him, know what he liked, what caused him pain, what brought him joy. She felt like a heel for her earlier thoughts and held on to this communion she now found herself in.

She felt so awkward. Why was she here and thinking these things? Why did she have to start getting weird all of a sudden? Why was she seeing ghosts and what was this new-found fascination with death? None of it made any sense to her and none of the experiences she was having were pleasant. She wished hard for these things to go away, but the universe had a gift to give and she doubted she could stop it. It felt mostly bad, except for right now, hanging out with Adam.

Even though he was not someone she could easily get along with, she felt closer to him than any other friend she had ever made, whether she liked him or not. It was because she felt like she had crawled inside him, she was occupying that space and was becoming privy to his thoughts and feelings. She was getting to know him better than she had known anyone before and it was sincerity that she felt for him through this connection, tinged with hope for what he would find after death took hold of him. It was strange to say the least, but that was all just crazy thinking, she surely had to be making it all up. She had spent her day and couldn’t escape the grip of where her thoughts had led her, and were leading her still.

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Published by: M.R. Goodhew

Michelle Rene has been involved in the publishing industry for over twenty years as an author, designer, and illustrator. She is an Indie Author Advocate who volunteers her time to give back to the Indie Author Community by offering her design services four times a year, free of charge.

As an author of nonfiction, Michelle Rene writes books that serve to assist the independent author in developing their platform, discovering their brand, and creating the right look that will draw readers to them. She discusses how to navigate social media and addresses marketing tactics. For the author who sets up their web presence independently and does not wish to hire a designer, her books offer a wealth of start-up information, graphic design templates, and give crucial insight to the designers thought process which assists in the creation and design of the author’s platform.

Michelle Rene also writes fiction which falls under several genres, including: Fantasy, Drama, Young-Adult Fiction, Mystery, and Thriller. She is currently working on a series of novels whose main theme involves the mysteries of death and the afterlife.

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Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

images (3)Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

Use this prompt to think outside the box, to go somewhere with your writing that you had never dare go before. See what kind of magic you can work with that brilliant mind of yours. You are a story-teller so this should be a breeze.

Maybe you could use this prompt to add a scene to the current book you are writing. Maybe you could start a short story that you can give away for free to subscribers of your blog. A picture like this can spark ideas you may never have considered.

The Rules

There aren’t really many rules, just enough to get your blog some attention and get new people interested in your writing or the current book you have to offer.

  • Write in any genre you like – poetry too
  • Tag this post in your post (share this post to your WordPress blog as a new post) so I can find you (it will ping back to this post), then I can check out your work, and promote you on my social sites.
  • If you want, when you’re done, Check which famous writer you write like with a statistical analysis tool, which analyzes your word choice and writing style and compares them with those of the famous writers. Just paste your completed work at  I Write Like – You will be given a badge that says which famous author you write like and you can paste the html into the end of your Wednesday Visual Writers Prompt, if you like, to show us all your badge! AWESOME!
  • You have until the following Tuesday to complete this writers prompt, then I will be posting a new one on the following day, next Wednesday.

If you have any suggestions for future Wednesday Visual Writing Prompts, please let me know in the comments 🙂

I look forward to reading your writing.

(if you post past the deadline I will do my best to read your work and share it on my social networks as time permits).

Have Fun!

My Short Form Fiction In Response To: Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

John sat in his ragged red leather recliner, half leaning on the bulge that was now his stomach. He longed to write. He thought about the prospect day-in and day-out but reluctance kept his pen from the page, a reluctance no person on the earth would ever understand.

His hand rested uncomfortably on the journal at his knee and his fingers shook only slightly, but uncontrollably. He wanted, needed so badly to put these words to paper. Not just any words would do, they had to be perfect. It was a fact he could not escape from, no matter how much writing advice had told him otherwise. “First drafts were always crap!” they had said. But not for John, each letter was a special etching of magic, each word was the incantation of a spell.

He could feel the sweat began to bead on his brow and a wave of that heat rush quickly over him. The pen touched the paper and the black ink rolled in a zigzag fashion. John’s intake of breath was sharp and the moment seemed to freeze in time. His hand was steady now, his eyes alert, the sweat rolling down his temples dripping through his graying hair.

It had been years since he wrote last. So many long years now. The worn edges of the journal gently brushed the palm of his left hand. He held the journal open, the stain of the paper calling to him. He could still taste the tang of the warm blood filling his mouth from the last time he had been so inspired. Sometimes he could hear the faint sound of those footsteps just behind him.

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he traced the new tale over and over. This time would be different, the best he could manage. This was the big-ticket, a real win for a worn out framer who couldn’t walk walls let alone stand them the way that he used to. Just a stumble over fifty, this was his chance to write his life new, to pull out all the stops, to make things good again. It had to be perfect. The cramp in his right hand reminded him how long he’d been gripping the pen. The dent in his forefinger painful, he spun it around just enough to change his grip.

Clenching his teeth he let the first line flow like he had memorized. Word-for-word it spilled out, setting the scene. The old wood floors creaked in response and he rocked his feet to the rhythm. His pace did not slow, the words flowed perfectly, just as he had planned.

A waft of stale cigarette smoke reached his nose, he lifted his head to see the curtains billowing slightly from the open window. The salt air was a welcome replacement.

The floor rolled beneath him and the walls buckled with a snap. The place was settling into its new layout, cool and open.

Through the linen, on the back french doors, he could make out the rise and fall of the hills of sand that led to the beach. The sound of the crashing waves came to greet him.

His old recliner shifted comfortably with the new heartbeat of the house. He lifted the pen only for a moment to take in the scene.

This was it, it was happening, his heart skipped loudly against his chest. He could feel the weight of his aging body and so set back to writing.

With each word, he wrote away the aches and pains that four decades had wrought upon his body. A softness moved upon his skin and the corners of the paper scraped against his fading callused hands. His lungs drank deep the fresh wind wafting up from the shore and his heart quickened. It was working. Gone were the lines that marked the years about his face and the swell of his stomach – he could see it getting smaller.

It was magic that removed the years that had torn his happiness from him. With a shudder, his body settled into its newfound home. The excitement swelled within him and he knew youth again. The pen and paper fell to the floor at his feet. He hadn’t written in new clothes, he’d have to do that later after some careful thought. Writing things real was seductive but dangerous, it must be done perfectly to avoid misunderstandings. The slightest mishap could bring misery and couldn’t be undone. There was no writing away what had been writ, it was permanent.

He stood with such ease he nearly threw himself forward to the floor. His blood pumped strong through his veins. His muscles moved with a precision he hadn’t known in years. The air came swiftly to his lungs and he stretched his arms wide breathing it in. The feeling was nothing less than bliss as he walked toward the double doors, not a creak in his joints. The weight and worry of 30 years lost.

It was heaven, just like he’d planned. He’d penned every word to the letter, forgetting nothing. Gone was the single-wide trailer and mountain of bills, no health insurance and the onset of diabetes. He’d thought of it all and wrote it anew.

He was a healthy twenty-three-year-old man again, but this time with beachfront property and a swollen bank account. He was even more handsome than he had ever been and well endowed. Nothing was left to chance, and he snickered as he thought of the new Corvette awaiting him in his new driveway. It was a beautiful life, at last.

He almost giggled as he made for the back patio whose night lights had flickered aglow. The night was calling him. He would have a boat on the dock at the marina. His smile was beginning to strain the muscles in his face. The scent of lilies mixed with salt air tempted his thoughts while he listened for endless minutes to the not-so-far-off crashing of the waves.

A scraping of cement… in the background… growing louder…

He hardly noticed. It made a steady rhythm with the pounding of the waves. He was lost in the magic of his success. Until the scuffing on the patio forced his attention with a start. Had he forgotten something?

The stranger grinned in the shadows, stepping into the light to take his chance. He was at Johns side in an instant. An eight-inch dagger plunged into Johns side below his ribs. Sinking deep into his young liver.

John sputtered in shock, coughing up a trace of blood, he fought to expand his lungs. He had forgotten the stranger, the madman he had written so many years ago.

Shock struck him like a hammer. He could feel the scratch of the blade against his innards as the stranger pulled it from him. The heat of his blood filling the rear of his pants. Down he went, his knees hit hard, popping like fire as they slammed against the concrete of the patio. He blinked hard to capture the fading vision of his dream come to life, but he only caught sight of the figure. An imaginary madman of his own making which had finally undone him.


Short Form Tale In Response To:

Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

Try this fun tool called I Write Like to analyze your writing  🙂 For this piece it says…


MichelleRene004Published by M.R. Goodhew

Michelle Rene has been involved in the publishing industry for over twenty years as an author, copywriter, and designer, and is an Indie Author Advocate who volunteers her time to give back to the Indie Author Community.

As an author of non-fiction, Michelle Rene writes books that serve to assist the independent author in developing their platform, discovering their brand, and creating the right look that will draw readers to them. She discusses how to navigate social media and addresses marketing tactics. For the author who sets up their web presence independently and does not wish to hire a designer, her books offer a wealth of start-up information, graphic design templates, video tutorials, and give crucial insight to the designers thought process – which assists in the creation and design of the author’s platform.

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Michelle Rene also writes fiction which falls under several genres, including: Fantasy, Drama, Young-Adult Fiction, Mystery, and Thriller. She is currently working on a book that involves conspiracy theories…

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