Category Archives: Uncategorized

Some truths about YA

It’s been more than a year since I’ve been here, and I’m happy to report it has not been a total waste of time. For one, I’m close to graduating from SHSU–praise the heavens–and I have just finished the first one hundred pages on my second novel. *cut to movie explosions and fireworks and stuff*

That update aside, I want to finish a post I’ve had in my draft box for a year and a half now. Please enjoy my lunacy.

So, as a writer of YA, I feel sort of protective about the genr–

NEVER CALL YOUNG ADULT FICTION A “GENRE”! It’s been said that if you do, Chuck Wendig will appear in a hazmat suit and tear gas your mother. Sadly, my mother endured much suffering . . . I’m a slow learner.

(To see an excellent blog post covering many facets of YA fiction in a much funnier and informative manner than I, follow this link to Chuck Wendig’s blog. The man is oodles of fun and profanities:

With that established, I wanted to feel my way through some ideas, frustrations, and conventions of YA fiction.

Young adult fiction, well, is for the young. It’s the intended audience, written from a young adult’s perspective. The age gap varies and can be adjusted to fit/suit MG, or middle grade, fiction. YA can be tacked onto just about any other classifier because, surprise, young humans are everywhere. All these factors have given the literary world (the really hoity-toity types with only the most fanciest of mustaches) the idea that YA is, on the totem pole of literary relevance, somewhere below serial crime novels but before the ingredient list on dog food cans. Here’s my take on why all that is utter troll biscuits:

1) There’s gold in these here hills…
Look, I like to give something a chance before I figuratively crap all over it. (Haven’t literally done that since I was seven. ’99 was a rough year). Devaluing anything before its been given proper attention is just ignorant. If the YA genre were a person, I can’t help but think we’d be doing a whole lotta stereotyping and making a bunch of unfair assumptions about it–how it’s juvenile or unimportant and unworthy. And that’s bit mean, isn’t it? Where’s the love?

2) …and it’s very purty.
There’s some quality writing out there. With YA, you are given the space to view the world through an adolescent lens, and with it, the novelty of experiencing the many firsts that teens undergo. That newness, when written tactfully, can be transformative and powerful. Who am I to shame that?

3) But the cliches!
Many people complain about the tropes and conventions in YA…and I’ll agree to that much. There are things in YA that make me battier than the MLB. (Eh, eh?) That’s in all writing, however. I believe YA catches so much flak because it’s the new thing, and it’s always been cool to hate the new thing. Don’t blame YA because it’s successful. You don’t have to denigrate art to improve other art. It’s freakin’ art. Enjoy it.

4) Reading for pleasure is sinful
Do you have a guilty pleasure that you adore to distraction? I do. It’s Mass Effect fan fiction. Most of what I read is…not exactly what anyone would call literary, but there have been a few stories that truly inspired and had me desperately scrolling through those pages of deliciously wondrous writing. Some authors were so skilled that I began to question my status as a published author. (I’m a sham! Kill me now!) The mold breaking stories, the ones that push and press against the confines of literary categories, those are what I admire above all others. Those stories proved their worth in ways that some traditionally published works never had: they were insightful, beautiful, and they stirred something in me, a thought, a feeling. That’s why I read. Not for the image projected by name dropping favorite authors or titles, but to feel and to understand.

To be a well-rounded person,
the mind needs a variety of literature to stay healthy–meaty non-fiction, plentiful, leafy fiction, a smattering of juicy modern events, some introspective, fibrous work to chew on, and a nice helping of whatever the hell you like for dessert. Be unashamed, unafraid, bold. Read and fill your minds until your skull cap explodes from the pressure.

Devour, my friends. Eat and be full.


Can’t give ’em away, but I’ll damn sure try

Hiya Creepers.

I will, hopefully, be doing a book giveaway on Goodreads from the 14th to the 20th. Included will be one autographed copy of Paper Hearts and one handy dandy bookmark:

Now, for the few people who liked the book or didn’t totally despise it, I’d owe you a hug and a pint of plasma (whichever you’d prefer) if y’all would help me spread the word. It only takes a few minutes but it makes a WORLD of difference to me. It’s hard peddling your wares, begging folks to review and spread the news that the baby book is heayuh, HALLELUJAH!

Uhh. Anyways? It’d be a godsend and so very appreciated.

As always, thank you all for sticking around to listen to my prattling. It warms my cold, dead heart :,)

All my best,


Writing advice from a well meaning newb

Hiya Creepers ūüôā

Every time I sit down to type up a post, I find myself considering my irrelevance to the literary world. This still hasn’t stopped me from shouting into the ether, hoping anyone with a spare fuck to give will stop by and give me a cyber hug. Or a cyber cookie. But only the good kind of course.

So if you’re scrolling through this site and find yourself questioning¬†why I’m blogging at all (Are you there Bloggers? It’s me, Stephy), just know it’s because I enjoy it . . . kinda. Okay, I really don’t, not because I don’t care or that I think it’s a waste of my time, but because I don’t feel qualified to preach/share/rant. I’m really here because if I’m ever to have a chance at “making it,”I have to spread the word near and far. Selfishly, vainly, and ideally, I’m also hoping to one day write something so profound that hundreds of lives are irreversibly, and wonderfully, changed.

As you can see, I like making believe.

*Enter transitory sentence here.

So here’s the list of issues I’ve experienced as a writer:

1. Time is not kind.

As a writer, you’re ¬†normally in one of ¬†four states: writing, editing, querying, or not doing a damn thing. I’m guilty of the latter, the former, and all the in betweens. Like now. I’ve made a goal of 20 pages a week, due by Sunday at midnight, so that my novel will be done by September 1st. Am I hammering out a story? No. I’ve written a total sum of four pages in five days.¬†Which means I won’t be sleeping tonight, and probably tomorrow night.

My solution? Holding myself accountable. That’s my best advice. It’s hard making time to write: often the best inspiration comes when you least expect or want it (many a great ideas have come to me whilst I bathed or pooped or during any other gross human function that all of humanity knows about but doesn’t like to talk about because, c’mon, that’s just unseemly talking about poop, and what are we three, Savell?)

So yeah, I’m stuck with a ton of work, but at least I’m making an effort to be responsible.

Write responsibly my friends.

2.¬†We’re really all the same.

I’m so paranoid that the second novel will simply be a repeat of the first.¬†Which is understandable, I think, but hopefully won’t happen. I’ve been extra careful to flesh out my new characters, to keep their personalities, thoughts, and situations different enough so that I’m not rewriting the same book. Hell, as we speak, I’m experiencing a creepy feeling about this¬†post. It feels eerily similar to another such post about writing . . . Oh well.

3. Just be yourself. Unless you’re a weirdo. Then fuckoffthen.

We live in a¬†society that tells you to be yourself. Then when you are, if you aren’t good enough or if you’re too creepycreepy, they change their mind fast.¬†

They tell you it doesn’t matter what others think . . . and then they tell you it does.

I’m getting to a point. My point is that you have to write from the heart.

That’s a cliche. Which everyone tells you you should NEVER EVER EVER write into a novel. Ever.

To which I shout BULSHIIIT.

You have to write what feels real. What makes ¬†you happy. What makes you feel anything at all. If some of your writing veers into the land of cliches and bad movie tropes, so be it–as long as it feels real, authentic, important. Expecting every sentence you put to paper to be mind shatteringly awesome and original is ridiculous. We’re all human. We share the basic human experience, and with that shared experience comes commonalities. Jungian archetypes are proof that all civilizations share the same feelings, needs, desires; they have the same heroes, ideas, concepts; we all tell stories that at the innermost core can be divvied up into common categories and constructs: honestly, there really is nothing new under the sun. I believe if you write with feeling, with meaning, honesty and truth,¬†all else can be forgiven: even some pretty bad writing.

4. Too great expectations

If you write with the sole intention of money or fame, more power to you because I doubt you really care what anyone thinks about you or your work (unless it negatively affects your income of course). Not condemning someone who uses their considerable talent selfishly . . .

Huh. So I guess I am. This post isn’t for you then.

To those who think that their first book will solve all their problems, I say no.

To those that believe, improbably but ¬†not impossibly, that it’ll be an instant bestseller, I say no.

To those that think that if they could just publish one book, just one, that they’d be happy forever, I say no.

I could be wrong. I’m good at wrongness.

*Warning: No case is typical. Don’t troll me*

Personally, publishing a novel didn’t solve all my problems. I didn’t get rich, famous, or even really noticed. My friends and family were happy, a few strangers were kind, and the rest were apathetic (or assholes). It’s just how it works. Should you count out that maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who catch the tail of a star and ride it to fame? No. But I think it’s a huge mistake to expect all these things. It sets you up for disappointment. And disappointed is one thing you should never associate with publishing your work.

So, thanks for stopping by. ūüôā Next time I’ll be much funnier. And oh, I’ll have GIFS, lots and lots of GIFS. With pandas and twisty straws and sprinkled cupcakes.

All my best,


The Blog Post Where I Get Ripped a New One

Hi all!

Today just felt like a blog post type day. Though, preferably, every day should be a blog posting type day.¬†Unfortunately, I am quite¬†procrastinatory (oh yeah, that’s a word now), and lazy, and have a habit of sitting down to do something productive¬†only to end up wandering off in a mindless stupor. It’s my brain, I tell you.

So since today is a rare day, I think I should post something equally as bloody: bad book reviews. Oh yesh. I know it’s my job to thrust upon you all only GOOD reviews because clearly, my book can only have GOOD things about it, and by showing you the NOT SO GOOD, I have lost all credibility as a writer.

I don’t think so. I think it’s fair to let you know what you may be getting into, on the off chance you’d like to take a peeksyboo at my bookie poo. I have enough faith in my story, and my message, that I do not fear that which is quite ugly.

And trust me, it’s ugly.

So here are some reviews that seeped into my heart and have been slowly killing me ever since.

From Librarything, where everyone there seems to either hate the novel or has a “meh” reaction to it, I present bad review #1:

“I was so excited when I first received my Advance Readers Copy of Paper Hearts by S.R. Savell (thank you Medallion Press and LibraryThing.) My excitement quickly dissipated by the time I hit the third paragraph of the opening chapter. In an attempt to be descriptive, the author bogged the imagery down with extraneous phrases that made it outright painful for me to decipher any meaningful content.

I would not have minded such writing as much, in fact, I would have gladly looked passed it and the overused clichés, had I fallen in love with the characters. Unfortunately, Michelle is so mean, self-centered, and dramatic, that it took me reading only a few pages to realize that I didn’t not just dislike her, I actually hated her. I could make no connection with or make sense of her evil thought process. I could only feel bad for the other character, Nathaniel, who in contrast seemed oddly misplaced. He was nice, thoughtful, and in no way should have been permitted to exist in the same book as Michelle.

Not without difficulty, I finished the book. I tried earnestly to find something positive to make note about in this review. The unrealistic revelations and poor attempts to gain the readers empathy for Michelle later in the book only made it more laborious for me to finish. Cursing and unwitty sarcasm was often used as dialogue. I honestly have never had such a negative reaction to a book before. I will not be recommending this particular novel to anyone. ”


Ouch. That uh, really felt like a buzzard was ripping my liver out. *tries not to cry

Book review # 2 . . .

“I have to start with a disclaimer before I start ragging on this book – The copy I read was an uncorrected proof… Sooo hopefully it is going to be much better before the actual book is for sale.
I really wanted to like this book (and I did… like it) but it was so hard to read with so many errors. There were whole parts of the book that were repeated (I think they were meant to be taken out but weren’t yet) and the timeline was screwed up due to leaving the double parts in. This just made it so hard to enjoy.

If I had to rate the book based on the story alone – I would say it has real potential! As does the author. The character development was pretty good although Michelle was a very unlikable person, she was rude, mouthy, obnoxious, and just plain mean! I would almost go as far as saying I hated her. On the other hand, I really liked Nathaniel, what a sweetheart he was (he was kind of like an open book) and clearly did not deserved Michelle or everything that had happened to him. And I also really loved his grandmother! She had such insight.

Part of the story is about Michelle being bullied at school, but she was a bully herself! So I hate to say it but she kinda had it coming! The rest (which I will not give away) she did not have coming and was very sad.

I am almost sorry that it was the ARC I read and not the finished book because I think I would have liked it better. So I wish good luck to the author, I do think she will make it! I would read her again.”


*Painstakingly pushes liver back into body.

Alright, fair enough. This reviewer, like the one before, makes valid arguments, and points out the very same errors I myself recognize and wish with all my being that I could have/would have fixed. I think today can be salvaged. Not that bad, huh?

Book review # 3:

“One of the commonplaces in writing and editing fiction is that the reader must always be on the narrator’s side. Whether the narrator is a good person or a bad person, likeable or despicable, he or she must always be appealing for the reader. PAPER HEARTS breaks this rule sullenly.

The plot of this novel is simple: despite a difficult start, Michelle pursues a friendship, and then a romantic relationship, with Nathaniel. The relationship becomes very serious very quickly, and readers follow Michelle as she discovers the kind of person she means to be.

Michelle is an abrasive narrator, and I found the first few chapters in her voice strongly repellant. Eventually the story revealed an interest beyond the narrator herself and started to advance. Again, there were problems. The transformation of Michelle’s attitude toward Nathaniel was too sudden to be plausible, and the time scale of the book didn’t make sense. During the final crisis readers learn more of the reasons for Michelle’s seething rage and bitterness, but these reasons arrive too late to be believable or relevant.

The pacing of this novel is also poor. Sometimes the narrator describes scenes in excruciating detail; other times ‚ÄĒ in one case, quite self-consciously ‚ÄĒ she skips over important events in a few words. Similarly, there are numerous unresolved plot points at the novel’s conclusion. Some of them are swept away in a few lines; others are simply lost. One of the most awkwardly handled aspects of the story is the book chase Michelle is sent on by Nathaniel’s mother. Readers aren’t even told the titles of the books, and the resolution of this plot is just silly. I felt the writer violated my trust in the narrative with this decision ‚ÄĒ but by that point, I had been so thoroughly let down by the rest of the book that the writer’s choice was no real surprise.

The recent trend in self-publishing has encouraged many writers to distribute raw, unedited work; they seem to believe that editors and publishers are censors, keeping writers from their potential readers. That’s simply not true: book editors help writers find their readers, often by saying no to writers until their style has matured. Arguably, a lack of maturity is the trouble with this book. There may be a good, and even a likeable, book buried in this text, but the reader must work to find it; and some readers simply won’t make the effort ‚ÄĒ nor should they have to. The writer should have the discipline to tell a story so that it engages readers, rather than repels them.

I have worked in publishing for almost twenty years and have never seen an “uncorrected proof” as weak as the ARC that was sent to me. I assume by “uncorrected proof” the publisher meant unedited manuscript. I hope this was a one-time error on the publisher’s part. Releasing an ARC in this condition did this first-time author no favours.

I do not recommend PAPER HEARTS. Readers looking for hyper-real issues novels can find much stronger books, and there are many other sharp, fresh voices out there who will provide a more satisfying reading experience.”


Aaand now I want to kill myself. Fair reaction, right? I think after being thoroughly thrashed, beaten, and eviscerated, I don’t think that’s too reactionary, right?


Yeah, it is. Because even though I feel attacked, worthless, stupid, pathetic, valueless, inadequate, and without even an¬†ounce¬†of talent or potential in my body‚ÄĒit’s going to be okay. There are others who DO think the novel is good, who believe in it, who believe in me. These reviews have marked me, damaged me, but not destroyed me. Do I agree with every point they’ve made? No. But can I see the very real, very legitimate issues with the novel? Of course! I was eighteen when I started the blasted thing. Who knows anything at eighteen? I’d like to think I’ve improved since then, and that if these reviewers were to ever read any more of my work, they’d appreciate the improvement.

So now . . . now I’m going to write. My second book, actually. I’m on page eight. It’s a total mess: hunks of information left out for later research, sentences written in all caps screaming NEEDS MORE DEVELOPMENT, and the oh so pathetic attempt at a title‚ÄĒDISEASE.

It’s progress. And I’m never going to stop growing, improving, thriving. It’s for myself, and for those who need to hear what I have to say, that I keep writing.

It’s for the critics that I keep fighting.




Goodreads to all!

Hiya Creepers ūüôā

Through March 10th to April 1st, I’ll be doing a book giveaway on Goodreads. That’s right: Paper Hearts¬†now lives!

I almost can’t believe it. After two years of work and worry, setbacks and blind faith, it’s all paying off. I feel like a productive, worthy human being now, if that makes any sense. If you can imagine having my normally pessimistic attitude, then watching something actually work out . . . I don’t know. I mean, the first time I held a copy of the book, I wasn’t screaming or crying or anything. I was just standing there, staring down at this little paperbound novel, feeling a strange sort of happiness that I’d never felt before. I wasn’t manic with joy, like I thought I’d be. I was just totally and completely happy, peaceful.¬†It was bizarre. For the first time in my entire 21 years, I felt I had finally done something truly worthwhile. I liken it to holding a firstborn child (not that I would know, but I can imagine the feeling). That’s what this novel is to me after all, my baby, my brainchild. And now it’s out¬†there, in a world that may never really accept it as legitimate or important. But as any good parent does, I accept my child’s faults, love them unconditionally, and do all I can to help them face the road ahead.

Fail or fly, do or die: that’s the ultimatum I’ve put on myself. I’ve hinged every dream on the relative “success” of my work, told myself repeatedly that in order for the novel to be good or meaningful, it must sell-sell-sell. And you know, I think that cheapens the experience. At the end of the day, I want to write because I love to, not because I have to. I write for others because I want to reach people who need to hear what I have to say. I want to write for a better cause than the love of money. That’s what I keep telling myself, and it’s honestly how I feel and what I believe. But another undeniable truth is that maybe I’m trying so hard not to think of my story in terms of monetary success because, more than anything, I’m terrified of failure: and I can’t fail if I’m not trying. To think that something I love so much, that I’ve invested so much of my heart and soul in, actually means nothing at all–it’s too painful to even consider.

Anywho, thanks for stopping by, and double thanks if you stayed through all that mush mush crap.

Now, y’all come back now, you hear? ūüôā




New Release Date

Hi everyone. Just wanted to let you know that the new release date for Paper Hearts is April 2014! Thanks for the love and support.


ARC Time!

Hellooo Creepers ūüėČ

I’m glad to say I’ve gotten some spunk back. Encouraging words from family, friends, my wonderful agent and one kind blogger has elevated my¬†confidence¬†level considerably. I’m even using exclamation points again!

I doubt it’ll last long. Cause you see my dearest Creepers, the advanced reader copies of my book are to be released in about a week or so. ¬†For those who wanna know, ARC’s are basically copies of a book printed before the official release and distributed to companies and individuals so that they can give advanced reviews of the novel. ARC’s are hideous, vile little things, full of nasty typos and stupid errors and vicious humiliating mishaps; ARC’s are eeevil because they are raw and pretty much unedited. They are shameful, so very shameful . . .

I’m past the nail biting stage. I’m more at the skin chomping phase of sheer terror (I’m an obsessive nail biter who apparently doesn’t know when to quit). I can’t express how afraid I am. I know I’ve said that before but–seriously, this time it’s bad. I’m talking losing sleep kinda bad, and this girl right here can sleep through natural disasters. And I know, I know, you can’t please everyone. There’s always gonna be that publication that rips you a new one for even daring to put thought to paper.

But . . . I wants them to like me.

Don’t get me wrong, I want criticism–as long as it’s constructive. I don’t want any asshole feedback. Telling me I’m stupid and talentless will achieve nothing. I mean, c’mon broskis . . . #unprofessional

I shouldn’t be worrying about this in advance. I can’t control the opinions or thoughts of other people. And even though my work is lookin’ pretty grungy right now, it is salvageable. Despite its major plot point fails and momentary bouts of derpness, I have faith in my novel. Its message is genuine and true; it is for the victims and for the survivors, for those who have suffered or are suffering sexual, emotional, and or physical abuse. I want to be their voice; I want them to find their own, to inspire them to speak up against the scum sucking low life bastards who have hurt them.

If the book can help at least ONE person in some way, then I’ve done my job. I can be happy knowing that I made a difference. And no matter how badly it is received or how brutal my reviewers may be, I’ll keep my head up because I know that what I’ve done is important.

It matters. And that’s all that matters to me.



Not so free after all . . .

I am happy to say that I am DONE with my finals and until next semester, all that school related hoopla. Yes readers, this lucky gal has now been freed to utilize her time as SHE wishes, be it dabbling in artistic endeavors or the more probable past-time, holding long and meaningful conversations with her dog. I should succumb to the utter joy that is idleness, filling my days with brain rotting  television and youtube and junk food, right?


Now it’s crunch time. Now I can’t say that I don’t have time to write or that I’ve been so tired from my work and school related duties that I just–haven’t–been–writing.

Both are legitimate excuses, yes. Now? I’m excuse-less. And I’m fully and painfully aware that with each passing second of my now free time, I am neglecting my craft. How can I improve if I won’t write? And what sort of hypocrite yells at her readers to write ALL the time when she herself hasn’t written anything substantial in oh, maybe three months or so?

To my readers, if any, I’m sorry. My hypocrisy was and is not intentional. Allow me to maybe, perhaps explain some reasons why I haven’t been keeping to pace with my writing.

1. No inspiration and some other fears

I’ve been done with my first novel, technically, for about a year or so now (which does not include all the troubleshooting, editing, revising that accompanies the publishing process and is still ongoing). So according to Steven King, who says you should be able to complete a novel in 3 months, I’m four books behind schedule. Which is extremely disheartening and already makes me extremely ashamed of at least not drafting a couple new ideas by now . . .


My main and somewhat related point here is that I’m afraid I’ll end up being a one trick pony. Any time I’ve attempted to write something new, I find myself correlating characters or themes from the first novel. “Oh, that’s something Michelle would say” or “Crap, that is too” which slowly devolves into “Why am I even bothering when the first book hasn’t even been released yet?” It’s extremely frustrating to discern what I want to write about, what is important and what needs to be said. I want to make a difference. I want to write something that helps people, that inspires them, that even if they despised the entirety of the novel will find in it some redeemable quality that in some freakin’ way changed their life. I want to my writing to matter. And all I can seem to think about is Paper Hearts:¬†when it’s coming out, what I need to do between now and then, contemplating what needs changing, agonizing over every little paragraph and having pre-publication panic attacks about how awfully/well it will be¬†received.¬† I shit you not, I am seeing my manuscript in my sleep. I woke up at 2 a.m. a few months ago, remembered one WORD that needed changing, wrote it down before passing back out, and then the next day proceeded to reread the entire 288 pages and fix even more stuff, even though I’d already submitted my edited manuscript.

I just don’t know what to write. And as an aspiring novelist, that is beyond frightening. I want to make a living at this yet I can’t even get past my first book? It’s terrifying and scary and frustrating and upsetting . . . What’s worse is that some of my favorite authors have oh, THIRTY books published and they’re only twice my age! But me? One. Yep, just the one. And at this rate it will remain just the one. How they manage to craft such¬†brilliant¬†prose again and again or how they flesh out a diverse range of characters to such perfection is beyond my small understanding. It’s insane. I don’t know if I have that sort of talent or if I have the propensity to hone such talent.

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

All this hasn’t been for a lack of trying. I’ve been doing any sort of creativity sparking activities that I can think of. I’ve been eavesdropping on people to better my dialogue. I’ve looked up character personality types and have tried to derive some characters from each. I’ve tried to¬†completely¬†dissever any aspect of Paper Hearts¬†in my head from any new or possible projects, whether it be physical appearances or personalities, themes or settings. I’ve been trying and I’ve been failing.

I’ve always been told write what you know. And really, I know nothing. I’m not even legal to drink yet. I haven’t lived a¬†privileged¬†life or even a rich, fulfilled one. I’m not innately brilliant. Whatever I write is work and research and editing and more revising and more research. I wish I could say I was naturally gifted but I’m ¬†not. I hammer out a simple idea from a simple basis because I am a simple person. This pity party isn’t being thrown to annoy you all but hopefully let you understand the¬†immense¬†worry and frustration I’ve been experiencing.

This post was supposed to be happier.

Failed again.



Hi There

So I’ve been trying to blog more. But I’m finding it hard to find things to blog about. My life is pretty lackluster (I love that word) after all. And there’s only so much you can say about a book (Paper Hearts, Coming 2014! xD ).¬†All I seem capable of doing is slinging advice at people and hoping they’ll be imbibed with the spirit of creativity. GO FORTH MY YOUNGLINGS AND CREATE!

Until I can think of something interesting to say, THAT IS ALL!



Open Sesame!

Hiya folks, me again. Just wanted to post something, anything really, so when I huddle in my cold, lonely bed tonight, I’ll know that I did something worthwhile today.

Even if it isn’t.

So yeah.

When people get published-

~audible groan~

Yeah I know, you guys are sick of hearing it, but just hear me out! Okay? Okay. As I was typing . . .

I’ve noticed that after publication, other aspiring writers want the key to the kingdom. They want to know HOW and WHY and WHEN and WHO and-wait, what?

Maybe I’m not the best person for this post but hey, I’m all you got so DEAL WITH IT MUWAHAHAHAH!

~Rattles brain, it kicks back on~

So, here’s some friendly advice from me to you because I care.

And maybe because I’m a little bit bored.

1. Write your little heart out.

This is perhaps the most ingenious shred of advice one has ever proposed. In order to get published, you mean I gotta write??

Shut up smarty mcsmarty pantalones, I’m getting to that. When I say write, I mean write. I mean write A LOT. All the time. Creativity isn’t a well. It isn’t going to run dry. Rather it’s a fountain or um something.

Point is, you have to write to improve. I struggle with this constantly. I feel like I shouldn’t write unless it’s going to be seen by someone or used in one of my stories. I’m also under this constant cloud of paranoia which inhibits a lot of what I want to write; fears about what my family and friends will think, hell, what ANYONE who would happen to stumble upon my atrocious unedited writing would think. There’s this monkey forever on my back, poking and prodding and pulling at me, making demands and mocking me for even DARING to write– WHY WON’T YOU GET OFF YOU LITTLE BASTARD?!!

Don’t make my mistake. Don’t feel inhibited or restricted. If you want it, write it. As one Dr. Seuss would say, the people that matter don’t mind and the people that mind don’t matter. Write what you feel, what you’re passionate about, what you want, what you need, what you aspire for. Write freely. JUST WRITE.

2. Writer’s block is a biotch.

Oh yes it is cleverly written title, oh yes it is. My absolute favorite technique to combat the curse that is the stifler of all creativenessness? Random writing! It’s simply marvelous, you should really try it . . .

It’d help if I told you what it is, huh?

My bad bro.

So what you do is sit your little tuckus right in front of the computer and open yourself a word document. Make sure the little thing is blinking, you know that thing that comes before the text. And then you shut your eyes–

and type as fast as your little hands can keep up with your brain. I’m so serious right now. Don’t stop for major typos. Don’t stop at all. Type exactly what pops into your brain. Let it spew forth onto the page with unbridled passion and fury, BOOM BABY BOOM. It’s not going to be pretty. It’s not supposed to be. Just try it. Go, right now. I’m serious. Right. NOW. O..O And when you think you can’t type anymore, read your splendiforous creation. And know then that nothing you could ever write could be as awful as this coalescence of crap.

I find it to be pretty therapeutic but that tangent is for another badly written blog post.

3. Use what you got!

A lot of folks want to keep their brain babies stowed away in the most secretest of places, far far away from the reaches of mankind . . . No thou shalt not read my STORY. Wait, what story? I don’t have a story. No I don’t write. I mean haha who writes?

You know who you are.

I can’t tell you how invaluable the people in my life have been in working towards the production of my novel. Teachers, family, friends, imaginary friends, semi-imaginary friends with bulbous eyes and green hair. Talk to people. ASK for help. You’d be surprised how supportive and helpful they’ll be. You need a proofreader? Ask that trusted teacher from high school or college or a relative with a critical eye for grammar and spelling. Having writer’s block? Bounce¬†ideas off of a friend. Not literally. Because it’s no fun when people actually bounce things off you. Use the resources around you!¬†Not that people are tools to be used nor are they resources to be drained¬†. . . You know that I mean. Ask for help and more likely than not,¬†you’ll get it!

4. Read your stuff aloud.

Editors¬†do it, so why shouldn’t you? Read your work aloud; the eye tends to skim over words and errors. Oh yes, our eyes are presumptous little bastards, making all these assumptions about what is there and what¬† isn’t not really there. Did you catch that? Maybe. Or maybe your traitorous eyes SKIPPED IT OVER!

So as goopy cheesy as it sounds, consider reading your work aloud. If it sounds awkward, change it. It makes for a lot less work for you to do and hopefully later on, for your poor editor to do.


It would appear the well of advice has run dry. Not that ideas can really run dry. Because–


I’ve always sucked at conclusions. So let me conclude that you CAN write. You CAN do it. And you CAN, if you would, share this post. Tweet it. Pin it. All that good stuff that you youngsters are so apt to doing. Help a sistah out? ūüôā Please feel free to leave comments below; ask questions and I’ll gladly answer. Any feedback is appreciated!