Day 3- We Are Tip-toing Closer To Halloween And I Got A Case Of The Morbs. I Hope The Quality Is Everything

My favourite things about Scrivener

1. Navigation. You can see all your chapters, scenes, character & setting planning at one glance and switch between them very easily - compared to scrolling up and down in one long word processing document. Every file can also be a folder, so you can have collapsible items underneath it.

2. Word count targets. The “Project Targets” are particularly useful for NaNoWriMo so you don’t have to keep looking back at the website to see how you’re doing for the day, but more so outside of it, when you want to keep yourself working to a target but don’t have Nano’s charts and daily word counts. It also gives you a nice ding when you hit your session target.

3. How many pages? I only recently discovered this, but it’s very nice to be able to see in Project Statistics approximately how big your manuscript would be in pages without worrying about formatting. 

4. Outlining. Scrivener has two methods of outlining - one is Corkboard, which is exactly what it sounds like, a digital corkboard with notes pinned on it that represent your chapters/scenes with their summaries. The screenshot above is called ‘outliner’ and lists collapsible chapters/scenes with various statistics you can select as shown in the tick menu. Generally I prefer Corkboard, but Outliner is useful if you just want to see everything in a clear order. 

5. Full screen. I get distracted very easily when writing, so the full-screen writing mode is wonderful for me to avoid that - but you can still choose certain windows from the normal Scrivener view to show up. I have my targets and my summary, so I can stick to my plan when I’m writing and also see what progress I’m making.

6. Notes. No screenshot, but it’s a simple post-it note style box to the side of every document (chapter, scene, character etc.) that allows you to add notes. This may sound very simple, but it’s far more useful than I’d expected. During NaNoWriMo when I’m not meant to be editing at all, but I know something needs fixing, I will jot down something in the side like ‘Take out the horse’ so that when I go through again to edit I know exactly the things to focus on immediately but which would have taken too much time before. It’s linked to the scene so I don’t just have a pile of notes in one document at the end and then have to work out where it needs fixing.

Overall

I downloaded Scrivener for the first time two years ago, and now I can’t imagine working without it. It’s so nice to have the planning and the writing all combined into one place where I can easily switch between the two. I haven’t yet got as far in a novel created in Scrivener to use the compile features so I can’t comment on those, but so far all my experiences of it have been good.

One thing to note is that if transferring project between a Windows and a Mac version of Scrivener, it’s generally best to zip the file first.

[Screenshots from my current novel Kindling Ashes using the Mac version of Scrivener - some features may not be available in Windows yet.]

Hey guys! As a writer myself, it’s hard to have a lot of resources for writing in one place. That’s why I decided to create this masterpost, and maybe make more if I find future resources. I hope you like it, and expect to see more masterposts like this in the future!

Generators

Character

Appearance Generator

Archetypes Generator

Character Generator

Character Traits Generator

Family Generator

Job/Occupation Generator, (II)

Love Interest Generator

Motive Generator

Name Generator

Personality Generator, (II)

Quick Character Generator

Super Powers Generator

Names

Brand Name Generator

Medicine Title Generator

Name Generator

Quick Name Generator

Vehicle Generator

Town Name Generator

Plot

First Encounter Generator

First Line Generator, (II)

Plot Generator, (II), (III)

Plot Device Generator

Plot Twist Generator

Quick Plot Generator

Setting/World-Building

City Generator

Fantasy Race Generator

Laws Generator

Pet Generator

Setting Generator

Species Generator

Terrain Generator

Prompts

Subject Generator

”Take Three Nouns” Generator

Word Prompt Generator

Misc

Color Generator

Decision Generator

Dialogue Generator

Journey Generator

Title Generator, (II), (III)

Some Tips

Just a few I found from the writing tips tag!

Writing action / @berrybird

How to create a strong voice in your writing / @collegerefs

How to plot a complex novel in one day! / @lizard-is-writing

8 ways to get past writer’s block / @kiramartinauthor

psa for writers / @dasakuryo

”Write Using Your 5 Senses” / @ambientwriting

How People Watching Improves Your Writing / @wherethetransthingsare

Writing Science Fiction: Tips for Beginners / @fictionwritingtips

Creating Likeable Characters / @authors-haven

Vocabulary

Descriptive words / @somekindofstudent

Words to replace “Said” / @msocasey

Obscure color words / @mintsteelpeachlilac

Words to spice up your stories / @busyibee

Words to describe someone’s voice

Words to Use Instead of Very / @gaybybirth

Touchy Feely Words / @gaybybirth

Some Advice

Stephen King’s Top 20 Rules for Writers

”But my plot isn’t UNIQUE or BIG enough!” / @youreallwrite

8 Things Every Creative Should Know / @adamjk

(How To) Get Over Comparing Yourself to Other Creatives / @adamjk

How to Get Over Common Creative Fears (Maybe) / @adamjk

14 Tips From Stephen King On Writing / @i-can-give-you-prompts

Playlists

Electronic Thoughts / @eruditekid

“Mix About Writing” An Instrumental Mix / @shadowofemirates

Shut Up, I’m Writing! / @ninadropdead

Chill / @endlessreveries

Breathtaking Film Scores / @tweedskirts

Music to Write to Vol. 1: Starlight / @crestadeen

Music for Written Words / @ghoulpatch

Dead Men Tell No Tales / @scamandersnewt

Fatale / @dolcegf

All These Things that I’ve Done / @referenceforwriters

Feeling Soaking into Your Bones / @verylondon

I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages / @rphelper

Morally Ambiguous / @scamandersnewt

Wonderwall / @wheelerwrites

Pythia / @mazikeene

Ballet: To Dance / @tanaquil

Websites and Apps

For Writing

ZenPen: A minimalist writing website to keep you free of distractions and in the flow.

The Most Dangerous Writing App: A website where you have to keep typing or all of your writing will be lost. It helps you keep writing…kind of. You can choose between a time or word count limit!

Evernote: An online website where you can take notes and save the product to your laptop and/or smartphone!

Writer, the Internet Typewriter: It’s just you and your writing, and you can save your product on the website if you create an account.

Wordcounter: A website to help check your word and character count, and shows words you’re using frequently.

Monospace: An Android app for writing on the go when you feel the inspiration, but you don’t have your laptop on you!

For Productivity

Tide: An app that combines a pomodoro-esque timer with nature sounds and other noises! (Google Play / Apple Store)

ClearFocus: An Android app with a pomodoro-type time counter to let you concentrate easier and stay productive.

Forest: An app with a time counter to keep you focused and off your phone, and when you complete the time limit, a tree grows in your garden! (Google Play / Apple Store)

SelfControl: A Mac downloadable app that blocks you from distracting mail servers, websites, and other things!

Prompt Blogs

@writeworld

@dialouge-prompts

@oopsprompts

@prompts-for-the-otp

@creativepromptsforwriting

@the-modern-typewriter

@theprofessionalpromptmaker

@writers-are-writers

@otp-imagines-cult

@witterprompts

@havetobememes

@auideas

@putthepromptsonpaper

@promptsonpaper

@fyotpprompts

@otpisms

@soprompt

@otpprompts

@ablockforwritersblock

@awritersnook

Writing Tips Blogs

@writeworld

@anomalously-written

@awritersnook

@clevergirlhelps

@referenceforwriters

@whataboutwriting

@thewritershelpers

@nimblesnotebook

@slitheringink

It'sa mermaid for mermay! Played with textures and color stuff. Little different but we’ll see where I wanna go with it.

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship. 

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair. 

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me. 

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul. 

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me. 

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty. 

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill. 

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something. 

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake. 

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly. 

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me. 

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch. 

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her. 

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

I lost it at "-clear across the room."

Dwarf Fortress is wild

a few days ago i woke up thinking: snails are cute, but what if they had legs?

so i made this, and i was like "aww yeahhh such a funny animal"

and then a second image popped up in my head

what if they acted like dogs?

YEAAAAHHHHH HAPPY PUPPY SNAIL

did anybody else have a moment as a kid/teen where you suddenly realized that you were more than likely never going to have one of those big adventures that you read abt in YA novels. and u were going to just have a normal life with normal problems, and got real sad. and even tho u now see value in a regular life, part of you still wants magic powers and a rag tag group of ride-or-die friends who are out to save the world

Fun fact: ‘Mind how you go’ is a Terry Pratchett reference. Not only his last book, The Shepherd’s Crown, has this dedication to one of the characters, it’s the Pratchett family’s mantra for safety:

Her [Rhianna Pratchett’s] parents were living in Wiltshire, while she was based in London but they saw a lot of each other and spoke constantly. “I’m always telling them I love them on the phone in a slightly silly way. We always say to each other, ‘Mind how you go’; it’s almost like a Pratchett mantra for safety.”

with Rhianna, the daughter of Terry Pratchett, saying this as her last words to her father and her grandfather.

Soulmates are not your ~other half~, that’s just nonsense. You are a whole person already, not half a person. A soulmate isn’t even inherently romantic. A soulmate is just the other sock in a matched set. You’re still a whole, complete sock on your own, you are perfectly functional paired with any other sock, it’s just that it’s even better when you match. A soulmate is literally just the person who makes your soul go “!!! Same hat!!!” and wave excitedly.

but did victor frankenstein actually have a phd