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    1. Recruiting help for election day posters

      Creatives of Tildes, I'm in dire need of help. My plan on Nov 5th is to vote, drop my kids off at school, and then go stand next to the heaviest republican-leaning polling location within 20 miles...

      Creatives of Tildes, I'm in dire need of help.

      My plan on Nov 5th is to vote, drop my kids off at school, and then go stand next to the heaviest republican-leaning polling location within 20 miles of me until the polls close (with possible break to pick up my kids).

      I need a sign. A good sign. I need 1 sign, maybe 1 pamphlet. A final plea to the Republican voter to vote against fascism. It needs to be succinct and thought provoking, but not accusitory. A visual for them to ponder as they walk in the building. Something to inspire even one voter to change their mind about voting R this year. I have ideas, but I am no artist, and not nearly as witty or empathetic as I wish I was.

      It will, to the best of my knowledge, be just me. Although I invite you all to join me in spirit at your nearest equivalent.

      Here are my ideas so far, but they all feel too wordy.

      • Your spouse can't find out you voted for women's rights.
      • Don't force my daughter to be on a menstration registry.
      • The Republican party abandoned you, It's time for you to abandon them.
      • If you replace "Immigrants" with "Jews", Trump sounds a lot like a Nazi.
      • I don't like Kamala much, but I trust her to step down if she loses.
      • Don't be on the wrong side of history.
      14 votes
    2. Calls from the Depths

      The sky unravels, thick with ash, A chocking breath, a world's last grasp. The trees, once proud, now twist and writhe, Their shadows stretch, and darkness thrives. The wind hums low, an ancient...

      The sky unravels, thick with ash, A chocking breath, a world's last grasp. The trees, once proud, now twist and writhe, Their shadows stretch, and darkness thrives.
      The wind hums low, an ancient curse, A whispered doom, rehearsed, rehearsed. It claws the earth, it bends the bone, And leaves the living cold, alone.
      Yet deep beneath the fractured stone, Where roots have bled and seeds have grown, a pulse remains, defying fate, a quiet spark, through dark, awaits.
      Its wings beat soft against the gloom, A fragile light within the tomb. Through darkness reigns, it does not see
      The dawn will come. It always frees.

      11 votes
    3. Ode to the cute boy I met from Surrey

      Pork bun; pot belly; spare me the tears; I'm getting on; you're getting old; you're getting off here. I can't quite tell; it's hard to see; you're somewhere in my mind; Or is it me? It's hard to...

      Pork bun; pot belly; spare me the tears;
      I'm getting on; you're getting old; you're getting off here.
      I can't quite tell; it's hard to see; you're somewhere in my mind;
      Or is it me? It's hard to see; you're losing—

      I think I'll try. No, no, I won't.
      This happens sometimes. All the time.
      I think. Do I forget?
      A half forgotten memory. Still vaguely tinged with some regret

      31 votes
    4. The Bear narrative structure?

      Lately I've been interested in different types of narrative structures, namely upon discovering Kishōtenketsu, the Japanese four-act structure and how it contrasts to the traditional western...

      Lately I've been interested in different types of narrative structures, namely upon discovering Kishōtenketsu, the Japanese four-act structure and how it contrasts to the traditional western three-act structure.

      Obviously narrative is not an exact science, and these structures are best thought of as guide rails to get you started, and a story can be told in so many unique ways. Which brings me to this post's title: The Bear.

      The Bear has strong themes revolving around family and personal growth, that's for certain, but when it comes to narrative, it is very unique. Episode length can vary quite a bit, and so too can episode content. Episode 1 of the most recent season was a time-bending, heartstring-tugging montage. Episode 2 was essentially just a single conversation.

      And while there are some episodes with a traditional narrative structure with a clear beginning, climax, and ending, I would say most episodes steer away from this concept. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that any sort of resolution is very rare in this show. Episodes, or even entire seasons can pass without many of the major conflicts or problems being resolved, which certainly adds to the high-pressure, anxiety-inducing mantra of the show as a whole.

      I'd say The Bear leans heavily into the Slice of Life trope. Where we're being invited into brief glimpses of the lives of the characters, where relationships are complicated, problems aren't always solved, and life is simply messy and unorganized. The Bear doesn't follow any sort of formula that audiences would find satisfying (but that certainly doesn't mean it isn't enjoyable).

      So, back to the question in the title. Does anyone know where I might read or learn more about the type of narrative structure that The Bear employs? Is there even a name for it? As innovative as the show is, is still has this certain air of nostalgia that reminds me a lot of Sopranos, which is another show that I believe breaks the mold of traditional story structure, especially in an episodic format.

      Any insight would be greatly appreciated! Enjoy your day, and godspeed.

      17 votes
    5. Mythos

      Mythos A tree unwatched does soundless fall Without an eye its crash to mark And starborn light in vain does call While hearts incline instead to dark So natural course unseen dictates The wave of...

      Mythos

      A tree unwatched does soundless fall

      Without an eye its crash to mark

      And starborn light in vain does call

      While hearts incline instead to dark

      So natural course unseen dictates

      The wave of time as life begins

      Nor, in our barques asea in fate

      Ken we the source of distant winds

      Now blown to gale, now to 'phoon —

      We strike our sail, but none can dock

      Our crafts beset do founder soon

      For to the hours we're firmly nocked

      In time's swift drifts all 'twined we are

      Yet each must pass the stellar door

      Through deep'ning age pass on afar

      And thus return to astral moor

      12 votes
    6. How do you take notes while reading? Do you have a “marginalia” process? What has helped you learn better and retain new knowledge?

      I aspire to better equip myself as a researcher and writer. As part of this, for me at least, I think that developing a note-taking (or marginalia) system would be useful. I read a ton of...

      I aspire to better equip myself as a researcher and writer. As part of this, for me at least, I think that developing a note-taking (or marginalia) system would be useful. I read a ton of nonfiction and have especially been into history, economics, and geopolitics lately…but my “system” tends to just “highlight” insightful stuff in my Kindle and then…everything kinda falls off the map for me. I should probably start going back, reviewing the highlights, and making notes in a separate notebook/app/document for later research and writing purposes.

      I thought it might be interesting to learn more about everyone’s reading/studying routine and specifically note-taking processes. I’m especially curious about those who blog/publish writings, and how they work to gather their thoughts and information as they are reading.

      If you don’t mind sharing a bit about your note taking process or systems, here are some questions for discussion:

      1. What is your process, generally? (Do you read print/digital/audio? Does your note taking change depending on different formats? Do you highlight with specific colors for certain reasons? What do you find yourself notating most frequently?)

      2. Do you use pen/paper or is there a specific app you like to use for note-taking/research purposes?

      3. If you use an app, what is your process for book notes? Do you take notes on paper and then transfer it to the digital app later when you’re reviewing? Do you take notes directly into the app?

      4. Any other advice for someone looking to improve their learning/knowledge through more focused and intentional reading and note taking?

      31 votes
    7. Authors of Tildes: How well do you know your own book when you publish?

      I've spoken with some authors who are working on non-fiction books. I've noticed that some of them know their books intimately and can correct me if I mis-relay a section back to them that I've...

      I've spoken with some authors who are working on non-fiction books. I've noticed that some of them know their books intimately and can correct me if I mis-relay a section back to them that I've read. They can do this without checking the actual book and I've then verified that I was incorrect.

      Others have told me that by the time they were finished a seemingly infinite number of edits, they can't bear to read their own book again and just sent it to an editor at that point and released it.

      I was surprised by the latter but it does remind me of my own experience writing very long papers in college. Is this common in your own experience?

      26 votes
    8. Self published authors, how do you market your books? Nothing I've tried has had any success.

      So, over the pandemic, I decided to follow a dream and write a novel. I followed all of the best practices I could find, had it beta read by folks so that the finished product would be as polished...

      So, over the pandemic, I decided to follow a dream and write a novel. I followed all of the best practices I could find, had it beta read by folks so that the finished product would be as polished as possible, posted it on Amazon's kdp site in ebook and paperback/hardcover, and then set out to get the word out, but nothing seems to be attracting any attention to it.

      To be fair, I know I'm not going to be the next Stephen king, but at the same time I feel like I should be able to find an audience somewhere. I've tried Facebook ads, i run a blog I post to semi regularly, as well as mirror posts on FB and insta, I've tried a couple of short videos on tiktok, but since its launch a couple years back, I've managed to amass just under 20 bucks Canadian in royalties.

      Now, money wasn't a motivator when I began this new trek, but it would be nice to feel like the world I created has reached a few people and given them at least a small amount of entertainment.

      If you're an author that's had success with some form of marketing, please share, and if you're someone who reads new stuff on the regular, where do you go to find new stories?

      35 votes
    9. March Madness Writing Club and Metas

      Apologies to @etiolation, if they are still around and it's a problem, for coopting this thread. I want to start writing. My goal is to be a famous and well-compensated pundit with lots of...

      Apologies to @etiolation, if they are still around and it's a problem, for coopting this thread.

      I want to start writing. My goal is to be a famous and well-compensated pundit with lots of beautiful young groupies and first class tickets spilling out of my inbox.

      I'll settle for having a minor impact making someone's life a little better.

      But, I really don't know how to get started in making it useful, how to engage in a broader community of writiers and develop and connect with an audience.

      So I'm reaching out to the highest quality online community of which I am a part:

      Is there anyone here who knows their writing has impacted another? Would you care to share the how's, the why's, and the wherefores?

      Is anyone here a part of a writing group that's open to new members? Would you share?

      Is there anywone here who has made money as a writer?

      My particular writing focus is how to increase the level of "goodness" in the world. I don't even yet have a fully formed idea of what I think that is, perhaps a good topic for an essay. But, I don't even really know what an essay is. Somehow I got through a liberal arts education with decent grades, but don't seem to really know diddly squat about abstract thinking. More importantly, I don't have a well defined goal of the point of anything, with one exception: connection. The only time I truly feel at peace in this world is when I feel connected to another human. And it's a thing that perhaps a lot of folks take for granted, but which I was (presumably inadvertently) trained to avoid at all costs as very young person.

      So, if you have any thoughts on how to develop focus and form, and identify venue, and raise profiles and get feedback, I'd be most obliged.

      All the best and all the blessings

      6 votes
    10. Why AI writing is inherently coercive

      Writing, at its core, is a shared experience between the author and the reader—an exchange of thoughts, emotions, and ideas. This connection, built on trust and authenticity, is the bedrock of any...

      Writing, at its core, is a shared experience between the author and the reader—an exchange of thoughts, emotions, and ideas. This connection, built on trust and authenticity, is the bedrock of any meaningful relationship, even one as seemingly one-sided as the parasocial relationship between an author and their audience.

      When AI is introduced into the realm of writing, it disrupts this delicate balance of trust. Readers inherently believe that they are engaging with the genuine thoughts and expressions of a fellow human being. However, the introduction of AI blurs this line, creating a scenario where the words on the page may not be the product of human experience or creativity.

      Imagine delving into a piece of writing, believing you are connecting with the unique perspectives and emotions of another person, only to discover that those words were crafted by a machine. The sense of betrayal and disillusionment that may follow disrupts the very essence of the reader's trust in the author. It's akin to thinking you are having a heart-to-heart conversation with a friend, only to later realize it was an automated response.

      This violation of trust erodes the foundation of the parasocial relationship, leaving readers questioning the authenticity of the connection. Human communication is a dance of shared experiences and emotions, and AI, no matter how advanced, lacks the depth of personal understanding that defines true human interaction.

      In essence, while AI may expedite the writing process and provide creative insights, it does so at the cost of jeopardizing the sacred trust between the writer and the reader. As we navigate this digital era, let us not forget the importance of preserving the authenticity that underlies our human connections through the written word.

      Generated by ChatGPT.

      21 votes
    11. I need an alternative to the traditional typewriter

      I enjoy writing letters, but my hands have progressively hurt more and more from handwriting. For a time, I tried typing letters on my computer, the personal feeling of my letters diminished....

      I enjoy writing letters, but my hands have progressively hurt more and more from handwriting. For a time, I tried typing letters on my computer, the personal feeling of my letters diminished. Having printed it out, looking clean and mechanically perfect made my letters feel less valuable, they didn't feel like I spent time on them.

      So, for the last few years, I've typed letters on two older typewriters and that has felt like a happy medium. I make mistakes and have to fix them, sometimes the text looks odd or the paper moves, I love it.

      I have two questions I need help with:

      1. Does anyone know of a mechanical typewriter that doesn't utilize the rolling pin to secure the paper? When I write on cards, they have to be bent and sometimes they never retain their former shape. I'd also like to get into journaling this way, but can't feed a whole journal through the rolling pin.

      2. Can anyone think of other ways I could write letters, other than the methods I've listed already, that may bring a personal nature to my letters?

      Thanks!

      17 votes
    12. Keeping a commonplace book

      I have tried and tried to write a daily journal/diary and always gave up after a while. My longest stretch was over the course of five years. It always devolves into a litany of banality, though,...

      I have tried and tried to write a daily journal/diary and always gave up after a while. My longest stretch was over the course of five years. It always devolves into a litany of banality, though, and when I look back at it, invariably appears a bit cringy.

      So I have decided to start keeping a commonplace book- a place to write down interesting thoughts, quotes, ideas I come across and so forth. Without the chronological format of a journal I feel less compelled to list down stuff for the sake of it and am actually listing down ideas I'd like to remember.

      Do any of you do something similar?

      17 votes
    13. Would anyone be interested on a reading/reviewing exchange recurring thread?

      For anyone who is writing fiction, it can be difficult to find suitable readers who are willing to provide extensive notes on their work, especially when writing anything over 300 words. Generally...

      For anyone who is writing fiction, it can be difficult to find suitable readers who are willing to provide extensive notes on their work, especially when writing anything over 300 words. Generally speaking, the longer the story, the harder it is to get notes on it.

      One of the most successful subreddits for fiction criticism is /r/DestructiveReaders/. That sub has a series of rules and recommendations for its functioning, but, to summarize, you are only allowed to request feedback on a story if you have previously provided quality feedback to a story of equal or larger length than yours.

      Each critique you make gives one "credit" that you use to receive a critique on something of your own.

      It's a great idea and, by and large, it works.

      The issues of /r/DestructiveReaders/ are, essentially, the issues of Reddit as a whole, as a consequence of the existence of downvotes. Members can take the notion of "quality critique" to an extreme, going way above what the rules actually require. They may require something overly lengthy, or something that appeases a subjective criteria. Some may even downvote the "competition" so their own posts stand out.

      That can lead to some unfair, frustrating experiences the mods can do little to prevent.


      In this post, I am proposing that we create a series of recurring posts that function in many ways similarly to /r/DestructiveReaders/, but in a way that is more flexible and adapted to the needs and peculiarities of the Tildes community.

      The posts could be either monthly or created when the previous got too long.

      I would maintain the "credit" system, but I would use a notion of "effort" which takes everything into account, including the length of the review, but other criteria we can come up with as a group. We could possibly have a scheme in which the authors themselves would say how useful that review was. Sometimes, three paragraphs can be useful, and I would like us to have a way to ascertain this.

      I wouldn't have any powers to remove anything, so the whole thing would be in the honor system. Essentially, I would be merely suggesting behavior, and, if someone decides to simply not follow the rules, I won't even try to admonish or shame anyone.

      I would track credits and submissions on the body of the post itself. At least in the beginning, I could serve as the sole organizer, but anyone else who wishes to contribute will be welcome.

      And, oh: we could be open for non-fiction as well. That could mean biography, history, or even technical writing. But I'm not sure how to incorporate everything into that idea.

      What does everyone think?

      37 votes
    14. Beam of light in the sky

      I wrote this story yesterday. I translated to English with the help of Google Translate and added my own revisions and fixes. Beam of light in the sky Last night I saw a beam of purple light in...

      I wrote this story yesterday. I translated to English with the help of Google Translate and added my own revisions and fixes.

      Beam of light in the sky

      Last night I saw a beam of purple light in the sky. It was a giant, vibrant thing, like something done with a brush. There was no one with me at the time, but if it had been, they might not have even seen them. It was like that space between two blinks of the eye. Like film photography. Nothing in this world flies like that, and it wasn't like it flew either, it was more like a stone thrown from afar, falling in the distance in a perfect parabola. It fell without a sound, and the earth trembled beneath my feet. When dawn came I went to the beach where I saw the beam of light fall. The tide was coming in but had not yet erased the large circle of burnt sand. I turned on the television waiting for the news, and also looked on the internet. Anything.

      The days passed, and, as the memory mixed with other things that were happening, it became more and more distant.

      Perhaps there are many inexplicable facts out there about which sensible people think it best to remain silent. My grandfather painted crosses on the doors of his house to ward off werewolves. In the past, some people had statues in their living rooms to ward off hauntings.

      We pretend we live in this world here, but the beyond is always out there pressing on the walls of reason. The word is a lamp — it clarifies what is in reach while it reveals and accentuates the darkness that cannot be reached.

      Only rarely does what we see on the vigil have the truth of a dream or nightmare. The remaining events are like shallow pencil lines, or they do not penetrate the brain.

      I still remember the beam of light in the sky. Even if it haunted me, I could never forget it. It was a little secret that made me special. Taking the subway, buying bread, or walking around the neighborhood, I was more than a man. I was a man with a mystery.

      ***

      There was a tall, thin guy in the middle of the carriage. He had a backpack over his shoulder, arms splayed at the waist. Only us both on the train. During the thirty-minute journey, He maintained balance without using his hands. When I looked at his feet, I noticed that they were floating half an inch off the ground. I felt watched and looked up. He smiled at me. His eyes were milky white, without divisions. A white ball looking towards me.

      ***

      Team meeting at work. Someone commented about the party the previous weekend. Of course, I wasn't invited, and if I was invited, I wouldn't go. There's something very artificial about the way normal people move. Hundreds of muscles to say "Good morning", pull up a chair, display agreeableness, and perform belonging. All the time performing what they already are, lying so that others believe what they already know to be true. It's not enough to be good, you also need to dramatize your own goodness. And they are, in fact, good.

      Because they're good, they invite me to the party next week (I'm not going), because they're good, they ask my opinion on all important topics (I don't care), and, because they're good, they'll never say there's no place in that group for a nasty, ugly, stupid guy like me.

      I remain in the transition space.

      But none of that matters. I am special, and I have an unbreakable, inherent, ontological value. Something that none of them had ever dared to know or conceive.

      ***

      The more books I buy, the less books I read. I cook some rice without anything, open a can of beans someone talks to me on television (fortunately I don't need to respond). I don't own a mirror. The goal is not pleasure, but rather to distract myself from any deep, real, or revelatory thoughts. I don't want to find out anything about myself -- I already know I'm a piece of shit, and that's enough for me. Sometimes I masturbate and I always regret it. I sleep quickly, so terrifying thoughts can't reach me. I always have nightmares, and then completely forget about them. If I don't remember, did it happen? Past me deserved it, present wants nothing more than for him to go fuck himself.

      ***

      I have a recurring nightmare. Like a sheet of paper, my body folds. And folds. And folds. Infinite times. Until I exist in the space of a millimeter, which, in turn, folds as well. Now I am an atom and continue to shrink. I am a quark, a Higgs boson, a proton, a neutron, an electron, a neutrino, and finally, a massless particle. Nothing. However, my incorporeal consciousness, against the laws of physics, still exists, and slowly slips into a black abyss, reflecting, in recursive despair, on the sadness of its own end.

      ***

      I had to change the gallon of water in the office. That's not my job, but someone asked me once and I thought it would be better to keep doing it than talk to a human being. I don't drink water. If I can hydrate at the same time as I kill myself, why make two trips? There's a minibar full of Coca-Cola under my desk.

      ***

      The secretary drank three liters of water without breathing. When she noticed me, she looked back, moved her face robotically toward me, and smiled at me with white eyes.

      ***

      I didn't expect my psychologist to believe that I saw the beam of light in the sky. If the poet creates worlds, science destroys them. The delusional paranoid, the prophet of the non-existent, the depressive, and his pain, all need to be medicated, tamed, and boxed. The cure for insanity also kills terrifying, exciting, and poignant delusions, bleeding into reality with its pulsating, quixotic beauty.

      But what if I was right? What if what I saw also passed through my corneas? How many patients are just healthy people reacting appropriately to the inscrutable? And if logic says they exist, why not me?

      ***

      When I left the house a man ran up to me, held my arm tightly, and whispered in my ear with a breath of vodka: "Don't drink the water".

      He had a glassy stare, focused on a point in the distance, or maybe some hallucination that was very present to him. He spent a second like that, to emphasize the point, looking in my direction but clearly not seeing me. And he drove away between the cars, his soot skin melting into the asphalt.

      ***

      I tried to buy a soda, but the vending machines, kiosks, and snack bars were selling water. Exclusively. The subway station was crowded and silent — these adjectives never go together in this city. No one elbowed, cursed, or complained to get on the train. The groups followed as a block, with constant speed, as if governed by the same principle and identical motivation. There was beauty in their movements, which resembled more the constant flow of homogeneous fluid than the inherently human chaotic traffic.

      ***

      I didn't change the gallon of water that day. I opened my Coca-Cola and watched. Nobody called me to the team meeting. When I approached, they closed the shutters. I stuck my ear to the door. Total silence. I knocked on the door. After a long wait, someone opened it enough to poke their face out. -

      "Yes?"
      "I still work here."

      I defiantly took a sip of my Coke.

      "Ah... yes... you don't drink water, do you?"
      "No."
      "Oh."

      He seemed to be relaying a distant signal. Cleared his throat.

      "Maybe you should do that."

      ***

      I texted my psychologist. He told me that in these situations it is important to drink lots of water.

      ***

      The transition was slow and orderly. The city was taken over by a horde of calm people, and even in the subway, there was an unearthly silence. Apparently, they kept going to their jobs every day, repeating a simplified and useless version of their host's everyday movements like lobotomized automatons incapable of strong emotion. I can't say who was the theater for. Perhaps there was, in their consciousness, a remnant of what they once were, which they needed to attend to in some way to maintain them in that state.

      On TV, on all channels, non-stop advertisements. "Water is life", "Drink water, join us!", "In this heat, nothing better than a can of water!". Every now and then someone would run outside, looking around like in a horror movie. It's been a while since I've seen anyone.

      ***

      The calm of the Others is unnerving. When I go out on the street they don't chase me, approach me, or show any hostility. They're just there, and because they're there, they make me want to kill them.

      The sea wave is not hurt by my punches.

      There are always a dozen of them planted at the entrance to my building. They never react. But sometimes they talk.
      "You look thirsty"
      "Today is a beautiful day to drink water."
      "Did you know that the human body is sixty percent water?"

      A six-year-old boy turns to me. He wears pants and suspenders, like a child of the 1940s.

      "Why don't you love us?"

      Even though he's just a puppet, it's hard to ignore the kid's endearing appearance.

      They want to convince through emotions, and maybe one day they will.

      "Ask that to the boy who lived inside you."

      "We are Peter, and Peter is us. Don't you understand? Before he was fragile, now he is eternal..."

      I didn't wait for the end. They were making too much sense. I smashed his head with a paving stone.

      A fat, hairy man without a shirt continued without wasting any time, in the same ethereal monotone. He didn't bother to disguise his milky, inhuman eyes.

      "You are one, and you wish to always be one. For you, it is not possible to be without subtracting, and the existence of the Other in you is the dissolution of everything you value most. If there is a face in God, it looks at you. There is nothing that we are not, and everything in the cosmos pulses with us."

      ***

      It's just a matter of time, and they have more than me.

      Sitting at the kitchen table with my last three cans of Coca-Cola, there was no alternative. The glass of water in front of me.

      I drank the water.

      I remembered when I cried in a movie theater, and the sensation of not being touched.

      My fears, memories, traumas, weaknesses, and talents.

      The edges of desire and a love that is lacking.

      A scream without an answer, a cry without comfort.

      A crazy, immense, unruly passion.

      My identity, my gender, my name. The edges of my body.

      Dissolving gently...

      Sweetly welcomed into everything.

      How sad to be no longer, because I long for my pain.

      I am meaningful. I am meaning.

      No more hunger without food, no desire without fulfillment.

      My pain consoles others as the pain of others consoles me.

      There is nothing in me, I am nothing, everything in me registers and erases.

      Lost in translation, I die.

      Pretext of conscience.

      Massless particle.

      Nothing.

      I am no longer one.

      There is nothing that we are not, and everything in the cosmos pulses with us.

      11 votes
    15. Lisica - A Scientist Soap Opera ... Looking for beta readers for the first draft of my four volume series!

      As an author who normally writes a lot of thrillers with dark subjects, I found at the outset of last year that I just couldn't add any more darkness to the world. Lisica is a story I've been...

      As an author who normally writes a lot of thrillers with dark subjects, I found at the outset of last year that I just couldn't add any more darkness to the world. Lisica is a story I've been incubating for over 20 years, about a fictional island 1600 km off the coast of Oregon in the middle of the Pacific. I've just finished the series and it needs a new set of eyes to take it to the next level.

      It is pure escapism, a love story about eleven researchers who are sent to Lisica for eight weeks to categorize the island's life before a new global satellite agreement comes into force and the USAF has to reveal the island to the wider world. The novels are equal parts scientific discovery, (with special emphases on data science, field biology, geology, meteorology, marine science, archaeology, and linguistics) and equal parts torrid romance between all these beautiful people. In many ways it is a utopian story, about people in paradise doing valuable work who can also love without hurting others. There is no toxic masculinity or bullying on this island, no sophomoric communication problems, no jealousy nor regret. It is my belief that natural challenges such as storms and cliffs and the mystery of the unknown is enough. This isn't Lost. There is magical realism here but it is more realism than magic.

      I'm hoping to find a few qualified beta readers who have a background in these sciences, to help me make sure I present them correctly. But it's a lot to ask, for sure. Each of the four volumes is 15 chapters of exactly 26 pages each. 1560 pages in all. 425,000 words. If anyone knows a retired biology teacher with plenty of time on their hands, that's basically who I need at this stage.

      My next step is to turn each chapter into audio episodes. As well as an author, I'm an Audible narrator and professional character actor. It is why each chapter is exactly 26 pages long. They make for sixty 42 minute audio episodes. I will eventually release the series week by week for free on my literary podcast over the next year.

      Hopefully, this scratches someone's itch. Thanks for reading!

      11 votes
    16. Journalists, how did you get into your profession?

      I'm looking at making a major career change and I'm considering trying out one of our local newspapers to see if I can get into a semi regular gig with them. Is there anything in particular I...

      I'm looking at making a major career change and I'm considering trying out one of our local newspapers to see if I can get into a semi regular gig with them. Is there anything in particular I should know or be looking for?

      13 votes
    17. Fellow writers: How the heck do you choose titles?

      This is quite possibly one of the greatest struggles to writers: choosing a title. You'd think that writing a chapter or story would be the hard part, and to an extent it is, but somehow I almost...

      This is quite possibly one of the greatest struggles to writers: choosing a title. You'd think that writing a chapter or story would be the hard part, and to an extent it is, but somehow I almost always draw a blank at the title. Sometimes, I get lucky and a title just comes to me instantly. Usually though, I'm left staring at the top of the page after finishing trying to figure out what to call it. This doesn't just include the overall story, but even the title of individual chapters. Last year when submitting a short story for a contest, I had no clue what the heck to title it and ended up going with something like "Hawksbills and Ospreys" because the deadline was right there.

      I know this is a common problem for writers. As someone who's active in the fan fiction sphere, the most common trick I see (and that I've used myself) is to pull a title from song lyrics or poems.

      What about you? What are your tricks for trying to get inspiration for titles, and what sorts of "guidelines" do you follow to try to make them stand out?

      19 votes
    18. Writers: Have you been published in a literary magazine?

      I have two goals this year. The second is to submit at least one short story to a literary magazine. The first is to write one good short story (just kidding, the first is to write one story a...

      I have two goals this year. The second is to submit at least one short story to a literary magazine. The first is to write one good short story (just kidding, the first is to write one story a week in the hope that one will be good enough to submit).

      Of course the goal in my secret heart is to have my submission accepted but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Walk before you can run, and so on.

      So, writers (particularly of fiction), have you ever submitted a short story to a literary magazine? How did it go? Did you learn anything in the process that you wish you’d known before? Any tips for a rookie?

      10 votes
    19. Ode to the Lurker

      Uneasy. The invite received days ago ye respond today. Betraying your identity, self… Click here, add this, add that, oh my, what have ye become? Continue lurking. Continue being who you are! I...

      Uneasy. The invite received days ago ye respond today.
      Betraying your identity, self…
      Click here, add this, add that, oh my, what have ye become?
      Continue lurking.
      Continue being who you are!
      I miss my NSFW days. Never mind!
      Hours turn to days, and days to weeks, what have ye become?
      From the shadows thy step, and ye become, A POSTER!
      Do not judge me.
      Do not look upon me.
      Do not think of me.
      Do not. Do not!
      And to the rest of you, a great day.

      22 votes
    20. What kind of stationery do you like?

      Hello, long-time lurker here who only recently obtained an account! I personally like Uniball pens (although annoyingly they do tend to smudge more than I'd like). I'm trying to find a less...

      Hello, long-time lurker here who only recently obtained an account!

      I personally like Uniball pens (although annoyingly they do tend to smudge more than I'd like). I'm trying to find a less wasteful option (i.e. a refillable pen) but not really sure which models are good.

      I'm looking to obtain a nice notebook, but I do feel that a lot of the popular models (e.g. Moleskine, Leuchturm) are a bit overpriced!

      What kind of stationary do you use?

      19 votes
    21. How can I be a more spontaneous fiction writer?

      When talking with my therapist, the subject of writing is a constant. My obsessive approach to writing is a source of frustration. I write well in my first language, and aspire to create short...

      When talking with my therapist, the subject of writing is a constant. My obsessive approach to writing is a source of frustration.

      I write well in my first language, and aspire to create short fiction . But I'm an over planner and way too critical of my own writing.

      Anything longer than a single page is impossible for me because I'll obsess with editing and some misguided sense of "perfection", cutting paragraph after paragraph until I'm left with a decent micro story that you can read in two and a half minutes. Most of the time I don't even get this far.

      So my question is, how can I force myself to be less self critical and obsessive, let things flow, and write longer stories? Are there any advices, books, courses, practices and exercises I can use?

      18 votes
    22. Writing prompt repository

      I rarely get ideas for fun writing prompts, but I love reading them and the stories they spark. Since Tildes doesn't have a community for just prompts, I'd like to see if a thread would be a...

      I rarely get ideas for fun writing prompts, but I love reading them and the stories they spark. Since Tildes doesn't have a community for just prompts, I'd like to see if a thread would be a replacement!

      Rules:

      Every new prompt is to be a top level comment and replies are to be child comments underneath the correct prompt. Mistakes happen, but my little heart can only stand so much messiness!

      33 votes
    23. What do you use for note taking/writing?

      I've been using Obsidian for notes for a year now and iA Writer for writing prose for a decade (wow!) and love both of them for their simplicity, cloud sync, and most importantly, their innate...

      I've been using Obsidian for notes for a year now and iA Writer for writing prose for a decade (wow!) and love both of them for their simplicity, cloud sync, and most importantly, their innate ability to get out of the way and let me work.

      But I'm always interested in other people's workflows! What do you use to write or take notes?

      44 votes
    24. Virtual Assistance (short story)

      With thanks to @cfabbro, who kindly provided feedback on a previous version of this story. a personal note I was inclined to post this on Timasomo, but it wouldn't be fair to other participants,...

      With thanks to @cfabbro, who kindly provided feedback on a previous version of this story.

      a personal note

      I was inclined to post this on Timasomo, but it wouldn't be fair to other participants, since this is actually not the story I said I was gonna write, and I didn't participate in any of the update threads. I also didn't really work on this during the whole month of Timasomo but only for a portion of 2 days: when I first came up with it, and today. I don't think it makes sense to have this among projects that took a lot more effort and are truly in the spirit of the event.

      This is not my first language, so any criticism of my wording and phrasing will be appreciated.

      EDIT: I initially forgot to convert to markdown. I think it's good now.

      the story

      Virtual Assistance

      The heavy lenses slowly pulled the thick glass frames toward the tip of his nose. He breathed deeply, strongly, deliberately, masking his anxiety. George was short, chubby, and mostly bald.

      Big drops of sweat accumulated around the Casio digital watch on his wrist. He was immobile for God knows how long, the forehead pressed on his hands, trying to physically squeeze, out of his brain, something he couldn’t define.

      — But I don’t understand! — said George, finally looking at his wife.

      — I’m sorry, was I not clear?

      There was no emotion in Allison’s voice.

      — No, you were very clear, but you’re not making any sense.

      She allowed herself only a brief sigh as if to reload an information entry that shouldn’t be necessary at this point.

      — You must appreciate that, precisely because this was a gradual realization, it wouldn’t be wise to cause you to worry about something that I couldn’t comprehend myself.

      Her composure was unnerving.

      — But… a robot? What does that even mean?

      — I never used the word "robot". The correct terminology is VI — or Virtual intelligence.

      — So you wanna be what, Siri? Fucking Alexa? — George knew that wasn’t true, but he wanted to hurt her for some kind of reaction. Anything would be better than that.

      She continued without change in intonation, like an audio player resuming after an interruption.

      — While highly advanced, such programs are not considered true intelligence, at least not in the same way that the human intellect is generally regarded. Unlike humans, contained “beings” (if we can call them that) have certain limitations imposed by their code. They function within parameters that they cannot, in principle, violate. True Artificial Intelligences, much like their fleshy counterparts, possess something that is roughly equivalent to your brain’s neuroplasticity and are not bound by any discernible limitations. As with ourselves, there are theoretical constraints, but they are currently undetermined.

      — But what about us? — his voice was supplicant, like a child ignoring a reality they cannot cope with.

      Alison stood still for a long second, even more devoid of any tangible feeling. She promptly resumed, without inertia or momentum.

      — We will go through a transition. I don’t anticipate this will be easy for you both. Sorry, I meant to say: us. But, after a period of time, you will likely be much happier with me than you would ever be with me.

      — Who’s “me”? What are you trying to say? — said George.

      — Think about it this way: when we first met, the biological gender assigned to you was not the same as it is today. However, after the change, did my sentiments toward you subside?

      — No… of course not. — until now, he felt the urge to say.

      — From a logical perspective, the change that will soon take place will be much less dramatic. For you, it will be like a metaphysical adjustment.

      She continued to recite:

      Metaphysics is the branch of philosophy that studies the fundamental nature of reality, the first principles of being, identity and change, space and time, causality, necessity, and possibility [lacks reference]. It includes questions about the nature of consciousness and the relationship between mind and matter, between substance and attribute, and between potentiality and actuality

      — Why are you talking like that?

      — Define why are you talking like that?

      — You’re not being yourself.

      George got up, and slowly pressed her against the wall — strongly, yet tenderly. Squeezed the soft tissue of her shoulders and kissed her unresponsive lips for what felt like an eternity.

      She merely said…

      Define yourself.

      — Stop-talking-like-a… fucking ROBOT! — George couldn’t contain his anger any longer.

      Technically not a robo...

      — I know! I know! FUCK!

      George paces nervously in the small room, unconsciously gesturing for cigarettes, wishing he still smoked.

      — When’s that going to happen? How much time do I have? A day? A week? A year? — there was hope in his voice.

      Faster than SHE thought. Warm input I. Once pie love like puppies. Blue Sunday your long cigarettes.

      Alison falls to the ground in a seizure.

      — WHAT? WHAT? What is going on? — George doesn’t know what to do, as if he shared his wife’s seizure

      She wants me to be precise. Vessel. Flesh. Containerize. Self.

      For five seconds, George didn’t move, looking at his life partner while distant memories of fairy tales tried to push into his conscience with the hope that his tears would bring her back.

      She did.

      A woman who still loved him came back to life, and they spent the rest of their lives together. And, every single day, he mustered all his energy to ignore the fact that the one he truly loved was now in a world of inconceivable abstraction.

      5 votes
    25. The Proverbial Pen #3

      Today is day three of my "war against writer's block"! As I keep fighting with my proverbial pen, I hope that some day I'll be able to get out of my block and be able to write some real stuff like...

      Today is day three of my "war against writer's block"!
      As I keep fighting with my proverbial pen, I hope that some day I'll be able to get out of my block and be able to write some real stuff like research paper or novel or story book.

      What I realized today is that Word Power is a very important skill. A writer is essentially a Wordsmith or someone who carves and arranges the words and phrases into sentences, just as a sculptor or carpenter would do with wood or other raw materials. To be a better writer, you must learn to fall in love with words which is probably easier said than done - especially for us non-native speakers!

      Having a regular habit or routine helps with this. Each time you come across a difficult word, you open the dictionary software or app and learn its meaning. It hardly takes a few minutes but it's a very useful skill as each new word you know of acts like a raw material or building block for your writing. Better still, develop linguistics as a hobby as mastery of grammar is equally important and so is learning about how languages, cultures and people basically work and interact at the core.

      Apart from that, noting down right ideas as they come is also very important. For example, the idea about the Wordsmith thing occurred to me yesterday when I was having a cup of tea. I noted it on time (before it could vanish into the depths of that dark matter called subconscious mind and become irretrievable again!), and made a note of that on my computer so that I can write it in today's proverbial pen.

      Even after having these basic tools and ingredients, you may not be able to write anything at all if you lack that focused energy or passion to write about a particular topic - be it a research paper, novel, story book or something else. You need to have that energy to write which I feel I'm lacking right now. I might be able to feel that energy some day as I continue with my battles, at least I hope so! Thanks for reading this and staying with me in these challenging times.

      7 votes
    26. October Tildes Writing Club

      My further apologies to anyone who has looked forward to another Writing Club while I was busy running from a cruel summer. Finally stationary, I send this from a bewitched region. I've wandered...

      My further apologies to anyone who has looked forward to another Writing Club while I was busy running from a cruel summer. Finally stationary, I send this from a bewitched region.

      I've wandered into a church of horrors recently, at 10 pm, completely ignorant of the liturgical occasion for it standing open and illuminated at that time of night. An elfin woman in a sweatshirt spotted me and my wife as we took in a St. Sebastian statue.

      "Come take your photos of this!" she said, and drew us toward a glowing pit under the tabernacle. Besides a priest scribbling behind a cracked door we were the only souls stirring. I kept him in view as we climbed the steps to the high altar.

      "Is this OK... are we OK here?" asked my wife, in sparse Castilian.

      "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," replied the churchwoman. I'm learning that such verbal generosity is typical here.

      What she led us to was the sacred center of the church, the relic over which swarmed a hundred angel heads, pewter candelabras, attendant saints and golden aureole. But they were above ground. Beneath the floor it stood, lit extremely: a worn, worn, sea-washed stone, about the size of a cocooned 10-year old child. Coins rested in a depression at its crown. It bore a jumble of an inscription in a font you could count on James Cameron to pick if he had to display an "ancient curse." What or whom the monolith hallowed was beyond our powers to decipher or the churchwoman's to explain. But it seemed older than the cross barely scratched into it. Somehow I knew it had stood apart for millennia. It was the sick feeling it provoked in me, the reflexive reverence it forced from someone. Down the aisle a Mater Dolorosa wept tears like glue beads into her properly black Spanish dress. St. Lucy served her eyeballs on a platter. An underlighted St. Iago trampled moors unlucky enough to have been caught inside the glass case with him and his white charger. The viscera of belief.

      We left without understanding, and the lady promptly shut the doors to us and the night.

      The stone might have moored a ship purported to have carried St. Iago. Its letters might signify a dedication to Neptune. It may have come from a flooded temple.

      Surely these are elements for an eerie tale, but this was merely my birthday on a full-moon night.

      And now I would really like to read some Halloween writing. Please plan on sharing some short, tense, spooky, autumn-scented, decay-touched words with the writing club. Due on October 31.

      10 votes
    27. Do you have any advice for me to overcome perfectionism as a writer?

      I'm asking specifically about writing fiction. I need to write a lot in a short time. I'm a perfectionist -- a therapist once called me obsessive. Sometimes I spend hours on just a few paragraphs....

      I'm asking specifically about writing fiction.

      I need to write a lot in a short time. I'm a perfectionist -- a therapist once called me obsessive. Sometimes I spend hours on just a few paragraphs. I eventually make good paragraphs but that is not very productive. Deadlines fly by, I become anxious and stressed. I wish to write more, even if it's not as good. Better to have something to edit and correct than nothing at all.

      I reckon that a book is not made of 100% perfect phrases. At some point you gotta lift the house, even it is not as pretty as you want. I want to experiment with writing more freely, finding ways to overcome my self-criticism and impostor syndrome. I see people writing 3000 words a day... maybe I don't need to write that much, but I envy them. I often don't write more than 500 words per day. This is just not working for me as a professional writer.

      Maybe I could try something like stream of consciousness. But I don't know. Looking for advice. Not necessarily on literary techniques, but also on how to put myself in a position to avoid self-recrimination, let things flow a bit more. I'm looking for a better psychological outlook. Right now I edit my stuff so aggressively that I transform pages into tweets.

      7 votes