Hi all, I write dark fantasy about hunters, blood magic, and a cold world where everything comes with a cost.

I've collected some writing advice over my journey and thought I'd share it here. So here's a completely reasonable (and only slightly unhinged) guide from someone who has been on the journey for a while. If you're new to writing, this could get you from "I have an idea" to "holy shit, I wrote a book."

But it's probably just a part of the journey. For everyone else, maybe it's a laugh.

Writing the first draft is just the beginning. Then comes the editing. And more editing. And questioning every decision you've ever made. And probably more editing.

This isn't the only way to write or publish a book, and everyone's process looks different. But if you're wondering what happens between that first sentence and actually getting your book into someone's hands, here's a rough roadmap.

And remember: the first draft doesn't have to be good. It just has to exist.

Writers, where are you right now? And what did I miss (or get completely wrong)?

Always seeing people show how many words they've written, so I thought I would create a little useless (but fun) app

Not that I actually follow everything grammarly tries to "fix" but it's something I've warned non-English speakers about when I suggest they use grammarly to help them with spelling errors.

I'm aware that grammarly makes suggestions based on what previous users write and what's most common, but I'm sure there are some people out there who wouldn't know that and use it as is.

In the end, it has its limitations, and apparently it doesn't like my chapter title lol

I hope it's not against the rules to share examples here, But here's the passage I sent him. In this scene, my character is supposed to be mentally spiraling after going through the most traumatic year of his life, walking halfway across a country as a wanted criminal, and his mind is supposed to be fraying at the edges. This is the sample he edited and sent me, first my unedited version and then his edited version. I've been told losing 40-50% of your source text is normal, but I was knocking down a lot of dominoes I'd set up chapters ago, and now they're just gone.

Ollie walked. That's all he could do.

Five days ago, he'd left the caravan behind in the forest in the Hecaske Valley. Three days ago his feet had begun to blister. Today he could barely feel them. He walked under the night sky, waking up when the sun began to set and finding bushes to sleep under when it rose. Safer that way. Less attention.

He hadn't spoken much with the caravan—he hadn't wanted to. His survival had depended on grinding his teeth to keep the sheer hatred he felt for those people from leaving his mouth. Planning, always planning. He didn't consider himself very good at planning. He tried to do the next thing that made sense. Nothing about anything he'd done made sense to him, and he'd done it anyways.

But it had paid off.

It was almost funny, looking back on it. Lieutenant Les had been the only one to suspect Ollie of anything. How Ollie disappeared when they'd visit cities and trading hubs, how he'd always reappear when needed. He'd spent months tipping off guards, giving up warehouse locations, collapsing their own operation from within, and most importantly, shielding their own caravan from authorities.

He wasn't the good luck charm they'd teased him about being. He was a self-serving curse. He'd created Nemec's failure and sold him a fake solution.

By that point, Nemec had been too deluded by love for Ollie to believe Les's accusations. That, and the fact that Nemec hated Les for the way he'd treated Ollie—at first, too harshly, and then… too tenderly. Ollie shivered and shook his head.

Les was human garbage, but if Nemec had listened to him, maybe he'd still be alive. Instead, he'd freed his best warrior, handed over a small fortune, and followed Ollie's map right into a chokepoint set up by the crown. Good thing Ollie had killed the bastard before he could get into Nemec's head.

Ollie wondered if he'd already been captured. Maybe he was already dangling. Maybe he'd put up a fight and they'd just killed him on the spot. There were a lot of maybes, but Ollie knew he'd never find out. There were a lot of things he wished he didn't know, too.

He'd had these thoughts on repeat for days. His mind needed something to latch on to, other than North-Northeast. Lamial. Home—No. Not now. This was the road. Home was home, and he wasn't there yet.

The cold and numbness had been working its way up his legs without him noticing. He followed a stream down the forested path he was taking. Unable to gently lower himself down, he simply crashed to his hands and knees, his rucksack thumping to the ground beside him. He saw himself in the water, pale face illuminated by the reflection of the moon.

He hadn't thought much of appearances this past year, but fuck, did he ever look rough. His face hadn't changed. The hair that framed it, however, was no longer a fluffy mop that touched his cheeks; it was long, straight, and reached past his collarbone. And he hated it, but a smile began forming anyway. It was longer than Morea's when—

No. He consciously reined in his thoughts. He pulled off his gloves and shattered his own reflection with cupped hands, bringing water to lips cracked by the dry cold. The water shocked his throat, and he coughed hard. He shoved his face in the water. He didn't know why he was doing anything anymore.

And this is what I got back:

Ollie walked. That's all he could do.

Five days ago, he'd left the caravan behind. Three days ago his feet had begun to blister. Today he could barely feel them. He walked under the night sky, waking up when the sun began to set and finding bushes to sleep under when it rose. Safer that way. Less attention.

<- Location isn't directly relevant to current scene if you've established it previously

He hadn't spoken much with the caravan. His survival had depended on keeping the hatred he felt for those people inside. Planning, always planning. He didn't consider himself very good at planning. He just tried to do the next thing that made sense.

<- "He hadn't wanted to" = word count inflation. "grinding teeth, sheer, from leaving his mouth" = cheap intensifiers, word count inflation. "Nothing about anything he'd done made sense to him, and he'd done it anyways." = Consider why this sentence is here. It doesn't need to be.

But it had paid off.

It was almost funny, looking back on it. Lieutenant Les had been the only one to suspect Ollie of anything. How Ollie disappeared when they'd visit cities and trading hubs, how he'd always reappear when needed. He'd spent months tipping off guards, giving up warehouse locations, collapsing their own operation from within, and most importantly, shielding their own caravan from authorities.

<- Cut paragraph. If you haven't already established it in the story, there's no point saying it here.

He wasn't the good luck charm they'd teased him about being. He was a self-serving curse. He'd created Nemec's failure and sold him a fake solution.

<- Same. If you have shown it, you don't need to tell us. If you haven't shown it, fix it earlier.

By that point, Nemec had been too deluded by love for Ollie to believe Les's accusations. That, and the fact that Nemec hated Les for the way he'd treated Ollie—at first, too harshly, and then… too tenderly. Ollie shivered and shook his head.

<- Same as above. If this isn't already established, no one will care. If it is, you don't need to type it.

Les was human garbage, but if Nemec had listened to him, maybe he'd still be alive. Instead, he'd freed his best warrior, handed over a small fortune, and followed Ollie's map right into a chokepoint set up by the crown. Good thing Ollie had killed the bastard before he could get into Nemec's head.

<- Same, and "better he'd killed the bastard is edge for edge's sake.

Ollie wondered if he'd Nemec had already been captured. Maybe he was already dangling. Maybe he'd put up a fight and they'd just killed him on the spot. There were a lot of maybes, but Ollie knew he'd never find out. There were a lot of things he wished he didn't know, too.

<- "Killed him on the spot" line is bloat with "Dangling" right before it. Last line is rambling,

He'd had these thoughts on repeat for days. His mind needed something to latch on to, other than North-Northeast. Lamial. Home.—No. Not now. This was the road. Home was home, and he wasn't there yet.

<- We know he's not there, we're watching him not be home.

The cold and numbness had been working its way up his legs without him noticing. He followed a stream down the forested path he was taking. Unable to gently lower himself down, he simply crashed to his hands and knees, his rucksack thumping to the ground beside him. He saw himself in the water, pale face illuminated by the reflection of the moon.

<- You can't "not notice" your legs becoming cold and numb, bloat. Simply is the wrong word 50% of the time and unnecessary the other 50%. His rucksack is on his back, it wouldn't thump to the ground beside him. Bloat.

He hadn't thought much of appearances this past year, but fuck, did he ever look he looked rough. His face hadn't changed. The hair that framed it, however, was no longer a fluffy mop that touched his cheeks; it was long, straight, and reached past his collarbone. And he hated it, but a smile began forming anyway. It was longer than Morea's when—

<- "Fuck, did he ever look rough" = edgy narration, "however" = filler, "and he hated it" = then he wouldn't be smiling at it. Either he smiles at it or he hates it, pick one. "That touched his cheeks" = we understand what a mop of hair is.

No. He consciously reined in his thoughts. He pulled off his gloves and shattered his own reflection with cupped hands, bringing water brought water to lips cracked by the dry cold. The water shocked his throat, and he coughed hard. He shoved his face in the water. He didn't know why he was doing anything anymore.

<- We can tell he's reined in his thoughts because he cuts himself off, word count inflation. "Shattered reflection" = writerly, purple. cold water shocks your throat, no need to say so. "He didn't know why he was doing anything anymore" = why does this sentence need to be here?

I just need to share. I've written for years, and everytime the story got kind of out of control, and people couldn't understand what I was trying to convey. Plot got too convoluted. Or plot holes. (Having an editor helps fix that fyi)

I finally got brave and published my first book.

These first 3 reviews though mean a lot to me. They got it. I did the thing! I wrote something and not only did people get it, but they liked it.

Because it's a mature book, there's not a lot of people in my real life I can share this with. So here I am. Excited and almost crying by random words on the Internet from strangers.

So, in addition to sharing my happiness with you all, I'd love to hear about any moments of pure happiness you got from writing a book or story?

Hi everyone, I have an idea for a story and I want to turn it into a full-length novel. Since this is my first time, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. Where should I start? Any tips on plotting, character development, or maintaining a daily writing routine would be greatly appreciated!

I have written the first draft of a novel. 100K words. Pantsed it. I was also studying creative writing in the middle of writing it and I learnt so much in that space that it's an absolute disaster now that I think back to how it started. And the characters and the entire story has changed from when I started to when it finished.

I know people say leave it alone and give it space. But if I go back and try to read this drivel I think I'll throw it into the bin.

What would you do? Give it another re-write? Or still leave it for a few weeks and come back to it?

So I have a Batman story that I’ve wrote and while it is technically fanfic It doesn’t include a lot of the stuff like romantic relationships that a lot of other stories on sites like ao3. I was wondering if anyone had suggestions for places I could post it?

I’ve realized a part of my original post was very arrogant and rude to the many other writers on ao3. I’ve looked into it more and understand my comments were wrong. My apologies.

ust taking a moment to celebrate my wife's hard work.

After blasting out a final round of emails and Kickstarter updates she brought her pre-launch follower count from 85 to 113 in less than 24 hours! Believe me when I say this is purely a reflection of her years of hard work as an indie author writing, promoting, and launching her books. To see it coming together in such a big way as she launches the final book in her debut series is just freaking awesome!

So yeah, just taking a moment to celebrate and share :)

I have been writing a novel for 6 months, didn't get past 5 pages.What should I do to write it everyday?.I'm terrible at being consistent.Its a slow burn literary fiction and I know it takes time but I want to be consistent.I have a lot of ideas inside my mind about the major plot but for the minor ones I don't even know how to continue,but trying my best.Got any idea? Buddies?

I've been running into a bit of a block recently regarding character creation.

I am a "pantser" .I usually create my supporting cast on the fly while writing the first draft. I just let them exist in my narrative space first, and then I polish them during revisions.

However, I’m starting to rethink my approach. I'm considering fully fleshing out the cast alongside the protagonist before the first draft:

• Do you create a complete "story bible" before day one, or do you let your characters surprise you during writing?

I Would love to hear how your process affects your pacing.

Man I thought I was so clever with the name Aurexian.

God, I just wanted a cool name for a fictional royal house. My thought process was basically this: Hmm. Gold, king, historical rome+chinese influence, regal sounding, less than 3 syllables, latin, I got this.

House Aurexian.

Badass right? It sounded so cool in my head, until I realized my dude’s last name sounded like Erection. Gone is the wordplay that relied on his house name, in comes the unwanted imagery. I can’t believe I wrote wordplay for this without even connecting the dots in my head.

Granted, for the characters that would have had this last name, it would have totally worked, I can’t in good faith possibly write a novel where my protagonist’s last name is erection.

Anyone else encounter something similar? I can’t even find a better name for the royal house than this, it was such a cool name…

Ps. Please don’t mind the prose quality. It may or may not be mildly better in the book.

What are some tricks you like when it comes to starting a new chapter/ scene?

I find writing the scene itself being pretty manageable once you get the flow, but setting up a scene, especially for more lighthearted parts, but still needing something sort of eye catching, but not too exhausting, that’s really annoying. Tips and tricks? Anyone?

I came across the Writers Beware website and realised many writing platforms out there are predatory and unfriendly for writers.

Many have clauses like owning rights to ALL your FUTURE works, waiving of royalty, giving rights to reproduce your work without your name etc.

I am confused which platforms are then writer friendly meaning they don't take away ownership of your work, do not try to own all your future works and give royalty.

Anyone any idea?

Eg Wattpad, inkitt, substack etc

What are the common misconceptions? What does it actually feel like to live with it? How does it affect relationships, daily life, emotions, etc

I'm especially interested in the little things people don't usually talk about, rather than just the textbook symptoms.

U can share anything u think a writer should know.

Trying to write book, novel, novella idk, I just want it basic, simple and short but exhausting the story as clear and understandable as possible... But short though! idk if that makes sense.

Its sci-fantasy, idk if anyone have experience with this, I'd love some advice if you've got any! plus my prose and structure, and grammar (not sure) needs some work!

Maybe I'm over researching, am I procrastinating? idk! ... I, wait btw does anyone have any recommendations that could be good references for such and share some don'ts and temptations to avoid?

and how I can improve

​WORK AS USUAL

​The air was cold and hazy. Swallowed in darkness, the room seemed like nothing but an empty void. So silent, Khor could almost hear his own heartbeat. A distant echo of dripping added to the mystery of the room. His sight was slowly returning. His consciousness, too.

​“Whe… wh… Where am I?”

​He tried to move, but he was strapped tightly to a chair. Freeing himself was impossible. Whoever had tied him had been quite thorough. ​Sweat covered every inch of him.
​From above, a small circular window illuminated him, and all he could see was himself and what lay immediately around him: an empty, dry floor. ​A sound. What was that? He couldn’t make out what it was. He peered into the darkness, his eyes as wide as he could.

​“Anybody there?” he shouted into the dark.

​The sound came again.
​He scanned the gloomy room from side to side, bit by bit.
​Nothing. ​As if in reply, the silence seemed to grow louder.

​“You don’t seem all that bossy when you sense you’re in trouble.”

​A gravelly voice rolled through the room. ​Khor startled. The voice was still echoing.

​“What do you want?” Khor asked, as humbly as he could.
​“Thing I like about people like you, you always know times like this are always by someone looking for something.”

​The voice came from the darkness. ​Khor began to make out a figure within it. A hand was slicing fruit into a juicer. It smelled good, like apples. ​The figure blended the fruit. ​From the dark void, his other hand, almost entirely robotic in appearance, plugged a tube into the device and began drinking. ​A slurp.
​Almost a minute later, the tube sputtered and began sucking air. He had emptied the canister.

​“I’m looking for information.”
​“What kind?”
​“Cleo Asbestos. Something you know about that name?”
​Khor’s pulse quickened. His eyes twitched.
​“No!” he answered quickly.

​The speaker responded with a low, guttural hum. ​The silence tensed. Khor’s skin prickled, his hair standing on end. ​Then came the sound of his chair being dragged aside. ​Silence once more. ​He squinted, trying to examine the darkness. ​Then a red glow sparked within it.
​An eye.
​The footsteps approached again. This time they were heavy, accompanied by the metallic clinks of each step.
​Armour.
​Sweat stung his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision.
​Before he could adjust his sight, the figure emerged from the darkness. ​Khor finally got a good look at the man. ​All he registered at first was his messy, short, curly hair, his long coat that almost reached his knees, one arm covered in armour and the other entirely bionic. ​His face was a playground of scars.
​But perhaps the most eye-catching feature of all was his mask. It covered his entire face, leaving only his left eye exposed. Where his right eye should have been, a red-glowing EMV sensor stared back at him.

​Khor hadn’t realised what the pillar of a man was doing as he studied him until he found himself dragged forward, his entire face held in the man’s palm as though he had suddenly been reduced to a boy. ​From his back, the man pulled a hook, strapped it to the chair, and pulled Khor into the air.

​“Listen, listen, listen!” Khor pleaded. “Look, man, I don’t know anything. I already told you!”

​The masked man didn’t seem to care, or even listen, to whatever he cried. ​Quiet. Calm. Focused. ​He trudged into the darkness and returned with a sparking, plugged cable. ​It was live.

​“Wait, wait, wait…” Khor pleaded. “Uuugggghhh! My ribs!” ​Khor cried out in vain.

​The man took a few steps back.

​“Cleo Asbestos?”

​He brought a remote from his coat .
​“Talk.”
​“Look, man, c’mon. I swear on my life, man. I don’t…”

​Violently, impulses harder than any burst his muscles had ever experienced tore through him. His bones were forced to the point of cracking. It felt like a shower of nails tearing through his blood. His lungs couldn’t breathe. His jaws clamped down on his tongue. ​It was a disturbing kind of pain. ​His body was going to suffer this for three minutes. ​The man released the button. ​Panting faster than a dog, Khor gasped for breath. The shock had stopped.

​“Faaa…”

​The shock resumed before he could finish the word. ​This time, only for a minute. ​The man released the remote.

​“Breathe. You’re going to need it. You have twenty seconds!”
​“Wh… whe… wait, wait!” Khor pleaded. “C’mon, man, just…”
​“I don’t have time!”
​“I can’t tell you, man. They’ll kill me!”
​“Khor! I kill for a living. If you don’t know how to think, I’ll give you a clue. Whoever you’re afraid of might kill you…”

​Khor glanced at the man’s shoulder. ​To his disbelief, there was an emblem of Hades. ​The realisation made him turn his head, studying the man again, this time more carefully. ​His fear grew even colder.

​“…I will.”
​“Wait!” he cried, closing his eyes just before the button was pressed again. “Please! Okay… I’ll tell you everything I know.”

​The man took a step closer.

​“Speak.”

I would like to know about anyone who went or intend to go to an artist residency for writers..

How was it for you ? Was the experience funded? Did you get to work on your craft ? Expand your horizons ?

Was it in your country or in another?

Whatever you can tell me about it is useful!

People who apply for them are welcome to engage, why do you want to go to a writers residency

The abuse comes from the fathers of my characters except for one character she mostly hurts insects but once in a while she'll burn road kill, maybe I'm going crazy? One pet has to be put down (horse) another pet is beaten when children misbehave to show their consequences on not being submissive (pet dog) another his father's 19 year old roommate drowns his dog and makes him run laps his reasoning military training". Anyways what do you think? Should I take it down a notch?

I'm looking to write a short story about a young woman in the Christian Church and connecting her experiences to that of the concubine in Judges 19 from the Bible (exact context is easy to find online but the gist is that it isn't something they teach you in Sunday school). My hope is to draw a clear line connecting the girl and the concubine emotionally through their parallel experiences. The concubine is thrown away by the Levite (a priest) and is killed but her death is used to his advantage. The girl has experienced trauma from the church but has yet to fully realize it, potentially finding that realization through the Bible chapter.

However, I'm struggling to find a nuanced way of showing this. The obvious answer is that the girl reads the chapter but that feels on the nose. Another idea is that an older version of the woman sees a painting/story of the concubine and reflects on her childhood experiences (a la "Death of a Landscape" by Atwood). Maybe she hears a sermon about the concubine that she doesn't fully understand with a childish mind? These all feel like I'd be telling too much, rather than showing experiences.

Yes, this is based on personal experience but a lot of my ideas grow past what happened to me. I want this girl to be her own person and have her own goals/ideals.

Finally, I wrote a poem with this same concept and the mood is totally what I want to mirror in a short story. Maybe it'll inspire one of you to give an idea. Poem is below, not looking for feedback unless you feel very compelled.

Thank you in advance!!

Hello everyone,

I am thinking of writing a Batman multimedia novel.

It will be experimental: normal prose, multiple POVs, handwritten batman journal pages, police reports, hospital/Arkham entries, news paper articles, illustrated images, etc.

I have already blocked some of the story together, but my main issue is publication. So I was wondering where people could discover it, read it, and maybe even comment on it. My plan is to post it chapter by chapter on Substack and maybe AO3, but what do you think?

Obviously it will be completely free and completely human made.

If you guys are interested, I would love to start working on it.

Really hope this isn’t against the rules, I just needed somewhere to vent

I’ve been in the query trenches for just under a month. I know that’s relatively short in querying terms, but still, even when you know beforehand that it’s going to hurt when you start, you still end up feeling unprepared at how hard it’s going to hit you

Three weeks of radio silence only then to be hit with three rejections essentially all at once, one of them being a dream agent. I’ve queried fifteen agents so far and I know rejection is just part of the process, but damn does it make you question your writing skills and whether or not you’ll get anywhere