Ya Novels - Blog Posts
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
The fate of their lives, how grotesque.
A story of lies and, a story of sorrow.
The passion once in her heart, now hollow.
The jester's pledge to his beloved, now forgotten with his soul.
The queen's tyranny and her eyes had gone cold.
Off with his head, she spoke with a vengeance and hidden glee.
The hatter's madness made him laugh like a banshee.
A silent whisper from a gossipy cat with feline whiskers.
Greatly missing the whimsical child he once held dear.
All because of an honest mistake involving pumpkins.
That lead to a sickly wife who became a corruption.
Now she was a monster of great wings and destruction.
Leaving her husband, the only one who could make any deductions.
Three pale-skinned creatures by the treacle well.
The only ones who drew their fates and left them to compel.
If only time could have been more merciful.
Because their stories would make even the harshest of hearts sniffle.
A romance that ended tragically, emphatically.
Left a hatred-filled heart that spoke sporadically.
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
The maker of hats had no answer, for his mind was a mess.
The maiden with a faint heart, who had made bad choices.
Now she bears the burden of her regrettable actions.
And in the distance, a young gal in blue would soon fall through the looking glass.
If she could actually help them, she'd be one crazy, impossible lass.
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
- A poem inspired by Heartless by Marissa Meyers
I’m also on WattPad 🙋🏼♀️ check out my books please 🙆🏼♀️
Warming up engines, oiling the cogs. Wattys 2024 deadline: August. Back to writing. See u in wattpad soon friends.
An entirely new 1st part approaches.
I find myself lost in my own writing. I feel the wind on my skin and see flying beasts with eyes wide open.
If there has ever been anything true, is that I’ve always been one to get lost in words, when I can see them before they’re shaped.
I see it all so clearly. It’s like looking at a screen or a mirror. I dive into the projection and feel the breath of the world.
I’ve been writing a little every day, before I fall asleep. It’s when the ideas seem to be clearest.
Finally, today I felt like my first chapters are going in the right direction. The scene is being set. Connections are being made.
I hope the foundation is enough to make readers cry with what comes afterward.
I love writing fantasy. What I love so much about the genre is that there are no limits, no rules. Anything is valid. Everything is permitted.
I get to remake the world however I see fit.
I just updated my fantasy novel! (Still working on editing the 1 part cuz I’m not very convinced. Will probably edit this newest one more too)
Me writing the most traumatic experience for my protagonist:
This is the fantasy novel I’m writing! I’ve been developing this story since it first came to me when I was 14. Now, I’m making the effort to make this dream a reality.
If you want to read a fantasy story with diversity, conflicts, lots of characters, emotional growth, amongst other things, go take a look!
Because we’re on the 2 chapter, and things are about to kick off for real!
Romance is dead except for whatever that nerdy dirty-mouthed perfectionist aspiring American politician and blonde haplessly romantic Hufflepuff British poet prince had going on.....
I know some people don't get it but its okay to hate on movies songs novels but what is not okay is to belittle others who like them. you hate somethings no one is stoping you but going on social platforms and telling people who like it that they are wrong and what kind of monsters they are to like it and how insensitive they are to some communities because of their choices is unacceptable. Because some of those fans belong to those communities and reading such accusations they start to doubt themselves and start hating something they love and this is in no way okay and is nothing else but bullying.
people be like I am reading novels to escape reality and then start comparing the real life shit with book worlds.
me trying to continue the book after reading my favourite character’s death
people be like all the fae males portray toxic musculanity with ripped muscles and stuff. well did you expect hundreds of years old warriors who are training everyday since they were born to have belly fat.
Jude(whenever she sees Cardan in wicked king): I am gonna kill him!
also Jude: fuck me!!!!!
me: i hate cliches.
author: and that night in each others arms neither one of them had nightmares
me: oh my god they didnt have nightmares in each others arms *visible sobs*
i love how we all collectively decided it was okay to love faerie porn.
A scene from ‘Spirit Animals’ novel series by Brandon Mull.
Full disclosure I’ve only read the first novel in the series, and that was wayyy back in middle school.
The trencle was sweet like berries. Almost like drinking syrup but the undertone of citrus made it bearable.
My family smiled at me. We didn’t all have spirit animals. My mother didn’t. My father didn’t. But both my sisters and my grandmother did. This made my fate very uncertain.
My grandmother had a bobcat. Wise and tranquil. Untamable, untouchable. Based on the stories, this demeanor came with age and in their youth my grandmother and her bobcat were once the tricksters and troublemakers of the town.
My eldest sister had a dog. A female pit-bull with black fur and black eyes. At first sight, very scary, but she was really a sweetheart. She had a beautiful coat and people often remarked that the beauty was what connected them. I personally believe it’s their loyalty. How both of them would do anything for the people they love.
My second sister had a wild boar. A fearsome thing that only listens to her. She was strong. And although she had the more dangerous of the two animals, I found she was much sweeter than my oldest sister.
The back of my throat burned, the seconds thumped by.
They all said if I got one it would be small. Soft. A squirrel, a rabbit, a field mouse.
The sky began to cloud over.
Any moment now I expected any kind of rodent or small mammal to shuffle out of the grass.
It was no rat.
It wasn’t even a cat.
Down from the sky she came.
A large female black vulture.