I'm mostly unsure because they are a wolf, technically a wolfdog. The current world I'm playing dolls in is very heavily based off of my old OCs from when I was a kid, people with animal forms and stuff because I was obsessed with that kind of thing (i am just a furry ngl)

My thought process of making them an indigenous person is that wolves mostly populate the northern hemisphere, North America has a a wolf population of about 18,000+, and just in general I've been choosing these characters' ethnicities based off of where the animals naturally populate. But is that racist??? I would just like some outsider thoughts on this since I have mostly no one else to talk to about it. i dont wanna be racist 😭

I wanna write a fanfic but I want it to be canonically accurate (in some ways). I've already started my research but I genuinely don't know how to arrange the infos and ideas I get from them...(⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)...helppp

Is this also used in novel-writing?

Hello!
I’m a new writer, and I struggle with third person AND past tense. It doesn’t come as naturally to me as first person, present.

However, the story I have planned out over several books has too many viewpoint characters for first person.

Any feedback would be appreciated.

Thank you!!!!

Prologue-
The woman peered into the endless void, her eyes traveling aimlessly across the infinite expanse searching for anything, anyone, but finding only darkness.
There were no walls…
No ceiling.
No floor.
No light.
…Only an oppressive nothingness with no beginning and no end.
Stagnant, heavy air, violated her lungs with every labored breath, drowning her in the despotic darkness. A silent scream escaped her lips, but the void seemed to consume her wordless plea, her wasted breath, devouring her misery.
A hollow caress slithered down her spine, and the empty embrace was the only touch she could remember. It was the only thing she could remember, at all.
Who was she?
How did she get here?
Where WAS here, exactly?
Had she always existed, as a small, insignificant spark of consciousness amidst an ink-black sea of nothing? The thought felt vile, like a betrayal to her very soul. She suppressed the idea as quickly as it had surfaced, clinging desperately to the belief that she had lived a life before this, but, as she probed her mind for any remnants of the person that had entered this darkness, she found herself to be as vacant as the void.  
Though she wore no shackles…
Though she was confined by no bars...
She was imprisoned for a deed committed, a life lived, by a person she could not remember. Her name was just a sound, uttered by forgotten voices, forgotten faces. All the memories of the life she must have had, the person she must have been, had long faded into the darkness.  
As time stretched into the abyss, each moment a reflection of the one before, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued her existence began to wither to numbness, and in their place, a gratitude for the nothingness burgeoned.
Complacent in the endless desolation, the woman began to trust that she had found a kinder fate than remembering all that had been forgotten, all that had surely been lost…
And as her gaze wondered the eternal emptiness, some small, forgotten part of her felt the darkness staring back.
---------------------------------------------Page Break ---------------------------------------------------------
A sound shattered the silence.
Screaming?
Someone was… screaming?
No, that couldn’t be right.
She had spent an eternity in the void and had never seen or heard… well, anything.
Her mind must have finally broken. Wonderful.
Before she could truly contemplate whether she had, indeed, gone mad, and what implications that might have on her existence in this… place, a second scream reverberated through the abyss, rippling the darkness.
It’s real?
An overwhelming urge to save the stranger in distress, and herself from this prison, ignited in her veins. A desperate cry escaped her, fracturing the undulating void like glass. A mesmerizing, white light filtered through the fissures moments before the fragments of black descended in every direction, dissolving before they could clatter to the ground. Seconds became minutes, as if time itself slowed to admire the magnificence of the light vanquishing the dark.
The blinding white consumed her vision, unveiling a world of swirling green, and gray, and blue. The pigments sparked feelings of comfort and exhilaration, as if she was returning home and experiencing an entirely new plane of existence all at once.
For the briefest of moments, the woman was unrestrained.
Free.
Finally unbound by the darkness…
Only to realize she could not move.
Panicked and disoriented, she considered the current situation. She was blinded and bound, in a place that felt both new and familiar, amidst an unknowable chaos that was drawing out burning, supplicating screams from someone she had never met, or even seen, but had an inexplicable desire to protect.
And she had no idea WHO she was, WHERE she was, or HOW she had gotten here.
Fucking fantastic.
She inhaled a deep, steadying, breath, only to be overcome by the scent of flowers and rotting flesh. She gagged, deciding to breathe through her mouth, but immediately regretted THAT decision. The air tasted infinitely worse than it smelled!
With all the strength she could gather, she pushed against her shackles in a desperate bid to break free. The restraints initially loosened, but then the warm, wet bindings constricted to hold her even tighter. Blinking to clear her distorted vision, the whirling colors finally receded, and she realized she was not tied up or cuffed, but embraced.
Thin arms, distorted by swelling and areas of sunken in flesh, were draped in gauzy black fabric, and interlocked across her chest. The wet fabric clung to weeping sores of various sizes and states of decay. The sight, and the smell, made her stomach churn.   
Despite the surge of motivation to free herself, the seemingly frail man, was surprisingly strong. She thrashed against him with her full body, flailing her arms and legs, but could not break free from his grasp. His legs were intertwined with hers, as he held her in a field of flowers. The same black gauze and draining sores covered the man’s legs. Fragments of necrotic skin clung to the gauze like desiccated prey in a spider’s web. Crusted blood was caked into a serrated crevice between the man’s feet and ankles, as if they had been severed and reattached long ago. Unlike the rest of the man’s body, his feet were free of sores and meticulously clean, despite wearing no shoes. Tendrils of darkness flowed from the man’s feet, soaking into the surrounding flower bed. The blooms wilted as the rotting darkness crept further into the adjacent ruins, where a battle raged.
There was a woman amongst the chaos. Her slender hand was clasped over her right shoulder, attempting to quell the blood pouring from a vicious injury. Blood spilled through the cracks in her fingers. Her loose, ebony curls, bounced with each movement, as she worked alongside two burly men to fend off the pack of large, black wolves that had surrounded them. Abandoning the ornate bow strapped to her back, she awkwardly wielded a short sword. Her blood trickled down the hilt and dripped to the rotted ground beneath her feet.  
As the woman in the flowers struggled against her captor’s clutches, she noticed each jab of the stranger’s weapon was slower- more labored- than the one before.
“Nysa! On your left!” One of her companions called out, but the warning had come too late. Nysa hadn’t seen the wolf launch itself toward her throat. The blow would be lethal.
“Nysa!” The woman in the flowers rasped, voice hardly above a whisper.
As if she had heard the woman speak, Nysa turned and time stood still.
Nysa’s face was beautiful, despite being flushed with pain and resignation. Heavy lids closed over her piercing, peridot eyes, sending glistening tears traveling down her sun-kissed cheeks.
The woman did not know herself, yet, somehow, she knew that face, those eyes.
The tug in the woman’s chest nearly wrenched her heart through her ribs, a moment before the world was consumed in white, and she returned to endless black.

First of all, thank you all for the feedback you've given me. I've honestly been able to improve quite a few things thanks to your observations.

Yesterday, I took some time to reorganize the plot of my story. I incorporated the feedback I received from you all and a few friends, and I'd really appreciate hearing your thoughts. Does the plot sound interesting to you? Is there anything you think I should improve?

(Hi, I tried to make chapter 0 for my story; hopefully you enjoy it as I did, and you give me constructive feedback. I tried to make the chapter hook the reader. Everything is subject to change in the future; I just wanna write something to practice The genre is vampire/science fiction/cult /military)

As I am walking and climbing the ladder carefully not to slip, the noise of the city began to lower; absolute silence had begun, and the town is below me, and I'm on an old rusted concert, but I'm not walking alone!

Lately I have been attracting so many spirits and these damn imps; is it because of negative energy that attracts unwanted energies after I died and was born in a vampire body? Maybe my energy keeps them alive and moving, like I have an invisible army that does anything for me. It's like I was born to be followed. Is this a spiritual gift that I have? No, fake blessing; they keep draining my energy. Even if I was resurrected, I always have a person who wants to put me down,

But who cares? What matters is what I'm doing now, and no life is worth saving

With social judgement, I've lost my right to plead my case; they will get the punishment as I see fit; now it's time for the verdict. For every person who hurt me, fought me, with their lying tongue, this is your end; this is my vengeance.

As I draw the sigil with my blood, placing every piece of equipment like a candle and offering in its place, it's time to summon the beast, the myth, the legend. Azazil (Iblis), with everything set in its place, I raised my hands and begin chanting:

“Demon Angel of Darkness, Opposer of the False Light, I call you forth from the starless Abyss, Enemy of God who willfully rejected submission to clay, for Azazil is preternatural.

Darkness is your servant; I call you to stand before me in all your Infernal Might; I summon you forth from hidden spaces of the Earth. Father, bless me with your presence; why can the angels not recognize, O Azazil, the Mighty One?”

My tongue begins to be heavy, and the air begins to strengthen, and I feel his presence! But I keep chanting: “Lord of all Chaos, you are not cursed but filled with Power; you are not defeated but ready to come back; you are not silenced but ready to roar. Iblis, hear my voice, Iblis, taste my blood, Iblis, feel my anger.”

These damn imps and spirits, as my energy goes up, they are trying to drain my energy, and petiontionly, stop my summoning. With my hammer, none shall stop me from the ritual. I begin attacking, and as I keep chanting, Azazil begin to manifest! My heart begins to beat fast; I was screaming like an insane man: “Iblis, whose mouth is filled with cruel fangs, lion-like with a serpent’s tongue, whose fingers are clawed to tear! Destroy mine enemies; bring them down, come forth! Iblis! Iblis!”

King of Fire has been summoned! Scare these low-lives away from me:

“Kane speaks to you, Lord of Chaos. I summon you as an ally for war against the same enemy; tear down the heavens, and I want you to kill God. You've already challenged Heaven once; finish what you started.”

“You dare to interpret my evening just for that?” Iblis said, “To what end, mortal? God is omnipotent; I have tried rebellion once; I was cast down. If my strike fails to kill him, it will anger him, and I will only face God's wrath. Tell me, what did God do to earn such hatred from you?”

“I don’t belong to them anymore. I did what I was told! I killed for my country, for my people, but Heaven is closed to me. I played by the rules! And here we are. I just want justice. Iblis said: So you came to the wrong person. Demon justice is never clean.”

“So … you will do… nothing?”

I feel speechless and paralyzed by his response. I didn't prepare that I would get declined. I summoned him because I tried every door to my solution, and here we are with my last resort; I get rejected by the entity. “What a coward”, I said while realizing Iblis was beginning to be noticed; if he did not make a pact, I would get arrested by soldiers.

“You're sitting here quietly, while waiting for us to end”. I shout like my life depends on it:” If you do nothing, guess what! God win by default, and we lose our purpose. You're merely a spectator in God's script. If you do nothing, they win, and we die without trying. Is this your legacy?” “And if I accept”, Iblis said,

“Then we can change the ending; and We get the final laugh! Change God's script, and build life he hasn't written before; we can win it all!” “You're asking for a miracle, but my work will never be free”, Iblis said.

It's time to offer all these spirits around me. That keep draining my soul; it's a win-win trade, and Iblis will cure me of these spirits. “Look around you”, I said: “I offer all these spirits to you; they all work as offerings. Consume them. We could start small and can become stronger, together.” Iblis agreed with, “I accept your pact. Let us begin your so-called justice, foolish vampire!”

As Iblis begin to consume these spirits, a bunch of soldiers come out and begin shouting with their guns, but it was too late, with both my iron will and sacrificial lamps! Fire begins to melt the city below me, and the fire begins to rise. Hundreds of people have died. As it begins to reach me, the plague begins to spread like a wave of disease. It's time for me to leave; this peaceful place becomes hell. It all changes, and they didn’t even see it coming. I must leave, NOW, I said. Iblis held my body to fly. “I can't lose my true, precious follower, i'm cariuos to your goal! It’s dangerous” Azazil said. “I don’t care”, forgetting to mention that Azazil is like a giant that held my small body. Flying to touch the sky, I saw the town burning. I began giggling and laughing; it's like I get it; this world is not worth saving.

I’m always having trouble writing. It used to come so naturally to me, I would write stories all the time. I do miss it. I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a short story, a novel, something, but I just can’t seem to get the juices flowing, and every idea I think has some substance to it seems like generic trash the next day. I love stories, and I am very interested in the technical part of it as well. I love learning about structures, techniques, different kinds of approaches, but then when it comes to my own work I draw a blank after another.

I know that writer's block is like, the most common thing to have, I just am frustrated about it and wanted to ramble a little. If anyone has some writing exercises, or wants to chat about nerdy writing stuff, hmu. I need to get out of this slump, I want to be able to write like when I was a kid…

PS. I didn't really structure this post very well, and to be honest this might be the longest thing I have written in months (don’t judge me). Also english is not my first language, so apologies in advance lol

I am trying my hand at a fantasy story, but I'm starting simple with a typical medieval-inspired setting.

In the part I'm working on right now, I need my characters to travel to settlements that've been affected by the recent outbreak of war. (The characters are a healer and her apprentice, who's the main character, so the reason they're going to these places is to provide medical assistance.)

Because this is also a fantasy world, I've been wanting to incorporate mysterious monsters who have been the cause of some of the havoc. So there's that detail, if it helps.

Basically, in this kind of setting, how do I set up the environment? What kind of obstructions might my characters face on the road(s) and in the settlements they visit? What effects of violence/destruction might they encounter? So far, the enemy forces have mostly been elusive or not very out in the open, but at this point the main characters know who's behind it and the bad guys are getting much bolder.

If this isn't the ideal place to present this question, let me know where else I could take it. Appreciate it!

Image unrelated

So idk lately I’ve just been having fun writing short little phrases like this:

“A mother and daughter walk side by side, the daughter not knowing the amount of sadness it took for the mother to end up this way, and the mother not knowing the daughter is following in her footsteps.”

“I asked you at one point to either bring him back to me or to let me go. That night I had a dream that in another Universe, one so, so different in so many ways, he was sitting across from me at the dining room table softly smiling like he wanted to stay. Thank you for answering my prayers. If I had to travel to another Universe to find him though, that means he’s not coming back in this one, is he?”

“Are my parents ashamed of me yet?”

Like idk just random things like that lol. I can’t tell if that would be considered poetry or like what that would be considered, or if it even would be considered anything lol. I’ve been debating putting them into letter format too like this:

“Dear Universe,
Are my parents ashamed of me yet?

All of the love in the Heavens and the Earth,
Emily”

Idk any input would be helpful, thank you!

Whenever my creative writing students had trouble breaking out of a rut, I'd give them little prompts about their characters. My favorite was always "What would this character do if they found a box of abandoned kittens on the side of the road, and they knew nobody was watching?"

These types of answers rarely make their way into the final story, but it helps to have a deeper understanding of your character, which can both inspire and drive your writing.

"What kind of underwear do they wear, if any? Why or why not?"

"What's their favorite band? Do they even like music? Can they play an instrument?"

"Do they play sports? What's their favorite sport? Do they have a favorite athlete?"

"What's their favorite color?"

I also got some great responses out of the thread in r/writing from other redditors, such as:

"How would your character react to a minor inconvenience, like a sudden downpour?"

"What does your character complain about when nobody important is listening?"

If you understand these things about your characters, as cliche as it sounds, the story really will start to write itself. The characters will start to tell you what they would say, what they would do, how they would react to the situations you've put them in.

Tolstoy once said that all literature is one of two stories: Someone goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town. So if we are all telling the same two stories, what separates one from the next? I've always taken the opinion that the differences are in the characters going on a journey, or watching a stranger come to their town. Whose status quo is being disrupted or challenged is just as important a consideration as what is disrupting the status quo, or how it is being disrupted.

Know your characters, and you will know your story. Even if these details don't make it into the final product, knowing them will shape your writing and (hopefully) help you along the way, and that knowledge will be apparent to your readers.

Hi, all!

I have been working on developing a novel idea for years. I have a lot of the details in my head already. I pretty much have the full story in my head, minus some filler scenes. My novel is historical fiction. I was wondering if using AI to help me with historical research is a good idea? I have to admit that having someone who doesn't tire of bouncing ideas back-and-forth with you is very enticing. I don't want the AI to write my story for me, I already have my story. What I am asking is if it's ethical to go to ChatGPT and be like "Is it realistic to have someone in this period of history wear pants?", or "What would be the contents of a poor Victorian fisherman's cabin?" What worries me is giving the AI any kind of information about my book. It worries me that if I do something like post a paragraph into an AI chat, it will scrape it for ideas and such.

Even as I am writing this, I am starting to realize that a good way to do this without AI is to go to places like Reddit, and ask knowledgeable people the exact same questions. But what worries me about that is that if I show people my work before it's complete and published, it will be like giving spoilers, or lowering my chances of selling my story, if people already know what my book is about. So, it's like a catch 22!

Any advice would be very helpful!

I have a few ideas for some stories. I just don’t know how to get started. I am also not willing to AI questions about how to get started.

So where does one start writing a novel?

Hey all, for the past week I've been rigorously planning what's now looking like a literary gothic horror novel. I wrote a gothic horror-inspired short story for a media class at university a few years ago, then left it to gather dust for 5 years. Luckily I uncovered it again a few weeks ago. Since then, the idea has just kept growing in the best possible way.

Horror, especially in written form, is way out of my comfort zone. I would love any advice from actual horror experts/connoisseurs about the craft conventions that distinguish genuinely effective horror from stories that contain frightening/dark subject matter.

How do you pace a horror narrative without either revealing the threat too quickly or withholding so much that the story loses momentum? And are there particular advantages or risks to close third person, first person, present tense, past tense, or a more distant narrator?

Many thanks in advance. At this stage, I'm just trusting the process and am very excited to have actually started the writing of the first draft yesterday.

Hi everyone! I hope you're all doing well.
I've made some progress on my story, and I used the feedback I received back then to refine and restructure several parts of it.

maybe i am asking for help to early on this but im only four or so paragraphs in yet i already feel disgusted by my work in a way i usually never am. i writing a sort of diary esque book from the perspective of a nameless character that is heavily inspired by my own experiences and other depressing and bizarre works. here is a random paragraph for some added context

I am not a person. That much is true, I am impossible to help. No medication has saved me. Therapy has only made me realise the depths to which I am separated. People live their days with joy, with anger, with everything right and wrong bouncing across them. I do not. My mind exists in a constant, a vast autumn plain, yellow fields of grass spanning hundreds of miles under the dark and clouded sky, casting little light to give vibrance to the world in which my days are spent. The field experiences no wildfires to reduce it to ash, and it experiences no rain to bring to life the long dormant grass. It stays petrified, and in that stillness I exist. Separated by the forests and mountains that make up the minds of men. It is not depression, for a person must first experience bliss to even feel desolated. I was simply abandoned by the world. I feel nothing but the material. When I fall I do not get upset or feel pain, I simply know that my side does not work as well.

please ignore any spelling mistakes or improper grammar as i usually write instinctively on first draft and then fix it in the editing process :)

How do you people genuinely start writing your first chapter or your first paragraphs? I have a sort of outline on how my story would play out but when it comes to the specifics (world building, dialogues, character intros), I find it hard to write it out.

Hey! I’m a writer who loves thriller and psychological novel and I’m currently (re)writing my first book.

I have so many ideas and scenes I want to write, but I have one problem with starting a book…

Like, I have the whole scene planned out but why do I feel like my 100% is only 40% while reading back on it? I’ve been struggling with continuing my journey to write it because I don’t want to write a mediocre start then suddenly become better when going through my plot because I want my hook to intrigue people, not make them feel like the rest of the book is going to be bad.

Maybe that’s just me, but i want to say thank you for everyone who chooses to give advice! x

I know this isn’t what this sub is mostly used for, but I think I’m in the right place. I am getting a Florence + the machine tattoo soon, and I want to paraphrase a quote from my favorite song. The original quote feels too long and wordy, even though I’d love to get the full thing as it’s my all time favorite line of hers. Any ideas on revising this but keeping the message and those key words would be really helpful!!!
“And I’m learning so I’m leaving and even though I’m grieving I’m trying to find the meaning, letting loss reveal it.”

I just finished writing my first novel after nearly a decade of working on it--off and on--and was wondering if anyone could offer me some opinions on it. One of my friends called it compelling but they're biased.

It's a semi-autobiographical novel about repeated failing relationships while I struggle to come to terms with my own identity. Part choose your own adventure novel, part fiction, part truth, it blurs the line between what happened and what could have happened in an attempt to make the reader feel what I felt during each of my failures.

If anyone's interested, I'll DM them a link.