Category: Writing
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50 Horror Writing Prompts
Due to an unfortunate mishap at NASA… the floor is lava – and 49 other #Horror #writingPrompts for you to have fun with.
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Can You Smell Your Dreams?
Do musicians dream with a soundtrack? Can a chief taste their dreams? Does a perfume designer dream in clouds of fragrance? I went looking for answers.
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The Meaning Behind Horror Stories
Guest Post written by: Anna Ryan ‘Mr Miller, have you ever read any of Stephen King’s books?’ I asked my year ten English teacher when I was about fifteen years old. If my memory serves me correctly, we were planning our creative writing stories for the creative writing section of the English curriculum here…
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Where do I begin?
Welcome back to another podcast Friday! This weekend I’m on my way to the Lilitz Storytelling Festival in PA this weekend with Immortal Alexander and Mr. Daniel Foytik (host of the Wicked Library podcast)! If you happen to be going too, hit me up! We should grab drinks and geek out over storytelling while we’re there.…
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A YEAR TO FORGET
I wanted to take a brief moment away from fiction and address how I am feeling. Sadness and anger are swirling about me and I wanted to express it in thought. For all accounts and purposes this has been a year I would like to forget. My heroes gone, my hopes dashed to the rocks,…
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How to get out of your own way when self publishing
Today’s post comes from Ben Daniels, the author of the new novel, “Detroit 2020.” And he, far better than I could even imagine, lays out the essential steps to self publishing. He’s also a fantastic blogger and shares some very insightful thoughts on horror, writing, and the long-hard-journey of self publishing over on bldaniels.wordpress.com. So, enough…
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THE NIGHT WHISPERERS
Voices in your head are usually a bad thing. Take this pill they say. Just swallow and it will all go away they say. What if it doesn’t I ask the nurse politely as she places the pill in my hand. She says nothing shoving a small paper cup filled with water in my face. She is…
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SPIRIT WALK
Bright as daylight yet lacking color. The trees, the pleasing smells of pine, and of the cool night air. The night air that tastes metallic and reeks of dead men lying in a battlefield. The pads of my feet gently collide with the soft dirt as I trod along through these familiar woods. Bathed in…
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WHERE IS MY MIND?
A fog rolls in masking my perception of reality. Sleep is a forgotten memory of cities in the clouds, of monsters, and of most excellent adventures. Real rest comes only to those who have earned it, and I surely have not earned my rest. My pen is unsteady and almost entirely dry. Stories come easily…