Search for something once and Google will assume that you want to know EVERYTHING about that thing FOREVER AND EVER. If I have to scroll through pages and pages of Game of Thrones clickbait before I get to anything that isn’t related to Game of Thrones, that’s a bit much. Sure, I could tell Google that I’m not interested anymore,
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I’ve mentioned before (probably more times than necessary) how generally disorganized I am when it comes to writing. I can’t plan, I can’t outline, I can’t see from one chapter to the next most of the time. Heck, I can’t even stick to writing chapters sequentially. I have to use a dry-erase board to keep track of everybody so they
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Writing prompts can be downright weird. There are idea generators that will suggest plots for you (actual result: “A model has 24 hours to use the information given by their dying guide to find an overgrown garden.”) Some will try to write part of the story for you after you make a few selections (actual result: “Robert Cox looked at
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I don’t remember ever being bored as a kid. At least, not for very long. My own kids, though… oi. If I had a dollar for every time one of them said, “I’m bored!” — and then repeated it eighteen million times over the next couple of hours — I’d be writing this from Nevada. (Yes, my dream-retirement plan involves
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I was rereading a series recently, and by the time I got to book 4, I’d noticed something that had escaped me the first time around. Every character was described in terms of their weight, usually before anything elseĀ about them was even mentioned. Overweight men were “beefy.” Or “solid.” Women, on the other hand, were nearly always “fat.” Men who
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Heather Masterson 