Hello, writerly friends~ ♥︎

You asked for a Writing Advice Masterpost, so here it is! Below you will find a collection of the best questions and answers from the last two years. Not only that, but they are also organized so you can find the answers to your questions quickly and get on with writing.

But wait, there is more!

This post is more than just a collection of advice, it’s a nexus for writing advice, resources, and information! That’s right, this post is going to grow over time. I will be updating this masterpost WEEKLY with new answers, writing advice videos, playlists, and more! So, make sure to bookmark this page and follow my blog ( so you don’t miss a thing~ ♥︎

Writing Advice Compilations


Youtube Videos!

  • Virtual Writing Academya weekly writing class where we explore strange writing exercises. This is NOT a lecture. You are not going to learn by listening— but by WRITING. So, take out your notebooks because we are going to write! New episodes go up every Wednesday.
  • Writing Advice Blitz, a segment where I answer YOUR writing questions. New episodes go up every Monday.
  • Writing Challenges— prompts too easy for you? Looking for a challenge? YOU GOT IT. These challenges will push your writing skills to the limit! New episodes go up every Friday.

Motivation & Inspiration

Planning, Outlining, and Getting Started


Editing & Revision

Hot Button Issues

General Advice


Writing Music & Playlists


Last Updated: 10-04-14. Click HERE to see the latest update. Latest posts are in Italics.

Self-Portrait in Neon Lights


October 5, 2014

You’ll think of me as a modern artwork, neon lights in various colors spelling out various words and phrases that have no context, make no sense. A lot of people say that modern art makes no sense to them. That they don’t understand. I simply tell them things don’t have to make sense to be art. But you’ve always been so realistic, and I’ve always been so abstract, and I think that’s one set of opposites that didn’t attract. I never made sense to you. You never understood me.

You’ll think of me like the headlights of a car racing along a midnight highway in an attempt to chase down the stars. I should know by now that the stars are light years away and that I will never reach them, and that the same goes for you. But I’ll hold staring contests with the stars anyway until the constellations flicker out of sight in the not-quite-autumn air that hums like the fluorescent lightbulbs in my bathroom.

You’ll think of me as the vacancy signs hanging in the windows of cheap Las Vegas motels, where people go when they no longer have money to spend on luxurious resorts and fancy drinks. I’ve always been wary of gambling because throwing away everything you have just for a chance to get something you’ve always wanted seemed so naïve. Now I see that all those vacancy signs are lit up with the word NO, and I look back and realize that with you, I was gambling all along.

You’ll think of me as the streetlamp glow slipping in through your window after your bedroom lights are turned out and you’re laying alone in the darkness, trying and failing to remember my face in the same way I can no longer remember yours. You’ll just see a hollow and undefined black shape where I once burned myself into your retinas as if you had stared directly into the sun.

You’ll think of me as if I’m made of neon lights and I will be gone.

The Day of Writing

Sean (7-weeks) and I are doing a Day of Writing today! I won’t be on Tumblr at all or any social media during the next however many hours are left until September 27, 2014 is over. This post has actually been scheduled; I’m not even logged in right now (well, right now I am, but when this posts I won’t be). I’m excited to see how much I can get done in LTL! I’ll post something tomorrow about whatever progress I made.

Rachel Sandene

The first chapter is always the hardest chapter.

NaNoWriMo 2014 Plans

I had previously made a post about how I wasn’t going to ever do NaNoWriMo ever ever ever again.

I lied.

Basically, since I’m taking a gap year off from school and such, I have no commitments standing in my way of NaNoWriMo 2014—no high school, no college, no job, no career, no life, really—and so I figured, why not give it one more shot? I can put all my time and energy into a novel this November, and I can do it well.

I’ve figured out the problem with Camp is it’s in the summer, which is generally a good thing for schedules, but my level of sedentariness increases exponentially between June and August. Hopefully I’ll be able to overcome that in the winter months!

So, long story short, I’m giving National Novel Writing Month one last shot. Because this is it. This year’s autumn months are the most free I will ever have in my entire life. I have nothing standing in my way. So I’m going to do this.

Rachel Sandene

Writing advice? I suppose so.

I. I was supposed to be delivered in the month of August but the star whose atoms I was forged from must’ve gone into supernova a few weeks too soon, because in the middle of July I was pulled from the pitch darkness of my mother’s womb and into the too-white world. From the moment of my birth my eyes shone like the star burning the last of its fuel in my veins; my daddy cried when he held me, the happiest hour of his life being that distant star’s very last and his beautiful baby girl’s very first.

II. He called me Bright Eyes for seven days because he and my mom hadn’t decided on a name for me yet, because in the clear grey-blue he could see silver constellations and nebulae glittering in the harsh fluorescent hospital lights. Somehow my daddy must’ve known that one day I would look into the face of a boy and then I wouldn’t be his beautiful baby girl anymore; I would be that boy’s girl, too, and he would call me beautiful and stare at my eyes and tell me they looked like an explosion of stars.

III. In the moment when he first said my eyes were stars, I felt like an entire universe unto myself. It must be because when I was pulled from my mother’s womb and into the sterile white light of the hospital operating room, some brilliant star in some faraway corner of the universe burst into sparks and glowed brighter than a galaxy for the split second of my first gasp for air. I breathed in the last bit of life of that star, the final spark. That star never died; it burns in my eyes instead.

IV. I’ve been told my eyes are stars, but no one told me I was the living remnants of a supernova. No one told me I was more than just a pinprick of light in the vastness of the sky. No one ever told me I was a piece of the universe, forged from the last shrapnel of a star, but my daddy called me Bright Eyes, and the boy who loved me said I was an starry-eyed explosion, and maybe that’s kind of the same thing. I have always been the bright product of chaos, born from love and distant suns.

V. I was supposed to be delivered in the month of August but the universe must’ve decided it needed another star to replace the one that had just gone out, and that’s why I opened my eyes.

— Bright Eyes
September 7, 2014 (via audacieusement)

You can forget the way his lips felt on yours
By drowning in alcohol the memories of his passionate kiss but
If you dare to touch the vodka on the top shelf of your mother’s kitchen cabinets
The mouth of the bottle you drink from might start to feel like his
And what if you start to become so addicted to the drowning feeling
That you forget how to breathe
Just like you did when you were kissing him
What if the dead memories of him don’t sink
They float back up to the surface

You can forget the way his fingertips trailed
Along your goosebumped arms
Your stretch-marked legs
Your too-small breasts, your concave stomach
Hipbones, collarbones, vertebrae
Every inch of your body that lay beside him beneath the sheets
Tingling with his touch
By letting other boys do the same, by giving yourself to
Unfamiliar men at the parties your friends have always thrown but that
You never went to
Because why would you go to find love
In a foreign place
When it’s already so familiar
But now the familiarity of his love is gone
So you find false romance in strangers that do not stay
It’s always fake it’s never the same

You can forget the way his heated breath felt on your bare skin
On all those nights where he made you feel slightly less lonely with his presence
By breathing out filthy smoke instead of words of true love
But you can’t resurrect his warmth with packs of cigarettes
You can’t kill his heat with nicotine
Your hands with only shake with cold withdrawal and you’ll fill your lungs
With tar and soot and a cough
That can’t be taken away quite as easily
As the hand that used to fit so perfectly into yours

You can forget the way your words made him feel something
By burning the torn-out pages, the letters, the spiral-bound notebooks
The journals you filled with poetry
But memories don’t ignite, they don’t catch fire in the rising flames
They hurt more and more the more they burn
And you wouldn’t forget the truth that he no longer loves you
You’d just lose all the proof that he ever did

You can forget the way you screamed his name when he fucked you like he loved you
Like he needed you
Like it wasn’t just fucking
Like it was making love
By carving his name into every inch of your body that he made feel something during your first time and
Every time after that until the night
When he stopped fucking you like he loved you and fucked you more like it was just a
Worn-out habit
Until the morning he decided he no longer needed you beneath his sheets
Or in his heart
Until the morning his love died
You can try to forget that morning by cutting his last words into your flesh but
Dead love doesn’t bleed like your wrists do
He won’t hurt like you do because he’s gone
You won’t kill him
No, you’ll only end up killing yourself

Don’t you see?
You can’t kill the memories of him because
He doesn’t drown, he doesn’t burn, he doesn’t shiver, he doesn’t bleed
You can’t make the memory of his love die because he’s already
Six feet underground
But honey, the dead cannot harm the living
So it’s time you stopped finding ways to forget
And found a way to let go.

— Ways To Forget
August 30, 2014 (via audacieusement)