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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · 2d

Please, let me further, past what’s safe to name;
admit me inward, where the borders flame—
to touch each scratch, each bleeding seam in you,
as deep as hurt, as close as hurt can do.

#verse #poem

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · 27d

I got carried away with writing a new story, so I’ve been a bit off the radar. It feels like the antidepressants are finally doing their job, and I can be at least a little creative again!

#amwriting #writesky

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 23

For three days now I’ve been brewing plots in my head —though usually ideas for short stories come quickly. I think I’ve finally stumbled onto something that might be interesting. It’s terribly hard to scare others—and to scare myself—without slipping into cardboard tropes and clichés...
#amwriting

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 23

I decided to explore the theme of horror. I watch so many horror films and true crime, but coming up with a truly disturbing story is difficult for me. I tend to empathize with what’s supposed to be frightening. It’s hard to be afraid of a demon once you know its thoughts and vulnerabilities...

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 23

Today in #wipsnips one of my favorite beasts🥰
From one of my recent short stories.
#writingcommunity #amwriting #wordbuilding #fantasyauthor #writesky

A mudhorn — a swamp-dwelling monster, captured alive and brought to the capital.
The creature rivaled the city’s civitram transports in size, and if you counted the jagged, triangular horn crowning its head — a head armored like a bone-plated battering ram — it stood even taller. Nearly four meters, at least.
Its broad chest and front limbs, each equipped with wide, flat claws for tearing through bog soil and tangled roots, barely fit inside the cage. Unlike the other floats, this one hovered visibly lower — the beast’s sheer weight had forced it down.
Its small, black eyes spun wildly, tracking the shimmering shapes and whistling sigilic lights flaring above. Used to the quiet isolation of the deep marshes, the mudhorn was clearly terrified — its breath huffed in heavy, grunting blasts from wide nostrils.

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 22

As for descriptions, including the highly specific ones—my icon is Janet Fitch. What she does in White Oleander makes me want to reread it forever, and then try literally everything she mentions.
#summerofstory #bookrecomendations

Charlotte Francis @cfranciswrites.bsky.social · Aug 22

Hello #SummerOfStory!

Day 22: Specificity

Disclaimer: This is a prompt game to discuss common writing tips & techniques, not an attempt to tell people how to write.

Over to you: Do you write stories that pile on detail, or do you to let the reader’s imagination fill the gaps?

#WritingPrompt

1: Title, Date, & Prompt Introduction

This slide features a large torn piece of lined paper with the text 'August 22nd' at the top and the writing prompt 'Specificity' in big script letters. There is a typewriter in the corner with a note saying 'TOOLS not RULES'. On the right, there is a speech bubble with prompt questions, a Bluesky butterfly, and a palm leaf background.

Transcription:
August 22nd
Specificity
What's your take on this writing technique? Have you used it before — or do you avoid it?
Share your thoughts, drop a snippet, or tell us how you'd use it in a scene.

2: What & Why

This slide looks like a piece of lined notebook paper with teal palm leaves in the background. Headings 'What?' and 'Why?' are taped to the page. It explains what specificity in writing is and why it matters. A blue butterfly decorates the corner.

Transcription:
What?
Use Specific, concrete language instead of vague or abstract terms. Instead of writing she poured herself a drink, write she tipped a dram of Lagavulin into the tumbler.
Why?
While vague language asks the reader to do the heavy lifting, specificity guides the reader toward a single, vivid picture instead of a blur of possibilities, drawing them deeper into the story. Used well, precision doesn't just add detail; it heightens engagement and makes the writing memorable.

3: In Practice

This slide looks like a piece of graph paper with teal palm leaves in the background. On the left, an excerpt from George Orwell's 1984 appears in a beige box. On the right, a taped paper section explains a writing example, with a Bluesky butterfly decoration.

Transcription:
Specificity in Action: 1984

[Excerpt from 1984 by George Orwell]
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.

In the opening paragraphs of '1984', Orwell doesn't just tell us Winston lives in a shabby block; he makes us smell the boiled cabbage, see the varicose ulcer, feel the gritty dust. Each detail is precise, and together they build a whole world in a few paragraphs.
Counterpoint: Some might argue too much specificity risks bogging down the pacing with too much det…

4: What do you think?

This slide is a torn piece of paper with discussion questions for writers about using specificity in writing. There's a speech bubble repeating 'TOOLS not RULES', a Bluesky butterfly, and palm fronds in the background.

Transcription:
What do you think?
What's your take on Specificity in Writing? Do you prefer crisp, concrete detail that paints a clear picture, or do you lean toward leaving space for the reader's imagination? Can you share a snippet where a single detail made the scene sharper, funnier, sadder, or more alive?
Share your thoughts, drop a snippet, or share an example you love (or hate). Hot takes welcome — just please don't set anyone on fire!

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 22

Missed couple of days but here I am!
#wipsnips with my favorite boys🥰

The train glided smoothly along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter against the rails a soothing counterpoint to the luxurious silence of the private carriage. Morveiyn leaned back in his chair, sinking into the plush velvet upholstery with a satisfied sigh. Beyond the window, rolling hills and dense forests blurred into a serene green mosaic—a world that seemed laughably distant from the damp, suffocating pit he had recently escaped.
Of course, he could have taken an official Protectorium transport—Wyrm, his assigned private train. Or even saved time by using an omnimobile. But that would have meant jumping straight back into duty, and after what he had endured, he wasn't about to grant his father the satisfaction of seeing him march off like an obedient hound.
No, he wanted time. Time to let his body fully recover, time to gather his thoughts and prepare for whatever awaited him in Te Aroed. The slower, more comfortable journey served his purposes well. And if his father fumed over the unnecessary delay, all the better.
But the real victory was forcing the Protectorium's logistics department to finance his personal affairs. A private, reserved carriage, complete with velvet seats, warm meals, and a view far more agreeable than the inside of a cell—it was, in his opinion, the very least they owed him.
He stretched lazily, letting the weight of the past days melt away. The fact that he had managed to secure the entire compartment for himself? Just a cherry on top.
Well… not entirely for himself.
Deiyn sat opposite Morveiyn, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, peeling the skin off an apple with the deft flourish of a stage magician. The smooth, unbroken spirals curled in his fingers as he worked, his expression caught somewhere between idle amusement and quiet determination.

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 22

hey, my story took third place in a writing competition on @writersblockds.bsky.social
shared third, so it kinda feels like fourth.
joy is sharing the place with a bit of disappointment.
still, proud of the piece and grateful it resonated with readers.

#jupelwrites #WritingContest #AmWriting

Raise the flags of the motherland!…
From the fire escape came the measured, orderly, staccato beat of footsteps.
Boots.
Heavy, sturdy boots—the kind the Motherland issued to soldiers and police. These days, no one could mistake that sound. Its orderliness and inevitability were meant to strike fear in wrongdoers and pride in law-abiding citizens.
I remembered it from childhood—Victory Day parades, ranks of mirror-bright boots coming down hard on warm asphalt—Wham! Wham!—echo snapping off the walls, mingling with balloons and the triumphant blare of trumpets beneath streaming flags…
And now I—who’d never done anything worse than paint on a wall—felt my heart pounding in my throat to that same rhythm, threatening to leap out.
"They won’t have me," flashed through my mind—a desperate, defiant thought, as if I were about to fight them. The brave guardians of order, packed into black armored suits, their faces hidden behind impenetrable helmets. Those helmets made each of them look like faceless terracotta warriors, buried with their emperor in some distant antiquity. And the sound of their steps was just as heavy, inevitable, as if each of them were made of stone…

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 21

This week for the #reedsy prompts I wrote two stories. They turned out quite different, but in both I’m playing around with the theme of #horror. Though so far it never gets past the foreplay stage. You can read them on my page!
#amwriting #shortstory

blog.reedsy.com/creative-wri...

A Hare in the Woods

I crept up to the hut early in the morning, slipping like a shadow past the fishnets—still damp, hanging from wooden stakes. A startled cat arched its back, dropped a half-eaten fish tail, and darted under the house to hide. Look at him, all skittish! As if he’s any better—black as soot himself…The old planks of the porch groaned under the pointed hooves, and I, catching myself, quickly pulled on the boots strapped to my belt. I’d better check on her, then sweep the path out front with a broom. No sense leaving tracks behind.

Decree 772-A
People crowded nearly the entire length of Imperial Avenue, the widest and longest street in Teak-An, the proud capital of the Confederation of Allied Regions Naitheren.The festively dressed crowd laughed, chattered, danced, and celebrated with abandon.A young boy, perched on his father’s shoulders could see far into the distance, taking in the full splendor of the parade.His father’s firm hands held him securely by the knees, so he wasn’t afraid of falling.Beside them walked his mother, cheerful and radiant in a flowing sky-blue dress.

Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 20

Because what literally happened to me was this: I let a guy into the novell — and he completely took it over. Unexpected af.
He turned out to be way too good to sideline, so I just let him spiral together with the poor MC.

Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 20

Have you ever created a character who ended up completely reshaping the plot you had originally planned?
What did you do — did you follow where the character led, or did you "make" them do what needed?
what’s easier: changing the plot, or a character who’s already too willful?
#writersprompt

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 20

Tried Shadow and Bone because everyone raved about it.
I made it to page 7 and went to die in the pit. As a Russian-speaking writer… Not sure what hurt more: misspelled Russian words — or what she did with them.
People say it gets better by the second book.. should i give it a chance?
#amreading

Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 20

True story, that's how I burned out haha

tonči zonjić @tozo.today · Aug 2

weekend means personal nonsense program only

Reposted by Aliona Pires Diz

Li Chen @exocomics.com · Aug 18

happily ever after 🥰

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 19

One thing about my writing — someone’s always quoting poetry.
It might be a romantic haiku, a filthy folk rhyme, or a lullaby,
but if the moment allows it, you can be sure a verse will slip in.

I’m no great poet, so the verses are almost always short —
but I’m helpless to stop myself.
#AuthorSky

Daryl Marez @darylmarez.bsky.social · Aug 19

I've realized my writing carries a few unshakable habits… a shop door will have a bell, leaves will rustle in the breeze, colors stay vivid, and there's always a clock on the wall. These are my constants that make a world feel like home

What are yours?

🌈✒️ 📚💙
#AuthorSky #WriterSky #WritingCommunity

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 19

I’ve written an entire world for my novell, layered thick with legends, literature, saints and their lives, folk tales and old ballads.
Much of it deserves at least a short story of its own.
It’s not exactly shelved away for “someday” — I do plan to write it all.
Unless I die first.

Ian Haramaki 🏳️‍⚧️✨ @cometkins.bsky.social · Aug 19

Do you have anything "trunked" that you'd like to revisit, polish up, and publish one day? What made you set it aside? What do you hope to do so it's ready? #WritingPrompt

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 19

Mor is the master of keeping a straight face —
so when even he can’t, I know something’s really off.

#wipsnips #writesky #wtiterscommunity #amwriting #writingprocess

Get a hold of yourself. Now. The command cracked through his thoughts like the lash of a whip.
A jagged breath threatened to escape Morveiyn's lips; he trapped it behind clenched teeth, holding it until the chaos in his chest stilled to a dull, manageable throb. Control. Cold logic brooked no hesitation, no ragged edges. But the mask's polished surface felt thin, a hair's breadth from cracking under the pressure of the raw, visceral surge beneath. He focused on the points where his nails bit into his own palms, the sharp, grounding pain a necessary anchor, forcing the tide back down into numbness. Compressed the unruly feeling inward, layer by layer, compacting it into a dense, silent core. Only then, when his expression was once more a smooth, impenetrable lake, did he release the breath, slow and controlled.
Catching the worry etched on Deiyn's face, Morveiyn waved him off with an irritated flick of his wrist.
"Honestly, do you think I'm made of spun sugar? A bit of rest, and I'll be right as rain," he dismissed. "Go pack my travel bag for tomorrow instead. Make yourself useful."

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 19

So I’ve started a little experiment: a rat’s-eye view on common pitfalls in short fiction.
Just curious notes from a writer learning out loud.
#writingcraft #writingprocess #writingmistakes #jupelwrites #writingtips #substackwriters #writingblog

First entry is up:
substack.com/@alionapires...

Rat Club#1: How Not to Get Hit in the Face with a Plot Twist

A writer’s notebook on reading, noticing, and trying not to judge (too hard).

substack.com

Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 19

not to critique. NOT to critique.
Freud would be proud.
The rat brain slips out sometimes.

Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 19

As a reader, I spotted a few recurring stumbles-ones I’d likely miss in my own writing. That’s what makes it so terrifying.
I’ll share a few thoughts soon-to critique, but to think aloud, in case something clicks for you too.
If you're curious what rats like me dig up-stay tuned.
#authorstruggles

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 19

I’ve been digging through the #reedsy short story pool lately.
Writers love being read, but don’t always read each other. Still, that ever-refreshing stack holds lessons in what works… and what doesn’t quite.
#ratsdiary #writingcraft #amreading #amwriting

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 18

Oh, that’s easy! Mo Xiang Tong Xiu made me reconsider whether my intrigues were layered enough. And overall, her vivid, folklore-rich, deeply internal prose made me reread my draft for the hundredth time and deepen what had seemed like shallow waters. I adore her!
#writinginspiration #LoreOutLoud

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 18

This week’s plans: working through burnout, step by step. It once spread from drawing to writing-that’s the risk of creative work. Push too hard, and the spark goes quiet. But I’m still here, and writing again, even a little, feels like a good sign.
#writingmotivation #creativeprocess #writerslife

Even if my writing isn’t perfect today, and it feels like no one but me needs it — they still matter to me. That’s reason enough to keep writing.

Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 18

Laurent is a classic bastard who blazes past us like a comet — but I kind of like him, so I generously granted him a childhood trauma to make him even more endearing. The sacred right of an author!

#wipsnips #writingprocess #characterbuilding #indieauthors #writerscommunity #writesky

***
Baronet Loran of Acrass lounged at the center of his private alcove, reclining like a self-satisfied predator surveying his domain. The footman at the entrance bowed slightly before drawing back the sheer curtain, announcing Morveiyn's arrival.
"Come in, darling," Loran called, his voice a lazy purr. "I've been waiting."
The scene before Morveiyn was an imitation of an old religious painting—one of those grand, forgotten works where the First Messiah and his apostles dined in divine excess.
At the head of the gathering, in the role of a self-appointed deity, was Loran. Tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair spilling over his bare chest, he exuded the effortless confidence of a man who had never known denial. His sun-kissed skin gleamed under the low light, the coarse hair on his torso catching the glow of nearby lanterns.
Flanking him, like faithful disciples, lounged two near-naked courtesans clad in translucent tunics designed more for suggestion than modesty. Their bodies curved toward him, waiting for his idle attention, though it was clear he had long since grown indifferent to their presence.

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Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 18

I’m still far from that level, since I keep finding ways to improve even after three reading and editing passes - so I’ve still got a lot to learn on this path :) Learning how to let a text go, and not torture it with endless edits, is also a skill I need to master!

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