How To Get Paid For Writing

Symbolism in writing is when the authors use objects, characters, colors or other elements to represent something more than their literal meaning. It's a method of adding depth and additional layers to a story, allowing readers to uncover further meanings and insights as they delve into the narrative. It's often used to convey underlying themes or concepts that may not be immediately apparent. For instance, the color red can symbolize love or danger and a rose can symbolize beauty or delicacy. It's a common tool in literature and is often used to enhance the reader's understanding and interpretation of a narrative.

A tag in writing usually refers to a dialogue tag. It’s basically a simple way to attribute dialogue to a character, like 'he said' or 'she asked'. These tags help readers understand who is speaking and can add a bit of character personality. It's essential to use them wisely to keep the flow smooth and not distract from the narrative. It's a small piece, but it definitely keeps the story alive!

Writing down thoughts can be like opening a window to your mind. I jot down my feelings as they come, keeping it real and raw. Sometimes I use short phrases or even just single words that capture my emotions. Other times, I like to free-write, letting my pen flow without worrying about grammar or structure. It's all about getting that inner chatter out, creating a rhythm that reflects my mood. Not overthinking, just expressing. That's how I keep it genuine!

The author’s intent in writing the book about Juneteenth feels deeply rooted in reclaiming and illuminating a piece of history that’s often glossed over or misunderstood. For me, it’s not just about the date or the event itself, but about the layers of meaning it carries—freedom delayed, resilience, and the ongoing struggle for equality. The book doesn’t just recount the facts; it dives into the emotional and cultural weight of Juneteenth, making it feel alive and relevant today. It’s like the author is holding up a mirror to society, asking us to confront the gaps in our collective memory and to recognize the ways history shapes our present. What struck me most was how the author weaves personal narratives with broader historical context. It’s not a dry history lesson; it’s a tapestry of voices—enslaved people, their descendants, and even those who benefited from the system. This approach makes the story feel intimate and universal at the same time. The author seems to be saying, “This isn’t just Black history; it’s American history.” It’s a call to acknowledge the full scope of our past, not just the parts that are easy to stomach. The book challenges readers to sit with discomfort, to question what they’ve been taught, and to see Juneteenth not as a distant event but as a living legacy. I also think the author wants to spark conversations about what freedom really means. Juneteenth isn’t just about the end of slavery; it’s about the beginning of a long, ongoing fight for true equality. The book doesn’t shy away from the complexities of that fight—the setbacks, the victories, and the work that still needs to be done. It’s a reminder that freedom isn’t a one-time event; it’s a continuous process. The author’s intent feels urgent, like they’re saying, “We can’t move forward until we fully understand where we’ve been.” If you’re interested in exploring more about the themes of history, identity, and resilience, I’d recommend checking out 'The Warmth of Other Suns' by Isabel Wilkerson. It’s a powerful exploration of the Great Migration and its impact on American society. For a more personal take, 'Between the World and Me' by Ta-Nehisi Coates offers a raw and moving reflection on race and history. Both books, like the one about Juneteenth, challenge readers to think deeply about the past and its echoes in the present.

Flynn’s prose in 'Sharp Objects' is like a rusty blade – jagged, visceral, and impossible to ignore. The first-person narration traps you inside Camille’s fractured psyche, where memories bleed into the present. Short, staccato sentences mirror her self-harm rituals, creating a rhythm that feels like picking at a scab. Descriptions of Wind Gap’s rot – the sweet decay of peaches, the mold creeping up mansion walls – become metaphors for buried trauma. Even the chapter endings cut abruptly, leaving you dangling over plot gaps. The genius lies in what’s unsaid: Camille’s fragmented recollections of her sister’s death force readers to mentally stitch together horrors, making us complicit in the tension. For similar gut-punch narration, try Megan Abbott’s 'Dare Me'.

The author’s writing style in 'It Follows' is a masterclass in building suspense through subtlety and atmosphere. What struck me most was how the narrative never rushes. It’s like the author is playing a long game, slowly tightening the tension with every page. The descriptions are sparse but precise, leaving just enough to the imagination to make the reader’s mind fill in the gaps. That’s where the real terror lies—not in what’s explicitly said, but in what’s left unsaid. The pacing feels deliberate, almost like the story is stalking you, much like the entity in the book stalks its victims. It’s unnerving in the best way possible. Another thing that stood out was the use of mundane details to create unease. The author doesn’t rely on grand, dramatic moments to scare you. Instead, it’s the ordinary things—a shadow in the corner of a room, a figure standing too still in the distance, a car that seems to be following just a little too closely. These small, everyday observations are twisted into something sinister, making the reader question everything. It’s a brilliant way to keep you on edge because it blurs the line between the normal and the terrifying. You start to see threats where there might not be any, and that’s when the suspense really takes hold. The dialogue is another key element. It’s often clipped and cryptic, with characters speaking in half-truths or avoiding the subject altogether. This creates a sense of isolation and paranoia, as if no one can be fully trusted, not even the protagonist. The lack of clear answers forces the reader to piece things together, which only heightens the tension. You’re constantly second-guessing, trying to figure out what’s real and what’s imagined. It’s a psychological game, and the author plays it exceptionally well. If you’re into this kind of slow-burn, atmospheric horror, I’d recommend checking out 'The Haunting of Hill House' by Shirley Jackson. It has a similar vibe, with its focus on psychological tension and the uncanny. Another great read is 'House of Leaves' by Mark Z. Danielewski, which uses unconventional storytelling techniques to create a sense of dread. Both books, like 'It Follows', excel at making the ordinary feel extraordinary—and terrifying.

Getting rizzy starts with confidence and authenticity! I’ve found that mixing playful teasing with genuine compliments works wonders—like Gojo from 'Jujutsu Kaisen' vibes, where you’re smooth but never tryhard. Practice witty banter (think Kagura and Okita’s dynamic in 'Gintama') and always listen more than you talk. Oh, and drop niche references (e.g., 'Are you Sukuna’s finger? Because you’re curated') to bond over shared interests!

Building connections starts with being genuine. Treat others with respect and kindness. Being yourself goes a long way. Share your interests and hobbies; you never know who might resonate with them. Confidence plays a big role too, but don't force it. Get involved in activities you enjoy, like group sports, book clubs, or gaming—places where you can meet new people. Listen actively when someone talks, and show interest. Always be supportive and understanding, and relationships will naturally flourish from there. Remember, patience is key in this journey of connection.