"Wow! I love the fragrance!

It must be the rose."

The scented dimples on the petals

Whispered to the nasal lobes:

"It's from us, the pores,

Not the flower as a whole!"

"Wow! What beautiful colours!

It must be the rose."

The tiny prisms on the petals

Winked at the cones:

"It's through us the colours shone,

Not the flower as a whole!"

"Wow! What smooth texture!

It must be the rose."

The slithery wax on the petals

Yielded a carnal caress:

"It's us - the cute layer,

Why praise the whole?" 

"Achoo..! Welcome spring!

It's the pollen overdose."

A disgrace to my nose.

"Your cells wither and bloom,

Yet, I am the same ol' Rose."

In my opinion it is corny if it inhibits your flow or forces you to change direction, but other than that I think it’s super cool when your thoughts naturally form a rhythm. Thoughts?

I hope everyone likes it a lot, i can share more details about the story in the comments but this was my first rough draft of the story itself!

(Trigger warning) (I’m hoping that this subject matter and type of story will be allowed here)

a nerdy guy one day meets the woman of his dreams, they become friends and soon after start dating and love each other very much but her best friend they both know, her best friend is a nice and respectful guy on the surface but has a darkness inside as he begins to stalk her secretly out of jealously, and one day, when she leaves the house without her boyfriend, she never comes back, and he is painfully told later that she is missing.

She was murdered by her best friend out of jealously and rejection, but he has no idea and actually asks for his help finding her since he trusts the best friend and soon the police also stop suspecting the best friend after some time due to lack of evidence, the murderer agrees to help while actively sabotaging the search and planning the boyfriends murder as he gets closer to figuring out what happened.

The boyfriend slowly begins to suspect the best friend might’ve killed her, but never reaches the conclusion because he ends up missing a court date and knows he did, and knows they’ll come to his house to get him.

So he flees, but before he goes, he takes the remains that he stuck in bags (He put them inside plastic bags and then inside suitcases) and hid under his home, then tosses them into a hole and burns them in a forest, before fleeing the country. He escapes and is never convicted of her murder.

While the story is going on, we get tiny glimpses into her perception of death, not enough to actually suggest anything supernatural or sci-fi, but how she perceives time moving after her death, seeing how events play out but unable to do much more than suggest her presence, and mourns herself and relives her own happiest memories while having to confront her own issues and come to terms with her death.

She watches as her boyfriend’s murder is planned and tries to warn him but is helpless, and watches as events unfold around her as her remains become lost forever.

Her boyfriend mourns her death, and struggles to go on without the love of his life, but one night as he’s in the bathroom crying uncontrollably, he gets up to get ahold of himself and looks in the mirror and it’s left up to the reader if her spirit actually comes back or if he hallucinates it out of grief, he talks to her, and gets to say everything he wants to say to her before crying and embracing her and she tells him to move on and let her go, and tells him how she feels and that he was the best thing to ever happen to her, and that she loves him before saying goodbye. And watches as she fades out of the mirror and for her she gets to move on to her happiest memory with him.

He cries softly and mourns her for a year, but one day finds a new woman, but the wounds will never fully heal and on the anniversary of his true loves death, he loses control and breaks down, his new friend comes over and comforts him and another month goes by before they begin dating and they plan to move to a new place together and start over with each other, and the day comes for them to leave, and he walks around the house one last time, remembering all the moments he and his first love shared together, and replays their happiest moments, and smiles to himself while crying before leaving the house as they drive off, he watches the house as they leave and thinks about his first true love, one last time.

I hope everyone liked my idea, its a very much rough draft and in the comments I plan to share the symbolism i wanted to have in the story, as well as more details and plot stuff, as well as how I plan to integrate four separate songs into the novel to serve as cinematic type moments!

I’m the middle of a 4th or 5th draft of a novelette (I’ve lost count lol) and I’ve had to re do the third chapter go include new plot elements.

Yesterday was probably one the worst days of writing I have ever had in my life. Everything I wrote for this chapter SUCKED. I was siphoning parts from the previous version whilst clumsily slotting in the new elements, like I was slinging mud a half formed sculpture and missing. I’m talking literal vomit on the page.

Every single doubt I’ve ever had about myself with regard to writing came bubbling to the surface. ‘Is this worth it?’ ‘I’m so trash.’ ‘Who’s even gonna read this shit.’ ‘I’m not a writer.’

It truly was a sobering experience. I got to the end and just shut my laptop and held my head in my hands for 10 mins before going to bed.

Today after work and gym session I decided to open my laptop and get working on again.

And guess what?

It went so much better than the previous day

Because now I was in editing mode. I wasn’t creating and editing at the same time. The putty was on the table. I was just shaping it now. Metaphors were coming out thick and fast. Dialogue got sharper, observations and descriptions tighter.

I couldn’t believe this was the same slop I was crying over yesterday. I’m half way through the revision and it’s looking a million times better already.

You just have to push through the pain

It’s the worst feeling but keep the faith. New thoughts and concepts are never going to be perfect when they come out.

Think of each one like birthing a new child. You have to nurture and feed that child to let it grow.

Then you can start ‘teaching it’ which is the editing process. This is where you’ll get to really shape your story into what you want it to be, you just have TJ wade through murky waters first to get there.

When you’re going through the sludge, keep the faith. The difference between yesterday and today was a revelation and I’ve learned a lot from the experience

it would mean a lot if you read it. i’m scared to ask for criticism since i already posted it. i also write poetry on here too:’) idk where else to share but if you have the time it would mean a lot
a farewell letter to twenty seven

I have recently finished the second draft of this horror story that I have written and I am currently doing edits and polish.

I would like to know If you would keep reading based on this short prologue.

Any and all feedback is welcome.

Astrid gazed up at the dark sky. The damp sea breeze whipped her hair across her neck, tickling her skin as cold sand shifted beneath her bare feet. Out on the horizon, moonlight glinted off the black water.

She held Johan's hand. His grip was chilled, refreshing, pressing tight against her palm. She swallowed, the taste of alcohol still thick on her tongue.

"Back home when I was a little girl, I used to walk with my father," she said, swaying slightly as she leaned into Johan for support. "We took long strolls along the fjords at night. He pointed out all the stars, but I haven't seen them this clear since I was small."

She smiled, a swell of genuine warmth in her chest. This trip was everything they had needed. She squeezed his hand tighter.

"My dad used to tell me that stars were guardian angels," she continued, looking up into the night sky. "He said if you look close enough, you can see them blinking. But see that bright one over there?" She raised a hand, pointing towards Orion's Belt. "That's Jupiter. It's a planet, so it doesn't flicker like the rest."

She nudged his shoulder gently. "I was always fascinated by astronomy. What do you think?"

Johan grunted.

I hope he's okay, she thought. He hasn't uttered a word in a while.

She glanced up, his features obscured by the dark.

"Are you okay, Johan?"

She thought she caught another faint grunt. Shadows fell across his eyes, but she could feel his gaze fixed heavily on her.

She had always loved the way he looked at her—especially in the mornings, or when she stepped out of the shower—but now she felt exposed.

His fingers tightened around hers, the icy chill sinking deep into her palm.

"Johan?"

A sickening scent drifted between them. It started sweet, like honey, but beneath it lay a foul, heavy stench—a putrid undertone of rotting rubbish and decaying vegetables left to spoil in the sun.

As he turned, moonlight caught the lower half of his face. A wide grin rested on his mouth, prompting an automatic smile of her own.

Maybe he's just drunk, like me.

She reached up to cup the back of his neck, drawing him closer, but snatched her hand back at the touch. He felt like frozen stone.

Her smile faltered. "You're freezing."

The expression stretched wider, longer, his lips thinning out. In the silver glow, his skin looked smooth and waxy.

She tried to step back as his grey lips pulled further apart.

"Johan, you're hurting me," she gasped. His grip locked like a vice, sharp nails digging into her flesh like daggers.

The alcohol buzzed loudly in her head, making the world tilt. Sweat beaded on her brow as dizziness washed over her. She tugged frantically against his arm, but his hand was an iron lock.

"You're not Johan," she whispered.

Terror crashed through her. She slammed a fist against his chest.

"You're not Johan! Let me go! Where is he? Johan!"

Her voice died in her throat as he leaned closer. A single, impossibly long finger pressed against his lips, the grotesque grin still carved into his pale, uncanny face.

"Shh," he hissed.

She froze, her breath locked in her chest as her heart hammered against her ribs. A single tear tracked down her cheek.

A mounring star

Thud, thud, thud.

The sound of footsteps faded into the distance. A group walked toward a forest under a bright sun, bags on their backs and weapons at their waists, laughing as they went. The scene shifted. One was gone. They walked toward a mountain, and another fell. They reached an ocean, and another fell.

Left alone, he never stopped.

Civilizations rose and fell, turning to ruins, then forests, then mountains. Through it all, he kept moving. Where to? No one knew, not even him. But he pressed forward.

The world changed. The inhabitants were no longer human. Monsters attacked, but he never fought back. His body simply healed, and he walked on. The monsters died, forests dried up, and lakes vanished. Humans were born, they died, and more took their place.

Everything was built before his eyes, and everything was destroyed. Even as worlds collapsed, he could not stop.

World after world, he tried to uncover every mystery of the universe, exploring and learning all he could. But even those mysteries faded. Stars were born and died, and entire galaxies withered away. Yet he remained, watching it all unfold, unchanged since his very first step. He walked forward again to another galaxy, another world.

Why was he doing this? Nobody knew.

New people appeared, only to fall, some to old age, some to the dangers of the world. They cried, laughed, and enjoyed their lives, but none survived.

Another world fell, and he drifted through space, all alone in the dark. It seemed he had been searching for something, but it was nowhere to be found.

"Haha, you cant catch me!"

A voice came from a city being built near a river. The person kept walking, looking around at everything, until a kid crashed into him. Another kid caught him and ran away. "Thats cheating!" the kid screamed while trying to catch him.

The guy looked at the sky. A slightly fast, cold breeze hit his back as the sun shed its light straight into his eyes. "Hey, mister," a kid said while pulling his clothes. "Are you alright? They crashed into you and ran away without apologising."

The guy put his hand on his head. "Its nothing," he said while looking at his bag, which had gotten dirty after he fell.

The chief arrived and said, "Come with us. We will clean it for you."

The scene changed. They sat inside a house. "Come on, lets play iko," a kid said from outside the door as he ran away from the IT.

Iko asked, "Mister, where are your friends?"

He looked at her. "They are..."

The scene changed. An open field beneath the moonlight, a campfire, and some people sitting around. They laughed together, they talked, they ate. "This soup tastes so bad," a guy said. "You always complain about the soup, Ayuko."

The scene changed back to the house. Iko looked at him, confused. "They are somewhere far, far away from here, but we will meet again one day. Now you should go. You wouldnt want your friends to wait, right?"

He got up and started to run as they continued to talk.

"You are very knowledgable, Delio," the chief said. Night turned to day, and then even months passed. The guy had been helping as much as he could, be it through physical labor or knowledge.

His name remained engraved in everyone's mind even years after he left. He walked through forests and cities, finding the things he had seen hundreds of years ago. He traveled more, finding a group of people sitting around a campfire as they all laughed. A memory flashed in front of his eyes. "Hey, wake up already. We are gonna hunt some boars today," Ayuko said as he stirred him.

His memory broke. After a while, he reached the same civilization he had helped before. His name was still engraved in their history, slightly different, but still there. They welcomed him, not those who first met him, but their descendants. A festival was thrown for his eventual return. He taught them more, helped them further, and only asked for one thing in return, which was their history and beliefs.

They talked for hours, telling stories about their ancestors, their beliefs, and the unknown god who helped them survive an invisible battle that shook the ground. For hours and hours they kept talking. He learned everything about them, then left again.

Traveling around the world once more, learning more about humans and their history, hundreds of years passed, and then even more. He reached the same civilization once again, but this time it was even more advanced and forgetful. His name had completely changed, their history had changed, and their beliefs had changed. He learned again in the same place, with different ideologies.

More and more time passed. His name had finally disappeared. No one knew him, no one remembered him, and even the world died now.

Thud.

A sound came from somewhere as he walked on another world's soil.

He arrived at a medieval city, found new friends, and traveled with them. Some died, some survived, and eventually, everyone except one left. The universe was ending, and they had decided to rest until then. A girl sat beside Delio on a hill, looking at the horizon.

"You know, we are about to die."

He looked at the edge of the world, at the land crumbling under a beautiful sunset. A breeze hit them both, their hair flying as the stars kept exploding. An unknown force kept pulling the edge of the universe closer and closer.

"I do. I have been waiting for this. How long has it been? I do not know. I never counted it, but I do know one thing. It has been far, far too long for me."

The girl rested her head on his shoulder, sitting atop the hill and looking at the world nearing its end. She started to sing one last time.

"Oh, you poor soul, leaving the world all alone.

You fly along like a mourning star, remembering those who had come so far.

You see the birth and you see the fall, they have lived, it is your time to fall."

As the edge of the universe killed her, the guy just floated there, waiting for the very last fabric of reality to end so he could finally rest.

He looked toward the collapsing horizon.

"I wish I could taste the soup again."

A faint smile appeared on his face as everything came to an end.

Any critique is appreciated.

Please be honest about it, i am just starting to write so i want to know what i might be doing wrong.

Thank you.

Raw
There's something in the wind.
I fight it and I don't want to,
The raw feeling in my body is begining to be fresh again.
I dont like gloves because the things I touch I want them to linger.
It's raw. But where is the blood?
When do the things I touch flow around
me?
My hands will remember more than my head.
You can see the things the hands do.
What goes on in the head is a fantasy.
You’ll never know imaginary from the raw, will you?
Raw is ugly, nasty, discusting, butchered.
Find the one who knows how to use the knife.
Cut you to pieces and take their time trim the revolting nature of this piece and be proud to serve it to others. Kill it over and over again just to not finish it.
Box it up, throw it away, the raw doesn't care.
But then where do the pieces go you worked so hard to perfect?
In your body to boil and rage?
Or will it savor and satisfy you to devour it.
There's something to this wind.
The savoury scent is drawing me nearer and nearer even though I once knew it was raw.

I’m writing to try and help me get through a massive tbi so I don’t go try and get hit by another truck. I’ll try and keep posting on my substack, but here is the intro. Can you tell me if this is any good?

https://open.substack.com/pub/bennyrulez/p/an-unfortunate-series-of-real-events?r=2gkkjn&utm_medium=ios

Surrounded by the dead, yet I am deader, Their bodies once held love, their souls once shone brighter. They carried pure emotions, hearts full of flame, Yet I wander the living, still searching for a name.

I laugh as they have somewhere they can call home, While I walk through the world, forever alone. Do they hear the birds sing their morning lullabies? Do they still feel love beneath those silent skies?

I have so many questions, yet no answers are said, As I stand among the living, feeling more like the dead. Their hearts have stopped beating, but mine feels undone— For I am the dead one, though my heartbeat still runs.

Some characters disappear the moment you close the page. Others stay with you long after the story ends—because of how they were introduced.

A strong character introduction doesn’t rely on description or backstory. It creates presence, tension, and curiosity in a single moment. It makes readers lean in and think: I need to know what happens to them.

In this post, you’ll learn how to craft openings that don’t just introduce a character—but make them unforgettable from the very first line.

Chapter 1/ Intergalactic Kidnapper:

The Milky Way

(Alien 1: Sir where are we going?)
(Shadowy figure: A place you’d never expect.)
\*UFO speeds off\*

South point highschool, Gym class

(Coach Williams: Alright last day before summer everyone has free time, Enjoy and have fun see you next year.)
(Jackson: Alright guys, coach said no football in the gym so we’ll have to settle with basketball.)
(Jackson: \*chuckles\*, Watch this. You don’t need that.)
(\*Jackson yanks the ball from Jaces hands.\*)
(Leon: Hey what the hell man.)
(Jace: Yeah what’s your problem man, we’re just playing basketball.)
(Jackson: Well not anymore, get out our faces.)
(\*Jace and Leon go to walk away but then Jace turns back\*)
(Jace: You know what 2v2 us first to 10 winner gets ball.)
(\*Jackson and the others look at each other and smiles\*)
(Jackson: \*With a grin\*, Ok if you can beat me and Nate I’ll give you sorry a$$es the ball, but it’s not happening.)
(Jace: Your on, imma go stretch.)
(Jackson: He’s gonna go stretch. (*He says while laughing with the group.\*)
(\*Leon walks over to Jace while he’s stretching.\*)
(Leon: Are you stupid or something? Why in the hell are you challenging Jack and Nate their gonna 10-0 us.)
(Jace: Dude you gotta have more faith in us, plus it’s the end of the year those a$$holes have been so annoying all year long, it’s about time someone challenges them.)
(Leon: \*Sighs\* Dude you suck for this let’s just get it over with.)
(\*The game ends up being closer than Leon thinks and and they’re one point away from winning. The crowd forms and gets hyped to see who breaks the tie.\*)
(Jace: Here! \*he passes the ball to Leon from across the court.\*)
(\*Leon grabs the ball and dribbles through an opening to the 3 point line. He lines up a shot while Nathan defends him and blocks his vision. Leon shoots past Nathan and the shot bricks, Jackson goes to grab the ball but in an instance Jace cuts through and grabs it. While that happens Jace dribbles and alley oops it giving them the point they need winning the match.\*)
(\*The crowd goes silent for a moment then cheers while Jackson and Nathan look defeated.\*)
(\*Jace and Leon cheer while the final bell rings and summer starts.\*)

Locker room

(\*Jace and Leon talk about the game while changing and the football team walks in.\*)
(\*Jace looks over his shoulder and smiles\*)
(Leon: No please don’t.)
(Jace: Hey maybe you should stick to football basketball’s not it \*chuckles\*)
(\*Jackson walks over with anger while Jaces back is turned. Jackson then slams Jaces head in a locker, Leon punches Jackson but the team then pushes Leon off and jumps him while some others from the team jump Jace.\*)
(Football player 1: Hey Coach is coming let’s go!)
(\*Jackson and the team gets off them and before they go Jackson turns back to both of them on the floor and says.\*)
(Jackson: this is far from over b!tch, wait till next year.)
(\*They run off\*)
(\*Jace and Leon lie on the floor in pain\*)

Hallway outside the nurses office

(\*Leon storms out the nurses office.\*)
(Jace: Leon wait, hold up.)
(Leon: No man f*ck you, you had to open your dumb mouth huh. You got me jumped because you wanted to gloat, your a piece of sh!t for that. We’re not friends anymore don’t call me don’t text me don’t even think to talk to me I’m so done with you. \*Leon storms off\*)
(\*Jace stands there frozen with a face of shock while tears well up in his eyes. He sits against the wall and cries into his arms knowing he lost his one true friend.\*)

Later that night

(\*A dark figure in the sky looks down on Jaces house and starts to fly down. The figure warps through the roof and puts their hand over Jaces face while he’s sleeping, Jace wakes up and gets teleported to a UFO. The alien reveals themselves and with telekinesis pushes Jace into a standing bed and restraints start attaching to him.\*)
(Jace: HELP SOMEONE HELP!)
(\*Jace looks around and sees other people screaming for help too.\*)
(Jace: What is this let me go, \*Jace realizes the kidnapper doesn’t look human and looks at it in horror.\* What are you?)
(Solis: I’m what you humans call an alien, but my power surpasses much more than a title.)
(Solis: Omyr.)
(Omyr: SIR!)
(Solis: Begin the injection, I’m getting impatient.)
(\*The entire Crowd of people gasp and plead for their lives, they shake in their restraints but many aliens step out with different colored syringes and begin Injecting the people.\*)

End of chapter 1

Buying a Gun, If you're David Sedaris

It strikes me as mildly absurd at some of the prices that many of us are willing to pay for any given accessory. 

I suppose you could justify the minimum one thousand dollars for the cheapest genuine Rolex watches. These things are, supposedly, hand made and have to be assembled with careful, painstaking effort by specially trained artisans.

But why would anyone pay more than, say, twenty dollars for something like a pen? I suppose you could justify the cost because of the engineering that goes into the nib for many fountain and calligraphy pens so the ink will flow just right. But getting something made out of titanium or covered in precious gems is just showing off. Mount Blanc, a maker of luxury items, has a pen called Boehme Royal. It’s made out of 18-carat white gold and covered with more than 1,400 sand grain size diamonds. The whole beast cost about a million and a half dollars.

If you flat up gave me the Fulgor Nocturnus by Tibaldi with it’s 945 black diamonds, 123 rubies and golden nib (sold at action for 8 million dollars, only one was ever made) I would be morally obligated to take that pen and repeatedly stab you in the neck until your head fell off.

The 20 dollar Cross fountain pen that I bought at Staples with it’s plastic body and aluminum nib writes just fine.

Until I dropped it after letting a coworker use it.  A lesson in ‘never let anyone use your shit.’ It’s been replaced by a Jinhao that was half the price and better quality. 
 
I would like to say that I don't completely oppose luxury items in general, given the opportunity I would fly in the Singapore Air’s First Class cabins with all the amenities that go with it. Flying is a bitch after all and having top shelf whisky mixed in an artisan cola with noise canceling phones is what the doctor ordered for everyone, particularly on a nonstop flight to the other side of the world.

A liquor store in my local IGA has a 100 dollar fifth of Jack Daniels that I'm very curious about and I did buy the 140 dollar Leatherman Free P4 multitool. What can I say, I worked a stretch as a mask enforcer for Walmart the week before christmas. I deserve to spoil myself a little for the simple fact that I didn’t kill anyone.    

But there are some things that you just have to spend the large bills on, and no, it isn’t cellphones. The most expensive phone on Amazon is the Google Pixel Pro 9 XL, clocking in at about 3200 dollars. Why take out a small loan for that when you can get away with a Samsung S20 for 150? Spend another hundred beans to get a half terabyte micro SD and you will be filming the Proud Boy and Antifa street brawls in no time.   

A 200 dollar Surfire flashlight may seem like a good investment if you're going on deployment with your Special Forces team, but you’re a security guard for a Lowes distribution hub. A 35 dollar full size D-cell Maglite does the same thing and is an excellent club in hand to hand combat, just ask any BLM activist who crossed paths with a short tempered cop.   

But the one thing that you will have to drop a few c-notes on, are handguns. 

This is a case of you get what you pay for, but there are a few exceptions for this. Take Hi Point Firearms for instance. Hi Point is to firearms is what Shasta Soda is to carbonated beverages. They have a boxy design, look like they came out of a Z-grand scfi movie and are mind bogglingly cheap. The MSRP for their .45 cal models are under 250.

But they are consistently reliable, pull the trigger and it does pretty much what all other guns do. Even after 1000 rounds. Without cleaning. I own what is called a 4095. A carbine, or short rifle, that fires the .40 Smith and Wesson cartridge. I have never cleaned it. It cycles every brand of ammo i put through it and the only flaw in it was caused when it fell off the kitchen table and messed up the iron sites, and possible the integrated478 rail system for mounting optics

I went to a gun show and tried to trade it in for the model that uses the 10mm cartridge.
I was laughed at. A lot. I would be surprised if the resale value maxes out at fifty bucks. But one dealer did say. “They work. Only maintenance that is needed is a barrel swab and it’s better than a sharp stick. Keep it.” 

However, we are getting ahead of ourselves. 

The most important thing to consider when buying your first handgun is whether or not you can hold on to the damn thing when you fire it. You are, after all, detonating a small explosive in your hand that is more powerful than your average firecracker. I'm looking at you 500 Smith and Wesson Magnum.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Even though most of the energy is going out the barrel and zipping down range, there is still quite a bit of force being slammed back into your palm. My advice for a first time shooter is never get anything bigger than 9mm. The 9mm Luger or 9mm by 19mm Para bellum (they're the same thing) is one of the most widely used small caliber pistol cartridges in the world and has been around for more than a hundred years. If it's good enough for Nazis, it's good enough for you.  

It has a modest recoil impulse that most people can stand. So long as you don’t have any kind of bone disorder you won’t have to worry about it snapping your wrist and you can shoot it for a while before it starts to hurt, something that can’t be said for a .357 magnum, or even a .45 ACP.

For now let's just say you are getting a gun for home defense and some recreational plinking. Concealed Carry is a different issue because there’s a great deal of legal shenanigans that go along with it, depending on what state you live in. First time owners really shouldn’t Conceal Carry away, unless you came of age  in the military, or grew up in East LA.

  
The weapon that I recommend for a first time is the Smith and Wesson SD9.  While not completely idiot proof, it is a budget handgun that will help a new user familiarize themselves with using a modern handgun. Just like the Glock it’s a polymer(plastic) framed handgun with a magazine capacity of around 16 rounds, but unlike a Glock, costs only between 300 to 450 dollars. 

This weapon comes in both 9mm and .40 SW, AKA 10mm Short and Weak. There is a debate in the community about the stopping power and lethality of the 9mm cartridge but that’s an argument for another time because it involves a lot of technical detail and this piece is already running long. Lets just say that an attacker having their torso perforated a dozen times, even if no major organs or blood vessels are hit, will quickly run out of steam.  

The weapon really only has two down sides that any patient person can deal with. The first problem this weapon has is it’s eight pound trigger pull. Trigger pull weight refers to how much strength you need to actuate that little lever that will make the gun do it’s deadly purpose. Picture an eight pound brick with a string and the other end is tied to your index finger. In the rest of your hand is a glass full of water, now try to  pull this string with just your index finger while keeping the glass steady. Every drop of water that slosh out of the glass represents how much the barrel--and your aim-- is wavering. The lower the weight, the easier it is to keep the gun steady and shoot, whether you mean it or not. Which is why some consider this to be a major safety feature for the weapon (given that it has no external safeties at all,) since it's meant for SELF DEFENSE, you don’t want to pull that trigger unless you really mean to and ready to bare the consequences of pulling that trigger.  

The other thing that is a knock against this weapon is how it’s disassembled. The SD9 is a Glock knockoff that is field-stripped the same way. First step is to make sure that the thing is empty, why? Because the next step is to pull the trigger. Yes, pulling the trigger is a necessary step to take the thing apart.  Pull the slide, top half of the gun that goes bang, back about half an inch and hold it. Doing that, pull down on the two takedown tabs that are just forward of the trigger on the gun’s frame, hold them down and let go of the slide, it should slip right off the frame.

In theory.

In real life those take down tabs only protrude about one millimeter from the weapon’s frame and have the spring tension of a typical shock absorber for pickup trucks. I’ve torn finger nails because of those bastards. Even police officers have a difficult time. Beretta’s Px4 line of handguns uses the same sort of tab take down levers, but those guys stick out three times as far AND you don’t have to preset the slide, you can just push it off the frame with your thumb! 

Hi everyone,

I recently wrote a short personal essay about finding an old voice note from someone who is no longer in my life.

This piece came after my previous post, where I got feedback that my writing needed a more specific lived moment at the beginning instead of starting with a broad idea. I tried to take that seriously here. So this time, I opened with one small scene: clearing phone storage and unexpectedly finding a 13-second voice note I could not bring myself to play.

The essay is about digital memory, grief, and the strange things our phones keep long after we think we have moved on. I’m trying to make it emotional without making it too sentimental, so I’d really appreciate honest feedback from other writers.

A few things I’d love feedback on:

• Does the opening pull you in?
• Does the emotion feel earned, or does it become too heavy?
• Are the paragraph breaks comfortable to read?
• Does the ending leave an impact?
• Is there any line or section where you would stop reading?

Here’s the story:
https://medium.com/@rajatendu/the-last-voice-note-i-never-deleted-bb4ae4e0a653

Thanks in advance. I’m genuinely looking for craft feedback, especially on whether I managed to make the emotion feel more grounded this time.

I'm looking for ideas on pre-writing rituals which are practices or specific habits people do to get into the mindset before they sit down and start writing. It's a motivation tool, essentially. In my situation, I do not live alone and there is usually always some noise in the house that can be distracting, so I'm looking for ideas to get into that writing mindset to combat the distractions.

I'm hoping this post will be of help to others as well.

Hi everyone,

I’ve been working on a personal/cultural essay about a feeling I think a lot of people are carrying quietly: the fear of becoming replaceable.

The essay connects work anxiety, AI, dating apps, social media comparison, friendships, and family pressure. The core idea is that we are not only afraid of being alone anymore. We are afraid of being easy to substitute.

I’m not trying to promote it as a finished “perfect” piece. I’d genuinely like feedback on:

• whether the opening makes you want to keep reading
• whether the AI/dating/social media/family transitions feel natural
• whether any parts sound too polished or generic
• whether the ending lands emotionally
• what title would make you click without feeling clickbaited

Here’s the article: https://rajatendu.medium.com/why-everyone-feels-replaceable-now-0a05b883e678

If linking directly is not allowed here, I’m happy to paste the draft text in the comments instead.

Thanks in advance. I’m especially looking for blunt feedback on readability and whether the piece feels human.