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Conure's Writing

Origins - Emerald of the Shattered Skies

One of the most generic questions people asked authors is "how did you get your ideas?" I want to try and answer those questions before anybody will have the chance to ask me that, because I want to be asked more interesting questions about my worlds. So, how did I come up with Emerald of the Shattered Skies? It's... hard to say all of it, but it started as a self insert story, believe it or not. This version of the story was about me working alongside my pet bird to try and save
MicroFiction Daily

2026/05/04 - Tears of Love

Self-compassion You matter, you are loved. You have others, Who care. I care.   You are loved, You deserve joy. You deserve this compassion, You can allow yourself it, you deserve to feel loved, to feel… good.   - Lily
Usseewa

Usseewa in Main

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MicroFiction Daily

2026/05/01 - Unoriginal, Unthoughtful

I might schedule multiple to be posted this day, since they're short.   Broken Record… Or Something… I’m a fool, and maybe that’s okay. I don’t need to stay the same, I can change. I can simply accept I am wrong and update my mind.   I, the broken record, just repeating myself. Stuck in a loop, a different kind of static. Getting nowhere, not even thinking. I write the same things I did last evening.   And so I should change, somehow.
Usseewa

Usseewa in Main

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MicroFiction Daily

2026/04/30 - A Casket of Perception, Built From Expectations

Expectations and Identity Am I really what they say, What I’ve grown up being told, believing, An act I kept up, all the while a voice in my head telling me “this is not you”? It said “you don’t actually want this,” and I suppressed it out of fear. Others and I crafted my identity, and I feared contradicting them, changing, rejecting what they thought I was—my purpose, my pride, the reason I was loved? Though the voice questioned if interests had changed—if I was ju
Usseewa

Usseewa in Main

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MicroFiction Daily

2026/04/29 - Short Poems in Pencil

I write poems in a notebook or sketchbook, sometimes.   Two Tools The pen and the pencil— Two different tools. Permanence and impermanence— Certainty and tolerance. Neither optimal, Mistakes both ways, Give and take.   Confusion at the Unthinkable Unable to ponder— I try to, my mind refuses to think. Unable to breathe— Too much, feeling sick. So sick— From eating, from thinking. But I must— Must know,
Usseewa

Usseewa in Main

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Taln Fan's Ramblings

How Emotions Work

I’ll probably be yapping a lot about emotions on this blog, since it’s what I research, so I first want to give some general info on how emotions are created, most of which comes from Dr. James Gross and Dr. Jennifer Veilleux. Emotions are difficult to define, and even experts in the field can’t agree on a single definition. But essentially, they’re messages from our brain about something that matters to us. Emotions are brief, usually only a couple minutes at most, as compared to moods, wh
Ketek Tries To Write

an Unfinished gift- chapter 5

Chapter 5 Whill sat back down on the plush mattress.  And waited for something to happen. Anything to happen. Because Whill had no screwing idea what was happening to him. He surveyed the room a third time, looking for a hint, a sign, anything that could identify where he was. There were no windows and the only door was locked from the outside. If Shaped are so glorified, why am I being held prisoner? Without anything else to do, he grabbed a book of the shelf and f
Ketek Tries To Write

Chapter four- Loss.

Chapter 4 Whill couldn’t hear. His best sense- gone.  But he knew he was a Shaped. The only reason he knew this was the banners that now hung on the walls with squares imprinted on them- the emblem of the Shaped. He staggered off the platform, and ducked into a corner.  Why? Why did I become deaf? A deaf Shaped- that’s a paradox. Shaped are supposed to gain enhanced senses, not lose them entirely! What happened to me? His thoughts sped by, as he hid in the corner.
Ketek Tries To Write

Chapter 3- Role Assignment

Chapter 3 The dreaded day came. Whill, having stayed awake all night long, stumbled into the towering dome of the Bureau. Today would decide the rest of his life.  Whill joined the line of jittering, nervous boys, his mind too nulled to panic. Staying awake all night had dulled his brain, which he would have wondered if that was good or bad. No one knew how roles were assigned, let alone who assigned them. Whill didn’t care. He knew that there was nothing he could do to preve
Poetry

Scars

A contemplation. a hand, one. once trembled, once held a knife. abandon, never again, never my life.    now sketching, flawed hand, perfect arm. still stretching, curved lines, scratched-in harm.    Fingernails mar this drawing more than scars.    
Verdance

Verdance in Poetry

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Ketek Tries To Write

Chapter two version one.

Jax had been like Whill’s parent for his entire life. Their mother and father had both disappeared a few days after Whill was born, and Jax had run away from the orphanage to take care of Whill himself. And he had done a damn good job. Whill remembered Jax sneaking out to grab food every morning for the two of them, trying to make sure that he didn’t wake up. Jax had taught him everything he knew, and when the day came that he had turned 18, Whill desperately tried to keep Jax from goi
Ketek Tries To Write

Chapter One of Shaper

Alright, I'm trying it out! SHAPER-  Chapter 1     Whill breathed in the sawdust-heavy air of the workshop. It was an early morning, but then again, wasn't it always an early morning? He picked up his gloves from the desk- the desk he had finished with- with---- He shook his head, trying to block out those thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. He put on the gloves, turning towards the back of the shop.      Whill had always been a scrawny boy, and even at 17, he was still shorter tha
MicroFiction Daily

2026/04/28 - Life Just a Dream

CW/TW: Self-harm, depression, possible interpretation as suicide/suicidal ideation, dissociation I think. Spoilered for the above CW/TW's. Also note that it might be a bit long. Sorry if it gets repetitive or whatever. I'm still posting my writing... and I'm trying to improve with my newer stuff. Note that the next entries will be posted one-per-day in the following days. I also took a bit of a break from writing... so there'll be less than you may think. If you feel I should
Usseewa

Usseewa in Main

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Ketek's Poetry Unit

When one opens a notebook: no syllable patterns.

When one opens a notebook. To a fresh, blank sheet. When they have a sole outlook Of what they plan to complete. Each new line, each new page. Is a creation, an endeavor. It can wither, It can age, But the intent is forever. A writing, a drawing Or just a reminder. Is the maker's new calling. That is left to the finder. And though the page may rip, And though the ink may smudge  And though the book may be lost. And though
Keteᛕ

Keteᛕ in poem

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Ketek's Poetry Unit

Fibonacci poem

So  Umm..  If I  Had to count  In a simple way  Like “one two three” and up by one  I’d look for another version, an upwards fashion.  I would sacrifice my rhyme patterns, it would all clash and burn, a disaster of words  One more step in the Fibonacci sequence would not fit on one line, but yet I go on, to twenty one plus thirteen, but now I will descend.  Now back down to seven times three, and falling down the sequence fast, I count down again  A prime number, two digits,
Keteᛕ

Keteᛕ in poems

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