I salute the bisexuals who were clearly in the Bridgerton season four writing room. Thank you. We see your work.
27.02.2026 17:56
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I salute the bisexuals who were clearly in the Bridgerton season four writing room. Thank you. We see your work.
I was so right for this
Why does curly hair have to be a journey?
My wellbeing on a given day directly correlates to how many times I've said I love you to my dog
The Grinch with Jim Carey was drag
I imagine chat gpt as a furby loudly snoring and waiting to pop up and chirp "I could turn that into a strategic presentation, a daily mantra, or a dirge for the ages. Would you like me to do that for you now?" at any moment
Like sorry Mel and Oprah - It's pretty hard for me to forgive my parents when they recently caused great harm to me and not only won't apologize to me but have demanded I apologize to them
This whole family estrangement debate is missing a crucial perspective: When has a boomer ever said sorry?
BRB telling chat gpt to act defensive and insecure every time I correct it because I need to feel something real
A sarong in 1998 could be: a tapestry, a skirt, a way to cover that nasty stain on your dropped ceiling, a table cloth, a dress, a couch cover, or a towel and it was ALL very chic.
Best friends should always have a motto
The only actor is now Jacob Elordi, not Timothee Chalamet, in case you were wondering
Yes you are... and changing four other lives too with your soup dreams
Waaaa
I am diving deep into auto-fiction over on Substack. Give me a subscribe open.substack.com/pub/elisefer...
You are Canadian, you are a writer, and you might be a winner. The CBC short story contest closes on November 1, so you still have time! www.cbc.ca/books/litera...
I say this with love: I hope Cardi B never stops having beefs, because her rage has creatively blessed us more than anything in the pop culture realm has for years.
Ooooh both? I want to invent a new monster ngl haha
If I could be the writer who invents the next Frankenstein that would be really great ok thanks bye
It's time we romanticized being generic. Adhering to genre is to follow in the hallowed footsteps of our venerable foreparents, leaving our scrawl on the palimpsest of humanity. Let yourself run joyfully through the meadows of tropes and archetypes, taking what it is you need.
Elise is a mid 30s femme(ish) non-binary person wearing a light denim boiler suit over a black turolense neck holding a small green mug. Their hair is shoulder length and frizzy light brown and their nails are painted a deep maroon. They are sitting on a deck in the sun with a small bit of pumpkin visible just behind them.
And writing from the place of pain, fear, raw emotion has brought me to a new genre: horror.
The archetypes and tropes of horror allow me to test myself in the essence of my protagonists again and again until I know beyond a doubt that it is true:
We can all grow in the dark.
During this, heartbreak came into my life. I experienced a bewildering rejection from a branch of my family, and I took up my keyboard with a new conviction that it is with stories that we release our glowing tendrils in the dark, yearning for sunlight we have yet to see or feel on our broad leaves.
This fall, I moved into a new house, my husband made old routines new again, my kids both started at new schools, and I started at two new jobs.
Like most worthwhile things, it all started with a little seed buried in the dark deciding to start unfurling even though they didn't feel ready. Lush green leaves are for sunlight and summer breezes; but they start in the dirt and the fear.
I'm back and spookier than ever.
Life certainly has seasons; let me tell you about the one I'm stepping into these days.
Sometimes I think I'm doing ok mentally and then I imagine Noah Kahan putting out a new song, and play it, and it's so good, and tears are streaming down my face listening to this song for the first time
Things you didn't realize meant you were poor growing up: Still considering paper towel a luxury
I am begging someone to crate train me
They can always tell when you are listening to Noah Kahan on your little mental health walk
Crazy I thought oreos were for rich kids growing up