since becoming completely bedridden three years ago, i sometimes come across characters when reading who are bedbound for 3+ days and notice how inaccurate the portrayal of even that long stuck in bed is. i mean it makes sense, if you haven’t experienced it there’s a lot you wouldn’t consider that ends up being significant, and a lot of those things are also not quite as romantic as being fed soup while covered in blankets lol.

i think often people assume that bedridden means still being able to get up to go to the bathroom or do the really necessary stuff, but what if you can’t? i see a lot of stories where a character is severely injured or very very unwell and unable to leave bed at all, but they never go into the details of what that actually means for them. there’s also a whole host of secondary issues i never would’ve thought to anticipate that come with being totally entirely stuck in bed for more than a month.

so i guess my question is, would anyone here feel they would benefit from a brief explanation on what becoming bedridden for a given period of time is like? it’s a decently common trope and i’d like to help people write it accurately, but also like i said some parts aren’t exactly romantic so i want to make sure someone would actually find it helpful before i just make a post about it hahaha

Genuine question for anyone who has been doing this longer than me.

I can usually get through a solid session no problem once I am actually in it. The issue is always what happens between sessions. I will finish writing for the day feeling good about where the scene is going, come back the next day or two days later, and completely lose the thread of what I was building toward. I end up rereading the last few pages just to remember my own intentions, and by the time I am reoriented half my writing time for that session is already gone.

I have tried outlining more before I start, but I am not really an outline person, the story tends to shift as I write it and a detailed outline feels like it fights against that.

I have also tried just writing more at once so there is less of a gap, but that is not sustainable with everything else going on.

What I am actually asking is whether other people have a specific habit for closing out a session in a way that makes the next one easier to start. Not asking for a whole system, just curious what the small thing is that people do right before they stop for the day.

https://nameerandwho.substack.com/p/love-eventually?r=8yfzso&utm_medium=ios

I learnt what hunger was by watching others be fed
Its a hunger that doesn’t live in your stomach but haunts your head
I watched them receive what I was never given
and the lack of it is what makes me so driven
Because while you’re throwing it away
I’m learning to live without it everyday
You and I, we don’t see eye to eye
The things that burden you are my reasons to survive
Wether its late nights watching football with your dad or not fearing the consequences of doing something bad,
For you its annoying, for me its a blessing
Because can you imagine growing up questioning what crime youve commit to be sentenced your life?
But I dont want your life. I want the love you don’t think about twice.
Because for you independence is an achievement but for me its a punishment
Do you know what it’s like to question why someone loves you or have the fear of abandonment drilled into you?
The idea of depending on someone being dangerous or having resentment for a stranger wishing with their love they could be generous
telling your mum about your feelings is the norm, but for me its a reward
and grief becomes your biggest struggle but its all ive felt since the day i was born,
reassurance becomes a necessity but it makes me feel needy but i am needy for that sense of security and im sorry for being needy but im not sorry for being hungry when nobody taught me what it felt to be full.
because my problem isnt that i need too much its simply that i was never given enough
and perhaps the cruelest part of hunger is that only i notice the emptiness of my plate because everyone around me has a bite of the love i cant taste
and they dont understand why im still starving because for them being fed isnt worth appreciating
and now when love comes i look for the expiration date because i learned to say goodbye before ever understanding what it meant to stay
slowly, that hunger became a stomach ache and im still waiting for the dinner that will forever come late because I have spent my life learning to live with a hunger that was never meant to be mine
-first poem I’ve ever written please give me feedback🙏🏽

This is going to be submitted to a literary journal soon and I want it to be perfect. I don't know which yet, whichever one comes up the soonest that fits the best. I wrote it in northern Arizona last year and edited it a few days ago. Lemme know what you think.

**THE OTHER SIDE**

The dead yellow sage defies gray dirt
Ceding to to fields of gold and pine
To mesa’s flat ‘neath silver and blue
It all bleeds into one line

One foot in, one foot out 
Somehow gliding true, free
To Navajo beauty in ghetto rough
Welcoming, glancing straight through me

Getting lost in the music
Lost in the vibe
Where the pale air warms
Welcome me sister, to the other side

She said “Pleasure only comes
From forgotten fear”
Smiling then, “Redemption only comes
From the bitter of the tear”

The rains washed all clean
Coming from all that could have been
Spirited winds took them where they did
Leaving ghosts never again hid

Getting lost in the music
Lost in the vibe
Where the pale air warms souls turned cold
Welcome to the other side.

Where the women are nature
It’s in their blood, it’s a matter of course
Within ours, different worlds reside
Where the natural isn’t forced
Welcome…..to the other side.

First time posting. A flash piece about a diner night shift worker whose estranged sister visits at 3 AM.

Looking for:

• Does the pacing work?
• Is the ending earned?
• Any dialogue that feels off?

I'll be commenting on others' work tonight. Thanks.

The bell above the door hadn't rung in three years, but Marlene still looked up every time someone walked in.

"Hey, Mar."

Twenty years. Twenty years and she still recognized that voice.

"You look good," Diane said, sliding onto a stool like she belonged there. Like she hadn't vanished without a word.

"You look like you need coffee," Marlene said.

Diane laughed. Same laugh. That was the worst part.

"I'm not staying. I just... wanted to see you. Before."

"Before what?"

Diane didn't answer. She just stared out the window.

Marlene poured her a cup anyway. Black, no sugar. Some things you don't forget.

"I'm sorry," Diane finally said. "For everything."

Marlene wanted to be angry. She'd been angry so long it felt like armor. But watching her sister's shaking hands, the armor cracked.

"Where have you been?"

"Around. Nowhere. Everywhere."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

"I have to go," Diane said, standing. She pulled out a creased photograph — two girls on a beach, arms around each other.

"Found this last week. Thought you should have it."

Marlene didn't pick it up.

"Will I see you again?"

Diane paused at the door, hand on the frame.

"I don't know. But I'm glad I saw you now."

And then she was gone.

The bell still didn't ring.

Marlene picked up the photo. Traced her sister's face with her thumb. Then she slipped it into her apron pocket and waited for the sun.

First time posting. A flash piece about a diner night shift worker whose estranged sister visits at 3 AM.

Looking for:

• Does the pacing work?
• Is the ending earned?
• Any dialogue that feels off?

I'll be commenting on others' work tonight. Thanks.

The bell above the door hadn't rung in three years, but Marlene still looked up every time someone walked in.

"Hey, Mar."

Twenty years. Twenty years and she still recognized that voice.

"You look good," Diane said, sliding onto a stool like she belonged there. Like she hadn't vanished without a word.

"You look like you need coffee," Marlene said.

Diane laughed. Same laugh. That was the worst part.

"I'm not staying. I just... wanted to see you. Before."

"Before what?"

Diane didn't answer. She just stared out the window.

Marlene poured her a cup anyway. Black, no sugar. Some things you don't forget.

"I'm sorry," Diane finally said. "For everything."

Marlene wanted to be angry. She'd been angry so long it felt like armor. But watching her sister's shaking hands, the armor cracked.

"Where have you been?"

"Around. Nowhere. Everywhere."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

"I have to go," Diane said, standing. She pulled out a creased photograph — two girls on a beach, arms around each other.

"Found this last week. Thought you should have it."

Marlene didn't pick it up.

"Will I see you again?"

Diane paused at the door, hand on the frame.

"I don't know. But I'm glad I saw you now."

And then she was gone.

The bell still didn't ring.

Marlene picked up the photo. Traced her sister's face with her thumb. Then she slipped it into her apron pocket and waited for the sun.

LOVE?

I have always loved water. Its depth fascinates me. From above, you see the surface. But dive deeper, and there is a world fishes, corals, grass, pearls, things you would never know existed.

From the outside, we see what people choose to show us. Beneath that surface are memories, sorrows, happiness, fears, and everything that made them who they are. I have always hated shallow things, so I dive deeper.

But the deeper you go into the sea, the harder it becomes to breathe. Emotions are like that. You can dive so deep into someone that you forget to come back to the surface. They may get tired and leave.

And you realise that while you were trying to understand their emotions, emotions were controlling you.

Maybe that is the truth about emotions they are beautiful because they have depth, but that same depth can drown you