Writer's Ramble - July 2025

So.

June was hot, sweaty, and unpleasant… and so, it seems, is July.
My fan is still doing its best, but my brain has started to melt into something I’m calling “inspiration custard.”

This is early, it is early because I am hot and need to not write about smells or other weirdness, or maybe I do we will see.

So for a change—because my attention span is currently set to “what was I saying?”—I decided not to do the usual list of things I did (or didn’t) do this month.
Instead, here’s… something else.

This is sort of, maybe, how I write. Or don’t.
It’s kinda out there.
Enjoy it if you want. Or don’t. I don’t know.
I’m hot. And things.
Blah.

Oh—right. Before I forget:
Here you can find the prompts that I have mangled into submission. They are mostly sane. Some are odd. Some are love letters to food. There will be more. Some might get a bit colourful?

Here you go: Summer Camp 2025

How I Write Stuff

(Or: I don’t really know, but here’s what happened)

So I had this idea to write about how I write stuff.

And now I’m writing this, which is possibly not what I meant to write at all. But I’m too hot, I have swamp arse, and my brain is in “everything is terrible but maybe it’s not?” mode, which is how a lot of my best (or weirdest) ideas happen. So here we are.

Let’s start with something: I don’t really plan. I don’t outline. I chase. I wander. I poke. I think too much and then forget what I was thinking. I go to the kitchen and come back with something. Whether it’s the thing I went for? That’s a whole other question. My partner is used to hearing, “Love, why am I in the kitchen?”

This isn’t a guide. It’s more like a wandering scream-into-the-void with some lore attached.

The Prompt That Started It

The World Anvil Summer Camp prompt was:
Material – A substance known for its unique smell.

And like, okay. Cool. Reasonable.
So what did I do?

I spiralled.

I spent about five hours going in every direction my brain could throw at me. Somewhere in there, I ended up wondering:

• Did I accidentally develop a weird kink for Carmella?
• Can corpses produce milk?
• If magical girls were harvested, would they smell like honey?

(There were more. Many more. Some invasive. Some just weird.)

I wish I could say I had a clear line of thought, but that’s not really how I work. I just started throwing stuff around and seeing what felt right in the wrong sort of way. I call it chaos. Some people call it worldbuilding.

What I Thought of First

Here’s the messy list:

• Carmella’s sweat – smells like “love that wasn’t enough.” Honestly, still makes me laugh. Definitely too much for some people. This one started as a joke—mostly. I had this awful, brilliant thought that the guy from CARMA (yes, that Skarn) would probably find a way to bottle it. And that, predictably, went down a very dark and sweaty road. No regrets. Some shame. A lot of raised eyebrows.
• Something in Duskworn, like soil that remembers sacrifices. Maybe a flower that smells like regret.
• Something from Velvet Nocturne, the magical girl setting where everything’s broken. Maybe the scent of a girl who lost faith.
• Lacrimelle – magical girl tears turned into perfume. Smells like cherry blossom and regret. Makes you sob uncontrollably.
• Ravensweat – caused by Carmella’s rejection. Emotionally weaponised. Skarn collects it. (Which… is upsetting.)
• Ashveil No. 7 – Lilith’s combat scent distilled into a vial. Weaponised surrender. Cuts you off from resonance itself.
• A scent that works even if you don’t have a nose.
• A smell that’s more like a signal—a narrative severing agent. You freeze. Time breaks. You stop being you.
• Lilith’s creators didn’t know what they made. They thought it was science. It was resonance.
• She killed them. She has the last vial.
• Lars told Seraphis to look into her past, and now the Library has the record.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I just… kept going. The story took shape. The weirdness became purpose. I still don’t know how.

Why I Didn’t Do the Summer Camp Pledge

Because I can’t.

I’ve tried planning. I’ve tried outlining. But it always ends up sterile. It feels wrong.

My brain runs off caffeine, no sleep, too much ecchi, a lifetime of fantasy novels, and imagination overload. It doesn’t do “structured.” It does loud. It does messy. It does all at once and then nothing for two weeks.

I get distracted. I jump tracks. I think about something for five hours and go, “Nah, not it.” I want to focus. I really do. But I can’t hold onto the thread long enough. It's fog. It’s loud fog.

I don’t think I’m a good worldbuilder. People say I am, but I think they’re seeing something I can’t. Maybe they’re being nice. Maybe they’re seeing potential. Or maybe I just got lucky enough times people started assuming I knew what I was doing.

What Writing Looks Like (for me)

I write.
Then delete.
Then write again.
Then question everything.
Then delete it all.
Then come back the next day and do the same thing but louder.

Sometimes I just need to type and let it fall apart until I see the shape. It’s not a process. It’s more like smashing clay until something screams “this is a face” and I go, oh yeah, that’s it.

I rely on rewriting more than planning. I rely on instinct more than discipline. It’s not clean. It’s not neat. It’s exhausting. But it’s mine.

The Bit Where I Admit Stuff

I rant at AI. I argue. I get annoyed. I ignore all its suggestions sometimes. Other times, I just throw words at it until something weird and beautiful comes out. Then I stare at it and go, wait, was that me or was that you?

Sometimes it’s a diamond.
Sometimes it’s compost.
Usually it’s both.

Brain Noise

I have too many ideas. Way, way too many. The thought of logging them properly actually scares me. I wouldn’t know where to start. It’s like a hoarder’s attic in here, but for half-finished worlds and characters who won’t shut up.

It’s not even inspiration. It’s noise.

And yet… somewhere in the mess, things take shape. I stumble into truth sideways. The thread catches. The light flickers on.

And then I wander off again.

Final Thought (I think)

This article is the article I was trying to write.

Or maybe it became it.
Or maybe it just wandered close enough to count.

That’s how I write. Not like a machine. Not like a planner.
More like a haunted house filled with ink and post-it notes.
You walk around until the walls start whispering.
Then you sit down and listen.

If that’s not helpful… well, I did warn you.

So the takeaway here was: I was trying to explain my process.
Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. These things get away from me.

Anyway, this is the writer ramble for July.
If you enjoyed it—good.
If not… sorry. I’ll try again next month. :)

~ Moonie Out ~