How to always generate content

If you are a content creator, one of the most prominent issues you face on the daily is the lack of content. You try to squeeze the creative juices out of your head, but to no avail. With deadlines and tight schedules, the pressure and stress levels rise to the maximum, so how can one always generate content without losing their originality?

Take mental note of people’s conversations

Always be an attentive listener to try and grasp the latest gossip on the grapevine. Immerse yourself in the hot topics and hear both sides; see what the public is talking about and write an article about it.


Go on a nature walk

Whether the content you create is writing, photography, videography, or art, a silent walk around the block could easily nourish your dead cells. Strap that camera around your neck or stash that journal in your back pocket and let nature speak to you.


Be mindful and attentive

A simple visit to a new coffee shop or lounge could also storm your mind with endless ideas. Watch the interior closely and try to describe it on a notepad. The setting you’re jotting down could assist you in a short story when you’re describing a place.


Read other people’s work

See what others are writing about and get inspired by their words and opinions. Do not copy what you see, but let their sentences speak to you.


Diversify your content

Going through your old writings helps you grasp what kind of content you need to write about. If you’re written a lot about a certain topic, find something new to share with your readers. If you’ve never written a short story, even if it’s out of your comfort zone, give it a shot.


Look for prompts

Pinterest is a perfect place for writing prompts, in my opinion. Whether it’s a photo prompt or a blog prompt, the site is brimming with ideas to get you out of a writer’s block.


Watch tv series/movies/videos

As bizarre as it may sound, watching Youtubers play Daddy Dating Simulator has opened my mind about dialogues. In the game, the commentator reads the conversations out loud, which kind of sounds like an audio book in a video format. This kind of goes back to the point of being mindful because without mindfulness, a regular person would just watch for entertainment and won’t notice the lessons he/she could grasp from it. The same thing goes with movies and tv series.


Change your setting

You can’t sit in one specific spot and expect yourself to always create content. Your eyes and mind are in dire need of change, and one of my best pieces came from sitting on my arm chair with all the lights switched off (the idea sounds iffy but it somehow stimulated my fingers into writing). Drag your laptop to a local café or build a fort and write under it.


I hope those tips are handy enough to get at least one content creator out of their rut. Good luck!

Rock bottom

I find it pretty intriguing how I constantly reach the already-learned conclusion of: you’re alone in this world. And I’m left to ponder: that’s what I get for being distant and pushing everyone away?


And my concern with being alone is that I do not mind the solitude; I never need people anyway. It just shatters my heart into pieces knowing that I am not worthy of anyone’s care. It’s always just me and God.


Not a day passes where I am in a good place in life. If I don’t get a bumpy start to my morning, then it’s definitely awaiting me at night. I keep holding it all in, keeping matters away from even my siblings. I’m constantly keeping a strong front, and absorbing even the snarky comments that’s meant to either hurt me or my family. And I keep them away from my mother because that’s the last thing she wants to hear: people not minding their own business.


And I stand there, in my blush dress and kitten heels, with a smile wider than my scope of comfort, and I do not feel a dash of guilt for “faking it.” If they wish to see me down, why give them that pleasure?


However, I was hysterically crying last night, and I never hysterically cry unless I’ve reached rock bottom. I was mid-journaling, trying to escape my reality, but the tears flowed regardless. And I gulped because the gush of unstoppable tears reminded me of my teenage days, and God knows I do not want a flashback to those days. I cried so much that my earphones and t-shirt got dampened. My lips started shaking uncontrollably, my nose got severly red, and my eyes puffed.


I am there comforting everyone, saying “it’s no big deal,” and “it’s not the end of the world,” and when I head upstairs after faking my strength, I am a wreck.


But I got up eventually, dusted myself off and took a deep breath. I did ask God to make me cry anyway because I’d rather cry than feel compressed in the chest.


My life is just a series of injustice, unsolved problems, and insults. I am constantly made to feel that I am less than anyone, unworthy, not pretty, distant, unsocial…etc. But those things are matters that never make me cry; I WISH I CRIED FOR SUCH STUPID THINGS.


All I’m trying to convey here is that rock bottom is such a messy place to be in, yet I am always here at least once a month.


My world collides and I can’t even get a hug or a pat on the shoulder to get me through. It’s just me and those four white walls, but I am somehow comforted by the thought that at least God sees this. You were never there for me since day one, but God was always there.


I am at least comforted by the thought that God has ALWAYS gotten me out of the messiest places, so this will end sooner than I think, and it will all be forgotten. To my future self, if you are reading this a few months later, please remember that you’ve made it out of this alive. You’re the strongest woman I know.


I started off the month by saying: I have high hopes about July, and let’s just say I still do. There was something so inspiring about July and that’s maybe because I believe in this: bad first half of the year then good last half of the year. So to me, July was always that month of resolution and seeking clarity. It’s midsummer, and my heart is full of sunshine, even when my days aren’t.

Listening to Yolla by Tarkan + Tekamül by Soner Sarıkabadayı

Drinking white mocha

Eating chicken noodles

Feeling very hopeful and blushy and empathetic

Obsessing over Seán McLoughlin

Watching PewDiePie and Jacksepticeye like there’s no tomorrow

Daydreaming about Edis Görgülü

Practicing resilience and empathy

Wearing my hair in a low, loose bun

Failing to find content for the blog as usual

Gaining weight slowly but surely

Stress-eating chips

Successfully fulfilling my July goal of not shopping

Avoiding my desk and spending my nights bedbound

Fearing how fast the days and weeks go by

Tried watching Supergirl but stopped at episode 3

Craving all the desserts in the world

Anticipating the day I land a job because I’m TIRED here

How observation fuels my writing

When I hit the publish on my last post, I came to realize that the majority of my writings revolve around observing others: their verbal and nonverbal. That poem was based entirely on a Youtuber I’ve been binge-watching for a few days straight, and I didn’t realize how much influenced and inspired I was by him until this very moment.


Being a visual person, staring into the void does not help me come up with anything at all; I have to study someone diligently in order to forge a piece out of their words and actions. At times it takes one 4-minute music video to write a poem, and at times it takes weeks and weeks of studying a stranger in person.


So you could say I somewhat use people for what they offer. How else will I describe personalities so accurately?


The core of this discovery is basically: look for inspiration wherever you go. Study a Youtuber’s personality or watch a stranger closely. Hop on Pinterest and look for photographs with depth; let the image speak to you. Watch a movie or take a hike and jot down what you see.


View this world observantly.


That Irish brogue

I chased the rainbow with urgency,

Toward your wondrous pot o’ gold,

Methinks you possess a soul stunning,

Oh tantalizing gilt hail and unfold,

Sláinte, sweetheart, may you be well,

My sentiments for you deepened tenfold,

My pulse, I begged you a pint of mineral,

I fancy my silvers and thy golds to mold,

A spirit as archaic as the one you own,

Is adored plenty, ah too precious to scold,

Sigh how I singe over that Irish brogue,

I surrender to thee; I am yours to hold.

Aydin ve Elmas

Aydin and Elmas were not supposed to fall in love; but they did.

The summer skies were painted royal blue with hints of pink, as flocks of gray imperial eagles were migrating west toward the seaports. The calendar has just marked the commencement of the highly-anticipated June, the month where both Aydin and Elmas were parting ways from their shared classrooms to embrace the warm breezes of İzmir.


After a stressful semester, it was finally summer. Aydin was eagerly waiting outside the classroom, while Elmas was still answering the last multiple-choice questions on her macroeconomics exam.


A droplet of sweat accompanied the man who was holding in a sweet declaration, and his heart beats were dancing to the rhythm of his timid emotions. “En sonunda yaz,” he sighed.


Merhaba! I didn’t know you were going to wait on me,” Elmas said, surprised, as she exited the door.

Evet… I want to tell you something, but not here.”


And he unhesitantly held her hand and rushed her outside the campus.

Elveda Yaşar University! I will not miss you,” Elmas yelled as they were running toward the courtyard.


Breathless, he gently held both of her hands as he was gasping for air, rubbing his thumbs against her bulgy veins. “Ne Aydin? Lütfen bana söyle. I am freaking out here.” As he was intensely gazing into the depth of her hazel eyes, an ounce of doubt crept into his mind; he thought to himself: this will definitely ruin our friendship.


“Aydin. Ne haber?”

Words were suddenly too heavy on his tongue, and he could not think straight. What to say now… what to say…


The atmosphere hushed to listen meticulously, and suddenly, it felt like they were the only students on Üniversite Street.


Canım, I just wanted to say that I am grateful that you are my best friend.”


Evet sadece.”


The unexpected answer caused Elmas’s heart to abruptly fall into her stomach, and her face oozed pale blue expressions.


It’s just that….” she broke off the eye contact to rearrange her thoughts… “Uhhh, I hoped you were going to say something else?”

She pinched her eyebrows, tilted her head, and looked up at him with eyes that were congested with feelings.


You thought I was going to say that I love you? Because I was going to. Elmas, seni çok çok ço….” Elmas interrupted his treasured admission to plant a kiss on his cheek, and instantaneously, a smile unfurled on his blushing face.


Ben de,” she innocently said, fighting back the apparent flushed smile.

I love this moment,” Aydin said after a short moment of silence.


They walked together, fingers intertwined, swaying their hands back and forth like they were kids in kindergarten who had just learned the art of holding hands. He looked at her with a smirk and gradually started singing: “sevgilim hazır, düşlerim hazır… (My lover is ready, my dream is ready)”


“….Aşk vızır vızır, kamera, kamera (the love is rattling, camera, camera)”


And their chuckles were louder than the honks and whistles of cars during rush hour.

To the muse I have written about for five years

To the Gemini muse that I’ve written to for 5 years,

You’re undoubtedly still quite the charming man, incessantly inspiring my empty head to leak words I was too shy to admit. Because of you, many have called me a writer, when both you and I know that I am far off from that noble title.


I’ve written so much to the point that I wanted my words to come alive, and not just fabricate our make-believe rendezvous. I wanted all to be real; I wanted you here, in flesh and bones, to show everyone that this immaculate human is a kind, living, breathing thing.


I’ve dived into supernal worlds of what ifs, and you ceased to become just a writing aid; my love, I urged for you with haste, but what haste is that if it’s been five years, and not a shard of a word moved a cell in you.


Come and run your fingers through the endless pages of my pleas; oh how desperate I was, filling up journals and journals just imploring you to find me. I counted the days, ah so gullible; I’ve begged the earth to rewrite its fate for I swear you were meant for me.


Five years, you insensitive human. Five years and what they’d compliment on, thinking it’s just a heart dump is actual frantic calls, yet I would not lie, I’d still bust this spacious heart open and write until your unresponsive organ feels bad for me.


But until then, I’d like to inform you that I have found a new muse, and your services are not needed. (But God knows I would still rush into your arms lest you came).