#I drew this months ago and have been letting it rot in my drafts

[superaznchick]

i had a whole rant typed out like 2 days ago that i made while emotional but it will rot in my drafts forever now because i have now spent the required amount of time in the timeout corner and properly digested my emotions to come back and make a fresh new post

idk what corporate girly out there slaving in front of a laptop needs to hear this AGAIN, because i certainly have heard this before but subconsciously dismissed it because Surely That Won't Happen To I, but it DID so i am now yelling at you from the other side

DONT FUCKING TRUST YOUR MANAGER!!!!!!!!! the nuance here is that YES they can be nice, and they can 100% be the best person ever, and they might not even consciously manipulate you. but you are never safe from subconscious manipulation or just straight up incompetence.

if your manager does their job well, it means you are manipulated. BUT if they do their job BAD, you STILL get manipulated!! this is because even if they are incompetent, you will always end up bridging the gap for their incompetence and it will weigh you down and you will NEVER get credit for your work. in fact, you are in danger on both ends of the spectrum - if you manager is good, they'll take credit for your work. if your manager is bad, they'll STILL take credit for your work AND make you suffer for it because they won't even have the skills at least get you the reward you deserve.

ive spent the last 3 years under my do-nothing manager always giving him the benefit of the doubt, "oh he's just a silly lil guy this is his first management job he doesnt know what hes doing" type shit, and i have nothing but stress and resentment to show for it.

i have LITERALLY been DOING HIS JOB FOR HIM. i revamped our meetings, i put sprint processes in place, i drew our team scope/borders and weighed in on who should staff projects. and on TOP of that i did tech lead and regular ic work. i was doing both my job and at least 50% of his because im not a fucking manager and theres only so much i can do.

but all this time my actual skill set as an engineer is deteriorating because ive been begging for mentorshop/coaching since day one i joined the team, which is 100% the manager's job to coach and level up their engineers, but these needs were completely ignored in favor of me trying to get this dumb fucking team together because my manager literally does nothing. he doesn't do his fucking job, and he gets away with it because he has high soft skill!!!! his boss likes him!!! so he will not be punished!!!!!!

i on the other hand am severely punished because i have revealed my hand as a do-all "superstar", im the one that gets 3 projects with the same deadline that i have to do all by myself, im the one thats expected to do all my work and more AND i am the one that takes the brunt of flack when external teams are ultimately disappointed that the deadlines are not met. i get no protection from any of this shit because my manager is fucking incompetent and refuses to step up. whether he consciously or subconsciously does this DOES NOT MATTER!!!! you will ALWAYS eat it at the bottom line!!!

treat your manager like your enemy, never trust them. size them up in your first few 1:1s to see how much they can do for you in terms of your career. if they are NOT delivering results within the first 2-3 months, CLOCK OUT!!!!!! decenter work from your life, shut the laptop at 5pm sharp, put in your bare minimum to not get canned and turn your brain off from all work problems. sometimes the corporate grind is worth it but ONLY if you have someone competent managing you and they are smart enough to recognize that engineers under them need reward and respect to be retained. if they won't or can't retain you, just let it happen!!!! dont overextend yourself it's never worth it

obv im yelling this from my jail cell as a software engineer so idk how much of this is applicable to other fields, but that's my two cents. i have spent way too much time being upset and angry these last few weeks to not vent about it. if this applies to you, pls save yourself the heartache and learn the skill of decentering work for when it comes in handy. im not advocating for indiscriminate quiet quitting bc that can actually be harmful to your financials, but the art of quiet quitting should still be mastered for when the appropriate time arises. use your discretion

[jazzy-a]

I love Florida in every way, shape, and form he comes in basically so, of course, I couldn’t resist sticking him with my favorite Red lol. (Aka: I wish they had given us Florida interacting with Red team bc it would have been priceless.) So here he is being his usual, flirty, doesn’t-give-a-sh*t-bc-he’s-a-former-freelancer-and-f*cking-FLORIDA, self with Grif haha.

(Nope. I have no idea why they would be bumping into each other and I don’t care.) ( Pls excuse Florida’s fricken high waist- I made a mistake and I can’t be bothered to fix it.)

(Click for HD on mobile device)

[winchester90210]

The BH 90210 Rewrite - Pilot, part 2: West Beverly Blaze Out

Read Part One here!

Chapter Summary: Y/N tackles her first assignment on the WBB until some rain leads her plans south.

Pairing: No one yet. But it’s coming, I swear. It’s a slow burn. Just enjoy the journey there, folks.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Steve being Steve, Reader has a momentary breakdown.

Word Count:

Disclaimer: My work is not to be reposted in anyway without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging Is fine and encouraged!)

A/N: Last part of the pilot! There’s quite a bit of Steve this chapter but next we’re tackling our first episode which will include a lot more Brandon. Tags are at the bottom! Please message me if you would like to be added :)

Feedback is SO important!! Please leave your comments or questions in my ask box, in the replies, or message them! Even the simplest comment can make a writer’s day.

Italic sentences are the reader’s thoughts.

-

“So, shall we?”

“Let’s do it.”

The walk to the journalism room was quiet. You both were completely silent, the only sounds were the tapping of his shoes, and the squeaking of yours. That’s what you get for wearing new shoes to school, I guess. Your thoughts quickly drift, from the seemingly large size of the school, to Brandon, to the school’s journalism program, to that Steve guy. You haven’t even been there a day and you felt like you had so much to take in. Brenda seems nice, so you were glad to just maybe have a friend, and Brandon was probably the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen. At least, that’s what your hormones were telling you. But he’s also your prospective friend’s brother, which unfortunately trumps everything else. At least for now.

And boy, Steve was…interesting. You didn’t know what to think of him. One on hand you were totally appalled and on the other, you were almost intrigued. Not attracted, but definitely intrigued. No one had ever been so direct with you like that. A little too direct, sure, but there was still something different about it. Or maybe different about him. Either way it was something you didn’t have time to worry about, so you decided to push those thoughts away. Brandon puts a light hand on your back, guiding you inside the paper-cluttered classroom. His hand ghosting over your back is enough to send shivers down your spine as you walk inside.

“Andrea! There’s someone I want you to meet,” he calls out. A girl, or maybe it was a woman, stands up from her desk and comes to greet you and your tantalizing tour guide. Her hair is in brown curls, framing her face along with her round glasses. She carries herself with confidence, and not the faux confidence that too many people at that school seem to possess, but real confidence.

“You must be Y/N,” She shakes your hand, “Mr. Clayton told me you were coming, you have quite the transcript. Co-editor of your middle school’s newspaper, Editor of your last school’s paper by the end of Freshman year, until you moved. Very impressive!” She commends. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was a teacher or a student. She talked like a teacher, dressed like a teacher…but Brandon referred to her by her first name. Probably should’ve done your research before coming. “We’ve got two open stories right now, an interview with our custodial engineer, or you can do our ‘Star Athelete of the month’ piece with Richard Moore, point guard of the basketball team.” At the word “athelete” Brandon perked up. He was in charge of the sports articles here. What was she doing??

“Uh, Andrea-”

“Not right now, Brandon. Let her pick.” Andrea quickly dismisses him, staring daggers at him as she finishes her sentence.

“Oh, uh… I’ll take the interview with the Janitor,” You answer, looking to Andrea. Suddenly, a smile creeps onto Andrea’s face.

There’s a beat before she says, “Congratulations, welcome to the West Beverly Blaze.” Then, Brandon realizes what she was doing. Testing you, of course. “Do you want to cover the story on rising temperatures and the effect of global warming on Beverly Hills? Assigned immediately.”

“I’d love to.” You smile, approvingly, but also nervously. It sounded like a bigger story, and while intimidated, you were up for the challenge.

“Fantastic. Brandon, show her to her spot and help her get started. I have to check over the final draft for this week. This is the number one school paper in the country and I intend to keep it that way.” Andrea murmurs, flipping through the pages in her hand. He guides you to the empty spot, and pulls out your chair for you.

“So, do you just have a knack for writing about janitors?” He asks, a playful tone in his voice. You give him a small laugh.

“Oh, yeah, they’re just so fascinating,” You joke, watching as he sits down in the chair next to you. “I kind of knew she was testing me, they did the same thing at my old school. She seems to run a pretty tight ship here.”

“Yeah, she does… hey, if you need some help on anything with your article, I’d be glad to lend a hand. Ya know, since she’s strict with everything here and all.” Brandon proposes, turned to you, his arm resting on the back of his chair. In all honesty, he wasn’t any more experienced than you were. He had been at West Beverly for a few days, but hey, you didn’t know that. Something about you drew him in, and he wanted an excuse to see you again.

“I’d like that, Brandon.” You smile shyly at him, setting up your things to get to work. He does as well, accidentally bumping hands with you as he takes out his notepad. “So, do you play any sports or anything?” You ask, glancing at him as you log into your computer, hearing the clicking of the keyboard as you type. Wow, great small talk, Y/N. That will definitely make him fall in love with you.

“No, not yet, at least. I just write about them.” He chuckles. He takes a breath, “Hey, I’m sorry about Steve earlier. He doesn’t exactly understand basic human manners.”

“It’s cool, I know he didn’t really mean anything by it. I’m the new kid, I practically have a giant target on my head,” You shake your head submissively, not breaking your eyes away from the computer, trying to get as much done in the 40 minute class period as you could.

“It’s not, though. You should be able to exist at this school without Steve throwing himself at you everyday,” he insists, stopping his work to look at you. You can sense a dash of frustration when he talks. Your typing halts.

“It’s only been one day. It’s okay, really. If it gets to the point where I have to stop him, I will. Trust me���I know you just met me but…trust me. Alright?”

“Alright.”

At the end of the class you were pleased by the amount of work you got done. A surprising amount, considering you and Brandon talked mindlessly throughout the entire period, stealing glances at each other every once in a while. The conversation flowed so easily, the nerves you had meeting him were quickly replaced by a level of comfort you hadn’t expected. You were dismissed with the ringing of the bell, and were left with a sparkling smile and a “See you later?” From Brandon.

“Absolutely,” You grinned back, worrying that the heat you felt in your cheeks was visible. Ugh. You were fine a second ago, get it together, Y/N.

-

The rest of the day went off without a hitch, then lunch time came. The anxiety ate at your appetite all day, so you weren’t really hungry. You grabbed some fruit from the cafeteria and walked out to the quad, the grass crunching under your feet. Oh god, you think. Where were you going to sit? You could sit by yourself, which was a surefire way to get yourself branded a loser on your first day. You could join a random table, but you worried that would make you seem like a total weirdo.

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You look to the left, and see Brenda, with a petite blonde at her side. You quickly jog over, apple in hand.

“Brenda, you’re my savior. I hope you know that,” You joke, slightly out of breath from your little run, earning a laugh from her.

“Y/N, this is my friend Kelly. Kelly, this is Y/N, the new girl I’m showing around today,” She introduced, looking between you two, a cheery smile on her face. You both mumble “hi"s to each other.

“Oh, you should come sit with us! Where you sit during lunch can make or break you. Sit alone once, like that guy, and you’re like, socially exiled forever.” She warns, gesturing towards an otherwise empty table except for a blonde boy, working on a sandwich. Oh my god. Brandon? You follow Kelly and Brenda over to an empty table, quickly setting your stuff down with a thud.

“I’ll be right back!” You exclaim, before speed walking over to the denim-clad boy.

“What is she doing?” Kelly asks, dread coating her voice as she watches you trot over to him.

“Kelly, relax. He’s my brother, not a freshman,” Brenda objects, both pairs of eyes watching every move you made.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he mumbles, taking a long gulp out of his water bottle. You place both your hands on the stone picnic table in front of you, leaning forward. You wait a moment before speaking.

“Come sit with us,” You tell him, gazing to your table and back to him. There’s no way you’re letting him rot in high school hell because he was alone. No way.

“I don’t know,” He protests, the wind blowing strands of hair into his face.

“Yes, you do. Come on.” You argue, a pleading look in your eye but your voice barely stern. All it takes is a moment for him to look into your eyes before he falters.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” He says, fake annoyance in his voice. You grin, and his annoyed face quickly turns into a smile. You march back to the table with your new lunchtime recruit at your heels, the sun in your eyes.

“Hey, you guys know Brandon right?” You ask, a cheeky smile on your face. You sit down on the bench, feeling the stone under your legs. You sit next to Kelly, while Brandon sits next to Brenda, across from you.

“I don’t believe we’ve met!” Brandon quips, shaking his sister’s hand.

-

You don’t realize how long you’ve been working in the journalism room until the sunset beams into your eyes. Satisfied with the work you got done, you decide to loan the school’s laptop and take it home to edit your article. That way, you’d have a shiny finished product in the morning. Yawning, you pack up your things and begin to head out. Cons of working your ass off until sundown? You don’t have a way to get home, so that means walking the 5 miles back to your house. Lovely.

Striding home, a car horn begins to trumpet. It’s loud enough for you to involuntarily cringe, then you realize it’s getting closer. What the hell?

You hesitantly look back, only to see a jet black Corvette, adorned with a custom license plate reading “I8A4RE.”

“Hop in.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief, stopping dead in your tracks. “What are you doing here?”

He slows his car down to stop where you are, “Hop in. I can take you home.” You hear the rumble of the engine, and his hand tapping the side of his car.

“You avoided my question,” You protested before opening the passenger door and sliding in.

“And you still got in anyway,” He quips, waiting for you to buckle in your seatbelt before he drives. “You seem pretty smart, I’m surprised you were dumb enough to get in with me,” Sarcasm envelopes his voice. “I could be a serial killer.”

“I’d rather be dumb and dead than have to walk,” You joke, “Besides, you seem like a tool rather than a murderer.” He lets out a fake gasp.

“Wow! I invite you to take a ride in my prestigious, luxurious car and you spit in my face.” Fake offence is written all over him.

“I8A4RE? Very prestigious. My mistake.” You giggle. There’s a long pause while Steve drives away from the school, then he speaks up again.

“So, where do you live, anyway?” He asks, raising his eyebrows and locking eyes with you for a moment.

“Uh, I live on Alta Drive. It’s in The Flats. Do you know where that is…?”

“Hah, yeah, I know where that is.” You note the tone in Steve’s voice but decide not to press. It’s probably better if you don’t know. Getting into a car with a guy you barely knew was not your smartest decision but hey, he’s a jerk, not dangerous. You embrace the feeling of the wind in your hair and on your skin as he speeds up. You admire the colors of the sunset, the oranges and the purples and the pinks. Looking upwards at the sky, something falls directly into your eyeball. You moan out in surprise, rubbing your eye immediately. And before you can say anything else, it starts to trickle down onto you. And Steve. And Steve’s poor convertible with it’s top down.

“Do you want to put the top up?” You ask, wiping your forehead free of the rain.

“Yeah…about that... It doesn’t have one.” And as if on cue, the rain speeds up.

“…..What?” You question him, your hair quickly becoming soaked.

“I had to take it off, it was broken.”

“You didn’t think of…uh, I don’t know…maybe needing one? For the rain??” The rain and the wind are an evil pair, leaving you cold and drenched while you try to figure out why the HELL Steve wouldn’t put a replacement on.

“We’re going through a drought! I figured it would be fine!” You look at Steve in disbelief. Okay, maybe something inconvenient can come of getting into a car with a jackass. “This is going to ruin my interior,” he grumbles. You close your eyes and try to calm yourself down, resting your head on the back of the seat. You’re cold. You’re wet. But it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s…not fine. Your eyes shoot open.

“Oh my god. The laptop!” You yell, causing Steve to jump. Quickly, you move your backpack under your seat. Your heart sinks. Groaning, you put your head in your hands. “I’m dead!”

“It’s just a laptop. You can buy a new one. But I don’t think I can buy new eardrums.”

“It’s not my laptop to break. I could get suspended.”

“So, just buy a replacement. They’ll never know it was gone,” he scoffs.

“How rich do you think I am? I dont have fifteen hundred dollars to get a new one!” You’re not sure what’s worse, the feeling of doom from breaking something from school on the first day, or Steve…just talking.

“You have a house in the flats. I don’t think you’re as broke as you say you are.” He protests, tone sharp. “Man, for a hot chick, you’re really annoying.” Wow. He did not. You sharply inhale.

“Pull over, I can walk,” You snap, “While I appreciate the gesture, I’ve got over a thousand dollars to scrounge up by tomorrow morning.” You’re not sure what it is, but something about him gets under your skin. Could it be his arrogance? How shallow he is? It could be something entirely different. But you didn’t feel like staying to find out. So, you wait till he gets to a stop sign, and hop out.

“Hey!! What are you doing?!” He yells, his voice cutting through the thunder and the rain.

“Going home!” Ok.. were you being stubborn? Yes. Were you being a little dramatic? Yes. But you had gone through too much change and commotion these past few days so one breakdown is totally permitted. You were drenched and chafing anyway, so why not walk at this point, right? You were sure you looked like a total manic- hair in your face, saturated clothes, frustrated demeanor.

“You can’t walk home in this!!”

“Watch me!!” You practically mad dash down the street, sloshing as you jog. You hear the Corvette drive behind you, slowly.

“Get in!” He calls out.

“No!”

“Get in.”

“No!”

“Get in!” Is he really going to keep doing this??

“No!”

“Get in!!”

“Fine!” You huff, sliding in the car. He resumes driving, and you sigh. “Thanks for driving me home.”

And before you know it, you’re turning onto your street. Oh. You totally could’ve walked that. You spot your house beyond a set of gates and fix your hair, “Here’s my stop.” 720 North Alta Drive. It’s your house, but it doesn’t quite feel like a home yet.

“See ya.”

You walk into your house and sneak up to your room, leaving a trail of water on the marble floor, following you up the stairs. Changing your clothes, you grab your phone book. You look through it, searching for a specific last name. Victoria… Wade… Wagner… Wahlberg… Walsh.

Ugh. Do you call? It might be too soon. But what if it’s not? …But what if it IS? You sit at your landline, tapping your foot. You sit like this for a good (and by good, I mean way too long) amount of time, but a knock at the front door takes you out of your state. You look through the peephole and see none other than Steve Sanders. The Corvette driver himself.

You open the door with a loud squeak.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve takes a small black book out of his pocket, scribbles something down, and hands it to you. Oh my God. It’s a check. For $1,500.

“Steve…I can’t take this.” You object, handing him back the check just as soon as you got it.

“Yes you can.”

“No, I can’t. This wasn’t your fault. I just…took it out on you like it was. I’m so sorry. These past few days have been rough and-” You stop, watching as he ducks the rain dripping from the front porch. “Here, come in and dry off.” You move out of the doorway to let him in. “Just until the rain stops.” You see him hesitate but walk in anyway, taking his shoes off at the door.

“Oh, hello.” A deep monotone voice practically booms from behind you, causing you to jump.

“Oh, hi dad!” You laugh nervously, “This is my frien- this is my- this is Steve…Sanders. Steve Sanders. From uh… school.” You babble, putting Steve’s coat on the rack. Your father gives him a firm, almost painful, handshake.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Sir.” He awkwardly chuckles, glancing from you to him.

“I thought you were having a meeting at the beach club tonight?” You ask, twiddling your thumbs.

“It was cancelled because of the storm.” He deadpans, crossing his arms over his argyle sweater. You swallow. No, he was supposed to be gone!

“What about the country club?”

“Rats.” You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“O-kayy.” All three of you stand in the foyer, dead silent.

Then, your mother walks in- bright eyed and happy.

“Oh, hello!” She takes off her flour covered apron, and sets it aside. “Is he a new friend from school?”

“Uh…Something like that, yeah.” You respond, trying to strategize the quickest way to escape this. Or the most efficient way to knock down the chandelier so it can fall on top of you and kill you. Whatever’s fastest.

“You should stay for dinner!” Your mom beams, yooper accent strong and prominent. “I’m making spaghetti.”

“I would actually love to stay, Mrs. Y/L/N-” Steve begins, only to be cut off by you.

“He would LOVE to stay but you see his uncle…who’s a…a priest…just…died,” you stumble. Steve shoots you a look.

“Yes, and while Uncle Rodger’s passing has shaken us all, he wouldn’t want me to grieve. He’d want me sit down and enjoy a nice dinner with my new friend from school and her lovely family.” Steve says, putting his hand over his heart and pretending to get choked up. He gives your mom the best sad look he can muster, while you give him a classic “eat shit.” look. Meanwhile, your dad has done nothing but stare daggers at him this entire time.

“Oh, sweetheart stay as long as you’d like! I made plenty of food.”

-

So, Steve stays. And there you both are, awkwardly sitting on identical white couches adjacent to each other. You inhale, hoping to somehow release the anxious energy you’re harboring. He takes the tv remote and flips it on, the Hartley House theme ringing through the surround sound.

“Hartley House fan?” He asks, letting the theme play through.

“Never seen it,” you confess, setting your feet on the marble and glass coffee table in front of you.

“It’s good…” he trails off, “My mom’s in it.” He didn’t normally like to reveal that information to anyone, he’d typically try to hide it if he could. But with you, he felt okay telling it. Despite being loaded and somewhat emotional, he didn’t think you were the type to go fawn over his mother. He at least trusted you with that.

“Oh, cool,” You say, eyes on the screen. Not dismissively, but not overtly excited either. You both quietly watch the T.V. for a moment, and you couldn’t help but think that Steve looks nothing like his mother. He probably just looks like his father.

“He didn’t stop talking about you today,” He mutters, “it was gross.”

“Who?”

“You know who.” No way. No way. No. Way. Maybe you should’ve called him.

You gasp dramatically, hand lightly over your mouth. “Patrick Swayze is finally answering my calls?? Cause he was just so dreamy in Ghost!”“ He chuckles and roll his eyes. You give him a bashful smile, "So, he really talked about me?”

“Nonstop. It was annoying.” He confirms, putting his feet up on the couch with a light thud. You can’t help the grin that forms on your face or the butterflies in your stomach.

“What did he say??” You pry, taking your attention away from the tv.

“What did who say?” Your mother pokes her head in through the doorway, “Dinner’s ready!”

-

Dinner was fairly uneventful. Painfully awkward, but uneventful. It would have been fine had it not been for your father looking like he wanted to strangle Steve 90% of the time. And your poor mother, trying to defuse the tension with small talk about anything she could think of. She was particularly thrilled about Beverly Hills’ produce tonight. Hey, all things considered, it could have been much worse. Steve behaved himself… For the most part, and the storm fizzled out, so you kicked him out the second the skies were clear.

You make your way back up to your bedroom and stare at the open phonebook. You pump yourself up, and actually dial his number this time. The ringing of the phone begins and you consider backing out and hanging up. There was an awful twist in your stomach. What were you even going to talk about? What would you- someone picks up. You hear a woman’s voice through the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, uh, is Brandon there?” Please be the right Walsh family…

“He is. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Uh, Y/N. From School.” There’s rustling and clanking, then rapid footsteps. A different voice comes through.

“Hello?” The butterflies came back, but with a vengeance.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” You could hear his smile through the phone and he could hear yours. You had the most ridiculous grin on your face, you’d die if he saw you right now. You both laugh nervously as you twirl the red phone cord in your fingers. Huh. Maybe you'll like Beverly Hills.

-

-

-

-

Tag list: @be-patient-be-good @fangirl-imagines @bevelyhills90210 @lilo-1988

[theouterdark]

Tag: Novel Prep Game

This one is hefty, @zmlorenz, thanks for the tag. I’m going to answer a few questions about The Devil from the Outer Dark.  Even though it was an age-and-a-half ago.

Rules: Answer the questions and then tag as many writers as there are questions answered (or as many as you can) to spread the positivity! Even if these questions are not explicitly brought up in the novel, they are still good to keep in mind when writing.

First Look

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

In the summer of 1928, Blake Livingston travels to Céret to recuperate in the arms of family, but life in southern France is not as tranquil as she expects. Soon after her arrival, Blake is thrust into a mystery involving an apparent suicide, a stolen painting, an enigmatic artist, a gang of communist agitators, a pair of missing shoes, and a watcher in the dark.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

This is a sequel to Coldwater Sound, and the second book in a planned series of cosmic horror/mystery novels involving Blake Livingston. Currently it sits somewhere around 70k words. It probably won’t get much more bloated than that.

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

Cottagecore horror? Maybe liminal space/entropy/madness + mist and mild diesel-punk/weird science. Is that an aesthetic? Evil/Darkness in plain sight? There’s a lot going on here. You know what—it’s its own aesthetic. Read it and tell me otherwise. I hate this question.

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

The works I thought about while outlining and writing:

Pickman’s Model by HP Lovecraft

A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Glamour in Glass by Mary Robinette Kowal

The Shining by Stephen King

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

Main Character

6. Who is your protagonist?

Blake Livingston, arguably Adam Brand.

7. Who is their closest ally?

Blake: This is harder to answer. Either Major Devereux or Marco Denicourt. Both, in certain instances. Her sister-in-law, Sabine, could be considered that too, albeit a little later in the story.

Adam: Bertrand Faure is probably the only one. His life is complicated.

8. Who is their enemy?

Blake: Time. The other answers are spoilers.

Adam: Himself. Other answers, again, enter spoiler territory.

9. What do they want more than anything?

Blake: Stability, primarily. Belonging and love, definitely.

Adam: Expression, freedom, and recognition. Also, more paint.

10. Why can’t they have it?

Blake: She thinks she can’t be complete without some of these things, and is unfortunately in the wrong.

Adam: His pride gets in the way, among other things. Also money. He’d probably have more paint and food if he had more money.

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

Blake: That she’s incapable of being useful, being loved, and that she’s crazy.

Adam: That his worth is calculated only by that which he creates.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

Don’t need to! @radley-writes drew her recently. (Thank you again!)

Plot Points

13. What is the internal conflict?

Fighting for a sense of belonging or purpose.

14. What is the external conflict?

A string of seemingly-unrelated crimes sows chaos around Céret. There are external sources of conflict for every character. Whether they be shady individuals, pressure from family, or high expectations placed on the main characters.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?

Blake: Being mistrusted by family, or publicly discredited. Getting sectioned.

Adam: Being ignored in life and forgotten in death.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

I kinda want y’all to find out by reading it.

17. Do you know how it ends?

I do. I wrote the ending already. Wrote the whole thing mostly linearly. Got to about the 40% mark and skipped to the end, pounded it out. I don’t think it will change much in the next draft.

Bits and Bobs

18. What is the theme?

There are several. I’ll pick the three most important ones.

Emptiness of attaining false dreams

Loneliness as destructive force

Overcoming – fear, weakness, vice

19. What is a reoccurring symbol?

I’ll name a few.

Black cats

Dames blanches

Pont du Diable (bridges in general)

Cherries (blossoms, fruit, rot, life)/Life Cycles

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

The Devil from the Outer Dark takes place primarily in and around the city of  Céret, France, among the foothills of the Pyrenees. It’s the summer of 1928, and everyone is upset about the new format for the Tour de France. Artists find inspiration in the hills. Love is in the air. Danger lurks in the nooks and crannies of the city narrows.

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

Oh 100%. I’m a very visually-oriented. Most of this story came about from a series of images/scenes in my mind. I jotted down little ideas here and there for about a year before I wrote a single line. That actually seemed to help in the drafting process.

22. What excited you about this story?

There’s an edge to it, and a lot of elements I don’t normally work with. Romance is one of them. Particularly unrequited love and longing, lost love, and the pain love’s absence. I also adore the characters more than any other casts I’ve written.

I also love it because it frightens me. And that’s not something that happens often with my own work.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!

I do the chicken peck for like thirty minutes to an hour before I break through the barrier and my fingers fly across the keys. Usually while in bed, listening to music. And once I start, I can’t stop. My momentum deadens if I so much as get up to get a glass of water.

Tag List: @writingmyassoff, @erinisawriter, @midnightstreetwanderings, @bethwrotethis, @doux-ciel, @hilunawrites, @ghost-possum, @zmlorenz, @doubleviewfinder, @veronicadent, @els-writes, @dantedevereaux, @tlbodine, @hypotheticalwriterquestions, @hazeywrites, @reeseweston, @withered-rose-unbreakable-lotus, @katabasiss, @dotr-rose-love, and @byjillianmaria. (Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from tags future tags).

If any of you haven’t done this, and would like to, go for it, but I’m not going to subject anyone to it, I think. This one has been in my drafts for like four months.

D