#all about publishing

[choccy-milky]

Babes you got my foaming at the mouth every time you post or update! This new chapter was so precious!!

Modern AU where the only thing that’s different was instead of an illustration of Sherlock Holmes, it’s a picture of Banana Pumpkinpatch

GIRL THE WAY I GOOGLED "BANANA PUMPKINPATCH CHARACTER" BEFORE REALIZING YOU MEANT BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH LMFAOOO 😭😭😭 but aww THANK YOU💖and this is amazing i had to draw it as soon as u sent it, i love that cloras love for sherlock holmes also works in a modern au setting. CLORAS LOVE FOR SHERLOCK IS ETERNAL

(and yes seb would read/watch it bc of her)

[vanhelsingapologist]

Publishing has always been a fucking nightmare, but now it’s a layer of hell. It’s not enough that writers be good at what they do. Writers have to maintain an active social media presence and cultivate a following. Be available.

They have to be conventionally attractive enough to look good enough to see on a screen, aesthetically pleasing, kind, funny, up-to-date on trends, socially aware but not so controversial that they turn off a brand from California from slapping their discount code on a video promoting a book.

They have to do all of this with no media training, with little help from the companies that are supposed to be doing this for them.

Of course, a lot of this isn't possible for say, the 40-something mother of two who teaches English at a school and writes on the side. She’s boxed out of an already complex industry that already has enough walls.

On some level, I think authors have always marketed themselves a little, but we’ve reached such a crazy point where we’re demanding the author become the influencer. Accessibility in publishing has narrowed from an inch to a sliver. And that inch was hard enough to get in as is.

[show-us-kaidenshenandoah]

every time i watch anything with him in it (admittingly, predominantly from the Dropout app), i am reminded that Lou Wilson is the most handsome man to have ever lived. like, objectively. he just is. i will hear no arguments for any other person to be ranked higher. Lou Wilson: whose face single-handedly shows humanity can go no higher in beauty. he is THE most attractive man in the world. argue with the wall lmao

[wintersoldier2005]

sorry but the idea of bruce being dick's father in his mid 20s. he's always a little tired but otherwise he's young and looks it too. he can pick dick up with one hand to put him on his shoulders. he doesn't know jack about taking care of kids. they play a game that they both love where bruce picks him up and just like... throws him off of the spiraling staircase to watch how he catches himself in the air and lands unharmed. they play soccer together in the backyard and bruce is so young and spry and he can do a bicycle kick (dick goes to school and tells everyone that bruce can do a bicycle kick. not to flex but he's really cool guys.) he lets dick make dino nuggets as their dinner three nights in a row when alfred is gone and they make a stupid big everything but the kitchen sink sundae and split it afterwards. kid you're killing me, he says, because he has a sweet tooth that alfred doesn't enable. maybe sometimes they argue and argue bad, especially as dick grows up, but at the end of the day that's his dad.

one day like ten fifteen years later when damian is young dick looks at bruce and all the sudden what happened.... his dad has crow's feet and his hair is graying a little...! that sort of tiredness that people get as they age! he's still strong he's the fucking batman but when damian wants to play a game (being hurled off the balcony into the pool) bruce looks at dick and smiles and he's got lines on his face. he's aging. and that's still bruce but he doesn't laugh with his head thrown back anymore and he doesn't style his hair the way he used to when he was in his 20s and he's stopped wearing the loose button ups with the first button undone he wore when he picked him up from school in the convertible. his dad is getting older and even bruce wayne can't escape the passage of time. he tells damian no being thrown off the roof. damian protests. but grayson says you used to throw him off the staircase when he was my age. bruce throws his hands up and turns away and gives dick a look before he goes that tells him he'll be in his office and if there happens to be a loud splash from the pool... well that's none of his business is it.

[morganbritton132]

After David tells him that his ex has arrived for Career Day and it’s not even the Wheeler that he asked for, Steve marches over to Mike like, “What are you doing here?”

Wow, David thinks to himself. He’s been told that Steve has some problems with his memory - apparently he compensated for it with a truly insane online calendar - but he didn’t expect him to forget about a whole human being. Just, wow.

Steve loudly tells Mike that he’s never had a real job and Mike scoffs at him and tells him that he wrote for a comic book website for three years. Journalism is just writing with a fancy degree. Will and Mike created a comic book together so, “I’m published.”

“Robin is published,” Steve stresses (Steve’s best friend, David knows that one). “If that was the only qualification I wanted than I would’ve asked Robin to come.”

They start squabbling again in whispered voices so David turns to Dustin and tries to alleviate some of the awkwardness with, “Steve, uh, really has a type, huh?”

Dustin squints at him, “Did you just meet him? Today?”

[can-of-slorgs]

*japanese funky nightcore cover music in the background*

[sweetbottletops]

Twitter Instagram

No new chapter this week, but here is the promised wallpaper (alt clock friendly version below) for winning + she says there is an announcement coming next week. Sounds very busy.

[nevermeyers]

There's absolutely no way people are now saying that all the gege-hate train is just an internal joke of the fandom. There's no way you're this out of touch with what has been happening.

I've been in the fandom since 2020 and it doesn't take a lot of smarts to see there's been a change in tone in the way some people say that in the last year. Since this new arc of history began, destructive criticism, massive hate and threats have overflowed into hundreds of profiles. It's no longer "oh, I hate Gege akutami" now and for a while now it's "I hate Gege akutami - his manga is horrible I'm gonna drop it (they never do) - he doesn't deserve popularity - he doesn't know how to write - he pretends to have an illness."

And yet, it's not normal to make jokes about wanting to kill someone, hon. Go check yourself if you find that funny, you're no better than let's-joke-about-sensitive-issues reddit incels

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

"What will you do once I pass away?" The question came out of the blue, but such strange questions were par for the course at this point. Gamigin was nuzzling to your neck when you spoke, but he wasn't phased.

"I'll revive you. Death won't be permenent in Paradise Lost for as long as I'm around to stop it." You were running a hand through his blue hair, playing with a strand of it.

"But what if you don't revive me? If you can't revive me? What will you do then?" The dragon stopped kissing up your neck and shifted so he would be at eye level with you on the bed. He looked confused and hurt which almost made you ashamed that you asked the question.

"My staff can bring anyone back from the dead."

"Ok, but I age and demons don't what about that? What if I get so old I want to die to end my mysery."

Gamigin looked even more confused by your words. He didn't quite understand why humans aged so fast. He pouted in thought and stared at the ceiling. After a while, with a stern voice he asks "How long do humans usually live for?"

You try to remember your anthropology classes and what the avarage age of death was for your country, but you just can't put your finger on it. "I don't know, 70 or something like that." "70! Only 70 years!?!" He pushed you to the bed and pinned you to it with a shocked expression. His mind was working overtime trying to calculate just how long that timespan felt like.

Finally, he turns to you and holds your hands softly kissing them both. He stares determined in your eyes. "You are going to have the most exciting life ever. I promise you. What do you wish to do before you die?"

You've never seen him so stern, but the question was one that you've many times asked yourself yet never seemed to have an answer to. Gamigin's glare was starting to intimidate you so you gently slap his face.

"Don't look at me like that! You're making me nervous! I don't know what I want to do before I die. I just kind of want to see where life takes me."

Gamigin smiles like he usually does and pins you to the bed with a hug. His staff, which he kept in one hand at all times, jiggled lively as you both collapsed on the cottage bed.

"Well then, I want to cuddle with you and rewatch the 'How to Train Your Dragon' trilogy. And then we can play blackjack and whoever wins has to wash the dishes after dinner!" Gamigin proclaimed before kissing your cheek and nuzzling into it.

"Who tought you blackjack?" It was strange hearing your usually innocent boyfriend putting forth the idea of blackjack of all things.

"My brother Buer. He also thought me the dishes strategy as well. Jokes on him, I won." His giggle was contagious and you two ended up just cuddling and watching movies for the better half of the night.

If your relationship with Gamigin thought you anything, it was that you didn't have to live through bombastic experiences to enjoy life. You were having the time of your life just being close to him.

[whatimdoing-here]

NCIS HAWAII | 2.19

[thebibliosphere]

I receive many wonderful and kind comments about Phangs in my inbox daily, but the ones that stick with me the most are always from fellow neurodivergent people, usually elated or crying because Phangs is the first book they've been able to read since their teens, sometimes even decades.

"I thought I'd lost the ability to read; I thought there was something wrong with me; I thought I was broken," over and over and over again.

I've talked about it before, but just in case you need to hear it: it's not just you; it's the publishing industry.

If you follow my Twitter, you may have seen the thread where I talked about what that was like, and how I was often handed the "problem" writers who struggled to conform to the industry standards. (The original thread is gone, but for context, it was about the lack of accessibility in publishing for people with ADHD) I didn't know it then because I wasn't yet diagnosed, but I understood the problems these writers were having because our brains functioned on the same wavelength.

I understood why they felt specific changes harmed the text, but I also understood that it was the cost of being published, and it was my job to help them with it. I went above and beyond to make it as painless for them as possible. All the while listening to my colleagues around the wine water cooler deride these writers as "pretentious" and "too thin-skinned for publishing."

I hated them. I still hate them, and I hate that the industry is the way it is because it's really not that difficult to accommodate.

Suppose an ADHD author tells you the changes you've made have made a sentence incomprehensible to them (and I cannot stress enough how distressing it is to have something you wrote be turned into something you cannot read). In that case, it's likely because you've removed certain critical elements for the sake of brevity. It might not look like vital elements to you, but for ND brains, longer sentences with additional qualifiers and descriptors can really help us latch onto the "rhythm" of a text, which can help us feel more immersed and hold our attention better*.

Filler words can help with this; it gives our brain time to process but also figure out which parts are essential and to hold onto. It's sort of like, uh, how people say "like" and "uh" a lot (😋). These act as both social cues that indicate that while we might be pausing in our speech, we are not done talking yet, but also help keep our brains jogging along via the act of vocal stimulation. (If I can find the study I read on this, I'll come back and post the link.)

Regarding "superfluous" adjectives and "weak" adverbs, they often function to provide emphasis and context we might otherwise miss. Sure, you can go overboard with them, and they can lose all meaning if you do, but the general writing advice that "adverbs NEVER be used" is not only lousy in general but also means those of us who struggle with social cues and emotional context can be left feeling out of the loop.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had to go back and verify that a character is experiencing an Emotion because it wasn't emphasized, or the author tried to make it into a gut punch by using "sharp, punchy" language (but all they use is "sharp, punchy" language!), and my brain glossed over it because, well, if it's not part of the greater sentence structure, it's irrelevant.

And this shit is my job! I'm being paid to notice these things! It's just not how my brain works naturally, and forcing it to do so long-term is not only exhausting but distressing. Why would I keep trying to read something that causes me exhaustion and makes me feel stupid because I'm struggling to understand it?

Now, obviously, there will be times when a text needs sprucing up. Everyone has their "comfort" style of writing, and while repetition can be soothing to read, it can also make the text hard to engage with. Same with run-on sentences. Sometimes you need those one-word gut punches. Or everyone's favorite, the italicized "oh."

The trick is finding a happy medium between the two that retains your personal voice and writing style. A good editor will work with you to make this possible. A bad one will hack everything to pieces and tell you, "that's just how it's meant to be."

I was lucky with my editors. Sometimes, I had to tell them that the proposed changes wouldn't work and were causing me distress because I couldn't read them. And I knew. I knew if I couldn't follow the sentence structure, a good chunk of my prospective readers wouldn't be able to either. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were doing their jobs and ensuring my book had as much mainstream readability appeal as possible. However, the problem is that "mainstream readability," as we've already established, isn't accessible to a large chunk of the population. So we found ways to work around it. We made it work.

As is evident in the messages I get in my inbox daily.

Every single day, someone else tells me their friend recommended Phangs to them, and they were skeptical because they haven't been able to read a published book in years. And every single day, someone new tells me they loved Phangs, but the biggest thing they loved about it, was that they were even able to read it at all.

So thank you for the greatest compliment you can give me. A lot of work went into ensuring Phangs would be accessible to as many people as possible.

Also, sorry the industry is like *gestures* this.

----

*This is a generality and not true for everyone. People are not monoliths. I am merely speaking from my personal experiences from the things I have observed in the industry as an editor, a writer, and a lifelong reader who also now struggles to read the current style favored by the mainstream industry.

[abirddogmoment]

this is so excessive but rory has her dog show debut this weekend and i am having a canadian dog fancier ad made for it and i am just like 👀 publication??? about it

[summoningspark]

so i may or may not have printed out the entirety of @anonymousalchemist's amazing fic like a bird, like a stone onto three Very Large pieces of paper.

you might be asking, why, fay? why did you print out an entire 53k fic for a video game you've never played? well you see, if you read it, you would understand.

[brahmenbones]

This is what’s happening the elevator right?

Right?

[badyan]

The clanks

"oh-…i can move, you don’t have to sit on the floor"

"I prefered it." he answers simply, not bothering himself to explain anything more than that. His metal feet clanked against each other as he sat on the floor nearby the bed where you were laying, doodling nothings in your sketchbook — the thing you have made a habit to do when you’re hanging out in his quarters while he’s busy.

And you have never seen him this busy before. Hours standing still at his workbench, staring down the poor blueprints, then pacing through the room, his steps more calculated than the clock’s clicks. Nights follow days and the first sun rays always wake you up because there’s no curtains or anything that can make this place cozy at its bare minimum — except for the soft cushions and pillows and blankets on the bed which he has gathered only for you, only because you asked, only because you wanted to spend more time with him.

The bed was giant, clearly made for two, but there wasn’t a chance in the last few days for you to feel the familiar weight sliding closer in the dark of the night, spooning from behind so carefully, his hands gently finding their rest on your waist. Something was haunting him for too long now and you wouldn’t mind waiting for him, no, never have you, but you simply started to get worried about his state — and you’ve approached him with that but was gently turned back to your rest. You knew that he wasn’t going to listen to you anyway — but you also knew you couldn’t just let him be in this alone. So, you’re staying with him for a while. Even if he barely talks to you, he could never deny your company.

And now you’re relieved to see him sitting down nearby to meditate a bit — for the first time during this whole time. You move closer to him, hand gently sliding onto the broad shoulder.

"You should take a rest now, hun…"

"I truly don’t have much time for that." he grunts, though he knows you’re right. And the constant feeling of your attentive eyes was the actual reason why he actually forces himself to set aside his work and go take a breather. Even if he can’t actually breathe nor focus on the meditation itself.

"I…understand.." you reply reluctantly, fingertips brushing along his long collarbone pistons in a little affectionate way. He relaxes his schoulders slightly, subtly giving you more room to caress, and interwhines his hands together in the meditation gesture.

You continue to glide your hand against his metal, almost trying to calm down its unusual warmth — countless hours of mulling over his duties must have caused him to overheat. Mindlessly, your fingers wander further, over his ribbed chest and up to his neck, where they stumble upon the shiny ends of his cable hair. And that soft clank of them gives you an idea.

You sit on the bed, right behind him. An unusual angle — were his shoulders and back always this wide…and somehow heartening to look at? Like you could lean on it and feel the safest in the whole world… He sit on the floor and you still have to slightly raise your hands to carefully grasp his hair, moving it all back. You can feel him flinch just for a bit and you can’t help but smile at him being startled by such a simple touch.

"What are you doing?"

"I’ll just put them up for you," you say softly, shuffling through the thick cables in your hands, feeling their pleasant weight and quiet clanking. He almost scoffs at your offering.

"There’s no need for that-"

"Hush now." you insist, hands brushing through his cables length. "I know how it feels when they start to clutter around and piss you off. Just let me help you a lil’ bit."

And he modulates a sigh, returning to his meditating posture. That’s where you take things into your own hands — and with that, you start to work. Carefully combing his hair, then parting down the center, then starting to weave some cables together in the order only known to you. Your hands go slowly, taking strand by strand so carefully, like it would hurt him otherwise — and Ramattra can’t help but to concentrate only on your movements, feeling every subtle tug and twist you made with his cords, but oh with such care, it makes his circuits warm up…

"What are you planning to make?" he asks after a few minutes of pure silence and, suddenly, you can sense something new in his quiet tone. A hint of hesitation…but in a good way. Oh, it clicks for you immidiately and you can’t help but to chuckle softly.

"Just braids" you murmur, leaning in to give him a sweet little kiss on the top of his head. Such a simple tender gesture, yet it almost makes him falter.

"Braids?..." his head tilts in confusion — and you have to grab it by the sides gently and turn back up.

"Hey, stay still! They’re gonna look great on you, trust me…" your adorable reassurance doesn’t leave him another choice but to surrender. Though, he does find himself enjoying this whole unnesessary braiding thing…Your presence so close and your gentle little hands doing some magic with his hair, these bulky cables following your lead, not without some struggling first, but still. It’s you — you’re doing something for him. You’re here, by his side, all this time…It’s enough to finally let all these irritating thoughts begone. His mind fills with nothings, sweet nothings indeed: your hands playing around with his hair and your breathing quietly making the peaceful rythm of the moment. You are with him.

Is this…the tranquility Zen is always talking about?

He doesn’t realise how long you two were sitting like this. He simply doesn’t care now — everything seems to matter less and less the more you’re tangling your hands in his cables. But eventually, you make the final tugs and withdraw from him.

"Here you go.."

"Already?" he asks too quickly, with an undertone of longing. The moment dissapears so fast, no matter how hard he hopes it to last just a little longer.

"It took me nearly an hour!" you laugh at his question, hands running down your little piece of art. Two thick french braids go from the upper corners of his faceplate down along his head, slightly resembling dragon horns which reach up laying on his shoulders where your hands carefully move them. The weaving was quite simple but made so thoroughly the ends don’t even need something to tie them up — the rubbery texture and the tight neat braiding hold the cables together without any additional knots.

"Now, turn to me."

He slowly does so, feeling how the movements of his head became freer. It feels almost like getting your body part replaced. The same, but somehow still different. He doesn’t feel like he dislikes it, he just isn’t used to the sensation, doesn’t know where to place it within his system — but when he sees himself in the mirror you brought up to his face, he understands it immideately. Love.

Not with the braids, though he does like the way they look on him. He is in love with you. That unconditional, utter feeling which makes his circuits overheat and that electric pulse go haywire till the HUD flashes with a bunch of new warnings. That feeling he thought he never ever would be able to share with someone…

And there are you, looking at him fondly, while being so busy adjusting the way the cables twist around his faceplate.

"You’re gorgeous…You already knew that, don’t you?"

"I-…" his voice stutters into a static — clearly from your sweet words — and he tilts his head slightly to admire your work. "I love it. Thank you, babe" his faceplate lowers to gently press against the crook of your neck, soft vibrations in omnicode expressing the whole of his feelings that he can’t quite place in words now, mimicking the tender kisses. And the way you slightly shy away from his touch, giggling and whining playfully that it’s ticklish — it only makes him fall for you even more, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you flush against his body in a tight embrace, letting himself nuzzle into your neck and get lost in your charming laugher.

A half an hour goes by unnoticed in the sweetest cuddles for the last week, accompanied by cute little pecks here and there, the soft sounds of your whispers, his quiet murmurs and the clanks of his cable braid’s ends when you playfully nudge him in the chest. Yet, suddenly, your eyes flash with an another idea and you pull away, leaving him puzzled and eager to just grab and move you back there for more cuddles.

"Now, you stay here." you lean against the wall and grab your sketchbook, opening it on the new page and biting down on your pencil, looking thoughtfully at your dear omnic, admiring the way confusion stirs within him.

"Why?"

"I need to capture your beauty" and you can hear him steaming from your words.

~~~~~~~

thank u for the idea, @statuetochka <з you make me feel so inspired with your art, hope this lil piece will make you smile

[stuckinapril]

There will not be a single moment next week in which I’m not running around doing something