#and less impostor syndrome

[kameyyy]

You ever wrote a 3k word long rant ?? On the same day you struggled to write only a hundred words for your wip ?? No ?? Just me ??

[pokeberry5]

nobody told me that alvin draper has a nose ring!! and earrings!! does this mean tim has a nose piercing?? 

(related doodles under the cut, feat. dick:)

[coolnonsenseworld]

A little promo with my little obsession on the side...........

Reminder all items are shipped from Poland - for details on shipping times check out FAQ or send me a private message!

 mmezzy.bigcartel.com

[pikachu-deluxe]

would be nice if i could look at myself in the mirror and be able to say i'm looking at me

[yonpote]

ok i literally only did two prompts but thats it for now i will get to the ones in my inbox tomorrow ✌️✌️

[causticsunshine]

wanted to share the sentiment here too but didn't feel like rewriting the whole thing lmao so here are some Thoughts i had last night on twt regarding my weird relationship with my art whilst being in fandom:

i know i've definitely talked about this kind of thing in the past but it's been a very recent development that i actually understand what's been going on with me and why i've picked up this habit of letting a fandom i'm in / a piece of media i'm really into fully dictate my creative drive. like, just because i'm very interested or invested in something, it doesn't mean i necessarily feel inspired by it or inspired by it for the duration that it holds my interest, and forcing myself to create relative art or fic or what have you for the vested interest(s) has both dampened my desire to be creative as well as my imagination. i know a lot of people can be super into something or a few random things at once and that can keep them going for ages without them running out of ideas, but in my case, things that hold my interest aren't always synonymous with my creativity and i'm just now learning that despite how obvious it seems!

i also imagine i'm not the only person who functions like this but i personally haven't seen it spoken about very often (if it even needs to idk), so i wanted to bring it up / talk about it a little bit :)

[dorianbrightmusic]

question: is it okay to pursue a diagnosis even when your symptoms are mild? i've had a couple of doctors mention that they suspect i have a particular chronic illness, and the thing is, while it would explain the symptoms pretty perfectly, it feels a little wrong, since i'm still otherwise very able-bodied and capable of getting around the disruptions it causes to daily life without too much trouble. as far as i know, this chronic illness is meant to be really bad for most folks who live with it, so i don't feel quite right saying 'oh yeah, i have a mild case of thing' when most folks with this are so much worse off

[thetoaddaddy]

A very angsty probably somewhat tiggering drabble. Inspired by my friends talking about orotsu. Which is a ship i do enjoy. But we covered an older jir discovering it. But what about a younger jir?

Staring at the knife Jiraiya contemplates. The floor of the bathroom was cold. The equally cold blade embedded deep into the wood in front of him. He should be happy. Yet all he felt was betrayal.

Maybe they’re right. He was the odd one. The extra. The third wheel that never quite fit. He’s strange, loud, perverse, and ugly. A mad man. A freak. Unwanted. From his parents to his team. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t exist. Obviously if he was meant to it wouldn’t be so hard. It wouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

Yet here he is. It seems the higher powers, if there is any, have planned for him to soak in misery.

He didn’t hide it well. His surprise. Then his disappointment. A dull cast over his eyes and his inability to even twitch a smile. He hated it. He hates it and he couldn’t hide it. Tsunade and Orochimaru.

“We’re dating.”

What is it about him?

Maybe he is all he fears he is. An unwanted burden. There’s no room for him. There never was. He’ll have to suffer through it all won’t he? Seeing them happy. Watching them grow closer. Burning with envy and hatred at all the wonderful things he’s never experienced.

Being aware that he’s fading away.

Even if he did commit would they notice? Would they care? Did it even matter anymore? Did he matter?.. To anyone? He knows he’s sensei’s least favourite. He’s no one’s favourite. They have each other if he’s gone. So what if he’s gone? There’s nothing for him. There will always be nothing. He’s stumbling through an empty life.

A fitting end would be this. No glory. No amazing tales to tell. Just a footnote. His body would probably be rotting here before they bother to check on him. He means… nothing. A mistake to his parents. A screw up to the military. Girls laughed at him. Boys scoff. An outcast that will never find his people, for they don’t exist. He’s meant for no one… Nothing. A puzzle piece that never quite fit. An extra knob that should be lopped off. There’s no one for him and no one destined to wait for him.

What a terrible burden it is to be born without a purpose in life. To be so unimportant. To feel lost. To have… nothing. Nothing and no one.

And nothing he shall be.

[pyrothecary]

hey gamers if you're here from tgp holy SHIT i'm so sorry. i have actually a negative amount of updates i'm currently in the process of replotting it because the story i had before got so unnecessarily complex, there were like 10 subplots and i'll be honest it just sucked ass. so i'm simplifying and starting from scratch

[smute]

so im moving back home next month to save some money during my last semester of grad school, and as grateful as i am for even having that option, a not so small part of me is very scared that it may turn out to be... not quite as temporary as i am currently hoping it will be🙂

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

On toxic positivity and my attitude towards my writing

If there is one thing you will never see me engage in, it’s toxic positivity. I’m an honest person. I can’t fake being happy about something when all I want is to hug myself in the shower and cry. When I talk about my struggles as a writer, it’s not an attempt at coaxing people into reading my works; I am open about these things because I can’t bring myself to hide behind a mask of toxic positivity. It’s not being “cute” or “attention-seeking”. When you genuinely feel that you’re a shit writer, coaxing people into reading your stories by conducting what’s widely considered as negative publicity is the least thing you want. It doesn’t switch your perspective. Any praise resulting from that would feel undeserved and insincere. In the worst case, the guilt of having manipulated someone through your pain crushes you even more.

Sometimes, certain corners of the internet feel like a clusterfuck of toxic positivity, and I don’t support that. “Fake it until you make it” might work for some people. I’m not one of those people. That’s why you will never see me advertising my works like it’s the most awesome shit that deserves the Nobel Prize for literature. The only thing that would accomplish besides internalising my struggles, which is a foolproof way to get severe mental health issues, is coming across as arrogant and feeling like a liar. And I don’t want that either.

I’m abysmal at self-promo, but even I know that being negative is the wrong approach. That’s why when I promote my works, I try to be neutral about them at least (which is already hard when I’m convinced that people are going to hate that new chapter or the new one-shot). I don’t want people to read my works out of pity, and I don’t want them to read them because I advertised them as something they’re not, either. Believe it or not, I have self-worth.

When I’m being open about how I feel about my writing, a part of me hopes to connect with other artists who feel the same. I don’t have this kind of people in my life. Most people I know aren’t creative and the few that are, don’t get it because unlike me they have confidence or just don't care how their art is received. There’s something deeply validating about knowing that you’re not the only one in the world. So, in a way, I’m doing it for attention, but it’s not the kind of attention you think it is.

I find more comfort and validation in talking to people who are facing similar struggles than in people who try to police me about how I should feel or talk about my works. In fact, the latter does nothing but makes me feel more isolated and alone, which is the last thing someone feeling already isolated needs. I don’t care if my honesty makes you uncomfortable, your rose-coloured online experience is not my responsibility. 

There was a time when I believed in my writing. Not always, but for most of the time. Back then, I made the experience that a piece of writing I loved and that I found good was loved by my audience. Over the last two years, this belief deteriorated. My experience was inverted to the more I loved something I had written, the less my readers liked it. At some point, they stopped enjoying my stories although I felt that my writing had improved, and I never found out why which haunts me until today. There’s no point in sharing my writing when the audience dislikes it or isn’t even interested in reading it—in fact, sharing it despite that holds the power to destroy the joy of writing for me. I was in such a place when I already had revised my first work for my current fandom and, after I had recovered a little from that blow, I decided to give it a try and start anew. But moving on in such a situation to a fandom where I was no one, was detrimental to my already depleted confidence. I had a rough start. By now, things are no longer as dire as one year ago, but I’m keenly aware that most writers do much better than I do and that I'm not the kind of writer whose stories people gush about, no matter how much work I put into them. I'm not the kind of writer who has the power to touch their readers' hearts that deeply. And I can’t help thinking that I’m doing something fundamentally wrong, that either I've lost some fundamental skill or that I never really had it in me. I wish I knew what to do about that.

I’ve stopped counting how often I contemplated quitting writing completely during those last two years—before and after the move. Not just stopping sharing my works once they’re finished, but stopping writing altogether because finding joy in your passion in such a situation is nigh-impossible. Even this year, I thought about it a lot.

I wish I could believe in my writing again. I wish I could believe that my writing is decent at least and worth to be shared with the world. I don’t know if I will ever regain this belief.

I've been in worse shape, I don't feel as bad about my writing right now as I used to, but I don't feel great about it either. I wrote this post not because I want to cry in public but because of an encounter after which I felt I had to put this straight.

One last thing (and this isn't directed at my readers): Please don’t write nice things about my works just to cheer me up. If you consider reading my works, please only do so because they appeal to you. If you consider commenting on my work, please do so because you want to and be honest for better or worse. But please don’t do it out of charity.

[pepprs]

applying for my own job…. 2!

[dolokhoded]

the thing about me is im going to hyperfixate on the new testament of all things. i will inevitably and predictably get attached to the guy who betrays jesus and then hangs himself, cause that's what queer ex-christians do. that's alright though, cause there are more characters i like ! like eldest thunder for example. second one to die in a horrible martyring death leaving all his friends and his younger brother behind. and if that doesn't work out well, there's always the zealot.

[ilostyou]

this paper is still kicking my butt in case anyone was worried

[darkfrog24]

This was utterly normal treatment of kids in the 1980s and 1990s. There was even a stereotype of annoying kids who "ask too many questions."

Suddenly hit with the vivid memory of when a cat had kittens and I was maybe four years old, and an older kid (I think a cousin?) kept saying with disgust and horror that she was "eating the afterbirth" (as mammals do), but I didn't know what that meant and started asking, only to be ignored or dismissed by the adults, who also wouldn't let me see no matter how FRANTIC I got with my questions, even when I started bawling my eyes out. Because, see, my interpretation of that sentence was that she was eating the kittens. What else would you conclude if you don't know the word "afterbirth," you're too little to know anything else comes out with the babies, and everyone is acting like it's something too nasty to explain to you in words? I don't remember when I figured out that they meant something else but I remember four-year-old me being devastated all day and terrified the next morning that all the kittens would be gone. All they had to say was "it's yucky stuff that was on the kittens, so she's cleaning up!" but no they could evidently not come up with anything more creative than just "it's nothing!" And worse yet my questions made them laugh. They LAUGHED at the unfathomable violence I was sure had happened in that cardboard box. Can you even imagine how demented I thought these people were. I was four years old already thinking I was the only rational compassionate being in a house full of sick sadists. Please try to entertain the questions of children, especially if they seem upset. You never know when they just think you're a fucked up asshole hiding a kitten massacre.

[my-fancy-hat]

i'm an functional adult i have responsabilities and pay my taxes but i still cry for the same reasons i did at 16 yo