#because I don't feel like working on my query letter

[thessalian]

Molly!Rook vs New Recruits

Over in the Grand Necropolis

Emmrich: So ... Bellara. Not that it wasn't good of you to come and bring Rook with you--

Molly!Rook: DESPAIR DEMON, MY ASS - YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A WET WEEKEND WITH THUMBS! *fwoosh*

Emmrich: ...But while I'm grateful that you didn't simply send a letter - which ... well, might have been eaten by the problems here anyhow--

Molly!Rook: WHEN THE NECROMANCER TELLS YOU TO STAY DEAD, YOU WALKING PILE OF OSTEOPOROSIS, YOU STAY DEAD! *fwoosh*

Emmrich: ...Could I get a ... summary of your current queries?

Bellara: Weeeeeell ... We sort of need a Fade expert who's not based entirely on ... you know, ancient elven artefacts. I mean, we're covered there; me and Rook, you know. But there's these ... well, there's elven gods trying to tear down the Veil--

Emmrich: Fascinating. That would account for some of the issues we've been encountering of late, I suppose.

Bellara: I mean, that too, probably, but it's worse than that. These gods keep pulling allies, because I guess some people just want power and don't care where it comes from. The Antaam, for instance, and--

Molly!Rook: Excuse me, Professor? Did you want Venatori squatting in your Grand Necropolis dropping icy misery-guts all over your hard work?

Emmrich: Venatori? Here?!?

Bellara: ...Yeaaaaaaaaaaah I was getting to them...

Emmrich: By all means, Rook, let us show them how unwelcome they are.

Molly!Rook: Hey, after this, wanna help save the world?

Emmrich: I would not miss this opportunity for the world. I just hope none of your colleagues take issue with Manfred.

Bellara; Molly!Rook: Manfred?

A little later, when things are less Venatori-riddled

Manfred: *happy hiss; holds up tea set*

Molly!Rook: This is Manfred, I guess? Hi, Manfred. Thanks for the tea; my fire orb only warms me up so much when I'm flinging it at despair demons' faces.

Manfred: *agreeable hiss*

Emmrich: I've ... never seen a reaction that calm to Manfred outside of my fellow Watchers...

Bellara: Oh! Well, that's partly a Veil Jumper thing - because, you know, we see weird stuff basically all the time - but mostly it's a Rook thing. As long as it's being nice and not trying to eat their face, Rook's happy to go along.

Molly!Rook: Hey, Manfred; did you want to learn how to make coffee? I can try to introduce you to Lucanis, because he makes better coffee than I do, but I'm not sure what he or Spite will make of you, so if he gets weird, I'll teach you.

Manfred: *excited hiss*

Bellara: Just so I know ... what kind of spirit is powering Manfred?

Emmrich: A wisp of Curiosity.

Bellara: *snort* Well, he just made a new best friend.

And later, on the Rivaini Coast

Taash: *murder-frenzy on Antaam*

Molly!Rook: Niiiiiiiiiiiice. I mean, not for them, but that was epic.

Taash: Yep. Who're you and why're you here?

Molly!Rook: ...I feel like this is going to get complicated because if you'd agreed to this, you'd know who we were and why we were here, but let's start with, "We hear you're taking on a dragon and we're happy to help".

Taash: We're not killing her! We're just luring her away from her lair so the others can raid her hoard.

Molly!Rook: Even better! The only dragons I've ever seen up close were blighted ones so I'd love to see one healthy! So long as she's not breathing fire in my face--

Taash: First? The Vinsomer breathes lightning.

Molly!Rook: Cooooool.

Taash: Yeah, it really is. Second? Blighted dragons? Bullshit. They're smart enough to stay away from that crap!

Molly!Rook: I guess you don't know a lot about archdemons, but let's start simple - assholes are blighting them on purpose.

Taash: Okay, so they're assholes and I get to beat on them.

Molly!Rook: That's the goal! But first, I get to see a Vinsomer! This is going to be a good day!

Taash: ...She's weird.

Harding: They're eccentric, but I guess you've gotta love the world that much to be that keen to save it.

Taash: ...What do you mean, 'they'? Like, there's more than one?

Harding: Now that would be scary. No, it's just ... Rook doesn't like being limited. By anything. That includes gender. Something about, "I will choose what defines me, and it won't be the arbitrary contents of my pants".

Taash: .........Huh.

Molly!Rook: Hey, guys? We have Antaam! Oh, Taash, here! *tosses Taash an axe*

Taash: ...Where'd you get this?!?

Molly!Rook: Random chest in Arlathan, I think. I think it's got better balance than your other off-hand axe. Enjoy!

Taash: ...I like this one.

After figuring out why the Antaam are here, and Taash demonstrating her secret

Molly!Rook: ...You didn't tell us you could breathe fire.

Taash: ......Yeah. Um.

Molly!Rook: Huh. Metal.

Taash: *not quite a smile*

Molly!Rook: C'mon; let's unchain the Vinsomer so she can find a better nap spot, and then we can figure out why we're actually here.

Meeting Isabela

Isabela: You must be Rook. Varric told me all about you.

Molly!Rook: Isabela. Likewise. I'm taking it you involve Qunari in your treasure-hunting to avoid that shit that went down in Kirkwall.

Isabela: See? You get it. Some people have gone around saying I've gone soft or something, but it's not "What I did was wrong and we should be better people"! No, it's "Hello, my name is Isabela and I would prefer to not be bodied by the entire Qunari population. ...Again".

Molly!Rook: Good call.

Isabela: ...I admit that including the Dalish in that "making sure we're not taking anything of cultural significance" thing was a little more altruistic. I'm never sure if it was Merrill's stories about the mirror that blighted one of her friends to death and nearly killed another before she got Wardened, or the puppy-dog eyes she got over that arulin'holm thing that did it in the end.

Molly!Rook: ......Okay, wow, that story that Varric mentioned Leliana telling has waaaaaay more context now and I should rub that in the First Warden's face next chance I get. Speaking of ... y'all know Taash has no clue why we're here, so my question is, was she volunteered, or voluntold?

Shathann: We were getting to the ... voluntold part. It is just as well, as she has been breathing fire in front of the Antaam.

Molly!Rook; Taash: Wait, what the fuck?!?

Taash: I mean, yeah, I want to kick the asses of the assholes blighting dragons, but you don't even ask me?

Molly!Rook: I'm not conscripting your daughter, lady! It's her choice!

Taash: *looks at Rook for awhile* ...I'll go. It's fine. Whatever.

Shathann: I will make your potions.

Molly!Rook: You sure about this? I don't want to force anybody to do anything they don't agree with. I hate it when people pull that shit on me.

Taash: ...It is what I want. It's just... You know...

Molly!Rook: You don't want to sound too enthusiastic about it because you don't want your mom to think you're okay with being ordered around. I get it. Get what you need and I'll meet you at the eluvian we're using when you're ready. Feel free to stomp and slam things unnecessarily hard. Nothing says "You're assholes" like tossing a good solid ornament at a wall. *exits*

Taash: ...............

Harding: That's a face. I should warn you, they're kind of having a thing with an assassin abomination.

Taash: What?!? No! I don't want to have sex with them! I just ... kind of want to be them. ...Except less skinny. Way less skinny.

[elumish]

Writing a Professional Email

I work in client services, which means that a frankly depressing amount of my job is writing emails, both for myself and for other people. There is an art and a science to writing professional emails.

The subject line

The subject line should be informative enough that somebody scanning through their inbox can tell what the email is about and whether they need to look at it any time soon. Depending on their job, some people get hundreds or thousands of emails a day, and they need to be able to tell at a glance whether an email is important to them.

When emailing someone particularly at another organization with a question, I will often use "Inquiry" or "Question" in the subject line. depending on industry standards, you may also use something like RFI (request for information).

If you want to be clear on why exactly you're sending an email, it is the standard in some industries to start your email with For Action: or For [Reason]: (e.g., For Review:, For Situational Awareness:). I generally only include that in emails staying within my organization, but depending on how well you know whoever you're emailing, you may or may not feel comfortable to do that outside of your organization.

You may not need to be that prescriptive in your email subject lines. if I'm emailing someone about tuition assistance, I might just use the subject "Tuition Assistance."

The salutation

How you address the person sets the tone of the entire email. A lot of this has to do with industry standards and the level of formality you're trying to convey.

At my organization, the explicitly-stated expectation is that you will address everyone, regardless of level, by their first name. If I got an email from someone at my organization referring to me by Ms. [Surname] I would be immediately confused and suspicious.

When emailing agents or addressing them in query letters, it seems like the expectation is often to use their first name--but you should always check, in case they specifically say they want to be referred to in some other way.

When emailing someone with an industry-specific title (professor, doctor, military or law enforcement) it's often your best bet to start with their title. You should make sure you know how to properly abbreviate them, if you do that--the same military rank, for example, is abbreviated differently depending on the service (e.g., Second Lieutenant is abbreviated 2LT, 2ndLt, and 2d Lt).

As you become closer to them, you may start to address them by their first name--but not necessarily.

Also some people/industries prefer "Hi" while others prefer "Dear". if you're really not sure, I've found that defaulting to "Good morning" or "Good afternoon" is often an easy workaround.

The body

Organize the body of the email so the most important information is clear, easy to find, and unambiguous. I frequently use bullets and/or tables in my emails. I also use strategic bolding and underlining, especially for due dates or specific asks.

If you don't know the person or they won't understand why you're the one emailing them about the thing, it can help to introduce yourself. If you're going to do so, keep it short and focus on the key info (e.g., "I am part of x team and am reaching out to you because of y").

If you think your email is too long, it probably is.

The closing

I recommend finding a closing that works for you and stick with it. What I see most commonly are Best, Regards, Best Regards, or Sincerely, but you have a good deal of flexibility here. (I use Regards.)

You should also consider whether to sign off with your first name, full name, or full name + title. I use first name because my signature has my full name.

The signature

Most (all?) email service providers let you set a default signature. My organization has a very prescriptive signature block, so for my work email I just use that.

If you don't have that, I recommend some version of

Full Name Organizational Title Organization

[themswritinwords]

I'm not saying I'm gonna print this rejection letter and frame it for when I'm feeling down about my writing, but "I loved it, it's really strong and entertaining, I have literally nothing bad to say about it and am only passing because I don't personally know the right editor for it and want it to be picked up sooner rather than later, and fully believe it will be" is pretty good for Baby's First Full Request.

Querying sucks and never ends but gosh darn it some days you feel like it might just be possible to make it through, and I'm holding onto that.

Gonna file it alongside the 18-hour beta binge read, the "I'm actually crying rn" text, and the "I was supposed to be sleeping but I couldn't not finish it so if I fall asleep at work later today I'm blaming you" message that also keep me going when I want to launch myself into a dumpster and scream.

[kokofromwattpad]

ALL BECAUSE OF MACARONS

Featuring: Sateriasis Venomania (Gakupo)

Plot: Duke Venomania was slowly but surely building his harem filled with beautiful women from across the land. Although, he will forever has his heart set on the person who saved him with just their voice and a few macarons.

Cw: yandere! Duke Venomania! Gakupo, gn! Reader, yandere themes, baker!reader

A/N: Gakupo holds my heart and soul I swear on god

This story begins a long, long time before the main plot had even decided to take place.

In a small village, deep within the mountains, was a young boy. He wasn't very liked by the other children in the village. He was pushed and shoved all the time. His purple hair was pulled and tugged all day and his deformed face was smacked and punched. From sunrise to sunset he was hated.

It went down hill when his close and only friend rejected his feelings towards him. It was all because of his deformed face. That was the only reason that he was hated and scorned upon.

He walked along the gravel roads after breaking free from the cellar his father kept him locked in for all of his short life.

He walked past a bakery, where there was a faint light coming from the kitchen within the little building. He opened the door and a bell rang, signaling his entrance.

A short child around his age came out from the illuminated room and came to greet him.

The small boy's eyes twinkled with adoration at his peer's face. They seemed really nice.

"Is there something you need help with?" the child lightly asked the boy.

The other child's voice sounded so nice. It sounded like sweet honey spread over the sweetest flowers. And it seemed that they did not mind how ugly and deformed his face was.

Immediately, the little boy was enamored with this person.

"I- uh- don't have a-any money-y" the little boy stuttered out.

"Oh! Alright then, but would you like to have something to eat though?" the pickney queried.

The boy nodded his head vigorously. The other child grabbed the young boy's hand and dragged him to the attached kitchen.

The boy, Cherubim as the other child learned, stood in the corner of the kitchen as the other one pulled a hot tray out of the wood burn oven.

Small pink macarons sat in lines on the tray as the boy's peer swung a thin cloth back and forth over the desserts to cool them quicker.

After about five minutes of swinging the cloth, the kid scraped a row of five macarons into a small brown bag and handed it to Cherubim.

"Here you go! I hope you like them." the youth exclaimed happily.

The purple haired boy flushed a deep red. He smiled shyly at your words. He hugged the bag of macarons to his flat chest and ran out of the bakery and into the night.

-------------------------------------------------------

Those events happened many years ago. The baker child grew up to be a fine adult who ran their inherited bakery with ease.

The adult received a thin letter one day as he was getting ready to open up the bakery. It was just an order for a cake that someone wanted delivered.

After the adult finished putting their employees to work, he went straight to work for order he was given.

The cake was a simple chocolate drip cake with blood red strawberries chopped over the top.

The human gently placed the cake into a box and ordered one of his employees to keep everything in order while they were away.

The baker held the cake box as they looked over the letter to see where the cake need to be delivered. It was a place dubbed 'the Venomania manor'.

The baker had heard of the rumor surrounding the manor for a while now. Rumors about how beautiful women will go in the manor and never come out. Luckily, since the adult did not dub themself as beautiful nor ugly, they did not have any fear about having to go that manor at all.

The trail that lead up to the Venomania's home was difficult to say the least. There was several times when they thought that they would trip and accidently squash the cake from their weight.

When the tall manor slowly started to creep in the baker's field of vision, they took several heavy breaths before they paced to the front door.

They tightly wrapped their fingers around the golden knocker and slammed it three times against the wooden door. The sound of metal slamming against wood echoed through the baker's ears for a good minute.

When they released the knocker from their grip, the door slowly creaked open by itself. The adult poked their head threw the crack in the doorway and saw almost no one.

They passed the box to their other hand and opened the door wider to let themselves in.

Their was a sweet smell in the air. The adult had almost no idea where it was coming from. They had an undeniable urge to follow the smell to it's source, feeling like if they do, good things shall happen.

The baker followed the smell to a another large door. They opened the door, only to be met with the back of seemingly rich man.

"Uh...hello?" the adult squeaked out.

The man's attention head was flicked upward, and he turned his entire body in the baker's direction.

He was a beautiful man. Long purple hair tied in ponytail. He had matching purple eyes which seemed to sparkle in the chandelier light.

The man's expression went from surprised to ecstatic. He speedily ran to the baker and pulled them deeper into the room. The duke lifted the box out their hand and held it above their head.

"Are you the owner of this manor?" questioned the baker to the taller man.

The duke smiled down on them and said in his velvety voice, "Of course I am dear. I suppose you are the baker I ordered this cake from?"

"Indeed..."

The baker felt uncomfortable in the man's presence. They felt the abrupt need to run for their life, but just can't seem to move their legs.

"Would you like to stay for a while and have a slice of cake?" questioned the duke happily.

As if their voice activated by themself and as if their mouth moved by themself, the baker answered, "Only if it is for a short while..."

The man's face spilt into a wide and happy grin. He wrapped his arm around their shoulder as he walked with them to the dining hall.

The pair walked down several flights of stairs until they were met with a woman.

She was a cute one. With green hair tied up in two separate ponytails that curled at the edge. She was wearing a skimpy pink dress with black lace adorning the edges.

"Mikulia, be a doll and cut us two slices of this cake for us." gently ordered the duke.

The girl smiled brightly as took the cake and ran off, leaving you and the man alone by yoursleves.

"Who was that?" asked the baker.

"That was one of my wives." he replied.

"Wives? As in plural?"

"Indeed."

And with that, the baker felt instantly uncomfortable.

Duke could tell how they were feeling about the matter to which he told the baker that all of his wives were aware of each other and are comfortable with it.

The two entered a large, extravagant dining room. There were other women, supposedly the duke's other wives, who were conversing with each other, but when they noticed that their husband had walked in, they all turned in adoration towards him.

The man lead the other adult to the end of the long dining table, where he sat at the end and with you on his left side. The woman from earlier came back with the cake you made on two small plates and placed them in front you and the man.

The woman then stood next to her husband, as if waiting for his command. The duke patted his thigh, and with glee, the woman sat herself on the duke's lap. She wrap her lender arms around his neck as the baker started to place small bits of the cake into their mouth.

"I don't think you have told me your name yet dear." noted the duke while he started to eat his slice of cake.

"My name is {Y/N}{L/N}..." the baker replied quietly.

The man nodded his head at their words.

"My name is Sateriasis Venomania. But I am better known as Duke Venomania.

Although, you know me as Cherubim." he proudly announced.

It then struck the baker like a bullet to the head. The little deformed boy that they gave free macarons so many years ago, was now all grown up and has a harem full of beautiful women.

The adult would sometimes wonder what happened to the boy that they fed. Did he die? Did he make a life for himself? These questions ran through their mind for a while after the two of them had departed ways.

"Well... it is lovely to see that you have survived this long." the baker commented.

The duke chuckled at their humor. Of course he would. Since the moment the baker opened their mouth and spoke such kind words to him, he was completely obsessed. He wanted to make himself someone worthy of being in their presence.

"I... wanted to repay you for those macarons you made me." Sateriasis explains as he gently pushes his wife off of his lap.

"How so...?" nervously asked the baker, their instincts starting to spike.

"I was hoping..." the duke starts as he stands up to stand by their side.

Steadily, the duke pulls a small velvet box from the right pocket of his purple tailcoat. All of the women in the room gasped at their husband's motions.

The duke bends down and gets down on one knee by the bakers side. He opened the small box to reveal a large jeweled ring. There was a jewel for every color.

"Please, let me make you mine. You deserve everything this world has to offer. Ever since I saw you come out of your family bakery's kitchen, I knew that I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life." the duke preached with a determined look painted on his face.

The baker panicked. They jumped up from their seat and ran for the door.

"NO! COME BACK!" screamed the duke, desperation embedded into his voice.

One his wives tackled the baker to the ground before they could make it to the door in time. Sateriasis got up from his knee and hurried over to their side, where he then peeled his wife off of their shacking body.

"Don't worry dear, you will learn to love me and my home with all your heart, just like me."

-------------------------------------------------------

[esta-elavaris]

OKAY so from the seminar I attended this morning with a panel of editors, agents, and writers, these were my main takeaways:

They described interviewing an agent as being like going on a first date and discussing marriage - like, that's the level of relationship that'll happen if all goes well, they're part-editor part-lawyer part-therapist, full-advocate. You need to decide if they're for you as much as they need to decide if you're for them, it shouldn't be a thing where you're going in feeling like you have no power and you're begging them for crumbs.

They don't want writers to be nervous. Ofc they get that we will be, but they don't want you do be! They WANT us to send in our manuscripts to them, they're excited at finding new writers to work with, they're so enthusiastic and they want to share that enthusiasm with you.

Obviously different agencies have different query requirements - make sure you tailor your submission to those requirements, don't make them feel like they're just one of eighty getting the same email. They want to feel that you're enthusiastic about them in particular just as much as you want that enthusiasm from them.

Speaking of ethusiasm, that's one of the BIIIIG things they're looking for. They want that sense of enthusiasm and excitement about your story in your email, they want it to be from the heart, because not only does it give them a sense of the PERSON they're considering working with, but it's a loooong process from submission to the book being on the shelf, and with any luck they'll be working with you across your whole career. They need to see that you're as in it as they need to be to do their job well.

They actually do a LOOOOT of editorial work. Like, a lot of the time (more often than not) they will edit your manuscript with you and discuss the project at length and make suggestions (and they ARE suggestions, but you do need to have a level of maturity to take them on board and hear them out) and work on it a lot with you before they take it to publishers, to give you your best chance. One said they had a colleague who'd done this for over a decade and had only had ONE manuscript where they sent it to publishers as is.

And that brings me to the biggest takeaway I had, and the one that stood in sharpest contrast to what I see in online advice that loves to harp on like "if you make any of these ten minor mistakes, you'll instantly be rejected" and, well, basically scaremonger.

They give you soooo much leeway.

They get that you're human, they get that you'll be nervous. They showed example cover letters that contained SO many things that I'd think of as chance killers, and they were like "eh, this isn't ideal, but if I liked the manuscript I wouldn't care", y'know? The only thing that was a BIIIG "instant no" was one that had said "I've read work by your other clients and I can confidently say I'm better than all of them" and like, if you're saying that to an agent, you're an idiot (my words, not theirs!). Which is a good thing, too, because it shows how fiercely they advocate for their clients that they're not willing to entertain comments like that.

With the other mistakes on the queries, though, the consensus was constant "the manuscript matters more, if I like that I'd ignore this error." The biggie was just to pay attention to the agent's website and requirements and follow those, because it shows a level of care and attention.

And how heavily involved in the editing process they are also shows how much leeway you get with the manuscript itself. They don't need it to be perfect, they just need there to be something in there at the core of it that grabs at them, and for you to have enthusiasm and a willingness to work at it.

Overall, I went into it thinking I had an absolutely microscopic chance of ever getting published. That the novel would need to be perfect, that the query cover letter would need to be even more perfect, and that even if both were, it would come down to personal taste.

Turns out, absolutely not.

I literally left the thing feeling 98% more optimistic about my chances than I was going into it. It took SO much anxiety out of my novel writing process - that often otherwise gets so extreme that I can barely work on it.

[youngadultmachine]

author ask tag

@goldfinchwrites tagged me on main and i guess even though i haven't posted here in months and haven't touched any of my wips in longer...why not. i guess we'll talk about when the rabbits stop running since it's done and i'm kinda sorta writing up a query letter for it.

What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

there is no lesson, really. it's just a story about people who kinda suck and how they handle things that happen in their lives. if you take anything other than 'wow that made me kinda sad and uncomfortable' i would like it to be 'don't do kink badly' but i'm mostly here to make you sad and uncomfortable.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

i don't do a ton of worldbuilding because i almost exclusively write in the real world. if there's fantastical elements they're very minor and still existing in the 'real world' so there's not a lot to do there. i do mostly set my stories in the south though because that is where i am from and have a lot of experience in the way people are, the climate, the jobs people do. the way it feels to stand on the back porch and look outside. because i did it. for twenty-eight years. and in a lot of ways i miss it, but i don't think i'll ever go back. maybe i'll write about that one day.

the couple of times i did write more sff stuff i could not tell you where my inspo came from. it just happened.

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

as the writer i am not really trying to accomplish anything except telling you a story. there is no moral, i am not trying to help you grow in any kind of way. i am simply giving you a glimpse into the life of some characters and letting you watch them make decisions. i find catharsis in the things that happen to them, but there's not really any sort of ...point. kind of the hallmark of litfic i think lol.

that being said. chase would like a place where he is not under surveillance, where he can relax, where he can do the things he wants to do without worrying about being judged. he wants to be accepted as he is, no questions asked.

spencer wants to be wanted, wants to be kept. he's worked his entire life to be appealing and thinks he knows exactly how to achieve it. he also wants to yeet himself off the mortal coil in the sexiest way possible :)

How many chapters is your story going to have?

it has 30 chapters (31 with the original ending that i hate but i still kept in the document just in case.) they are also quite long, sorry.

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

i haven't written fic in years; i pretty much exclusively write original content. i have posted my older stuff on ao3 (@ digitalcatnip) along with my old fic, but my newer stuff including wrsr, friends of the devil, and the upcoming wips if i ever finish them are not going anywhere outside of print. probably self or indie pub tho, the thought of trying to appeal to tradpub makes me want to die

When did you start writing?

casually, as soon as i could hold a pencil. more...not professionally, but with more intent, i guess, in 2014. i have grown quite a lot from those first fics and that first short story, and i just wish i could still do it.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

i can't even encourage myself how could i possibly encourage others

i honestly don't follow that many writers, just @goldfinchwrites and @transman-badass afaik lol. there are not a lot of literary writers here and i kinda got weary of seeing only sff content from writers on my dash. plus the whole....i'm sad because i can't write anymore thing.

[capesandshapes]

Thinking about the invisible barriers to entry for publishing and how people who grew up in an upper to middle class background with supportive parents will start trickling into writing spaces for the next three months complaining about agents and publishers allowing additional consideration to people, members of the lgbtq+, and the disabled as a result of inclusive pitmads and open calls.

To query in the 2020s means having access to reliable technology in order to type out your novel, internet to query (and I was told in 2019 to send out 80 queries in my first round and expect to receive a form filled rejection letter like once-- the rest would never so much as acknowledge seeing your query), social media so you can be a part of all of the pitching events and jump on whatever opportunities you can (while being expected by some publishers to build your own following at the same time), and not only time but the emotional energy to write.

And I'm not even touching on the educational elitism that runs rampant through the arts, or the fact that many publishers and agents now expect you to query when a highly edited manuscript following their formatting guidelines in an approved file type (and no, it's not an imagined thing, converting Google drive documents to word does effect the formatting).

All of this is just to get your foot in the door. And half the time, the people who will tell you that it's easier to get a book deal if you're a marginalized person willfully ignore the fact that there are millions of people out there who couldn't get into the gated community that is access and stability to start walking towards the door. They don't want to talk about the people who were given additional consideration, but weren't accepted because an agent or publisher didn't feel that they were educated enough, or that they edited their manuscript enough, or their drive to word conversion turned all paragraph indentation into the dreaded five spaces instead of the much revered tabbing.

"You're more likely to get a book deal if you're a person of color, gay, or disabled," even once we move past how ungodly untrue that is, no one who bitches about agency and publisher calls for diverse writers wants to talk about the hundreds of people who were given additional consideration through those calls and didn't receive adequate marketing from their publisher or ended up grossly underperforming for reasons they cannot control. They don't see the people who will see the name on a book or flip to the back cover and put it down. Or that queer and non anglo Christian stories are going to be at a disadvantage in a marketplace dominated by white, straight, Christian culture.

Traditionally published people also aren't likely to be making bank to start off with, considering the fact that the majority of them fail even with all things working for them, and you don't get royalties until your advance is paid out by book sales. Publishers don't tend to give you another book deal or beg for a sequel if you aren't selling well, regardless of who you are.

There's about a dozen poc/lgbtq+/disabled authors from every publishing class (debut year), but everyone who bitches that it's definitely easier to get a publishing deal if you're a minority can only name like three successful POC authors, one disabled, and like if they try really hard like a single gay person in their genre-- like ignore the expanding literary canon that has introduced Toni Morrison and Walt Whitman to English programs across America, who in the genre that they write can they name off the top of their head that is not straight, white, neurotypical, and able bodied. Like, don't get me wrong, they've probably read a few more than just those people but can't remember off the top of their heads... Just like they can't remember the hundreds of books by white straight authors that they have read in their genre. Everyone knows the names of their favorite authors and the people that they consider themselves ~inspired~ by, but there are genuinely so many books by people of privilege that we don't really 'see' half of them.

But sure, whatever, it's unfair that you don't get as many publishing calls for you to submit your literary masterpiece, and you're surely being discriminated against. How will the world live without the new Shakespeare written by yet another monkey on a typewriter-- we even gave it internet.

[byliviajanes]

the utter shock and befuddlement of actually getting a publisher

I first made this blog back in 2021, when I'd just finished the first draft of All That Pride and was thinking ahead to that nebulous time when it would be published. I had no idea how getting published worked, but it was very important to me that I had a Tumblr, because any author hoping to be published is in need of an audience, and I thought I could find mine on Tumblr.

Of course, I was also eighteen, with a short attention span and no idea of what I wanted to do with my life. This blog fell by the wayside, much like All That Pride, as I retreated into the anonymity of my fanfiction Tumblr account and was caught in the whirlwind of real life college applications and papers and deadlines. Despite the fact that All That Pride was complete, and professionally edited, I let myself be defeated by a few rounds of query letter rejections. My excuse? It was a lot of work to research agents, compile lists, and send out query letters. I was starting my first year at university, and I didn't feel I could concentrate on more than that at the time. Beyond my going in and doing a few edits every now and again, All That Pride languished alone on my laptop.

Two years (!!) later, I decided enough was enough. I allowed myself one more round of edits, got a friend to read it for me (thank you Hailey), and put querying on my summer schedule. But before I could get started on a fresh round of querying, I met K.L. Gallagher. K.L. is an author with Affinity Rainbow Publications, a publishing company which specializes in publishing lesbian literature. She told me that All That Pride would be a good fit with Affinity, and encouraged me to submit to them. So I did.

And they signed me! Even two months later, it doesn't feel quite real. My book—my COVID baby—is actually getting published.

So here I am, back with this blog after years. My sister is handling my Instagram—she's making me film reels—but Tumblr is all mine. My goal is to blog my experience as the publishing process continues somewhere where I don't have to video myself talking (I mean, I can do it, but it's not my favorite). I'm so excited to start this journey, and see where it takes me.

And the book? All That Pride?

All That Pride is a YA LGBTQ+ novel, featuring wlw romance, background mlm romance, the beach, and an absolute absence of the COVID-19 pandemic. More on the pinned post on my blog!

[raayllum]

hey I have some thoughts and theories on season six that I want to post but I feel like they’re kind of in cohesive and all over the place and rambly and I’m not really sure the best way to get them across especially when I’m more of a brainstorm type of personof like 10 different ways something could go I’m not really sure how to organize it or make it comprehensible to the average Tumblr scroller do you have any tips for this? because I want them to get reach cause I do feel like I’m contributing something but sometimes I think what I’m saying makes no sense at all or no one’s going to read all that you know. or, TLDR: Do you have any tips on making meta in general since you seem to be the main producer of it in the fandom ha ha, your input would be invaluable

So I actually did start writing a post a while ago about well, a kind of how to guide for writing meta, but it felt very self-gratuitous so it got semi-banished to the drafts although I still might finish / clean it up and post it someday

That being said your ask does make me realize that your query is not something I had considered going over, approaching it from more of a "here's how to train your brain to notice things that can be fun to write meta about" > organizing said thoughts, so thank you for bringing it to my attention! I hope some of this advice will be useful, and it may even have some overlap with other thoughts I had planned

The most useful way I've found when it comes to meta is treating it like an essay, with an introduction, body paragraphs / sections (and sometimes headers), and a conclusion of some kind when warranted. This means looking for similarities or main ideas with possible consistent threads (i.e. avenues Aaravos' evil plans could go might be split off into branches, each one detailing a different avenue). So that would be my best advice when it comes to organization.

However, most concerns about "not making sense" comes down to thinking through what context you have to provide for your audience to understand what you're discussing, depending on the length and depth of the leap / analysis. Are there any symbols being drawn upon we will want to explain in more detail before theorizing how they relate to the show? Are there any smaller details or scene summaries to include when putting these things together?

For example, when I wrote a meta about Rayla being the metaphorical light to Callum's darkness (pre-S5), I first had to establish why I associated her with light, drawing from visual examples from S1, S2, and S4, as well as the "Dear Callum" letter. Callum's side of things was more straightforward with dialogue in the text. Then I could take it one step further and talk about why this light-dark duality indicates that she will likely save him from possession after possibly leading to the fall in the first place. But I had to go from a bottom-top approach in steadily building the layers rather than starting from the top and working my way down, as for more symbolic matters in particular, that can often be confusing.

Although sometimes more simplistic, consulting the 5 Ws (who, what, where, when, and why) can likewise be useful in meta in terms of 1) tracing where certain ideas are coming from in the text, 2) what is being posited/suggested, and 3) why these things might be conflated, and 4) who might be involved. Obviously meta tends to be more "what" heavy, particularly when its predictive, but it's kinda like explaining why one character might be more involved in one plot line than another, etc. There's going to be a Why to that Who, and those things both combine to form the What (otherwise known as theory or just plain analysis).

And don't be concerned about if people are gonna wanna read it. I find most people in TDP fandom are pretty down to theorize even if they may not necessarily write a lot of it down themselves (and often have cool ideas/contributions too!) and I am the king of making things overly long, yet people muscle through anyway!

That's about it for me without more specifics (a character study vs foil vs theme vs prediction are all kinda different in their own way) but I would love to hear more if you'd like to message me off anon or if you have more thoughts/questions you'd like to leave in my inbox once that's opened back up! Have fun theorizing, have fun writing, always feel free to break longer metas up into smaller bite sized ones as you go, and I look forward to seeing them int the tags!

[missameliasmithers]

This is the longest of long shots, but I figured, who else would help a random Internet Stranger with a penchant for the arts but Tumblr.

I need some help.

Like many people on this website, I'm a writer. I love writing. I've loved writing for years. For what seems like forever, I've been plucking away at my keyboard in my free time, writing fan fiction or short stories because it was fun. And it still is. It's my number one passion.

Two years ago, I started writing a book. It began, as all my other writing projects, as a hobby. However, as my health got worse (and I won't open that can of worms), I started to have more and more opportunities to work on it. Sitting around waiting for tests results gives you a lot of downtime. Last June, I put the finishing touches on it, and, guys—it's good.

I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I've worked so hard on this bad boy, and it's my pride and joy. I can so easily see it taking over booktok or being discussed at length on blogs here, and I so badly want to share it with the world. It's my dream to have it published—by a big name if possible—and this is where I've hit a wall.

To get a contract with a big publisher, you need an agent. I have written dozens of query letters—some of which have received positive feedback, only to be politely turned down because there's so much competition flooding the market right now. I knew things would be tough. I just didn't think they would be this tough.

I'm getting very discouraged. To the point where I fear I will never find representation. I know my book is good. I know people will love it. I just don't know if I'll be able to find someone who can help me down the terrifying path to publishing.

That's where you guys come in.

It would mean the absolute world to me if people could spread this around. My hope is that if this post becomes big enough, the right person will stumble across it.

I know it's improbable... maybe even impossible. The better half of me is scolding me for even typing this all out, saying that people aren't going to care. But I have to try.

Of course I wouldn't ask for this blindly. I've included the first chapter so you can judge for yourself if you think the story has potential.

I know everyone has their own preferences, so if it's not your thing, no big deal. But if you fall in love with it as much as I have, I would really really appreciate you spreading this post. A share could change my world.

Anyway, I've taken up enough of your time. If you have any more, please consider reading Chapter One below. Feedback is always encouraged as well.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day!

Chapter One

It’s days like this that make me wish I were an orphan.

Circe smacks me on the calves and I nearly tumble off the tightrope. It’s not a long way down, but a fall would hurt my pride if nothing else.

“Again!” she calls.

I suck in a hiss between my teeth as I regain my composure. It’s a simple matter to find my balance on the rope underfoot. I’ve done this countless times. Sometimes even blindfolded. This type of exercise should be as simple as breathing. But this time the others have been permitted to observe, and the feeling of their eyes on me is impeding my focus. I train alone. Or at least I have for the last few years.

My gaze flickers to Mirette and Elena as they whisper to each other while I once again make my way across the fibre rope strung across the glade. Their eyes are trained on me from below, their judgement weighing on my shoulders. My balance shifts again.

Smack!

“Again!”

This time, I cannot stop the scowl from crawling up my face. I right myself and then gesture to my audience with a flick of the wrist. “It’s hard to concentrate with these fools giggling to themselves like children!”

Circe glowers as she always does when I resist her commands. “You have far more distractions to deal with on a job than a few people gossiping.”

She always acts as if I’ve never been on a job before. I have. Twelve to be exact. Each one had its own distractions—hounds barking, families arguing, guards patrolling—but those were faceless, nameless creatures. These vultures beneath me are my peers. Not that any of us really feel like we’re on the same level, but we’ve seen each other grow over the years. That’s as close to kinship as you get in this village.

“I said again, Sarana!” Circe barks.

My eye twitches, but I push my frustration down. The sooner I cross this meadow, the sooner I can leave the pit of vipers beneath me.

I start again across the rope. When it was first tied up, the rough hemp provided traction for the soles of our boots, but it’s smoothed out over the years, which makes it more difficult to cross. An accumulation of friction, shoe polish, and probably some blood and skin from when the coarse fibre used to scrape our hands raw, has created an almost slick surface. I’ve gotten quite good at making it across despite this, but it does require a moderate amount of concentration.

Shrill laughter cuts my focus.

“Hahaha! Oh my gods, stop! That’s so mean!”

It’s Elena, or maybe Mirette. It doesn’t really matter who. My eyes dart down involuntarily, and then I’m teetering.

Another smack from Circe’s cane has my legs faltering off the rope. I shoot my hands out to grab the hemp to keep me from a humiliating fall. Dangling by my fingertips is less than ideal of course, but it’s far better than landing on my butt.

Circe, of course, isn’t impressed. “Sarana.”

I huff in irritation and haul myself back up and into a starting position. Circe will not relent until I’ve done this properly. Always the perfectionist.

The scavengers, clearly delighted by my near miss, have begun whispering and snickering in excess. Tristan isn’t here to make matters worse, but it’s grating all the same. 

Anger is simmering beneath my skin to where all I want to do is slide down the tree behind me and tackle every single tittering fool into the dirt, but I know it’s foolishness. My temper has gotten me into trouble more than a handful of times. Sometimes I still feel the ghost of Circe’s cane on my back.

Deep breaths, Archer taught me. Inhale, pause, exhale. Center myself. Don’t think about the stares. Don’t think about the whispers. Think about things I can control. Think about what I want in the current moment. About what would bring me joy. Focus on that.

I imagine the disappointment that will darken everyone’s faces when I fly across this rope, the picture filling me with a warm satisfaction. That’s what I want. To see the bitter jealousy of those who scorn me. To know that their derisive words will dry in their throats with the envy and desire to be me. I want to witness the distress they will feel as they remember the crushing reality that I am better.

It’s not a pure thought. But there’s no room for purity in Greenwood, no matter how pleasant the name may sound.

A numbness takes over me. It’s not a gentle calm, more like the silence that follows the snap of an arrow being loosed from a taut bowstring or the ragged exhale that comes from steel piercing flesh. I hear nothing. I see nothing. The other trainees are gone. Circe has vanished. It’s just me. Me and the mission that lies ahead.

I can almost sense the click of the steely determination that sets in. It settles in the shadowy part of me that comes to life on a job. The part that Circe planted and nurtured. The part I sometimes revel in. The part I sometimes resent.

In the span of two breaths, I deftly saunter across the rope to the other side. It’s over before anyone even really registers I started. They blink, and I go from one end of the glade to the other. 

Without waiting for approval, I drop down. If Circe wants to yell, it won’t be at my prowess. I know there’s nothing to critique.

Turning on my heel, I offer the obligatory bow to Circe and take a moment to relish the myriad of bitter expressions from my cohorts before ambling out of the clearing, back to the main village. From the corner of my eyes, I see Circe’s glare, not at all lessened by my flawless—albeit slow—execution of the exercise, and know that I’m in for a lecture tonight over dinner.

I decide to go back to my room and check my stores until the impending harangue. I’ll suffer through it as I’ve suffered through them all. Better to get it over with. It’s not like I can avoid her forever. She is my mother, after all.

Sure enough, Circe bursts through the door as I’m cataloguing my stash of oleander. It’s been running low, and I’ll need to either place an order with Glen, or barter for a day off to collect it myself. I’m trying to decide how much a purchase would run me when Circe’s shadow falls over me. She's livid.

“You dare leave training without being dismissed,” she seethes.

I shoot her a scowl of my own. “You’re the one who put me up on display in front of the firing range.”

She rolls her eyes. “So dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic?” I hiss. “You haven’t made me train with the others for years, and yet you put me up on a pedestal to see if they could knock me down.”

She narrows her eyes. “They almost did.”

“And for what?” I ask. “To humiliate me? Humble me?”

“To make you remember what I taught you.”

I fold my arms. “You’ll have to be more specific. Which one of your many lessons am I meant to remember, exactly? The ‘trust no one’ speech? The ‘you have no friends’ lecture?”

“Try ‘don’t get comfortable.’ You’ve fallen into a routine, Sarana. Routines lead to complacency. Complacency leads to laziness. Laziness gets you caught. And you know what happens then.”

“I’ve never been caught. I never will.”

Circe scoffs. “Such arrogance. Have you learned nothing?”

Indignant, I shoot to my feet. “I’ve learned everything! I mastered all your precious skills at eighteen. I’ve succeeded in a dozen missions, yet you still make me run drills! I’m the fastest runner, the best climber, the sharpest shot. I don’t need to have the trainees breathing down my neck, waiting for me to mess up so they can kick me while I’m down.”

Circe’s malicious frown turns to one of displeasure. “So, you’ll let your insecurities rule you, then?”

“Any insecurities I have, have stemmed from you,” I sneer. “You expect my every action, every word, every thought to be perfect.”

“Imperfection begets death,” she says. Then, gentler, “You know this.”

The memory of a letter between my fingers, crumpled and damp from tears, resurfaces unbidden. My gaze inadvertently peels off Circe to land on the chest at the foot of my cot where the weathered parchment lies folded neatly amongst my possessions. I sometimes wonder why I keep it. The ink only proves to invoke pain.

“Yes,” I say. “I know this.”

Circe takes my hand and guides me to sit with her next to the warm hearth. 

My mother is like a coin, her two sides diametrically opposed. One, the cold, strict, impersonal taskmaster, and the other the warm, tender, loving mother. Nowadays I see more of the former than the latter, but growing up, my mother was a source of comfort and adoration. We used to cook meals together, go on walks into the woods to pick herbs, have meaningful conversations while sharpening steel. She used to wear her mantle every day. Now she only shakes the dust off it when she sees I need it.

It makes these moments all the more precious. I yearn for them.

“Sarana, you know I care about you,” she says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Any harshness I show derives from the need to see you safe. People like us cannot afford to make mistakes.”

“I know,” I say softly. I know this not only because of the letter, but because of the faces that have never returned to the village. Nial the baker’s son, who was one of the first to play with me when I was a child. Cynthia the herbalist who suffered through my nagging questions as I learned the difference between royal fern and bracken fern. Rion the blacksmith’s apprentice, who gifted me his first set of knives, fresh from the forge. Miles. Fenway. Stella. Sven.

Archer.

Just as I have seen them disappear, so has my mother. The sting may even bite deeper for her. She chose them. She trained them. She sent them out. Only to never see them again. I wonder if she thinks about them as much as I do, but I see the shadows in her face of demons passed and know she’s haunted. I expect it’s a silent guilt she refuses to share.

I squeeze her hand back. “You won’t lose me.”

She gives me a rueful smile. “I better not. You’re all I have, moonbeam.”

The moment of sentiment between us helps give me the courage to request for the morning off to gather the herbs I needed to replenish my supply. I choose to do so over dinner. A frown settles over Circe’s face, but she wipes it away and brushes my cheek. “It is good to be prepared,” she relents, and as the sun rises, I grab my satchel and cloak off the peg by the door and hurry to the woods before my mother can change her mind.

When I was little, I never left Greenwood. I spent the mornings with my mother, played with the other children in the afternoon, and trained in the evening. As I got older, training took up more and more time, leaving less and less for play and socialising. Circe paid me special attention, gave me extra hours, and soon I was outpacing all the others. Well, almost all the others. Archer was always better than me.

Resentment among the other trainees grew with my skill until I slowly became a pariah. I was no longer welcome in their games or conversations. Their eyes regarded me with more bitterness and contempt. Their voices stuttered to a stop when I drew near. Their jabs during training became brutal and cruel.

I was too young to understand the darkness of jealousy then. I thought I had done something wrong. But no matter how hard I tried to force myself back into the fold, to be nice and kind and win back their friendship, I was pushed out with more ferocity.

I found solace in the woods. There were no malicious whispers or hateful glares, just the warm breeze, rustling leaves, and sheltering trees. The forest offered not only a safe haven, but various pastimes. During my time here, I studied the plant life, learned about the local fauna, and honed the skills I actually enjoyed. The trees were perfect for climbing, the bark and small game good targets for my knives, and I promptly learned—through some unfortunate trial and error—which forageables were edible.

At first, my mother was pleased with the improvement the forest visits were making, but eventually, my abilities plateaued. There were other skills I had to master, and she became less inclined to allow me the free time to venture into the woods.

On days like today where she shows more love than stringency, I’m able to escape for an hour or so. A far cry from when I was young, but things change as you grow. It’s a fact of life that I had to come to terms with quickly.

I know these woods like the beat of my heart, and I know exactly where the oleander blooms. I unsheathe a knife from the specialised scabbard at my side and twirl it around my fingers until it rests in the loose hold I use for throwing. The biggest danger in the forest are deer, but you can never be too careful.

It’s quick work to find the delicate pink blossoms. I use my knife to snip off several handfuls from the shrub and place them into my bag. I make sure to get enough for my various applications—some to suffuse in oil, some to dry, some to grind. Cynthia would have been proud.

Since they’re handy, I snag a few other plants while I’m out. It never hurts to have more snakeroot or jequirity beans, and it’s always good to have calendula and chamomile.

Along the way, I spy a branch under some leaves. I fish it out and examine the rough edge where it separated from the trunk. It’s splintered and doesn’t look too dry, meaning it must have broken off fairly recently. Likely by a stag. Maybe two fighting. It’s a bit too big to do anything with, so I half-snap, half-slice the excess off. I’m left with a good hunk of basswood. My favourite.

I set my pack down at my usual tree—a beautiful maple with sprawling roots that offer a perfect earthy seat to nestle into, and I do exactly that. I stick the knife from my hand into the dirt and riffle through my satchel for another. The ones I throw are not made to chisel wood.

The knife I pull out first is a special one. It’s a beautiful dagger that I keep polished to perfection. Smokey curls are etched into the quillons and a black leather grip leads to an obsidian pommel that flashes with dark promise. It’s also not made for whittling, and Archer would have murdered me if I ever tried—would probably come back to haunt me if I did now—but I just like to look at it. My most treasured possession. It never leaves my side.

I let my fingers graze the smooth lines of it before replacing it in the bag and pulling out what I’d originally been searching for: a sturdy sloyd knife. It’s nothing fancy, but it whittles like a dream. I picked it up for two copper pieces after a job seven years ago, and it’s served me well since. It doesn’t get used as much as I would like. Free time is practically non-existent these days.

I spend about an hour in the forest, carving the hunk of wood sliver by sliver. It’s taking a basic shape: the silhouette of a large cat. I haven’t decided which one. The only big cat I’ve seen is a mountain lion, but I’ve already made six.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, I tuck the figurine into my satchel and adjust the strap on my shoulder. If I don’t get back soon, the tentative peace with my mother will probably shatter.

Circe slips back into the taskmaster role with practiced ease as she has me running drills over the next few weeks. 

It's no surprise to me that she so quickly transitions after our tender exchange earlier. What does catch me slightly off guard is her lessened severity. She's usually all sharp commands, harsh critiques, and hissed criticism, but, while the strict orders and expectations are still there, she has also lightened. Her comments aren't as biting and she has allowed me to train alone once more, so something about our conversation must have struck her.

She watches me carefully as I run through the various combat forms one afternoon in the gloomy overcast of one of the training areas. Her eyes are careful, sharp, and dart around to land appraisingly on different parts of my body, checking for proper stance and posture. I can feel the moment she sees something she doesn’t like, but not in the harsh physical way I sometimes have to endure.

“Arms up,” she says. “You’ve allowed them to fall slack.”

I raise my arms higher as indicated and receive a satisfied nod. 

“Better,” she says.

She continues the lessons in this way—firm corrections and unaffected praise. Legs wider. Elbows in. Wrist down. Head up. Good. Better. Well done. 

A few days later, I finally recognize the shift in her tone and the adjustment of her behaviour to be guilt. It’s a rather gratifying realization that my words, however few in the grand scheme of things, had actually taken effect. I come to the understanding that just like I sometimes forget to be a daughter, Circe often forgets to be a mother. 

It’s a sad fact. But such is the reality of our situation. 

A whisper of a thought wonders idly why my mother has chosen now to allow guilt to reshape her actions, but as she hands me a glaive for the next exercise, it slips away.

“I have a job for you,” Circe tells me over breakfast one morning.

I perk up over my bowl. It’s been four months since my last job. “What is it?”

“Simple reconnaissance,” she says. “Hanival has a new governor: Odom Klaus. We need to evaluate his political standings and values.”

Recon is hardly my favourite kind of mission, but things have been so boring lately, I’ll take anything I can get. I feel a thrumming energy pulse in my blood as excitement and anticipation build. “I’ll get it done.”

My mother smiles, a rare expression these days. “I know you will. You leave this afternoon.”

To my chagrin, the job is cut and dry and I’m in and out in two days. 

Odom Klaus is an upstanding citizen: no skeletons in his cellar, no radical views that would dismantle society, no inappropriate actions towards his staff or townspeople. He is likely to be a perfectly respectable governor who will work to improve Hanival in the years to come. 

How boring.

The streets of Greenwood are bustling with activity when I return. People are chatting excitedly as they hurry to and from shops and houses or down the dirt roads. Some notice me, one or two of the older adults giving me nods of acknowledgement, but the others don’t seem to see me. Typically I’d find that preferable to the callous treatment I normally get, but I feel uneasy.

Close to the house, I hear Circe call my name.

She’s waiting by the front door. “Come here,” she says. I can’t tell from her voice if she's impatient or excited.

Her demeanour has certainly changed from her norm. It’s almost like she’s vibrating, an energy under her skin ready to burst free. I’ve never seen her like this. Her perfect façade is still in place, not a stray hair or expressive emotion in sight, but something is building. It’s either really good, or really horrible.

I follow her into the house and hang up my cloak. “What’s happening?”

“A messenger came while you were away,” she says. She’s got a piece of parchment in her hand, and for a moment, I am taken back to two years ago. My heart is in my throat, taking up too much space and making it hard to breathe or swallow, but I catch that gleam in her eye and I know now what it is that I couldn’t place about her. She’s positively thrilled.

It’s a sentiment she’s never worn. Not around me. Content, sure. Happy, sometimes. This is beyond that. She’s practically floating. To the untrained eye, her expression holds a semblance to that of someone who was told that crop yields would be slightly higher this year, but I’ve learned to read her better than anyone.

I slowly let out the panicked breath that I was unintentionally holding, and swing my bag off my shoulder. I set it next to the chest at the end of my cot. “They must have had something important to say. The town is tripping over itself.” And you’re buzzing.

“The king is looking for a wife.”

The world stops and my blood goes cold. We’re a tiny village known to the world as a small farming community. Why would such a message have come to us? The king should have no business here.

“What’s that have to do with us?”

Circe holds out the parchment. “The palace is encouraging all eligible women to travel to the capitol to see if they are suitable. They’re not limiting candidates to nobility.”

“What?” I ask incredulously, snatching the paper. Sure enough, it is as my mother said. Unmarried women over the age of eighteen are being invited to the capitol for some kind of application process. There will be no imposed limitation of house, family, or title. There’s a line that says the women will stay near the palace during the selection process, but there are no additional details besides that, and the whole thing sounds incredibly vague. “Why would he marry outside of the nobility?”

“It’s likely his uncle’s meddling,” Circe says, venom slipping through her words. She always goes ice cold when speaking of the royal family. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that you’re going.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for, Sarana. If you make it through the initial screening process, you’ll have access to the king.”

My brain feels as if it’s sputtering like a candle in a windstorm. The sounds from outside are replaced with a ringing that is both shrill and mute at the same time. It feels like someone took the dial of my pulse and cranked it to ninety. 

I stammer. “I won’t make it through any kind of screening. They’ll take one look at me and turn me away.”

“You’re beautiful enough to have attracted Duke Howden’s attention.”

I want to throw up. “Duke Howden was a lecherous swine that preyed on any pretty handmaiden no matter her age. He was a vile man who was dragged down to hell where he belongs.”

Circe nods in agreement, but maintains her previous argument. “You’ve caught the fancy of other, less abhorrent men. You’re as attractive as many noblewomen. Maybe even more so. You will have no problems on that front.”

True, I have had a number of men attempt to court me, but the vast majority—I do not count Vargas, the miller’s second son, for various reasons—had been while on a job. Those men had not fallen for me. They had fallen for Chloe, or Abigale, or Thalia, or whoever I had to become to accomplish my goal. The me on missions is flirty and gentle and dainty—a near complete antithesis to who I really am. Though, to Circe’s credit, I suppose my appearance never really changed much.

“What about the rest of me?” I ask. “I can’t compete with the higher class.”

“Sarana.” Circe’s voice takes a harsh tone. “You are talented. You are skilled. Have I not taught you how to blend in with all manner of crowd? Have I not instructed you in the ways of the court? What your beauty cannot convince, your finesse will supply.” She pauses, and her voice takes an even harder edge. “I would have thought this opportunity would delight you.”

“It does…” I say softly, because it’s the truth. The murky dusk in me is elated. I remember very clearly what the king took from me. Every day I struggle to push down the darkness the loss left me with. “I want nothing more than to take it, but along with everything else, you taught me to be realistic. They will not admit me. I am nobody.”

“You’re not a nobody, Sarana.” Mother takes my face in her hands. “You are my daughter. You were born for this.”

A surge of pride rushes through my veins. Praise has become a scarcer and scarcer commodity through the years, and despite my better judgement, the small girl inside me greedily yearns for it. It's a flaw I have yet to shake—the longing to please the few I care about. To be loved.

I curl my fingers around her wrists. “When do I leave?”

She hands me a bag I’ve never seen before. It looks packed full. “Right now.”

I nod. There’s no need for a sentimental goodbye since there’s no one in the village besides the woman in front of me who will truly miss me.

I peek into the bag to ensure I have the supplies I’ll need for the job. Sure enough, Circe has included various clothes in bright colours for days in court, and pitch black for nights in shadows. Containers of beauty products clink up against my vials of poisonous oils and herbs. Ribbons for my long black hair are wrapped around a cloth bundle that undoubtedly carries a selection of knives and lockpicks from my collection.

Everything a girl needs to assassinate a king.

[reginalusus]

I hate query writing. I hate query writing. I fucking hate query writing.

Pardon the random vent. IDK, I'm just frustrated with this. I know most of my followers are here for my art and discussions, but if you didn't know, I also have original stuff I'm working on. If you're an early follower of mine, you might recall me talking briefly about my original novel.

Errr, you don't need to read this if you're not interested, lmao. I just need to talk about it on something, lol.

I'm pretty confident in the novel. It's ready to be sent to literary agents. But there is a blockade: query writing. I hate query writing.

I want to die. /j

I'm workshopping my query with some folks at the moment. I need constructive feedback on my query, because I know I suck at it. I suck balls at writing queries. This is not an excuse for it at all, but I feel like one of the reasons I suck is because I'm neurodivergent and I absolutely do not have a good grasp on squeezing an 85K adult, grimdark, fantasy novel into less than 300 words. Maybe that's not the reason, actually... maybe I do just suck and I'm grasping for excuses.

Novel writing is so, so, SO different from writing a query, I feel like no one gets this. The problem I'm facing is that I cannot for the life of me choose which plot points should go in the query without making it seem cliché and boring. (I have a better semblance of that now thanks to recent feedback, but still...)

My novel does have a simple three-act structure. However, what those three acts entail are NOT simple and contain a lot of action, character development/interactions etc. that all combine together to make the overall story and plot even more enticing.

I know for a fact my novel is not a run-of-the-mill fantasy novel, but my query makes it seem like it is at certain points and I HATE it.

What's worse, the feedback I'm getting is very conflicting. Some people say to focus on this or that, while others say to do the opposite. Last week, I received a good breakdown of what I should do in the query. One of the comments were to make the tone darker and to focus on the 'grimdark' element. So, I did.

But now, I'm being told I shouldn't do that. That it drags the query down and makes them not want to read any longer. *Screams.*

I am very thankful for the people that are helping me, but it's getting to a point where I simply don't know which feedback to take on because they're all different from one another. It feels like my brain is just fizzling out. Is it embarrassing to admit that I actually cried in frustration today over it?

*Sigh.* IDK, man. I've spent a long time on this novel. It's matured and grown and I want to share it with the world. I've sacrificed so much for it, and it's went through drafts and edits that I never imagined it would go through. But they only made it better.

But the fact that a measly query letter is stopping me from getting it out there makes me feel like I'm going to have a heart attack, lmao.

I can't give up though. I'd love to hear from other writers on this topic (you don't have to though, I know I'm being a little self-indulgent here).

[literaticat]

In your professional opinion, as an agent and bookseller, do you think MG/YA readers actually read the jacket flap copy before deciding to read a book? I recently read an MG book where the first half of the book is the MC working to figure out what's wrong with a family member but the inside jacket copy specifically tells you the disease. Because I knew this info, the pace felt soooooo slow to me. Also, I've heard writers/agents say that sometimes the query letter is used to generate that jacket copy. When I write query letters, the hook/stakes/info I include usually gives away plot points, but never the climax/resolution. So, I'm guessing my follow-up question is, how much info is too much to include in a jacket copy? Like, if the plot points for the first half of the book are included in the jacket copy, what do you think compels people to keep reading? I should probably just go read a bunch of jacket copies for books I know and love at the library, right? Thanks for your answers!

do you think MG/YA readers actually read the jacket flap copy before deciding to read a book? not as much as adults do tbh; mostly kids pick up books because they are familiar with the title/author/other books in the series etc, or because the cover looks cool, or because somebody whose taste they trust has recommended it / handed it to them.

I've heard writers/agents say that sometimes the query letter is used to generate that jacket copy. sometimes elements of the original pitch/query do make it into the jacket copy -- sometimes not! I guess it depends how good the original pitch is. ;-)

how much info is too much to include in a jacket copy? I guess I'd want to know the basic set-up of the story/characters and stakes. "Who, what, where, why should I care." It's not meant to really be *a summary of the book* but sometimes they do read kinda like a summary of the first 1/4th or so.

if the plot points for the first half of the book are included in the jacket copy, what do you think compels people to keep reading? Hopefully the setup and the stakes make you want to know more, so you open the book and start it, and then the book itself is good and compelling enough that you wanna see what happens????

(Consider this: I purposely spoil myself on pretty much every show and movie, I nearly always at least KINDA know what's going to happen going in, because I hate being nervous, so I read reviews / listen to podcasts / look the things up beforehand. Knowing these facts doesn't actually take away my enjoyment of a great show at all, because in a great show, it's not the ending that is the good part, it's the GETTING there. However, for a not-so-good show that ISN"T compelling, I might well stop watching because, whatever, I already know what's gonna happen and I don't care for the getting there. So maybe the book you read didn't feel slow because you knew whatever diagnosis... maybe it felt slow because it WAS slow.)

I should probably just go read a bunch of jacket copies for books I know and love at the library, right? Great idea, sounds like something I would have suggested! :-)

[squigglysquidd]

I saw your tags on the ME post about working on some original stuff. Looking at your profile, it looks like you've already published two novels! Congratulations!

I was curious about your original writing. First of all, what is your series about (I assume it's a series)? How has your experience been so far, both with the writing and publishing? Do you have a long term vision for your series (or your writing plans just in general)?

Again, congrats! That's such an accomplishment!

Thank you so much!

Pieces of Eden, so far, includes Neon Utopia and the following Apple of Eden. It's a cyberpunk romance with a bit of adventure and, in the case of the second, mystery. I tried to focus a lot on worldbuilding and creating a chance for readers to envision a world that's beautiful on the surface, but goes much deeper into the dark side the closer and longer you look at it.

As for my experience? I saw there's good and bad. The best way to explain a lot of what I experienced is to compare it to fanfiction. Though it's not a perfect example, it's the best one I can relate to.

Unlike fanfiction, you don't get that instant gratification on posting a chapter. Even if you get no comments, you can still say 'hey, I wrote that and I'm happy with it.' With original stuff, you have to keep a bit of it under wraps because ultimately, you're trying to sell it. When I first tried to write original, I gave up because I didn't have something to, basically, cheer me on.

Then I found a friend through my FF writing, @wafflesrock16, who also wanted to use her experience in FF to get into original writing (i highly recommend her fantasy romance series, Rifts, btw). Waffles helps me tremendously because she's my Alpha reader. We bounce ideas and she reads my very rough, very first draft to give me tips. Then came finding a dedicated Beta (which I, unfortunately, didn't have for Neon Utopia - and it sadly shows) and sometimes even an Editor. Being a long fic, I didn't have the money for that so after a Beta's advice, I went through it a handful more times using different techniques to try and polish it up.

Publishing wise, I have to say I went the route of Self-Publishing. I do this for fun, not money, and yes, I did let it get to me last year, but I've realized that bad comments, just like FF, ultimately don't mean anything. People like it or they don't. Also, self-publishing helps me stay calm when I write because I don't have deadlines or have to write query letters to attract agents, then have to double check the agent and publishing company aren't frauds, etc. Plus, all the money comes back to me which, when I sell so few, comes in handy.

The hardest part of the whole process overall is MARKETING. Getting your name out there is hard work and doesn't always work out. I guess that's one good thing about traditional publishing but I still wouldn't trade it.

I, for sure, have one more PoE book in mind but I kinda like how it's more of an episodic series and not one continuous storyline. I don't know if readers will like it so we'll see about reception before I start on the third book.

Writing wise, I want to eventually start my fantasy series. Writing a Fantasy AU for Mass Effect really got me in the mood for it. So, when I finished Fibonacci, get PoE in a place I iike, and feel confident enough to try, I'll start the long process of worldbuilding. Everyone who knows me knows I'm an absolute sucker for worldbuilding so sometimes I get too deep. We'll see when we get there, though, right?

Sorry for being so long-winded! I guess I had quite a bit to say!

Thank you again. And thank you for asking such interesting questions. They really got me thinking about the future and what it holds. :)

[saint-starflicker]

There is an established community and I've been in many of them, but for all the flaws of fandoms I still do find original fiction communities different and less encouraging across the board.

Maybe it's that fear (that other writers have; I'm reckless) of having an idea stolen, that prevents writers from pitching their works in progress to the detail that I need to be a fan...? But then there are writers who do divulge more than enough to make me a fan of their unwritten work and I say so and keeping saying so...and then they never actually write the dang thing.

It's like there's no in-between. There's a hundred-percent self-motivated writers who status-update word counts and results of their query letters but are too tired to muster up a pitch (maybe this is more likely, rather than fear of idea theft), and then there's writers with the instinct of how to make the world's smallest fandom but then there's no canon.

When it comes to the developmental specifics, I feel like I'm the only cheerleader, and then it gets awkward if I try to elicit that for myself because I don't want to get cheered on just because I asked to be cheered on; I cheer on stories I'm genuinely over-the-moon interested in, but haven't found other original fiction writers who are similarly encouraging of what I write.

Maybe that would open up a lot more problems if I did. I've made fan art of somebody else's OC-from-WIP that it turned out he really disliked (nothing controversial, it was scar rendering that I have trouble with). It's completely all right by me that he was honest, but I'm already predicting a potential conflict of "hey i did this for free u should b nice" (he was nice; he was honest that he didn't like the fan art, I think it would be worse if he pretended to be grateful) versus "you shouldn't make fan art of other people's OC's because it messes with the integrity of their vision of their own OC, and even if yours wasn't smutty it normalizes a culture in which anybody can just do that" or whatever. In a different case, a troubleshooting question turned into a demonstration from me about how to not write a stereotypical marginalized character: The author loved my demonstration OC getting dropped into his world but then had copyright concerns if he included my character because I essentially wrote fanfiction before the canon existed. I'm never going to sue him because it's his world and besides my character was made up on the spot to demonstrate something, so I have no attachment to that OC at all, but what if we were not both reasonable people?

Was wishing there was a positivity post for original fiction writers since I see so many about how fanfic writers are doing so much for their communities even when they're not actively writing, and then I thought:

Be the change you want to see in the world.

So this is a positivity post for the writers out here who are working very hard on stories with no established community. Who can't talk about their blorbos and plot lines and brainstorming to anyone and expect them to know what any of it means. Who don't have much to share publicly, but are hoping they will one day.

You're doing a lot of hard work, and I recognize and appreciate what you're putting into the world, even when you're resting.

[notebookmusical]

I met Chloe Gong at a book signing and was so excited to meet her (I'm also Gen z trying to be published) and I told her this and that maybe I could be in her author friend group and she just...laughed. She shot her friend or whoever was helping her a side eye like "get a load of this loser" and then did that mean girl thing where they giggle and humor you. I know she was making fun of me with her friend. I felt humiliated and got home and gave my sister the signed book because I didn't want to look at it anymore. I've heard other people say she has mean girl energy but I didn't want to believe them and now I'm crushed.

hello love!! first, i'm really sorry that that your experience meeting someone you really looked up to was less than desired, to put it lightly. i don't know what chloe is like personally, and even if i did, i don't think that matters in this conversation. on another note, it's really amazing that you're working towards being published! i wish you all the best in your journey, and i hope you find your community soon. i know that publishing can be really isolating, and while i'm not personally trying to get published, i know a lot of traditionally published authors i follow + friends who are querying have spoken about that. i would encourage you to seek out people who are in a similar boat to you (trying to get published), and trying to build authentic relationships, whether it's through things like writertwt, writeblr, instagram, mentorship programs, discords, or other areas. while reading this ask, it reminded me of something i read once in my emails — an author that i like, allison saft, occasionally offers up writerly advice in her newsletters, and i thought some of it might resonate with you/offer you some comfort. it's from her september 24, 2021 email newsletter (i had to dig for this one in my inbox). i've copy/pasted both the initial letter, and allison's response, under the read more 🤍 i'm sending you a big hug, and a lot of love your way!

initial letter:

Hey Al,

I’ve been struggling with the loneliness of being a writer. I understand that it’s just part of the job, and I also recognize that my personality/mental health only makes it more isolating. Sometimes it feels like I’ve made a sort of self-inflicted prison, and I don’t know how to get myself out of it.

I’ve tried being more involved on social media, which is terrible for my mental health for several reasons. Part of it is seeing people succeeding – and often only seeing the highlights of someone’s career – while I’m trudging through a draft feeling like every word is awful and I’m never going to get anywhere. Sometimes it feels like all the ambition in me is turning to rot.

But another (possibly even worse) struggle with social media is seeing the bonds other writers have formed with each other. Of course, I know that sometimes social media interactions can make it seem like people are closer than they are, but I think pretty much every writer/author I’ve followed has at one point or another talked of the importance of having writing friends and critique partners, having people you feel comfortable sharing your work and your struggles with, people to encourage you along the way. And seeing those reminders of what I’ve always struggled to form…well, it gets to be a lot. I’ve heard authors talk all the time of how, despite writing being a very lonely thing, it’s impossible to do it alone.

But, when you are alone, how do you cope with that? I know I’m supposed to be my own cheerleader – and sometimes I am – but more and more often I feel like I’m only my worst critic. And sometimes it’s hard to even want to keep writing when there’s no one else to share the process with. I think another part of the problem may be that I feel like I should be able to do it all on my own, and yet I keep failing in every possible way.

I’m not even really sure what I’m asking at this point, but the combination of mental health struggles and writing being a very solitary thing have me feeling like I’m sort of just desperately grasping at any bit of advice.

Thanks, Lone Wolf

allison's response:

Hi there LW,

I want to begin by saying that I’m so sorry you’re hurting—and thank you for writing in. This may be a strange thing to say, but… this letter is beautiful, both in sentiment and in writing. I can only imagine how your books must read; they must be just as true and aching. I believe I will speak for at least 75% of people reading this right now in saying, OUCH. This was painfully relatable.

You said you don’t know what you’re asking, but it seems to me that you have a clear and important question. When we yearn for connection—both as artists and as social beings—how do we carry on without it? I think there is a second question lurking underneath the first, one I have asked myself many times: How does everyone else manage to do what I can’t? These are hard, heavy questions. I’m going to answer them to the best of my ability. But first, I want to tell you a few things—not to diminish your concerns but maybe to soften them. I can tell how tight of a hold they have on you.

I think you’ve hit on the great paradox of being a writer. Writing is solitary, yes, but it’s not done in a vacuum. Even when you are alone in a room, you conjure someone else beside you. The act of writing requires you to imagine an audience, a reader on the other side who will find truth and meaning in what we’ve written. Stories are meant to be shared. However, when our imagination is constrained by feelings of hopelessness and self-loathing, the only reader we can envision is hostile. My hostile reader wears many faces: upside-down versions of my editor and agents who realize I’m a hack after 2.5+ years of working together; the snarky Goodreads reviewer; or perhaps the unsmiling countenance of anonymous reader from a publication you may know, Kourkis Reviewz. But more often than not, that reader is wearing my own face. As a read through my work, I leave sneering comments to myself like, “oh, come on” or “do better” or—the most elegant in its cutting simplicity—“bad.” My standards grow more and more exacting with every piece, and yet, I never know whether I’ve achieved anything by the time I finish.

How can you possibly create under those conditions? On the most practical, career-related level, I think that’s what feel-good advice like “you can’t do it alone!” tries to address: if you’re harsh on yourself, getting outside perspective is a much-needed reality check. Sometimes, I crave validation or want others’ ideas to breathe new life into a project. So, while unpleasant, I think it’s certainly possible to write alone. I wrote Down Comes the Night before I knew “the writing community” existed, although I did have my partner to listen to my meltdowns about the process. I know a few writers who write books without critique partners. I know many more writers who have virtually no online presence, and I imagine they lead happier, more fulfilling lives than I do. But I digress.

I think you know all of this intellectually—exactly as you know that social media can be like a car’s sideview mirror: people may appear closer than they are. Let me climb back onto my Myth of the Writer hobby horse for a moment and say that this: the writing community has a toxic positivity problem. It will sell you all sorts of self-torture implements. One of them is this emphasis on an unconditionally supportive community. Find your people, we are exhorted, as if it’s a simple thing. We’re all in this together.

It’s sometimes hard to reconcile that attitude with what we’re willing to do to each other, with the zero-sum mentality The Industry implants in us. And even if people aren’t actively malicious, it can be difficult to navigate the vast gulf publishing wedges between us. Jealousy and self-pity can hurt others if we’re not careful, and in my experience, few of us are equipped with the communication skills to take that care 100% of the time. What I’m saying is that writer friendships can be deeply fraught, and we don’t see the struggles behind the scenes. Certain friendships can become part of your online persona—and consequently, they become shackles. But I’m not going to sit here and tell you something ridiculous and curmudgeonly like, “You don’t need friends!” or “All friendships between writers are doomed to fail!” because it’s not true. We all need friends. We especially need friends who understand what we’re going through. Honestly—and it sounds like you may relate to this—we need friends to keep us from becoming jaded. On the days where my own ambitions feel pointless and rotten, I can feel hope for those I love.

So let me gently push back on that lie you’re telling yourself: you can’t go through life alone. However, I don’t want you to turn that into a stick to beat yourself with because, oh, here’s Al telling me what I already know: that I do need writing friends and I’m a failure for not having that squared away already. But listen, LW: you are not a failure. You’re torturing yourself with this belief that you should be able to power through feelings of self-doubt and loneliness all by yourself. You’re punishing yourself for finding it difficult to connect with others when you’ve mentioned your mental health is poor right now. So, I don’t mean that you ought to find friends so that you can be on your way to succeeding in life and in writing. What I mean is that you deserve to share your joys and sorrows. You deserve to feel supported. You deserve to be loved.

This is allegedly an advice column, so I will now attempt to give you some advice. First, I’m afraid, we must talk about a guy named Jacques Lacan. Bear with me here, LW, and forgive me. I’ve been poisoned by my partner’s Lacan phase from early grad school. Anyway, Lacan has this concept of objet petit a, which is meant to be an algebraic symbol that represents “the unattainable object of desire.” It is, if you like, the Hitchcockian MacGuffin. Like a MacGuffin, objet a is empty and arbitrary. It’s a placeholder for something we believe will fill the void within us. If only I get this one thing, we think, I’ll be happy. And inevitably, that’s why our goalposts always move. The truth is, we will never be satisfied.

I think that’s why social media is so punishing. Beyond the fact it’s designed to keep us outraged and scrolling, it also seems to present us a window locked from the other side. We look in on the textures of people’s relationships—their inside jokes, their memes of each other’s characters, their gushing praise on each other’s snippets—and in our most self-pitying moods, we think, If only I were there. If only they’d open the door to me. If I had what they have, I’ll know I’ll have arrived. It feels like starving while you can hear all the Ring-Danes feasting in their mead hall. We’re all Grendel in this metaphor. Beowulf was the real villain all along!! Just kidding—I don’t believe (in a majority of cases) what I see people describe as “cliques” are anything more than friends being, well… friends. But I think all of us can understand that pang of longing.

Now, you may be thinking that this is a deeply depressing model of the psyche. If we’re never going to get objet a—if nothing is ever going to make us happy and whole—what’s the point of this whole living business? I don’t presume to have the answers. But Lacan says what keeps us going is not the getting but the trying. More accurately, it’s the failures. That try-fail cycle is what keeps us engaged with the world, exactly as it keeps readers engaged with a story. Love isn’t the prerequisite for happiness, and making the connections you yearn for won’t fill the void within you. But reaching out—even when it’s awkward and painful—might get close.

Forgive me for presuming, LW, but as I read your letter, it struck me that you talk about being alone almost as though it’s something you’ve resigned yourself to. That your loneliness is indeed a solid thing, a prison with no doors and no windows. It sounds terrible. And I think to a certain extent, you’re right. Loneliness is a prison. But I’ve come to believe that it’s not designed to keep us in—but rather to keep everyone else out.

Loneliness is an old friend of mine. It’s a comfortable, familiar kind of pain—one that’s often easier to bear than risking rejection. As we sit and rot in that prison of our own making, we start telling ourselves stories about ourselves: cruel fairytales that grow more powerful the more we repeat them. As they become ingrained within us, we agree with poisonous thoughts like “being alone is tolerable; it’s something I can endure indefinitely” and “friendship is not for strange, sad people like me” or “connecting with others comes easy to everyone else but not to me”—a feeling exacerbated by PDOF (public displays of online friendship, naturally).

But those are not truths, LW. They’re stories. And you are not alone.

You’re not alone in feeling alone, and you’re not uniquely broken—or broken at all. I think all of us feel as though we are strange little aliens deposited on this earth with very half-baked instructions from the mothership. We go through our days, doing our best to imitate human behavior and do our silly human tasks. We blunder through social interactions. We hurt people’s feelings by mistake. We struggle through conversations with new acquaintances. We let old friendships fade with time. We form snap connections with someone we’ll never see again. And at the end of the day, we sit with ourselves and wonder, Am I completely alone in this world? Am I doing this right? Can someone please tell me if I’m doing any of this right?

At least, that’s how I feel. Would you believe me if I told you that I’m shy? I do my best to project outgoingness and geniality online and in my day-to-day life, but often, I feel as though there is a thick pane of glass between me and the rest of the world. Sometimes I feel like I am too afraid and exhausted to go through the effort of making friends, so I flatten my personality and slow my replies until people give up on me. Sometimes I feel so unbearably lonely, even in a room full of people I love. Because of this, at various points throughout my life, I have found myself friendless in a new place or wallowing beneath the weight of relationships I needed to end. Every time I find myself alone, I think, Alright, this is it. All the best is behind me now. I will never love anyone as powerfully as I loved the people I had and lost. No one will ever crack me again. But it’s never has been true.

I didn’t have a single friend in California for the first year we lived here. I hated myself for being too weird, too reclusive, too cowardly to make the effort. I sat in my circus classes, wretched and bitter, and envied the easy camaraderie my classmates had with each other. I thought, Why not me? Why haven’t I been folded into the group? I attended events that my partner’s academic program hosted and watched people’s eyes go dull the moment they found out I wasn’t a student. But then, one fateful day in 2019, someone I recognized from Twitter of all godforsaken places walked out of the apartment a few doors down the hall from mine.

Life is serendipitous and strange that way. What’s so beautiful to me is that there are billions of people out there, basically an infinite number of them. Some of them will hurt you. Some of them will be indifferent to you. Some interactions will be awkward or neutral at best. But sometimes, you’ll meet someone who will completely change your life. You’ll hold tight to them while you have them and know that in a million years, you’ll never find a soul who’s just like them. How fortunate I feel, even in goodbyes, to have brushed against them in the fleeting time we have. I want all of this desperately for you, LW. I want you to know the rush of joy that comes when you hear your friend’s book sold—and maybe even the sting of it, too. I want you to have a group chat that implodes spectacularly and a group chat that makes you feel as though you’ve finally found your place in this world. I want you to have a writer friend who you meet for the first time at a conference, and when you embrace them, you realize that all the chemistry you had online translates to real life.

And you will. But you can’t give up.

I know it’s hard when you’re feeling low. I know it’s hard to keep trying when all of us are so isolated—especially when you know social media is bad for your health. Right now, it’s difficult to break routines, try new things, and encounter potential friends in the wild. Some days—maybe even most days—you’re not going to be able to try. That’s okay. Be gentle with yourself. And be open to anything. I met one critique group when my day-job boss—another author by some wild coincidence—generously included me in a Slack with a few of her friends. Or, if you want to give social media another go, you can do it in a limited way. Maybe join in on things like Pitch Wars prompts or weekly chats hosted by other writers that allow you to tell people about your work. Don’t scroll the dread TL, just stay in your mentions and the hashtags you like. See if you can find people whose work sounds cool and ask them to swap pages. And if you manage to find someone who gives good feedback and whose writing you like, GRAB THEM AND RUN. You don’t need to stay on social media once you’ve established a rapport.

This may take time, and you’re not going to connect with everyone you meet. But there are so many writers out there, and someday, you will find someone who it feels as easy as breathing to be around. You will find someone to keep your inner critic at bay. And I know you’re able to do it. Writing to me with what you’re feeling was brave. It was a moment of connection. Even if it felt like whispering your thoughts to the void, hey… The void is looking back, and it’s (I’m) sending you love. Nothing is permanent. Know that the coping lies in the struggle. So take it day by day. Do as much as you feel you’re able. I promise you, that’s enough.

Yours, Al

[ineffably-good]

Fanfic writers game!

Fic Writers Game

I was tagged by @izabella95! Yay!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

39 works. But most of them are really long. If you go by chapters there would be a couple hundred.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

548,869 words. (Wow. See? Long!)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Originally Doctor Who, and now Good Omens.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Because I missed you (and I like it when you bite) [Archive of Our Own]

Kodachrome (was: Because you move me) - [Archive of Our Own]

The Bet - megzseattle - Good Omens - [Archive of Our Own]

Modern Love (Walks Beside Me) - [Archive of Our Own]

Faeted, Part One - [Archive of Our Own]

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Oh heck yes! Comments are the best thing ever. Absolutely straight serotonin. Made some really really good friends from comments.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I’m famous for my happy endings but Tell Me Lies - [Archive of Our Own] probably comes the closest.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

No, I don’t really care for crossovers, personally. I think I’ve read one or two in my whole life. Sorry, just my preference. There was one where Buffy met the Doctor that was pretty good.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not in any major way. One chapter of one of the Serpent and the Seagull got a nastyish comment from a reader who had some kind of childhood trauma triggered by the way Freddie the snake talks, but it was very mild.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Nope, not ever. My kid reads my fanfics. She is actually very cool about having a mom who writes fanfics but if I wrote smutty fanfics? She’d die. I’d die. I write right up to the edge of it and then scenes quietly fade to black and we pick up with our heroes later.

Do I read it is a whole other question. :) :) :)

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope. Horror. Do people do that?

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes I have!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I think twice. Both with @zeckarin-blaise, one of my favorite people. We wrote these two and it was really fun: Of Broccoli and Roses (And Other Domestic Pursuits) - [Archive of Our Own] Through the Windows - Zeckarin, [Archive of Our Own]

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Oh well, obviously it’s Aziraphale x Crowley. Also quite fond of 11th Doctor x Amy. And occasionally 10th Doctor x Jack which I have written a tiny, tiny bit about.

Other favorite ships – haven’t written them, but David/Patrick on Schitt’s Creek floats my boat and I should probably write something about them someday, and of course Nicky x Joe in The Old Guard. But I will probably not expand my fanfic writing fandoms to include these.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I started this story about the Greek words for love and damned if I can finish it: By Any Other Name - [Archive of Our Own]

Also I hinted at a larger (and seemingly hysterical) story about Aziraphale and the Olmec king in some of my prompt fics and I’ve been meaning to get back to that and just haven’t. I can’t remember where that lives.

Also – dear to my heart but unfinished forever is the sidebar I wrote as a companion to Tell Me Lies. I wanted to do more with this and tried but got stuck: Side Project: Aziraphale's List of Lies [Archive of Our Own]

15) What are your writing strengths?

I hear from my beta that I’m really good at description. I also think I’m pretty good with snappy dialog.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

Finding my own plot holes. Seeing where my villians need more development. Frequently despairing of any story that gets complex and needing to be talked down off a ledge.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’ve never done this, or thought about it. Well maybe I have a line or two of French somewhere. I seem to recall asking my beta Zeck how to say something once or twice.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who. First thing I ever wrote was chapter one of The Doctor’s Rulebook, which became quite popular back on the fanfiction.net site way back in the day. The Doctor's Rulebook - megzseattle - Doctor Who (2005) [Archive of Our Own]

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

It’s hard to say, but of the Serpent and the Seagull series, I’m inordinately fond of I Will Follow You Into The Dark - megzseattle - Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett [Archive of Our Own]. It was the first heavily plotted, fight scene including thing I’d ever written. I think I’ve gotten better at both of those things since.

First in my heart is my Good Omens AU that I just finished. Super long and at least half of my word count on AO3.

I don’t know who to tag! How about @zeckarin-blaise and @sevdrag (who both have way more pressing things to do) any one else who wants to play?