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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years ago

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge��and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize” you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

And now she was all his.

*****

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand.

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

And you knew then, you were in for it.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter @this-is-serenaa @alexakeyloveloki @perplexed3001 @twittytelly @kelbabyblue @maan24

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

#halloween challenge #j's haunted house 2020 #jshauntedhouse2020 #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #knives out fanfic

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levihantrash · 3 years ago

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new chapter update!

Summary:

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

Chapter 1: Free Bread

Chapter 2: New Friends

Like routine, Levi found himself waiting for a certain professor to show up. When Erwin called out to him, he couldn’t help but search behind the tall, imposing figure.

“I haven’t seen Hange this morning either,” Erwin said. Levi found himself irritated by Erwin’s discernment and by his own discrete uneasiness.

“Good morning, Erwin,” Levi greeted, nonetheless.

Hange was late, which Levi figured wouldn’t be out of the ordinary.

The morning passed without a single sign of Hange.

“Sorry, are you Mr. Levi?” A nervous-looking person approached him, holding on to a well-wrapped steamed bun. A twinge of hope stirred in Levi.

“Levi will do,” he said.

“Dr. Hange said I should pass you this,” the bread-holder blurted out.

Levi’s gaze softened. “Where’s Hange?”

“Oh! She’s rushing a deadline and insisted that I pass you this bread.”

The inexplicable rush of relief made Levi dizzy as he grasped the bread limply. “Huh. Sorry that you have to be an errand boy today.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Who are you?”

“Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Moblit, their teaching assistant! Dr. Hange helps me out with my master’s thesis because they’re my advisor. This is just my way of saying thanks. Dr. Hange also treats me to meals, gives me detailed comments for my work… though they might go overboard when it comes to giving speeches about the importance of world-building and honing your craft, it’s inspiring how dedicated they are in what they do.”

Moblit took a deep breath, making up for lost air in between the lengthy, whole-hearted sentences.

“Is that so…” Levi said, suddenly contemplative. “Do you want some tea?”

“Are you getting it from the staff pantry?”

“No, that stuff’s stale as shit. I have better tea, wait here.”

Levi recalled Erwin asking him in front of everyone in the staffroom if he wanted the staffroom snacks. Hange followed up, speaking at a volume that was clear enough for most of the staff to overhear, orchestrating a deliberate conversation with Erwin.

“Since there are no hard rules as to who the snacks and drinks are catered for, and technically, Levi is a staff member, he should have access to the snacks!”

None of the professors objected. It was probably because open prejudice would be socially unacceptable, Levi thought.

Begrudgingly, he accepted Erwin’s offer, and in full view of everyone, took a candy bar.

Hange gasped. “Just one?” Levi glared at them.

“Aren’t the snacks for your little sister?” Hange asked. He nodded, sensing the collective spike in sympathy for him in the staffroom.

After the whole stage, the trio huddled conspicuously in a corner outside the staffroom.

Hange whispered to Levi, “You could have played along better!”

“Erwin’s tired of your skit,” Levi said, overwhelmed and annoyed at the turn of events.

“No he’s not!” Hange said sternly, before gulping down half a bottle of water.

Erwin, standing in between them, told Hange to keep it down.

“Thanks, you two.” Levi found himself staring at the floor, embarrassed that his two friends had to construe him as a pitiful character for him to get a few snacks, even though he had been informed of the plan prior.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” Hange said, their lips compressed into a hard, grim line. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t even get snacks and refreshments as part of the staff.”

“I’m used to it.”

“If anyone’s giving you a hard time, you have us,” Hange said, still put off.

They squared their shoulders impressively. “Right Erwin?”

“You can rely on us, Levi,” Erwin surmised, equally sombre.

Growing more ruffled by their declarations, Levi hissed, “I don’t need two bodyguards.”

“No, you definitely don’t,” Hange joked. “Some people have told me about the deathly aura you emit that I must have missed…”

Fixing their attention at a vague distance, Hange’s playful jibes dwindled into an idle pondering, “I wonder if you found some joy in our companionship at least.”

They’re talking about joy and friendship again… Levi thought.

He found himself back in the present, handing a cup of black tea to Moblit, guiding him towards a bench.

Moblit squeaked out, “Thank you!”

“How did you find me?” Levi asked, betraying none of his real curiosity.

“Hange gave me a description…” Moblit began, not making eye contact with Levi.

“Did they? What’s the description?” Knowing Hange’s brand of humour, Levi braced himself.

Moblit shuffled in his seat, terribly reluctant. “They said to look out for a cold, black-haired man with an undercut, wearing an apron, gloves and brandishing a mop while scolding people to not step on wet floors.” Levi made a mental note to strangle Hange.

Moblit quickly supplemented, “You’re not actually cold though!”

“How would you know that?”

“Um… you’re offering me tea?”

Levi clicked his tongue. “That’s a low bar for human decency. You should have higher standards.”

“You’re right, Mr. Levi… I mean Levi.”

Levi noted Moblit’s jittery manner when he briefly checked his phone for a message and let out a small groan.

“Hey, you look worried sick. You didn’t receive a death threat, did you?”

Moblit laughed weakly, running his hand through his hair. “Uh, you see, I’m one of the editors for the bi-annual literary magazine and we’ve been looking for illustrators…”

“I take it that you haven’t been successful?”

“Yes… I just received someone’s rejection. It’s okay, we’ll find one,” Moblit said, although his panicked lip-biting ran contradictory to his optimistic statement. Levi’s hands twitched again. He folded them promptly into his apron pockets.

Upon finishing the tea, Moblit stood up and gave a tiny, polite bow. “It was nice meeting you Levi. Thanks for listening and for the tea!”

“Good luck,” Levi said, in time before Moblit rushed off.

Bagging up the rubbish, Levi heaved the load on his shoulder easily, only to be startled by the appearance of Hange.

“Fuck! Can you stop jumping out of nowhere?” Though momentarily disconcerted, the tension built up from the day unwound instantaneously, leaving his body loose and feeble.

“Levi! Did you shit yourself?” Hange sang. They accidentally bumped into the gigantic rubbish bag, falling butt-first onto the ground, phone in hand.

“Be careful,” Levi said, in the same monotonous voice he used regardless of the situation. Unless the situation involved Hange leaping out of nowhere. He looped his free arm under their armpit to pull them back up. Hange, flushed from running, placed their phone in his hands with ill-contained excitement.

“Look at what I found!”

“Oi, what’s this—” Levi scanned the phone, his mouth running dry.

“I’m going to recruit this artist. For my comic.”

It was a sketch of a cat being patted by a person with messy, tied-up hair, their hands stroking its head.

“Don’t you think the person looks familiar? Isn’t the cat cute… remember how I told you I have one at home?” Hange released their brown hair from a voluminous ponytail, biting the rubber band in their mouth.

He swallowed. “I drew that.”

Hange’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding!”

“Do I look like I make such shit jokes?”

“Personally, I find your shitty jokes very funny. This is exciting news! Why didn’t you tell me you’re an artist when I was trying to find one for my comic?”

Levi found her question preposterous. “You could easily find a better one. I’m inexperienced.”

“I’m also an inexperienced writer. I barely wrote one book and a few articles!”

“You’re a professor. You have the title for a reason. I just draw for fun.”

Hange spared him a baffled look. “Please. You have no idea how many great writers never become professors. And how some professors never write great books. I thought you of all people would know that a title doesn’t mean anything.”

“I thought you of all people would know that titles hold their value here, even if we think they’re stupid and don’t mean shit.”

“I know that, Levi. I’m saying, drawing for fun doesn’t make you inexperienced or unworthy of being the artist for my comic. Besides, I chose you before I even knew it was you!” Hange said triumphantly.

Locking the phone screen, Levi reiterated, “I draw for fun.”

“Then this will be our fun project!”

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

“You won’t be broke.” Erwin slipped into their conversation as though he had always been there. It was uncanny.

“What do you mean?” Levi stared questioningly at Erwin.

“You’ll be paid for your work, Levi. Hange as well,” Erwin said simply.

“You’re paying us?” Hange and Levi asked, in unison. One, in disbelief, and the other, in delight.

“A publisher will be paying you. I’ve secured funding.”

Levi gritted his teeth. “A publisher wants to sponsor a comic that hasn’t even been written?”

“I told you, Levi,” Hange interrupted. “I’ve already submitted a draft!”

“Yes,” Erwin said.

Levi had so many questions. “How?”

“Because it’s a good story.”

“Did you bribe them? Threaten them?”

“It is a risk,” Erwin admitted.

“It’s a fucking gamble,” Levi emphasised. “Don’t know why you’re so invested in this comic.”

Hange had other worries. “Levi, did you think I wasn’t going to pay you?”

Levi hesitated. “I don’t know. Isn’t this just a fun side-project?”

Hange’s face came closer to his. With the enhanced proximity, Levi stopped breathing altogether. Their face was deadly solemn.

“Listen, Levi, creating art is hard work. Your hard work. Any artist deserves to be paid. It’s not because our relationship is transactional. It’s because it’s only right.”

Erwin added, “We’re not going to accept your art for free.”

Pushing Hange back firmly with his hands on their shoulders, Levi argued, “Plenty of people have access to my art online for free.”

“That’s your choice. We insist.” Hange grinned. “And we think we deserve to be paid too. Even I’m surprised that my project has early compensation.”

Part of Levi’s resolve ebbed away. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me!”

“First, you have to tell me what your story is.” Levi gathered up the last of his self-respect. “And if we’re going to be working together, I’ll need your number.”

Erwin raised an innocent eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you need mine too?”

“Stop teasing him, Erwin,” Hange said, grabbing the rubbish bag from Levi, struggling to balance its weight over their shoulders.

Just as Levi felt a shred of gratitude, Hange remarked, “What if he doesn’t agree to do the comic together?”

Patience running thin, Levi stomped on both their feet in a fit of unrestraint that diverged from his unaffected demeanour.

Eyes twinkling, Hange couldn’t help but feel immense glee at the prospect of working with Levi. What was probably Levi’s withheld strength made them certain that he only wanted to dirty their shoes, not bruise their toes. Like Hange would care about the cleanliness of their battered sneakers.

In front of an ordinary apartment door, Hange dug into the depths of their bag to fish out a ring of keys. The size of the ring was unprecedentedly big; the choice of keychain most definitely random, a freebie handed out to new staff that blatantly displayed the university’s name.

Without that much bribery of tea, bread, and friendship, Levi found himself standing beside Hange as they busied themselves in finding the key to their apartment. Erwin had bailed due to having another Important Meeting with Important People, even during a weekend, but encouraged Hange and Levi to take time to discuss the comic.

Hange hadn’t expected Levi to agree so readily to kickstarting the project, and with the generous reception Levi gave (a curt nod and a follow-up question), they thought it’d be best if they invited him over to their apartment. Just so he wouldn’t mistake Hange as a mere business partner. Now that would be upsetting.

Hange pushed the ludicrous speculation out of their head. Levi was first and foremost, a good friend. His bored appearance revealed glimpses of surprise, satisfaction, moodiness, and suspicion. Hange held on to these pieces with the determination to collect them all. Surely, Levi must have figured them out by now. This endless, unabashed interest Hange had taken in him.

“Why are we meeting at your place? Do you need to take a huge shit? Does the toilet at home have a better flush?”

Although Levi had no qualms about visiting Hange’s apartment, he found it unnerving to have a work discussion in someone’s living quarters. It felt too intimate, too casual. He wasn’t sure if he could handle being sucked in further into Hange’s life. They asked so many questions, yet barely answered any about themselves.

Whether intentionally or not, Hange was someone shrouded in mystery to Levi. He couldn’t ask questions either—he wouldn’t—because he was unaccustomed to expressing himself in front of people. More than that, he could envision Hange’s sharp wit poking a clean hole through his muted facade. “You’re interested in my life, Levi?” Damn that four-eyes for being so perceptive. Or was he so easy to read?

“It’s more fun,” Hange said, eventually stuffing the correct key into the keyhole, a smooth click welcoming them. “Plus, I want to introduce you to my friends! Part of the reason why I took up the position at this university.”

“Friends?” Levi asked, slipping out of his shoes to step into the apartment.

“Hange!” A voice rang, and Hange was wrapped in a hug.

“Onyankopon! I saw you yesterday—”

“Three days ago, to be exact, since you always sleep over on the lovely desk at the university.” A smooth voice entered, coming from a woman standing comfortably against the wall.

As the tallest body let go of Hange, it allowed Levi to take in the congenial features of a man whose shoulders rivalled Erwin’s towering, well-built stature. While Erwin’s smile was measuredly cordial, Onyankopon’s was candidly sincere. Watching Hange and Onyankopon, Levi felt as though he were intruding into a family reunion that had invited the entire neighbourhood. Here, he was the guest who came for the free flow of food and drinks.

“I’ve missed you too Pieck!” The woman named Pieck ruffled Hange’s hair, offering them an embrace.

Hange pulled Levi by the elbow, pointing to the new people. “Meet my roommates and college friends, Onyankopon and Pieck!”

“Hi,” Levi said, uncertain as to what else he could affix his terse greeting with. Hange resolved that predicament for him, going into further details about their friends.

“Onyankopon is a researcher and engineer! I can’t tell you the technical specifics of what he does, though, I always get them wrong. Oh, and he’s religious, but he won’t try to convert you.” Onyankopon nodded, affirming Hange’s unflattering introduction.

“Pieck… Pieck is a gardener, florist, and avid gamer! That’s why she’s always bent over, whether it’s tending to her plants or her high score in front of the monitor.”

“It’s not why I need the crutches though,” Pieck said. Hange squeezed her shoulders in response.

“Seems like my friends are all nerdy. Maybe that’s why I like them?” A sheepish smile graced Hange’s lips.

Onyankopon gestured towards Hange, imitating their dramatic flourish. “And this is Hange Zoe, the nerdiest of them all. Obsessed with words. Recently obsessed with science fiction. They’re always reading or writing, and once they start on something, their butt doesn’t leave the chair.”

Levi’s eyes flitted around the apartment—it was relatively tidy, with a couple of framed photos and artworks. A blanket on the couch made it homely enough. His inspection didn’t miss Hange’s notice.

“Like what you see?”

“It’s neat,” he replied.

“That’s a compliment!” Hange took care to disclose this to their two friends.

“All your previous partners don’t take off their shoes, Hange. I hope he isn’t one of those.” Pieck said, using their crutch to relocate Hange’s haphazard shoes to a corner, flipping them the right side up. Levi liked her already.

“That’s gross,” Levi said apathetically, wiping away the horrifying image of dirt-smeared carpets and tiles creeping into his consciousness.

“He’s very clean, don’t worry,” Hange said easily. “Some might even say it’s his obsession.”

“I’m the cleaner at the university.” Onyankopon and Pieck turned towards Hange with patented disapproval.

“Levi, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I think we’ll make good friends,” Pieck said, bemused.

Hange beamed at Levi. “You’ll love Pieck! She’s really quiet most of the time, just like you. Not to mention she pretends that she hates me. Just like you.”

“Good to know,” Levi said, enjoying the banter a bit too much.

“Hange says she’s going to get you to draw me, as a titan,” Pieck said, evidently sceptical.

“What’s a titan?”

“The giant, naked people I told you about, Levi! They’re called titans!”

“Why are they called titans?”

Hange landed on the sofa with a plop, patting the seat beside them for Levi to sit. “In Greek mythology, titans are immortal giant gods who were banished to the underground.”

Levi, who had little knowledge of Greek mythology, made a mental note to search for references online.

“Therefore, the titans are kind of like vengeful giant gods from the underground who have come to earth to wreak havoc on what the gods have built, which is human civilisation, basically.”

“Basically, I am wonderful enough to be titan-material,” Pieck drawled, propping their crutch at the side of the couch, sliding onto the cushions.

“A special titan that walks on all fours! Um, that’s the plan for now,” Hange said brightly.

Onyankopon, who had been content with listening, clapped his hands together in sudden realisation. “Hange, now that you’re finally home, you can take a shower.”

“I should, right?” Hange scratched their head, feeling the slickness of unwashed neglect.

Levi crinkled his nose as Hange reluctantly made their way to the bathroom. “That’s disgusting.”

“And here you are, still.” Pieck’s amiable statement prickled at his skin like a light warning before impending exposure.

“Hange must really want to make a good impression if they’re showering now,” Onyankopon said, chuckling to himself.

“It’s good to finally meet you.” Onyankopon pushed a newly made cup of tea towards Levi, with the steady confidence that could only come from having known prior that it was the beverage that Levi would desire. “Make yourself at home.”

Levi said his thanks, to the hospitality of two people he scarcely knew, and to Hange, who likely told them about the tea.

Cold water blasted them in the face, as Hange became cognizant of the necessity of showering more regularly. It wasn’t like they thrived in the dirt. Hypothetically, showering wasn’t that troublesome. The shower kept forgetting itself until it was three days later and Hange stank with regret and mild self-loathing. Still, the shower felt good, giving them new clarity about the fact that they had invited Levi into their inner social circle. How would he fare? Would he be uncomfortable? Hange massaged shampoo into their hair, recalling their conversation with Pieck and Onyankopon.

After much elaboration on adapting to a new university, their visits to an amazing bakery, and the fostering of daily encounters with new friends, Pieck had caught on that every other sentence from Hange contained a sliver of Levi-sized anecdotes. The new university was so much bigger than the one Pieck, Onyankopon, and Hange had attended together; it stretched endlessly, and Hange estimated that Levi would have walked 393700.7874 steps to clean just the faculty building. The bakery near the university was fragrant, its selection marvellous, and choosing a new bread for Levi every day was a tremendously delightful task. Moreover, Hange had met so many unique characters since getting to know the people in their faculty, people like Levi whose abhorrence for social etiquette was admirable, and with whom she was eager to share their mornings and lunches. Together with Erwin, of course.

Pieck let out a tinkle of a laugh at Hange’s obliviousness. “Why are you friends with Levi?”

Thinking hard, Hange answered, “I don’t know if he thinks of us as friends.”

“Well, friendship status aside, how’s he like?”

“He’s kind. He doesn’t sound like it, but he’s kind.”

“That’s nice. How’s he kind?”

Confusion coloured Hange’s usual confidence. “Hmm. It’s gut-feeling, I guess.”

“That’s unlike you, to rely solely on instincts,” Onyankopon said, stroking his chin. Hange was a person with an abundance of rationale, a reason for everything, with justification for any ideas. Their reasoning this time fell flat.

Pieck prodded on. “You said that he doesn’t sound kind. Then what does he sound like?”

“Grumpy, sarcastic, serious. He looks like he’s annoyed with everyone. Most people find him scary, I suppose? It’s like he wants people to think he’s an asshole.”

Pieck perked up. “Oh, so you’ve become enamoured with broody, misunderstood people who’re rough around the edges?”

“Pieck, come on, I’m not writing my own romantic trope! I don’t know… he’s a good person. I can tell. He doesn’t say much though.”

“You’re a mind-reader now?”

Hange ignored her. “His art… it’s so evocative. Melancholic. Hopeful. Angry.”

“What was the artwork you last saw of his?”

“A cat,” Hange said immediately.

Onyankopon brought Hange back to reality. “What about him? What do you like about him? Not his art.”

Hange pursed their lips. “Do good people need to prove themselves to show that they’re good?”

“There could be reasons as to why you’re so adamant about his golden character,” Onyankopon said.

“He’s reliable. And his shit jokes aren’t so bad once you get used to it.” Hange surprised themselves with that comment—Levi’s relentless toilet humour was infecting their brain. The corrosive force of the word “shitty” had already moulded itself permanently into their vocabulary.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Hange bent their arms behind their head. “It’s hard to find people to truly get along with.”

Onyankopon and Pieck shared a knowing look.

With their eyes trained to the white ceiling plaster, Hange mumbled on, “it would be nice if he’d talk more openly about what he’s feeling. It’s all guesswork and I’m afraid I’m constantly reading him wrong.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice…” Onyankopon said gently.

“But I do talk about my feelings!”

“Monologuing in your room and reposting vague lines of poetry and sending us memes to cope with your avoidance is not the same as talking about your feelings,” Pieck said, spending the subsequently long moment of silence to snip off a yellowed leaf from the potted Monstera deliciosa next to the kitchen counter.

“Wow.” Hange, for once, had nothing to muster.

Onyankopon’s approach was less incisive than Pieck’s. “You know, I don’t think you need a reason to be friends with someone. If he’s making you happy, I think it’s a good sign.”

“Thanks, Onyankopon,” Hange said gratefully.

“But Pieck’s right about you being deliberately evasive with your own emotions. Introspection shouldn’t be so strenuous, right? Don’t you write about your characters’ internal turmoil often?”

“It’s different when you’re reflecting for yourself,” Hange contended.

“We’ll see how Levi’s like anyway, when we meet him,” Pieck said, grabbing the scissors, going towards another deadened leaf.

“Don’t bully him!”

Another snip. Another leaf fell. “Isn’t he supposed to be scary?”

Hange smiled wryly. “But you two are scarier.”

21 notes · View notes

weaverofthreads · 4 years ago

Text

On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read.

Content of this ‘essay’:

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised.

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery.

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.

Speaking of characters…

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits.

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.

Sub Plot Ideas

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.

Additions and Notes:

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you.

NaNoWriMo plan:

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics.

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

#writing #writeblr #writing process #how to write a novel #novel writing #nanowrimo #national novel writing month #writing a book #writing advice #author #authors on tumblr #how to structure a book #long post

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tinacentury · 3 years ago

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My dear @kasienda tagged me in this WIP ask, and I’m super grateful to her for thinking of me even though I live in what is essentially a dissertation analysis cave right now. I swear between that and working from home, I sometimes forget that I’m not actually quarantined and get absurdly delighted by things like trips to the library. Anyway, I haven’t been writing much because of said analysis cave, but I’ve got a couple things I can say here. I’d feel guilty about not having that much, but meh, I don’t 🤷‍♀️.

Rules: Share the titles of each of your current WIPs, and, if your followers ask, share a preview of the one that sounds the most interesting. Send this on to ten mutuals who you are curious what they’re working on.

Bold of you to assume I come up with titles this early in my writing process 😅. But here’s what I have in my phone note notes and/or Google docs

-untitled enemies to lovers smut (ish) fic. This started as fic based on the usamamo week 2021 prompts and is currently potentially a smutember fic, but since I’m very much team “fanfiction deadlines are a social construct” (unless it’s an exchange), it’s looking like it’s going to be the next piece in my Lemonade Stand series, whether it gets posted in September or not.

-untitled day and night lacunae chapter/sort of prequel to Belonging fic. This is my “Mamoru’s going to Harvard” fic. Y’all, I wrote this 3 years ago. @kasienda beta’d it 3 years ago. I based Belonging on things I established in it. And yet it’s still missing like one final scene that I just haven’t gotten around to writing. I think I had a bit of a personal block with it when I was doing long-distance myself, but I’m not anymore (one of the silver linings of 2020), so I have no excuse.

-Contrition sequel. Earlier this summer, I was straight up inspired for this. Then my dissertation survey closed and I suddenly had data to deal with. I do WANT to write this. And, in a few weeks, I’ll pull out the fall candle I burned while writing Contrition and maybe I’ll be inspired all over again. We’ll see.

Active WIPs that have at least one chapter published on Ao3:

Even bolder if you to assume that I have multiple multichapters floating around 😂😅. I still have some prompts people sent me that I want to write for My Own Little Stage (I had a lot of fun with that a few months ago), so that should happen…eventually.

Active WIPs that are currently unpublished:

I feel like the answer to this is the same as the answer to the first question.

I’m just going to go ahead and put a preview/snippet here. This is from the “Mamoru goes to Harvard” one. And it’s rough, as I apparently still haven’t made kasienda’s edits to it…

He ran his fingers over the thick manila envelope he held, his name and university neatly typed on the front in English.

A junior research fellowship at Harvard. Harvard.

The chances of getting in had been astronomically low. Mamoru had only submitted his thesis to the program to get Professor Tamako off his back about applying. He had sent in his materials last year, then forgotten about in in the midst of the Dead Moon Circus and stolen dream mirrors and literally feeling the Earth’s sickness.

He had written it off. When he’d received an email from Dr. Tamako yesterday asking to meet with him to discuss some “exciting news”, Harvard hadn’t even crossed his mind. He thought maybe they’d had a journal article or a conference proposal accepted.   He never thought he’d hear, “So, are you ready to move to Boston?”

Mamoru sighed, the breeze gently ruffling his hair, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box and held it in his palm.   No, he was not ready to move to Boston.

I tag…anyone who wants to play 😃.

#tumblr asks #fanfiction asks #on my writing

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charismaandcashmere · 4 years ago

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In the modern world, it often seems like it’s harder than ever to accomplish your goals.

It seems like everyone has already done the thing you want to do — that your idea is already out there, that your niche is beyond saturated.

Want to start a blog? You’re up against a million rivals. Thinking about starting a podcast? So is everyone else and their mom. Hoping to write a book? With the advent of self-publishing, you’re not only up against authors approved by major publishing houses, but anyone, anywhere, with a laptop. Want to become a YouTube star? Better hope you get noticed next to the thousands of other folks uploading new videos every day.

There’s seemingly a million graphic designers, a million wannabe filmmakers, a million other, probably more qualified candidates gunning for the same job you want.

And that’s just in the marketplace. In your personal life, the competition can feel equally fierce. In the days of yore, you were just competing against people in your college or church to win the attention of a lady. Now you’re up against every Tom, Dick, and Harry on Tinder. The dating marketplace hypothetically stretches beyond your community to encompass your whole state, maybe even the whole country.

Yes, in both economic and personal spheres, demand seems high, and resources seem scarce. It’s enough to make you decide to give up and not try in the first place.

Yet this feeling of scarcity is just an illusion, a myth.

In truth, there’s never been a more opportune time to live. Not only because it’s never been cheaper and easier to write a book, share your art, or start a business, but because the average person’s ability to execute on the basics has never been in such short supply.

While opportunities to achieve your goals aren’t as scarce as you think, there are areas where true scarcity does exist: in common sense, in social skills, in manners, in reliability. There’s a dearth of people who know, or have the will, to do the stupidly easy stuff to be charming and successful.

Let me give you just one example. Both off the air and on, guests of my podcast will tell me, “I can tell you actually read my book before this interview and I really appreciate that. It’s so rare.” I don’t bring this up to toot my own horn, but rather to point out how ridiculous it is that this might even be something worthy of mention! An interviewer reading someone’s work before asking them questions about it would seem like the barest of bare minimum job requirements — a prerequisite rather than something above and beyond. And yet the majority of podcasters aren’t even taking care of this most basic of basics.

There are tons of people doing what you want to do, but how are they executing? In 90% of cases, not as well as they could be.

That’s your opening. And such openings are absolutely everywhere.

To take advantage of opportunities, people typically concentrate on stuff like building up their resume — going to the best school or getting the right internship. And certainly, these things can help.

But what’s missed is that it’s often doing stupidly easy stuff that’s going to allow you to make friends and land your dream job. It’s doing the stupidly easy stuff that almost no one else is doing that can most readily set you apart from the pack, and up for success.

What is some of that stupidly easy stuff? Below you’ll find a (non-exhaustive) list of the things it’s hard to believe people don’t do more often, and which have a huge ROI because most people can’t be bothered.

1. Send a thank you text when you get home from a nice party/date. In my opinion, this is the #1 easiest and best way to be a more charming texter. Yet almost no one does it. When someone has you over for dinner, or you take someone out on a date, once you part ways, they typically worry a bit as to whether or not you had a good time. And a party host wants to know their effort to throw the shindig was appreciated. So even if you thank your date/host in person at the end of the evening, once you get home, shoot them a confirming text saying, “Thanks again for the delicious dinner. We had such a good time!” Trust me on this, it’s stupidly, stupidly charming.

2. Write handwritten thank you notes, always and often. When an occasion was especially nice, instead of sending a text, write the person a handwritten thank you note and stick it in the mail. And send handwritten thank you notes for anything and everything else. Received a gift? Thank you note. Job interview? Thank you note. Someone helped you move? Thank you note. Someone went to bat for you at work? Thank you note.

Thank you note writing has become such a lost art, and receiving snail mail is so delightful, that sending handwritten appreciation has become one of the most effective ways to set yourself apart from the pack.

3. Edit your emails/texts before sending. No one ever catches all of the spelling and grammatical mistakes contained within their communications, but giving your texts and emails a couple reads before you hit send will tighten things up. These “clean” missives significantly contribute to making a winning digital impression.

4. Know how to make small talk. We spend so much time behind screens, that when we finally meet people face-to-face, our conversation can often be awkward and stilted. But being comfortable with small talk opens a tremendous amount of doors; sure, it starts out with the superficial, but it’s the on-ramp to deeper discussions — the pathway to relationships with potential lovers, new friends, and future employers. Fortunately, once you know the simple methodology that makes small talk flow, it’s easy to master.

5. Don’t be a conversational narcissist. Related to the above. The only kind of talk many people know how to make these days, is about themselves. Someone who knows how to listen and ask good questions comes off as stupidly charming.

6. Don’t look at your phone during a conversation. In an age of scattered attention, a person who can concentrate their attention on you, and fight the urge to look at their phone while you eat or talk — someone who can make you feel like the most important person in the room — is a charmer par excellence.

Can’t seem to pry yourself away? Check out our complete guide to breaking your smartphone habit.

7. Dress well for a job interview. You don’t have to show up to a job interview in a three-piece suit (unless the position calls for it); overdressing can make as poor a first impression as under-dressing. But showing up dressed just one notch above what current employees at the company wear will immediately set you apart from many other candidates. Well-shined shoes, a pressed shirt, and good hygiene will help too.

8. Come to a job interview prepared to ask questions of the interviewer. Whenever we post this article on “10 Questions to Ask in a Job Interview,” HR folks always weigh in with how “amazed” they are at the number of candidates who stare blankly when asked at the end of an interview, “Do you have any questions for us?” Know some questions to ask going in.

9. Take a woman on a real date. In a landscape of “What’s up”? texts and non-committal hang outs, taking a lady on a real date puts you head and shoulders above other suitors. What constitutes a real date? Watch this video and remember the 3 P’s: Planned, Paired Off, and Paid For.

10. Offer a sincere apology when you mess up. My generation seems to struggle with saying “I’m sorry” when they make a mistake. Numerous times I’ve had my order messed up at a restaurant, and when I bring it to the attention of the waiter or manager, they just shrug, say “Okay,” and fix it, without saying, “I’m sorry about that.” Then the other day an order of mine got messed up, and the manager took a totally different tack — comping my whole meal and bringing me a free dessert. That kind of treatment is so rare, it was unbelievably winning. I even found the manager after my meal to tell her so, and let her know I would specifically make an effort to return because of her gesture.

As it goes in the restaurant biz, so it goes with everything else. Most of your fellow employees will just say “Okay” when an error is brought to their attention. Offering a sincere apology that demonstrates you take responsibility and understand where you messed up and how it affects the company, will easily set you apart (so will immediately trying to make it right and preventing it from happening again).

And in your personal life, apologizing when you stumble is stupidly endearing. You’ll probably mess up again, and often with the same issue, but even when you can’t completely overcome your flaws, showing you’re at least completely aware of them goes a long, long way.

11. Follow through. I get a lot of emails from guys who want to do something with the Art of Manliness, like write a guest article or strike up a business partnership. They are excited! They are passionate! They are…MIA. They never follow-up or follow-through on their idea. I’ve often wondered what happens between their excited initial email, and their descent into silence. But whatever it is, it can easily be avoided by those committed to following through.

12. Be reliable. No quality today can more readily set you apart from your peers than reliability. Doing the follow-through just mentioned. Showing up on time (and just plain showing up). Meeting deadlines. Managing expectations and not overpromising. Promptly responding to emails. Keeping your word.

Are freelance graphic designers, artists, video/audio editors, app developers, programmers, contractors, etc. a dime a dozen? Surely. But a reliable creative professional or handyman? A pink unicorn. If you couple talent and skill with reliability, it’s stupidly easy to dominate your competition and your niche.

When you survey the economic and dating markets, they can seem incredibly oversaturated. Demand seems high and resources seem scarce. But when you take a closer look, you’ll find that while there are plenty of people all grasping after the same thing, there are only a few executing well on the attempt. Setting yourself apart isn’t complicated or hard; it often involves simply doing the stupidly easy stuff that everyone else overlooks.

Their obtusity is your gain; see through the myth of scarcity, take care of the basics, and the world is your oyster.

#my links #art of manliness #etiquette #the myth of scarcity

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publishingpushltd · 3 years ago

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Publishing Push LTD

Overcoming Writer’s Block: The Ultimate Guide

Imagine you just published your next novel, and it’s already on its way to becoming a best seller. That all sounds like a dream, especially if you frequently get writer’s block.

Luckily, you can get over a creative hump, and you can finish your book. Then, you can live the dream as a published author.

Read on for some tips on how to get over writer’s block.

Read What You've Written

If you’ve written a bit of your book, read through what you’ve written. Of course, this gives you a chance to do some proofreading and editing, which can make your book even better.

However, you may come across ideas for what to write to help get over your writer’s block. Maybe you forgot about a story one of your characters said, and you use that to inspire the next chapter.

Reading your current writing can also be good if your writer’s block comes from imposter syndrome. You can remind yourself that writing a book isn’t as hard as you think, and you’re a good writer.

Read Something Else

Do you get PMS or bad symptoms around your period? If you do, please give as much detail as possible.I get easily upset the week before my period. I feel bloated and hungry.

Take a Break

If you’ve been writing a lot lately, you may need to take a break from the craft. Even the best authors can struggle to finish a book in a short period.

You can take a few minutes to go for a walk or call a friend or relative. If writer’s block still persists, you may want to take a break from writing for the rest of the day.

Come back to your book the following day, hopefully with a clear head. Getting a good night of sleep may provide you with the energy you need to finish a chapter or your entire book.

Set a Timer

If writing a book still seems like an insurmountable task, use a timer. Set it for five minutes and just write whatever pops into your head in that time.

Writing against a timer can be a great way to motivate yourself to start writing. If you don’t like what you write, you can delete it, but you may find that some of the material is usable in your book.

While timing your writing doesn’t work for everyone, it’s worth trying at least once. Forcing yourself to write for a few minutes is an excellent way to help you focus.

You can then continue using the timer to write more. Or you can go back to writing without a timer if that works better for you.

Create a Schedule

A fantastic way to beat writer’s block over the long term is to develop a writing schedule. Set aside an hour or two at the same time each day so that you can write.

After a few days or weeks of writing at the same time, it will become like any other habit. That can make writing a book seem less daunting, and you may even get more excited for your daily writing session.

Over time, you’ll be able to write each chapter, and finishing a book will seem more within reach. To set a good schedule, consider when you’re most creative and alert so that you can be more productive with your writing time.

Participate in a Writing Challenge

Another excellent way to beat writer’s block is to participate in a writing challenge, such as National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The challenge happens each year in November, with the goal to write 50,000 words in a month.

But you can create your own monthly or weekly writing challenge at any time. Set a goal for the number of words, pages, or chapters you want to write in that period.

If you set a writing schedule, you can hold yourself accountable. And you can break your overall goal down into daily goals. That way, finishing a book in a month will seem easier.

Write Something New

Maybe you’re not having trouble writing, but you can’t seem to write your book. Use your writing time to focus on another writing project, such as a different book or an article.

Writing in a different style allows you to get into the zone and be creative with your writing. It can also provide a nice break from your main novel.

When you come back to writing a book, you may have ideas to help move the story along. That way, you can finish your book and move on to the publishing stage.

Use an Outline

If you suffer from writer’s block often, consider if you use an outline. Outlining your book lets you list all of the main ideas you want your book to include.

You can also write certain details that you want each chapter to include. Then, you won’t have to forget those ideas when you finally get to the chapter.

Making an outline is also a great excuse to write on paper instead of on your computer. If you’re struggling to write in front of a screen, using a pen and paper may help you jot down more ideas to start your book.

Start in the Middle

Perhaps you’ve made a fantastic outline, but you still can’t seem to write the first chapter. Consider writing another chapter before the first one.

If you already have ideas for how to make another chapter go, use this time to create a draft. You can come back to the first chapter later, and you can make sure every chapter flows well together.

After you write the middle chapters, the first may come to you more naturally. For example, you may have a better idea of how to introduce each character based on how they act later in the book.

Change the Point of View

Another one of the best tips for authors dealing with writer’s block is to use a different point of view. Whether you’re writing the book from the perspective of the main character or a narrator, switch it up.

Write the next chapter or section from a different character’s perspective. If you find the other perspective boring to write from, you can keep things interesting.

You can then either keep the chapter in the different perspective, or you can edit it. That way, the same character or narrator is telling the entire story, but you don’t have to write that way the entire time.

Write Somewhere New

You might also want to change your perspective and view when writing a book. If you use a laptop, take it with you to a cafe or out on your deck.

The different view can help you be more creative, and you may get ideas that you wouldn’t get in your usual writing location. You may not always be able to write from a different spot.

In that case, you can turn on a different genre of music. The music might help you come up with different ideas for your story, so you might find writing a book is much easier.

Get Constructive Feedback

Before publishing a book, you should have someone else look at it. You can do this by hiring a professional editor, but don’t be afraid to ask friends and family or anyone else you know who might like the book.

Have them give you their thoughts on the storyline and characters. Sometimes, a second or third opinion may give you new ideas to incorporate into the story.

Receiving feedback can also help motivate you to write. Then, you can feel like you’re not simply writing into the void. And the early feedback may help you make the book better than it would have been.

Work Against a Deadline

When publishing a book with a traditional publisher, you may face deadlines. However, self-publishing doesn’t come with the same restrictions.

On the one hand, that means you can be more flexible. But that also means you can go weeks without writing your book and not face consequences.

So set a deadline for yourself, even if you publish the book without a publisher. Then, you can keep yourself accountable, potentially motivating your to write more.

Defeating Writer's Block Is Easy

Writer’s block may seem like the biggest obstacle in your path to finishing a book. Fortunately, you don’t have to succumb to the limitations of your writing.

From creating an outline to following a writing schedule, try a few things to get over your writer’s block. Then, you’ll be able to write and publish your next novel in no time.

Do you need help publishing a book? View our self-publishing packages to learn how we can help.

#writers-block #What-is-Typesetting #Self-Publishing-on-Amazon #Self-Publishing-UK #Amazon-Self-Publishing-UK

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tsarinastorm · 5 years ago

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Season 7-Adam Sackler/Reader-Chapter 1

This is mostly a Sackler/Reader centric fic, but this is the development I would have liked to see in a Girls Season 7.

Words:3.9K

Rating: Explicit/Mature

You haven’t even arrived at this “party” yet and you already regret agreeing to show up. You begin to think of an excuse: you have a migraine, you have a writing deadline, some other dire situation that requires your immediate attention has occurred. Before you’re able to settle on one excuse, you receive a text from Hannah telling you that the party is in the back room of the bar, and saying that she’s so excited that you’re going to meet her friends.

You had met Hannah in a writing group, the two of you bonded over the shared habit of bringing snacks to the meetings, to the annoyance of the other group members. She was one of your first and only friends in the city. You have some friends from undergrad and grad school who live in the city, but they were often busy with their own careers and love lives. You couldn’t help but find meeting people in this city of 8 million to be overwhelming. Mostly, you didn’t know how you make real friendships with people who you’d only see occasionally, or where to find people who shared your interests and hobbies.

You moved to the city six months ago and settled into a classic style apartment in Soho. The apartment was a little bigger than you needed but was a steal because it was being sold by a couple who was in the middle of a divorce and wanted to screw the other over. You’ve authored several books ranging from modern fiction, horror, and a crime/thriller series, which had recently been picked up by a streaming service for a television show. You made enough to make it in New York, but you did some ghostwriting on the side to supplement since you invested your earnings in the apartment. You didn’t feel like you belonged in New York yet, perhaps you’ll be always be the same small town girl no matter how long you’re in the city.

You talked yourself into going to the party because you needed more friends and needed to enjoy the city. Plus, it was to celebrate Hannah’s new article being published. As a fellow writer you understood the struggles to get published and the triumph when you finally do get published. So you put on a little black dress that was neither too dressy nor too casual, told her you’d be there in a few minutes, and headed on the train to Brooklyn. You then grab a cab and head towards Hannah’s party.

Your cab pulls up around the front, and you make your way into the bar. You’ve figured out that if you feel uncomfortable, you can get a few free drinks and then head out, no big deal. There are signs that point towards the Horvath Party, you casually walk, following the signs until you see Hannah in one of the rooms. Hannah waves and motions for you come towards her.

“Hey, Y/N! I’m so happy you could make it! I’m sure you’ll have a great time and I know you’ll get along with my friends.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Hannah. Congrats again on getting your piece published. It’s always worth the work in the end. Where’s Grover?” You ask as you see several people coming up to you and Hannah. Hannah answers as she hugs an excited brunette who just walked in, “Grover is with the sitter tonight. His Mommy needed a break. But I am texting every half-hour to make sure he’s alright.”

“You deserve a night off, I’m sure he’ll be just fine.” You say as the brunette turns to you. Hannah gestures between the two of you and the other girl as she begins the introductions.

“Y/N, this is my friend Shoshanna, or Shosh for short. Shosh, this is Y/N, the friend I told you about from my writing group.”

Shosh hugs you and says, “Oh my gosh, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Hannah has told us so much about you and I’ve read you’re books. They’re good, like, really good. I don’t even typically like horror, but I liked yours.”

“Thank you so much! I’ve heard a lot about you too! I love your outfit.”

“The code word is apple for free drinks. But keep it quiet so people don’t take our free drinks. We didn’t pay for everyone.” Hannah adds as she goes to greet another person.

You and Shosh have spent the last forty-minutes talking about fashion, and travel. Now she was happily giving you the “appropriate” details of her honeymoon. Shosh was super nice and easy to talk to, no wonder she had been friends with Hannah for so long. When you came back from the bar with your vodka soda, Hannah was talking to another brunette, one less excited than Shosh.

“Marnie, this is Y/N from my writing group. Y/N this is my best friend Marnie.”

“You’re the successful singer/song-writer, right?”

“Yes, only somewhat successful, but yes. By the way, I love your dress, Y/N!”

“I think its super cool that you can sing and put words to music. I have no musical talent whatsoever.”

“Really? You’re such a good writer. How long have you been in the city?”

“Only six months so I’m still figuring it all out.”

“We can totally show you where the best places are, and what to do.” Shosh adds excitedly.

“We should all hang out together sometime. We’re all young, attractive, successful women who should support each other.” Marnie says as she begins telling you the best places to shop, to eat, and to hang out.

“I appreciate it, thank you. I definitely we should hang out. Do you guys ever do brunch?”

“Yeah, I know this place that has the best mimosas.” Marnie says, then Shosh quickly adds, “We should totally go tomorrow morning, you know to help us recover from tonight.”

“Tomorrow would work for me.”

“I’m making the reservation now.” Marnie says while she types into her phone.

“That sounds great, I’m looking forward to it. Who can turn down a good mimosa,” You say as you notice a very attractive man walk into the room, while the trio of friends continue to chatter amongst themselves. He’s tall with dark, wavy hair and broad shoulders. You immediately lock eyes with him, and smile, he smiles back. You then realize that you’ve totally zoned out of the conversation and finished your drink in record time. So much for playing it cool.

“I need another drink, I’ll be back.”

***********************************************************************

Adam makes his way into the room. He doesn’t know why he’s even there. He and Hannah have been over for some time, and yeah, they were “friends” but why was here when he can’t stand her other friends. He had changed so much since the last time he was subjected to Hannah’s friends, would it be different this time? At least this time, he was free of Jessa that should keep the rest of them from being too hostile. And now, he had a successful run in a production of Machination at St. Anne’s, which lead to the casting director giving him the lead in an adaptation of The Beautiful and The Damned. He had a number of auditions coming up, even a few for Broadway again. He also has a theater friend who wants to turn his short film into a stage play. For the first time in a long time, his life was coming together not falling apart. Except for his love life, as always. He had ended the romantic relationship with Jessa not long after returning to her after being rejected by Hannah. He realized he was looking for something more, something he hadn’t had with Jessa, and something he hadn’t had with Hannah either. But Jessa still comes around, she seems determined not to let him go. So he lets Jessa stay sometimes, because she is a good fuck and he doesn’t have time to find another fuck buddy.

Then he sees her. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and she looks amazing in that little black dress. Though he’s sure she’d look even better out of that little black dress. Down boy, he thinks to himself, he has to save that for later. But now, be cool. Her eyes lock with his, and she smiles at him. He can’t help but smile back.

“Hey Adam! Good to see you here,” Adam turns and sees the voice behind the comment that takes him out of his trance. It’s Ray and he’s definitely looking at her too. Adam doesn’t like the idea of Ray talking to his woman, or looking at his woman, even if she’s not his woman yet. She will be, he’ll see to that.

“Hey Ray, nice to see you too,” Adam manages to sound normal, not too eager or irritated. He looks for her again, but she’s gone. Oh no, she couldn’t have left yet. Not before he had got her number. He’s so desperate in his search for her, that he doesn’t even notice that Ray’s walked away and Hannah has come up beside him.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Hannah says as she pulls him into an awkward hug. He hugs her back but his eyes still look through the room for his woman. Then he spots her, over at the bar. Now, he just has to get over to her.

“So this is none of my business, but are you and Jessa still a thing?” Of course, Hannah goes straight to the question he doesn’t want to answer, and takes the conversation straight to the person he’d prefer not to think about. He finally answers in the best way he knows how.

“There is no relationship but we still sometimes see each other.”

“You still see each other. I’m not stupid, I know what that means, and it means you still fuck.” Hannah puts her hands on her hips, clearly judging him before continuing, “Does that make you happy? Because believe it or not, you deserve to be happy too.”

He keeps his eyes on her, his her. Hannah’s talking again before her previous statement has a chance to really sink in.

“By the way, that woman you’re ogling is Y/N, my friend from my writing group. She’s a writer like me. But a very successful one. You should go talk to her. I can’t guarantee that you’re her type, or that she won’t throw her drink on you, but go for it.”

“Really? You sure? She is your friend.” Adam says even though his mind is already made up. He is going to talk to her whether Hannah accepts it or not. But it would be better if Hannah does accept it. He doesn’t want another cold war like the one that happened when he and Jessa hooked up.

“I’m sure. I think she’d be good for you, and that you two might work.” Hannah says and gives him a genuine smile. She then pushes him in the direction of the bar.

You order a Malibu Bay Breeze, made up of Malibu rum, cranberry juice, and pineapple juice. Normally that’s the drink you prefer but the vodka soda is slightly better to stave off dehydration and hangover. But now, you feel nervous because you see him make his way towards you and you need the comfort of your favorite drink. He sits down beside you and you turn to look at him.

“Hello, stranger. You know when I’m in a place like this, I can’t help but I feel like I’m in a bad, modern adaptation of a Fitzgerald novel. I’m Y/N”

“Hello beautiful stranger, I’m Adam. I agree, I feel like that at least once a day since I’ve been in New York. But I do find it to be missing Fitzgerald’s wit and introspection. I was worried you managed to sneak out before I got to talk to you.”

“I’m glad you understood the reference, you’d be amazed at the number of people who don’t. Most of them look at me like I have three heads. I’m not going anywhere for a while, I just made my way over to the bar. Do you want a drink? If you’re nice, maybe it’ll even be on me.”

“A seltzer water. I have a degree in comp lit and I’m actor who does mostly stage so I have to understand literary comments. I actually just finished a part in an adaptation of The Beautiful and the Damned”

“Ha, well you know what they say about actors. I’m a writer. Okay, now I have a question: if you could work with any playwright, living or dead, who would it be?” You ask him with a smile on your face. You’re can’t hide your genuine curiosity. He seems like an intellectual guy, well-read, artistic, and clearly a bit offbeat. Those things make you to know his answer.

“Chekhov, he was a truly master of theater. Or Arthur Miller.” He says, confidently taking a swig of his seltzer water, “does that answer suit you?”

“It does. I prefer the Russian greats. So how do you know Hannah?”

“I’ve known Hannah for years. What about you?” he says the last part in a singsong voice. You can’t help but laugh at his goofy behavior.

“Hannah and I are in the same writing group. She’s one of the first friends I’ve made in the city.”

You spend the next hour or so (maybe it was longer, you lost track of time) talking about your favorite writers, movies, and awkward moments. Turns out, you have pretty much the same taste in books and film, and you find your eyes tearing up from laughter at some of his stories. His stories are accompanied by full body movements and voice changes, of course. Adam talks about his family, you learn he has a niece that he calls Sample because she’s sample-sized and she was named after his exes. He teases you for being an only child. You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed someone’s company this much. He was interesting, intense, and slightly strange. Nothing at all like your type, and maybe that’s why you liked him. Or maybe it was because you felt he’d give the deep connection and passion you’d always craved. You notice he’s still only drinking seltzer, and you’re on your fourth drink.

“Are you sure you don’t want a real drink? Or are you being a DD?”

“I actually don’t drink. I’ve had a drinking problem in the past so I completely avoid it, and I still go to AA.”

“I’m glad you saw you had a problem and got help. That’s a hard thing to do.” You tell him as you reach out and gently put your hand on his forearm. He looks deep into your eyes, and leans into your touch.

“How long have you been sober?”

“10 years. I started going to AA when I was seventeen.” He says and his rich amber eyes look sad. He looks like he expects you to reject him.

“Well, I’m sorry that it started so early. If you ever need somebody to talk to, here, I’ll give you my number” you say and hold out your hand for his phone. He places it in your hand and he chuckles.

“I am the worst person with technology and shit. I’m not the same over the phone. It took me so fucking long to even get an iphone.”

“That’s okay. You’re probably better off without it anyway.” You smile and he smiles back. He puts his hand on your knee. You notice that 1.) his hand is freaking huge, so that means his dick must be big too, and 2.) You really like him touching you, his hand is hot on your cool skin. You feel a physical spark in your lower stomach that you haven’t felt in a long time: pure sexual attraction. You think you could easily take him home tonight, actually that looks like that’s where this is headed. He leans in towards your face, you can’t tell if he’s going to whisper something in your ear, or if he’s going to kiss you. You feel yourself leaning in, drawn like a moth to the light.

The moment is ruined when a blonde woman throws her arms around his neck, kisses him on the cheek, and positions herself so she’s practically sitting in his lap. She turns to look at you, and you know you must look shocked because it takes you a minute to acknowledge that she’s even speaking. And you notice that she has a British accent.

“Adam, who’s your friend?” She says in a voice that must be her attempt to be sultry. Adam looks uncomfortable and shifts so she’s no longer in his lap, and he’s not even touching her.

“This is Y/N. She’s an author, a good author who’s wrote bestsellers.”

“I’m Jessa, are you friends with Hannah?” the British blonde asks you and you find her gaze very uncomfortable. You take a sip of your drink before answering.

“Yes, I know her from my writing group.”

“Well then, you should know all about me and Adam. He’s the ex, and I’m the friend who stole him. We’re also the ones who made the movie. I’m sure she’s wrote a lot about us.” Jessa says all of that with a smug smile, clearly proud of the mess she’s just created.

“Oh you’re the Adam? The Adam who moved in another girlfriend while she was in Iowa, who dated her friend, didn’t tell her, and then made a movie basically mocking your relationship?!” You practically yell. What the hell is wrong with these people? Why are they all still around each other?

“That’s him. And that’s us.” Jessa says as she nods. You see red. What they did to Hannah was wrong, and here they are acting like it’s nothing. Jessa’s proud of it. And Adam lied to you about who he was knowing you were a friend of Hannah’s. You had a friend who hooked up with your ex, and it stung. Badly. And that was only a one-time hook up, you could only imagine if it had been a full-fledged relationship.

“Where I come from, you tell people the truth, so I’m going to tell you both the truth. You’re both shitty people for doing that to Hannah and acting like it’s nothing.” You say before grabbing your bag and standing up.

“And I hope I never see either of you again. You must deserve each other.”

Whatever you had felt towards Adam a few minutes ago had utterly dissipated now. You could never be with someone who did all of that to his ex. If he did it to Hannah, he’d likely do it to you, you remind yourself. Additionally, Hannah was your friend, maybe not a best friend, but still a friend and you refused to do that to her. You storm off from the bar, hopefully to find someone who also thinks this situation makes zero sense. You see Shosh and Marnie standing near the stage and you join them. Marnie speaks first,

“I see you had a great conversation with our local gruesome twosome.”

“That may be one of the most fucked up experiences of my life. Or am I crazy?” You say trying to figure out if you’re over-reacting or not.

“No, that is a totally weird situation.” Shosh says and it makes you feel better.

Then you see a man at the bar who looks familiar, it takes a second for you to recognize him. You can feel the blood run from your face. You realize he’s a guy you hooked up with when you first moved to New York. What was his name? You were so intoxicated that night, you can’t even remember his name, only that it started with a B, and you would have preferred him to remain one of your secrets. Especially when you think of everything that happened a few weeks after the hookup. You watch him even though you don’t want to, and you notice that he is wearing a wedding band. That’s just great. He’s married. You hooked up with a married man, or at the very least he would have had to be engaged then. You feel your face getting hot, and you go outside to get some air. You bump into Hannah.

“Y/N? Are you alright? You looked really freaked out?”

“Yeah, it’s just I ran into one of my drunk one-night-stands. And he’s married. It just really bothers me.”

“Well, it’s okay. You’ll probably never see him again. It’s not your fault, you didn’t know he was married.” Hannah says while rubbing your arms in an effort to calm you. You give her a hug and you head home.

You see Adam and Jessa in the street fighting about something and you turn your head so you can get away without either of them noticing you.

********************************************************************************

You go to brunch with Hannah, Shosh, and Marnie the next day. You’d been so busy adjusting to the city, you had forgot how much you missed your girlfriends back home. The brunch was just what you needed and you learned some gossip. Hannah says that she has a date coming up. Marnie makes it clear after her track record, she’s happy being single for a while. Shosh, of course, gushes over her husband. You even meet Ray, who owns a local coffee place. However, then you’re filled in on his background with Shosh and Marnie. You were finally feeling like you had now friends in the city, and you were pleased with that. But you couldn’t stop thinking Adam, even though you knew you shouldn’t

You’re back in your apartment, looking for something to do. You then decide to look up Adam Sackler. You scroll through the glowing reviews of his latest plays. Then you come across the movie, Disclosure. You debate whether or not to watch it. You give into your curiosity after a few minutes of debate, and hit play. You watch Adam, the real Adam not an actor playing Adam, spank the actress. Again and again. You should not find it as hot as you do. You can feel yourself getting turned on. You should turn off the movie, and go for a run to clear your mind or a cold shower.

But you give in to your body as your hand sneaks into your pants. Your fingers part your folds before settling on your clit. You begin rubbing in circles. That’s not enough, you need it faster, harder. You start adding more pressure and quicken your pace. You start to imagine that your hands are Adam’s hands. It’s not long before you feel your climax building. You moan as you come hard.

When you come back to reality, you realize that you should feel guilty for touching yourself to a movie starring your friend’s ex-boyfriend about their relationship. However, you manage console yourself by reminding yourself that you can touch yourself as long as you don’t cross the physical line with Adam himself, though you know you’ll dream about him touching you tonight.

#adam sackler #adam sackler x reader #hbo girls #girls hbo #girls fanfic #lena dunham #hannah horvath #adam driver

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dessarious · 5 years ago

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Writing Craft: The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing Ch1

AO3 Intro Next

The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing Chapter 1: Taming the Beast by N.M Kelby

In this article the author compares creating and refining your story ideas to training a dog. I’m going to leave out the metaphor and just give the bare bones of the advice.

The biggest take away from the first section is: “Ideas often start with boundless energy, vying for your attention. But when you get them on the page, they don’t always live up to how you thought they would be” pg. 5

This is a huge issue, especially for new writers. You finally get words on a page but immediately get discouraged because it’s not as good as it seemed in your head and/or your inner critic takes hold and trashes your efforts. (Whether that trashing is justified or not is a moot point) Sound familiar? You’re not alone. Before I get into this specific author’s take I want to throw out a couple ‘standard’ thoughts on the subject.

‘You can’t edit a blank page.’ It’s one of those truisms that make me want to bash my head into a wall whenever I encounter it, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Basically try to think of your writing, especially first drafts, as practice. You’re not going to start out perfect but the more you work on it the better you’ll get at it, and by extension the better the piece itself will get. If you come to the table thinking your writing needs to be perfect, you’re just setting yourself up for failure.

‘All art is a work in progress, even when it’s finished.’ I don’t think I’ve seen this stated anywhere but given the number of times I’ve seen authors complain about parts of their published works they wish they’d done differently, I’m just going to throw it out there. Perfection is unattainable and someone will always find fault in what you do. So don’t try and be perfect, try instead to a) be consistent and b) improve your vision. And what I mean by that is develop a writing routine that works for you and make sure when you write and edit you’re making the story clearer for the reader. For first drafts that’s simple because anything you write will be clearer than nothing. (okay, given some of the garbage that’s come out of my head that’s not strictly true but even bad writing is practice on the way to good writing so it’s still useful)

Establish a calm, centered mind

In this section the author gives their thoughts on creating your writing space, writing routine, and not siking yourself out.

“Nonexistent boundaries, unfocused expectations, and lack of routine are the writer’s downfall.” pg. 5

Okay, I’ll agree with this to a point. Especially when you’re first starting out developing your writing habits, and making sure the people around you respect that, can be crucial. However, don’t get so rigid that you can’t adapt to change. Shit happens and you may need to adjust either for life or because your writing needs themselves evolve and change. The best way for you to write right now, may not still be the best way in six months or a year. It’s best not to assume what does and doesn’t work for you now will always be the same. As to the part about expectations… that’s going to be very specific to each author. It’s good to have goals for your writing but if the thought of a specific word count or getting an entire chapter out stresses you out to the point you can’t write, chose a less concrete goal. Anything from I’ll spend at least ten minutes free writing or brainstorming and then see what I can get done on my current WIP to I’ll spend ten minutes thinking about ideas are completely valid. Yes, at some point you want to get words on paper, but forcing yourself to write on demand is a process and it’s usually a bad idea to frustrate yourself to the point you just give up.

The author makes some other points that I’ll summarize: Don’t panic, nothing’s perfect the first time around. Some writing days are better than others, it’s okay to take a break or sleep on it. Don’t place yourself in competitive situations while you’re working on a book. Don’t compare you WIP to the latest bestseller. Write from an authentic part of yourself. Set a pace that works for you and don’t compare it to others. (pgs. 5 & 6)

This is overall good advice in my opinion. The words ‘Don’t Panic’ always bring to mind Hitchers Guide to the Galaxy for me and it’s sound advice. Unless you’re working on a deadline there really isn’t a need to panic, and even then, all it’s likely to do is make things worse.

Some writing days are better than others. This is true no matter who you are. It doesn’t have to mean that your actual writing is bad either. All this means is that some days you won’t be on your A game, at least not for the project you’re currently focusing on. If you need to step away, do it. If you need to work on something else, do that. If you need to completely rework something you already wrote, go for it. Don’t get upset if your brain won’t focus where you think it needs to be. Trust your subconscious to know when you need a breather.

Don’t place yourself in competitive situations. Okay, this one is person specific. Some people thrive off of competition while others shut down completely. You need to feel out what’s best for you but at the beginning it can be one more stressor that sets you up for failure. My suggestion would be to get into a seminormal writing habit before you add something like this into the mix, but again, everyone is different.

Don’t compare you WIP to a bestseller. This should be self evident but almost everyone does it. You think about how much better published works are compared to yours and it freaks you out. The thing about published works is that you don’t see everything that happened before. All the starts and stops and horrible prose that was edited out. It’s the difference between seeing a car for sale at a dealer and seeing it at the beginning of the assembly line in the manufacturing plant. Comparing the two is obviously going to make your WIP look like garbage, at least to you, and that’s not conducive to keeping you excited about your project.

Set a pace that works for you. Basically everything is about what works for you, but in this case it just means don’t compare yourself to authors that put out a book every six months and assume you’re lacking in some way. Especially as a new writer you need to figure out so much before you even worry about pace. Fast is not necessarily good and slow isn’t necessarily bad. Just find your own rhythm and screw anyone who thinks it’s wrong.

Study Your Breed

This section is basically a suggestion that you should figure out the standards that your readers will expect from you in a certain genre so that you know what you can and can’t put in a story. It’s sound advice to a point, and certainly it’s helpful to know what the conventions are before you break them, but this is another one of those issues that’s writer specific.

Yes, if you label a book as a mystery and there’s no mystery people will be a bit peeved. This goes more to story structure in my opinion and some writers my find it constricting to even label their work as a specific genre at the onset, let alone force their writing into a certain mold.

The writer of this article strikes me as a plotter, so if you’re not this may be something you need to look into after you’ve finished a draft to help with getting it published, but if you get stressed out thinking about it before you even start, just ignore it until then. If, on the other hand, you plan everything out in advance, it's very helpful to have genre guidelines to add to your roadmap so you know you’re hitting the right concepts.

Also don’t confuse structure with how you tell a story. The author gives the example of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Wicked. Two stories set in the same basic world and time with vastly different tellings. Given the same plot, it’s unlikely bordering on impossible that two authors will come up with the same story. (I only say bordering on because someone will find an example of it happening just to spite me if I say it’s actually impossible)

Train Your Focus

This section more than any other is what tells me this Author is a plotter. I had to try and read it a few times before my brain didn’t immediately ‘nope’ out. This is one of those things that I needed to read with the thought that I could implement this in the editing rather than the creation stage, but here’s the jist of the authors advice.

“Everything in the story must work to tell the tale.” Pg 8 Sound advice but this author is talking about making all these decisions upfront and not working on anything that doesn’t fit into your outline. Personally I can’t do that, but it seems rather rigid even for a plotter. To each their own though. She says to brainstorm but when it comes time to write, don’t put things in just because you like them. Again, as a pantser this advice is useless to me until the editing phase when I need to fix things because I’ll have no idea if it advances the story until I’m done with it. For plotters it may make sense to do it this way. I will say that no writing is wasted writing. Even if you can’t use it for what you’re currently writing, save everything because you may find a place for it later. The same goes for research. You took the time to do it so don’t throw it out just because you decided not to use it for one project.

Walk Your Inner Dog

This is basically a summary and example of her advice so far but there are two things that are new.

“While you write a book, it’s art. When you’re finished, it’s business. Never confuse the two.” Pg. 10 In other words, don’t worry about marketability until you’re finished writing. This is a highly contentious subject. Some people will tell you you have to consider marketability from the start, others say that it will destroy what will make your writing stand out. As I’ve never published a book, I don’t have a good opinion, but considering I have an issue with ‘write with the reader in mind’ I’m pretty sure it would break my brain if I was constantly trying to decide if my writing would sell.

From Idea to Page in Four Simple Steps.

“You need to realistically outline and throw out what bogs readers down.” Pg 10 Okay, again, this isn’t something that will work for me in the creation stage but it’s something I need to implement in editing. If you can do it at the onset, it will be less work later, but not everyone can see the story in advance.

Step 1: Always begin with your protagonist. This advice is more about making sure they show up within the first page or so of the story than saying that you have to begin your brainstorming around a specific character. It’s solid advice so that your readers have a character to be invested in at the onset.

Step 2: Establish time and place. This is again for the reader. If they’re wondering where the characters are they can lose focus. I don’t necessarily agree that it’s always necessary but it’s a fair general guideline to follow if you’re unsure.

Step 3: Announce the Stakes. In other words, why should we care? Conflict drives story so the sooner you introduce it, no matter how small, the better in most cases. Not many readers are willing to go through five pages of description before you tell them why any of it matters.

Step 4: Organize. For plotters this happens at the beginning and all the way through. For most pantsers it happens at the end, but eventually it does need to be done.

That’s it for Chapter 1 and I think my thoughts were longer than the actual chapter, so sorry about that. Let me know if this was helpful or if you’d rather I be more succinct.

AO3 Intro Next

Kofi

Tag List

@magica-est-in-aerem @18-fandoms-unite-08 @xxxshinx @whatsupwithjinx @krispydefendorpolice @corabeth11 @claaydoh @dramatic-squirrel @novicevoice @mariae2900 @rebecarojas07

#writing craft #books on writing #writing advice

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youcantundothepast · 5 years ago

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Ask Jack - Chapter 1

Here’s part of the first chapter of a mini fic I wrote and have posted on AO3! :)

The journalism staff at Duane High School was responsible for three things. The newspaper that was printed bi-weekly and given to every student, the yearbook that would published and sold at the end of the year, and the tumblr that would publish articles every so often that wouldn’t make the paper and cover more pressing stories.

Surprisingly, a lot of the students actually enjoyed what the journalism staff put out. No doubt to the fearless leadership of the newspaper’s editor and chief and basically the boss of the room, Katherine. By her side we’re Darcy, editor of the yearbook, and the manager of the tumblr, Bill. They also had an advisor, Bryan Denton who was an English teacher, but he gave most of the control of the classroom over to the editors. The rest of the staff had titles and specific responsibilities as well, but they were the three bosses that would be telling you if your work was publishable or not.

Most of the time, Jack stayed out of the bustle and chaos around deadline time in the journalism room. His main responsibility was drawing the comic for each paper, and he could whip it out pretty quickly. Sometimes, he did a graphic for the yearbook or took photographs of events when the photographers were out, but when he wasn’t needed, he mostly did his homework or something else to pass the time in the corner.

On less hectic days, Davey would sit with Jack, but more often than not, Davey would be busy with his own projects, especially now because he was going after one of the editor positions after Katherine and the other two editors graduate after the year’s end. Jack didn’t mind. He thought it was cute whenever Davey got all passionate about something. It was like there was a fire behind his eyes that couldn’t be extinguished. Though, Jack knew if he didn’t get the position, (which Jack was also doubtful of) he’d be crushed. If he did, he’d put every waking moment making sure the published piece was perfect, throwing all concerns of his own health out the window.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Everyone saved their work before putting it away and heading out, including Jack who was out quickly because he just to put up his drawing tablet. When he got out of the door frame, someone grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and dragged him towards the teacher’s bathroom that the students weren’t supposed to use. It was private and big enough for two people to have a conversation (or make out which it was sort of known for).

“I have a new project for you,” Katherine explained when the door was closed and the lights were turned on.

“And it required you to drag me into the teacher’s bathroom?” Jack quipped which made Katherine roll her eyes.

“For our next newspaper, we’re going to have an advice column. Ask Shirley. We’re going to test it, and I thought you’d be a great candidate. People will send asks over the tumblr, and who’s writing it will be completely anonymous. The only two people who would know are you and me.”

“What about Davey? He’s the mom friend of the group. And I’m not even a writer,” Jack said.

“Davey is already doing more than enough for the publication. And the advice column really isn’t a big deal, maybe three or four paragraphs at most. Besides, you’re the dad friend. Everyone goes to you for advice as well. It’ll be like you’re writing to one of them. Please? It’ll only be one question for each bi-weekly publication,” Katherine begged, well Katherine didn’t really beg because whatever she wanted she knew how to get.

She was right when saying Davey was overworking himself already which would make Jack an asshole if he insisted Katherine give him another job. He sighed. Though he was no Shakespeare, he could write well enough, and Katherine would help him edit it. “Fine,” he conceded. Katherine did her excited thing where she jumps and claps her hands with a small squeal.

“Great! Here’s your first question, and I’ll need a response by Thursday. Feel free to work on it during class time since you’ve already got this edition’s comic in,” she told him, handing him a sealed envelope. Wow, extravagant much, Katherine?

Dear Editor of The Duane Banner,

I was hoping to get some advice about my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for the last two years (since freshmen year,) and I love him. But, one night recently, we were out with my friends, and after, when he was driving me home, he told me my friends are so hot. Hotter than me. I’m wondering what I should do. I haven’t told my friends, either. I just think that’d be too weird. I don’t want to lose him and feel like I’ve wasted two years of my life into our relationship, but the comment made me really self-conscious.

Sincerely, Pretty Funny (she/her/hers)

Dear Pretty Funny,

First off, I’d like to say sorry, but I’m not the editor of The Duane Banner. Katherine read your letter and gave it to me for our new advice column (though I’m sure you can see that now). Anyway, about your ask.

I don’t know who you are, and you don’t know who I am; but I know for a fact that you are hecking beautiful. Just because your boyfriend can’t see that shouldn’t make you doubt that. How do I know that? Because only a fool would think otherwise, and I already know your boyfriend obviously isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

Honestly, if your gut is telling you to do this or if your boyfriend has and will make more comments like this, I’d drop him. Someone you love shouldn’t make you doubt yourself or make you feel that you are worth less than you are. It sounds like you got some good, close friends too. Make sure that you are able to talk to them about it, as well, if you feel comfortable so you’re not alone, and they know what’s going on.

“Jack?” Davey said, breaking Jack’s stream of consciousness. “What are you writing? I didn’t know you had an essay coming up,” he said. Davey knew of all of the essays and projects Jack had coming up because he was the one who often helped him with them.

Quickly, and not very discreetly, Jack slammed the lid of his laptop shut.

Keep Reading

#javid #javid fanfic #newsies #AO3 #jack kelly #david jacobs #Ask Jack AU

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opheliakeeauthor · 4 years ago

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Indie Author All the Way!

The publishing of Midnight Magic is coming to a close. I am waiting on Amazon to review part 11. This miniseries has twelve parts. The end is near. Part 12 will release next weekend. So that means that the full volume will come out in two weeks. If you have been waiting until all parts were published or you wanted only to read it as a novel, the wait is nearly over. If you pick up any part of the saga to read, let me know what you think. I'd love to hear from you.

Draoithe: Dragons Come volume four has finally launched the 2nd edition as a 6x9 paperback. For those who don't know, I am pure indie and do all of my writing, publishing, and marketing on my own. When I first dove into the deep end of self-publishing, I had no idea what I was doing, but I could do it. I did it all wrong and made a ton of mistakes. When I could not figure out how to publish the books as 6x9 standard paperback book size, I decided to simply publish them as 8.5 x11. It was fine like that. I was learning. (They are kind of cool that way.) Only being a non-standard size meant that they were ineligible for expanded distribution and the wrong size for the book shelf. So I decided something needed to give and I had to break down and publish the stories as a second edition in the size they should have been. So as I go through the early stories and let Grammarly aid my editing for a cleaner story, I am also reformatting to release the stories in the proper book size. Volumes 1-4 and the Prequel are now complete. Just a few more to go. LOL. #don'tfearmistakes

Just the Facts

LINKEDIN.COM SELF PUBLISHING vs Publishing House - Look At The Numbers. This post is a follow up to a recent discussion I was involved in. IT IS I read this article on Linked-in the other day explaining the breakdown in earnings between traditionally published and indie published authors. Needless to say, indie authors earn way less than traditionally published authors. That's okay. Because it is offset by the fact that there is no need to suffer through query letters and rejections. As an indie author, I can publish as often as I like, as many titles as I want and best of all readers can simply read to their heart's content. There is no waiting until the publishing house is ready, or giving up any of my rights as the author to sell or promote my work however and whenever I see fit. So what if I don't get a big payout up front? I'm happy with waiting for my royalties. Advertising is entirely up to me and I don't have the added stress of needing to meet artificial deadlines or the potential hassle of losing the contract due to low sales or something else outside my control. It might not be the way to go for every writer, but so far, my authorwalk is still indie all the way. (Also I secretly enjoy publishing and the creative side of marketing even if I am not good at it and have limited marketing funds. LOL)

Mark the Calendar!

Weaver’s Tale Part 1 will be FREE October 15-19. Just in time for Halloween. Grab the first part of the 4 part miniseries, meet Araack Kniid, the warlock spider shifter, and Calvin Birchard, the wizard. Both men spend years learning and improving themselves in their desire to be worthy of a mate. Old lies and impossible fantasies must be overcome in order for them to finally have a life worth living. Step into the dream and meet the rulers of the Longest Purple. Author's note on Weaver's Tale: My mother said, "Just don't go adding spiders to the saga." Vampires and angels were okay, but spider shifters were just too creepy. Sadly, the scenes began to play out in my head immediately. I knew Araack Kniid and Calvin Birchard right away and sat down to write exactly what she said I should not. No disrespect, Mom. I had to write this novella length miniseries because until I write a scene that I see, I can't get it out of my head. Almost Noir, but not quite. This one is a fast paced read set in the Netherworld. Adult content and themes. Happy Halloween!

Updates!

Working on the video book for The Thread! Still no fixed release date, but I am super excited! The project is rolling along. I am hoping to have it up by Christmas. If you are not subscribe to OpheliaKee on YouTube, you might want to take a moment and hop over and set yourself up to get notified when the video books come out. Book trailers and ads are posted there already. Check it out and please give feedback. I love to hear from readers. Merch is still a big fat no go. GRRR.... I am not giving up, but the tech does sometimes seriously stress me out. Patience. My authorwalk has taken me in strange directions many times before. That's okay. I will prevail or die trying. Lol. So overdramatic. Debating a wikipedia page next too. So long as we are being extra...

Enough of the silly business. I gotta get back to writing, editing, publishing, and marketing. If you have questions or comments hit me up. As always if you read, please be kind and leave your review. Indie authors especially will love you for it. Be Careful! Happy reading, Ophelia Kee

#booklover bookmarketing books reading library

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reimenaashelyee · 5 years ago

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Inspiration and Calling

“Where do you get your ideas from?” “How do you choose which book to do?”

The short answer is, I don’t know?? Or rather, I can’t explain it. Or RATHER, I don’t think the real answer will be helpful, or even make sense, to anyone else except me.

Inspiration

Personally I don’t think anyone should worry so much over when or where their ideas will manifest. They will come.

But before we understand what I mean when I say “chillax, bro”, let me address a couple of assumptions about inspiration:

Inspiration as a Set, Determined, Concrete Process.

“If I don’t figure out how Inspiration with a capital I works, I will never find it. I will never be a real artist.”

What I’m referring to is this prevailing idea that that there’s a mystical Ideas Machine inside your head you need to find that, once you activate it, will instantly and forever feed you ideas, confirming your destiny as a creator. I mean, isn’t that the core implication behind “where do your ideas come from?”? It implies that there is a routine that all seasoned creators have obtained; a hidden knowledge to be passed down; a videogame-like skill to be levelled up to. Basically, people who ask this question… who don’t ask it solely out of plain, mundane curiosity… are looking for a clue to unlock their Ideas Machine.

What ends up happening is like the hundreds of Pocket articles I have read that tries to crack the code of what makes a start-up manager or self-made billionaire Productive. You wake up at 4 am. You drink the purest herbal tea from the Organic Highlands. You use the Pomodoro. You put robots in your brain. It’s hopeless. How one person finds inspiration or productivity is so individual that really, there is no One True Answer. No guaranteed process. No Ideas Machine.

Equating inspiration as survival or work.

This is the danger zone, imo. You know why? People who draw or write for fun (usually as a hobby) never ask where ideas come from. They just draw. They just write. The first time the question enters a hobbyist’s mind is when they transition from creating for themselves to creating beyond themselves; that is, to put up work for an audience, to get a book deal, to start a creative career. Some people remain stuck in this questioning stage and panic over whether they are a real artist who can make money if they can’t find the mystical Ideas Machine that seasoned creators seem to have. And we already know that doesn’t exist.

Which is why I think there’s no need to worry about the time and place of ideas/inspiration. There’s no need to find a process, or to base your capital value as a creator on the production of ideas. Just chillax bro. Eat a delicious meal. Watch a Netflix movie. Lie down on the grass. Laugh with your friends. Be cheerful, live well. As long as you’re living on this planet and experiencing the joys of society like Uncle Karl says you should, your brain will know what to do. Inspiration will come.

TL;DR be patient. Trust yourself. And eat your favourite dessert sometimes.

Marx recognized that the science of capitalistic economy, despite its worldly and pleasure-seeking appearance, “is a truly moral science, the most moral of all sciences. Its principal thesis is the renunciation of life and of human needs. The less you eat, drink, buy books, go to the theatre or to balls, or to the public house [ Br., pub], and the less you think, love, theorize, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you will be able to save and the greater will become your treasure which neither moth nor rust will corrupt — your capital. The less you are, the less you express your life, the more you have, the greater is your alienated life and the greater is the saving of your alienated being. Everything which the economist takes from you in the way of life and humanity, he restores to you in the form of money and wealth. And everything which you are unable to do, your money can do for you; it can eat, drink, go to the ball and to the theatre. It can acquire art, learning, historical treasures, political power; and it can travel. It can appropriate all these things for you, can purchase everything; it is the true opulence. But although it can do all this, it only desires to create itself, and to buy itself, for everything else is subservient to it. When one owns the master, one also owns the servant, and one has no need of the master’s servant. Thus all passions and activities must be submerged in avarice. The worker must have just what is necessary for him to want to live, and he must want to live only in order to have this.” (link)

P.S: UNCLE KARL IS TELLING YOU TO TREAT YOSELF. That’s praxis!!

Here’s another quote I like that’s also relevant, but less “destroy late stage capitalism” and more “wow isn’t the world beautiful”:

Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music – the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.

Henry Miller

That’s my answer for “Where do your ideas come from?”. The ideas comes from being alive. To develop and grow that garden of ideas – that is, life – , you have to immerse yourself in it. Not for money. Not for comments or followers or social media. Not for external confirmation that you’re a Real Creator. But for your own joy. For the love of living. When you immerse yourself in the garden you lose yourself. That’s what Henry Miller is talking about.

When you give in to the garden, it gives back to you. Being alive is inspiration. Inspiration is being alive.

James Webb Young’s five-step technique for producing ideas touches upon how living life is essential to creativity.

Calling

“How do you choose which books to do?” is more esoteric. I think the answer is more a Reimena Yee thing than it is most artists’ thing, though people like T.S. Eliot have come pretty close to describing my answer:

I choose the book which compels me.

This thing is not easy to describe. I don’t know. I am not sure if other comics creators operate primarily like this, or think of their work this way.

It’s different from the feeling

of finding a concept you want to write about

of being overexcited and hyperfocused by said concept

of self-indulging

It’s all of those feelings, but there’s an edge to it.

I have a few ideas in the backburner. Some of them are books I want to do. Some are books I really, really want to do. And one or two of them are books that compel me.

The sensation is like finding the perfect pet in the animal shelter. You see a dog or cat and come back to it over and over again. You can’t explain this feeling you are feeling, this deep-in-the-gut instinct that you’re meant for this animal. Eventually, you listen to your gut, you take the plunge, and you bring it home. Turns out, you’re right.

That’s what I mean by “compelling”.

There are certain books which I return to over and over again. In the beginning, the special book plants an imagery in my mind’s eye, then it plays it repeatedly. If this doesn’t stop after a year, and if I still feel like I’m meant for it, I accept my calling and take it.

But accepting the book comes with the simultaneous feelings of excitement and fear, joy and resignation. When I actually work on it, there’s not really a hyperfocus or overexcitement. It’s more like I’m listening to what it wants to be, and I carve it into existence slowly. When I feel the joy it’s not exactly self-indulgent… more like relishing in a purpose. It’s work. It’s a calling.

Sometimes a calling will be equated to passion. People talk about passion like it’s a feeling that burns and consumes you and motivates you to work through unreasonable hours or expectations. You know, the passion that exploitation thrives in. That’s how you know you are a Real Artist, they say.

But I have never felt passion like that? When I experience passion, I feel that I love the work. That I want the calling to happen. But there’s no anxiety in it. I don’t feel that I must get it done quickly or cater it for mass appeal, though I do have a preferred deadline and a hopeful expectation for an audience who will appreciate my hard work. But even if I break the deadline (maybe it has to be delayed another year) or end up having no support/audience, I am not worried. I just think “Well, it’ll happen regardless.” or “Yay, it’s already real. I am glad I did it.”

It’s got no fireworks. No algorithmic hurrah. No romance. I don’t go Natalie Portman Black Swan over the calling. Is that unimpressive? I don’t know. I only know it’s purposeful. And that it feels right. Maybe the word is not passion. Maybe the word is trust.

Maybe passion and trust are two sides of the same coin.

That’s all part of the “compelling” I feel for some books. They are the ones I don’t worry about because they are the ones I know will happen. So I pick them and give them the love and attention they ask for. It’s not a one-way relationship either. When you give in to the garden, it gives back to you.

So really, the answer to both questions is “I don’t know.” Because like, if you boil down my answers down to their most blase they are basically “Enjoy your life” and “Do what you like” – which are good answers in general, but don’t say anything about marketability or success or finding validation in an external party like a publisher or art director. They are useless answers.

Then again,

Maybe they are not.

#thoughts #inspiration #craft

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