#i guess this means i can stop seeing self congratulatory posts about how 'well adjusted' and 'friendly' the codywan fans are cause

[scribbleymark]

It's wild that you can say something like "The reason why fan artists draw Cody as taller than Obi-wan is because current canon has their heights listed as 6' and 5'10 respectively", and you'll get a bunch of big-brain try-hards accusing you of "fetishizing Maori men" unless you headcanon Cody as The Short One and Obi-wan as The Tall One. It's just convenient that the Right and Moral choice is the one you've crafted to echo your preferred shipping dynamic. Weird!

Yall really pulled out the 'you're fetishizing this guy but I'm NOT 'cause I'M MORALLY PURE and headcanon things the Correct & Right way' schtick with aplomb.

Great job, fandom! A++ "Do my headcanon or else you're a bad person!" Real cute. Never change. Who am I kidding? You never will.

[cyrelia-j]

[fic] The Hunter (Garak/Bashir)

Sequel/prequel to the fucked up horror story "The Hunted". If you hadn't read that you can check it on AO3 HERE (There was a post on Tumblr, but the AO3 version has about 2-3 more paragraphs of content and a few fixes so it's better to check it there).

The Hunted summary is as follows: Everyone knows to fear the Hunters. Miles O’Brien is no different. And then he meets a man travelling alone in the English countryside.

I'd been meaning to do a sequel to this for awhile since everyone likes the other one so much, and here it is!

Summary: Julian Bashir has been traveling alone since the Hunters came; it's safer that way. The old train tunnels are piled with the bodies of the dead, but they're the safest places to hide. And then Julian meets Garak.

Warnings: Horror, gore/cannibalism, dark, graphic

The smell of decomposition calms him. When he breathes in deeply and that thick sour smell, that rotting meat in the humidity fills his nostrils, it makes makes him smile. His father always has something to say about Julian having a better sniffer than most- used to always tell his friends they called him “nostrilla” as a baby because of the way his nostrils flared out when he’d cry as a child. Whether or not that’s true, he’s better than most at catching the scent of decay on the winds and following it. It’s what’s kept him safe since the darkness came.

The Hunters have no use for those already dead.

So Julian follows the scent of the bodies. He remembers watching The Walking Dead, seeing the characters cover themselves in the blood and remains of the dead bodies for disguise. The Hunters aren’t so easily fooled but their beasts are. His duffel bag has been long stained over, and contains only food, a cigarette lighter, and a tennis racquet. It’s a silly affection, but sometimes he likes to take it out at night and gives a few practice swings to the air, eyes closed, like he’s back on the court. He wonders how he’d have placed this year if things hadn't gone to shit.

Julian has been traveling alone, having learned quickly that the living only attract death. He’s been making his way by tunnels, slowly, carefully, trying to get back to London. He isn’t the only one; so many fled to the old tunnels, the old coal mines especially, trying to escape the Hunters, trying to hide. All the old places reek of death now, some piled half a man high with bodies, chunks of flesh ripped out, bones regurgitated back coated in the digestive fluids of the monsters. It didn't take them long to realize that the Hunters weren't seeking to eradicate them for its own sake.

They were hungry.

The Summerhill tunnel is nearing collapse. He remembers Maggie, the lovely woman at the front desk who he could actually understand, telling him if he was of a mind to be adventurous he’d best avoid the temptation. Julian had looked, just a glance, watching the walls caving in, before going for a nice hike elsewhere. The Summerhill tunnel is where he is now. He’s waited long enough that he doesn’t hear or see another living soul. He’s had to make his way past more bodies to do it, but his feet land on the ground steadily and he stands with a smile. He’s sure the smell could turn away the hearties of stomachs. It’s particularly nasty and he can hear the flies buzz buzz behind him as he reaches into his pocket for his lighter.

“Don’t.” he hears right before he flicks it, and Julian drops it with a start. His hearing, he’s been told, is better than most, and he hadn’t heard anything. He also hadn’t expected anyone else to be in here. People are bad, and not just because of the Hunters. People are bad enough in their own right, hunters enough without the monsters’ influence.

“I’m sorry,” Julian says softly, breathing slowly and deeply. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here. It’s just me so I’ll go if it’s alright with you.”

“Go?” The voice asks curious. Julian thinks it’s male but he can’t tell. He’s also not certain of the accent either. He’s sure it would be rude to ask, not like his father who takes every excuse to bang on about “those Paki fellows” completely un-ironically given their own ancestry.

“Now that would be a pity,” the man continues, the hairs on Julian’s arm standing up as he does. “I don’t believe I’ve had the company of such a lovely young man in awhile.” God, he’s mad as a bag of frogs then, wherever he’s from. Figures, Julian, the only other person you can understand since your holiday started and he’s wait… can he see you?

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company. Not much to look at either, twigs and pipe cleaners. I’m sure you can smell me too,” he says carefully. “Really, it’s safer by yourself. Trust me on that one. You’re better off if I go.”

“I assure you my dear, you smell delightful.” Crazy. Crazy, get out, Julian.

“Right, and what a brilliant nose you’ve got, grandma. Better to smell me with and all that.”

“I don’t have a nose,” the man replies sounding amused. Julian picks his lighter back up by feel and puts it into his pocket.

“That’s why you didn’t want me to see you,” he offers taking a step forward in the darkness. It doesn’t matter how well his eyes adjust, there’s nothing but black ahead.

“It’s better this way,” comes the soft response and there’s something about its’ sibilance that makes Julian shiver.

“Alright, that’s fine. Better not to waste it, but I don’t really have food to share. Been going it alone to London and if you’re hurt I don’t have anything except some BenGay and some ace bandage.”

“Oh you have my assurance I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone actually and this seemed an optimal location, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s a good spot to keep away from the Hunters,” Julian agrees relaxing a little as he sinks to his knees and starts a slow crawl further in. He’s been careful in uncertain terrain not to risk damaging his legs. They’re his most valuable asset.

“Is it really?” the man asks sounding surprised.

“Yeah. They don’t like that death smell. I don’t think they like their food already dead. They’re not carrion feeders. They like it fresh, scared. Think I read some old vampire trope saying scared blood tastes better or something. It also confuses their animals. They’re trained to smell certain pheromones, sweat or something. At least that's my theory." Julian laughs softly and takes an absent swipe of his blood stained thumb to his mouth. “Can’t find you if you smell like everything else. I’ve had to lay amongst the bodies a few times. S’not too bad, though is it stupid to say I’m still afraid I’m going to like… wake up and realize it’s the zombie apocalypse instead or something and those bodies will start moving?”

“My, such an imaginative young man.”

“Not much else to do at the end of the world.” Julian crawls forward a few more feet, sure he’s climbing over another few corpses as he does. He can feel the bones, feel the soft bits of flesh sticking to his fingers. He finds it strange that it’s not as soft as the ones further rotted. He’s about to ask if the man minds him getting much closer, but then he remembers no nose, so likely his smell won’t offend. The man said he smelled delightful? Must’ve been a weird sort of joke.

“Is it really the end of the world?” the man asks.

“Well I don’t know what else you’d call it. Don’t tell me that you don’t have any eyes either,” Julian huffs.

“Ah yes, the extinction level event known as the Hunters,” the man agrees. “But would you really cache the extinction of a single destructive species the ‘end of the world’? I should think the world will continue on without much intervention.”

“Great, you’re one of those,” Julian huffs with a sigh. “What are you, Tom Bombadil?”

“Who?”

“Nothing, don’t mind me just… for those of us who care about our fellow man it’s a nightmare out there. Let me guess? You and this fellow you’re waiting for are gonna hole up in here and watch the world burn writing some self congratulatory manifesto.”

“Perhaps,” the man agrees sounding amused.

“Lovely,” Julian drawls. “Well, Mr. Nietzsche, do you have a name?” Julian stops when his pant leg snags on something sharp. Cuts are bad. Cuts breed infection, and he isn’t going to die of an infection. He sits down, with the lightest touch and starts to work at it.

“I do.”

“I’m Julian. Julian Bashir.”

“Should I know that name?”

“Not if you don’t follow tennis. S’funny though. People know me. More people than I realized. You would think that it’s strange, trusting a total stranger at a time like this. I don’t know if it’s some weird imprinting thing from seeing me on the telly all the time or what, but I’ve been fortunate. People see me and they don’t think I’m dangerous, not threatening. Just like… that friendly looking chap who lost to Federer in ‘16.”

“Trust is a valuable gift,” the man agrees, Julian shaking his head as he continues to work at the snag. It’s odd because it almost seems that something sharp dropped down from the ceiling to pin the denim to the stone.

“I’m not getting a name then, am I?” Julian asks stopping a moment before he gets frustrated. He can’t seem to pull it out.

If he didn’t know better he’s say it was a sharp end like the stinger of a scorpion’s tale.

“You can call me Garak,” the man answers. Julian thinks he’s lying.  “That will make it easier for us to pass the time while I wait for my friend.” Julian looks up instinctively, though he isn’t sure why. He still can’t see, and out of respect he won’t use the lighter. The man hasn’t threatened him. He still feels that spike driving through his pant leg and he resolves to pull at the fabric and allow it to tear. Pity, those True Religion jeans aren't cheap.

“I don’t want to  be pessimistic, but if your friend isn’t here by now, I don’t think he’s coming.” Julian absently sucks a finger in his mouth this time. He isn’t sure when he started that habit. Out of nerves from this whole ordeal likely, but the saltiness is nice. Lord, he hopes he doesn’t get some sort of brain infection.

“You think so?” Garak’s voice is louder now. Julian is satisfied as his leg is freed, and he starts moving forward again. He starts to hear respirations loudly, like a furnace without a light. There’s more sibilance and he doesn’t understand what that means. He feels a few rocks under his hand, and he’s about to press on when Garak’s voice stops him. “That’s close enough if you please.”

“I’m not gonna bite you,” Julian says. “I mean whatever you might look like… ah… alright, I understand. You know, it’s funny. You see all these doomsday end of the world things and everyone comes together like Independence Day or Armageddon and everyone cries while a rock ballad plays. But really it’s more like…. Every man for himself. It’s all shit and everyone is shit.”

There’s no answer to that, and Julian continues.

“You know, the other morning I was out too close to dark. It was the closest I’d even been to an attack. It was a family. It was awful. I hid in an alley behind a dumpster. And you know, there was another man catty corner in the same alleyway with a hand up to his mouth to keep from screaming. We both stood there, crouched down, listening to them being eaten. And do you know what I was thinking?”

“Tell me, Julian,” Garak says, sounded enraptured.

“I was thinking… just… just for a mad second if it might not be best if the man were to be killed in case he gave us away. And… and then when the screams stopped and it got real quiet, and I could hear them feeding, I wondered if I shouldn't use him as a decoy instead.”  

Julian swallows, pulling his knees up to his chest, turning, leaning back a bit finding something warm and solid when he does. Ah, perhaps he was closer to Garak then he thought then.

“You see I’m… I’m fast, so fast I might have been an Olympic sprinter if I hadn’t loved tennis so much. See, when you’re out there… outside, you don't need to outrun the Hunters. You only need to outrun everyone else. That man… He was a sad middle aged fellow. He’d never make it… and he wouldn’t be the first man that I’ve outrun.” He’s outrun them all. He’s left them all to die as they screamed for help. Run and never turn back. He’s seen what happens to the ones that turn back.

“Yesss,” he hears from so close to his ear that he closes his eyes even in the darkness. “You do have those long, beautiful legsss.” Julian is about to ask if Garak has seen him on TV then, when he feels a brush to his pants, feels a ghost over his shin, his calf, up his thigh. He slaps at it, the sensation already gone, but it tingles where it left. Was that Garak? Was that his hand? But it couldn’t have been a human hand because-

“Garak? Was that you?” Julian asks. “I mean I’m flattered but-”

“You underssstand me?” Garak asks again and his voice is deeper, but it… doesn’t seem any different than before. Julian turns towards the sound blindly reaching out.

“Of course I understand you but you just can’t go pawing at people and… Garak?” He calls the name again as he feels… skin that’s not skin. It’s scales. It’s a smooth expanse of scales like his mate’s bearded dragon but like-

“That feelsssss niccccce,” he heards Garak say again and in that nervous habit his fingers are in his mouth again, biting them like this one bloke he went to school with named Jack used to do. He can feel his heart start hammering, and the cool tunnel suddenly feels so very hot. Is it firedamp? If he pulls out the lighter will it cause an explosion? Well not it’s not a coal mine so it- “Don’t.” He hears again, just like when he first entered the tunnel, his lighter in hand. Julian realizes that his hand is still stroking whatever that is and stops. He thinks that he should be terribly afraid right now. “Don’t turn on the light... if you don’t want to run.” His heart skips a beat when he hears those words, and his hand once more strokes the long winding expanse more forcefully, hearing a tssss in return. He knows he should be afraid now as he flicks the top off.

Julian licks his lips, tasting the blood again. He doesn’t understand why he feels so… hot. He doesn’t know why he brings his hand to his mouth and tastes more of it. But then he thinks of the bodies, of the bites, of the pools of blood mixed with their saliva and digestive enzymes, and how he’s tasted more and more here and there. Those who eat the food found in the underworld shall never leave it. That was one of the myths his mother had read to him from an old story book when he was a child. “But what if the food is so good you can’t stop yourself, mummy?” What if you can’t stop yourself, Julian? What if it tastes to good that you can’t… help yourself… that you're always craving more?

Julian flicks the light on, to the side, the ambient light kicking shadows off the wall and the creature in front of him. Oh, that's what it was, he realizes distantly. He doesn’t understand why he feels so-

“I’ll run,” He says, standing slowly heart a steady pounding, mouthing at his palm. It really is so very good. “But you won’t catch me.”

“I’ll catch you Julian,” Garak promises drawing up dark, beautiful, undulating and so, so bloody brilliantly. Julian thought the Hunters appeared different than this- smaller, more human in their appearance- but perhaps that was only an illusion. Perhaps they're shapeshifters? Julian takes a step forward and not back, seeing the sharp spike that had pierced his pant leg earlier. He doesn’t understand why they would hide something so deadly beautiful.

“And what will you do when you catch me?”

“Run, my dear, and you’ll find out.”

Julian smiles.

Julian runs.

[williamlwolf89]

Why You’ll Never Reach Your Writing Goals in 2020 (Unless…)

Another week passes with no progress on your writing goals.

No first draft, no blog post, no portfolio piece.

Zilch. Nada.

Nauseating guilt washes over you. At the beginning of the new year you were so hopeful, even making a New Year’s resolution to write more in 2020.

But you never seem to get around to it, at least not as much as you should.

Feeling too tired, distracted, or overwhelmed to get into the flow, you procrastinate and prioritize everything but writing.

Fed up with this situation, you decide to set the best damn goals the world has ever seen.

Unfortunately, even if you’re setting writing goals that would make Tony Robbins jealous, there’s still a good chance you will fail.

Unless…

You turn one of your assumptions about writing on its head.

Goal Setting Wisdom: Vapid or Valuable?

You’ve heard it all before.

Maxims to:

Get inspired

Keep a positive mindset

Visualize your outcomes

Repeat positive affirmations

Connect with your “why”

Set goals (more on this below)

None of this is bad advice. In fact, these are all useful practices. But are they enough?

No.

And there’s the problem. You’re told that if you follow the conventional wisdom, set clear goals, and keep your chin up, success will be yours.

Even with all these strategies, victory is not guaranteed.

Why?

Because there is something inside you, in all of us, that will undermine your best intentions.

But, before we stroll down that dark road, let’s review the basics of goal setting. It’s a necessary first step for achieving your dreams this year.

Simple Step-by-Step S.M.A.R.T. Goal Setting

Want your goals to stand a fighting chance?

Then follow the S.M.A.R.T. formula: Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant, and Time-Bound.

Let’s quickly break down each part:

Specific: Start at the Finish Line

Great goals are specific about what you’re going to achieve and when it will happen.

Ask:

“How will I know objectively that I accomplished this goal?”

Measurable: Amount of Time vs Word Count Goals

You need measurable goals that are easy to track. Examples include the amount of time spent writing (“30 minutes daily before breakfast”) and word count (“300 words daily before breakfast”).

A simple spreadsheet works well for this:

Tracking enables you to adjust your efforts and expectations based on objective data.

Another method I enjoy using is a simple Kanban style board with the easy to use (and free) writing project management tool, Trello.

Attainable: Smaller Goals vs Larger Goals

Daring to dream big is noble, but some writers are overwhelmed by bigger goals.

Balance big, inspiring (and scary) goals with smaller goals that feel attainable in the short term. These smaller, attainable goals will lead to “quick wins”, which will give you confidence to tackle the larger goals.

Relevant: Sensible in the Big Picture

You want to be an author, blogger, and start a freelance writing side hustle, but only have so much energy and attention to go around.

Choose your goals wisely. Perhaps you can publish your book in two years and start that side hustle now. Focus, Daniel-san!

Time-Bound: Know Your Goal’s Time Frame

“I’m going to write a book someday!”

Cool, good for you. Someday is a convenient synonym for never. We use it to weasel out of doing the hard work now.

Set hard deadlines to avoid this common trap.

Examples of Effective Writing Goals (S.M.A.R.T. Formula in Action)

That’s a lot of info, so let’s pull it all together. Here are a few good example writing goals:

Blogger: Publish two posts of 2,000+ words every month on my blog in 2020.

Freelance Writer: Apply to 5 writing gigs every week from January through June of this year.

Aspiring Author: Complete my rough draft by December of 2020 by writing every evening at 9 pm for 30 minutes non-stop (no editing!).

See how each goal is specific, measurable, easily attainable, very relevant to the goal setter, and has a clear deadline? That’s what you’re looking for.

If you need more help, read this Hubspot article on the do’s and don’ts of S.M.A.R.T. goals.

Okay, so what if you already have killer goals, a sparkling attitude, make generous offerings to the writing gods under a full moon, and still struggle to write consistently?

You’re not alone…

Back to Top

One Thing You Must Rise Above

How often do you feel like writing?

Let me guess, your list of requirements to write includes:

Feeling inspired, motivated, focused, clear, happy, and confident

Having extra time, enough energy, peace and quiet, and no distractions

You may be asking then, “How can I set my life up so that I feel like writing more often?”

It’s not a bad question. Energy and time management practices to improve performance and mood are useful. But, this question makes an assumption, missing a deeper truth:

Who says you need to feel a certain way to write?

Other worthwhile and fulfilling achievements aren’t easy. Why should writing be any different?

Look, it’s not just you.

Somewhere along the way we all started giving “how we feel” more weight than it deserves. Sure, let your feelings ride shotgun, but don’t hand them the wheel.

Letting how you feel govern your choices places you at the mercy of what Stephen Pressfield, author of The War of Art, calls “resistance.”

Resistance is an insidious beast with many faces, and must be tamed if you’re ever going to succeed.

It’s the voice that says, “You worked hard today, go ahead and take the evening off.”

It fools you into thinking that mundane tasks are urgent, taking precedence over writing. “Afterall,” it assures you, “writing can wait until tomorrow.”

This whole mess generates a vicious cycle.

You blow off writing. Then you feel guilt, self-loathing, frustration, and sadness. This build-up of bad feelings makes you even less inclined to write — and this pattern becomes a habit.

This destructive cycle devours your dreams, one excruciating day at a time.

We must then question our habit of letting today’s feelings determine the fate of tomorrow’s outcomes.

Not to worry, grasshopper. There’s a better way.

Back to Top

Better Writers Know this Uncomfortable Truth

Not to be dismissive of the very real challenges in your life…

But these demands aren’t going away anytime soon, and you still want to write that book or launch that blog.

Don’t you?

If you don’t learn how to decouple your actions from how you feel, your goals will pay dearly.

The result:

No book

No blog

Zero followers

No side income

No legacy

Because, let’s be real, these are the stakes.

What if, like Ryan Holiday suggests in The Obstacle is the Way, you take a different approach? Not only accepting difficulties as a given, but actually being grateful for them.

What I’m proposing here is to go beyond simply accepting the idea that you will have to write even when you don’t feel like it.

No. Take it further.

Seek Out Discomfort

Savor it like Hannibal Lecter enjoying chianti with his fava beans.

Because here is the secret, my friend.

How you feel will always be inconsistent, but you must become consistent in your actions regardless of how you feel.

This is the key that opens a door to the magical realm of growth and achievement.

Jon Morrow breaks this down nicely in this episode of his podcast Break Through the Noise:

“A lot of times, what success usually means is… actually putting yourself into a state of boredom, into a state of unhappiness, in order to create long term results… It’s short term pain for long term gain.”

And before you get the wrong idea…

This doesn’t have to be an exercise in masochism.

Instead, think of your competing desires like an adult with a child.

The whining child is bored and just wants to play. The loving adult speaks patiently, acknowledging that, “Yes, I know this is hard. I can see you don’t feel like it. Let’s just sit down and write for a moment. You’ll see. It will be fine.”

And you know what?

Every time you choose to act greater than your fear, laziness, and resistance, you build the habit of doing just that. Proving that you are greater than what you feel.

Okay, so how can we do that?

Back to Top

Your Writing Habit: Virtuous Friend or Vicious Foe?

Habits are powerful.

Deeply etched upon your nervous system, they compel you to act without conscious will.

The bad news?

You already have a writing habit — a bad habit.

Remember the vicious cycle mentioned earlier? Cycles are repetitive, and repetition builds habits.

Not to worry!

Now you’ll learn how to create a new cycle — a virtuous cycle that doesn’t rely on you being in the mood to write.

Hack Your Writing Process

How you feel is often at odds with your goals.

Fortunately, there are elements in your daily life that can reliably trigger your drive to write.

There’s a scientific approach to this.

In his book Tiny Habits: The Small Changes That Change Everything, BJ Fogg provides his A, B, C framework for building what he calls “tiny habits”:

Anchor: Something happens that reminds us to do the thing

Behavior: Immediately do the thing

Celebration: Immediately reward yourself for succeeding

Fogg recommends you start small.

You’re more likely to repeat the process when it’s easy and rewarding. As the behavior gels into habit you can easily scale up, leading to big changes over time.

Here’s how it looks in real life:

Goal: Write 300 words for my short stories every evening this year.

Anchor: Kiss the kids goodnight (a consistent event that triggers your writing routine)

Behavior: Consider lying on the couch and watching The Bachelorette. No, stay strong! Instead, sit at the kitchen table and write at least one sentence.

Celebration: Reward yourself by punching the air and shouting, “I am a winner!” or tweet self-congratulatory messages: #goals #bestwriting

Goal: Complete my rough draft this year by writing for 30 minutes every morning.

Anchor: Make your morning cuppa’ Joe (this will never not happen)

Behavior: Look longingly at your phone, imagining what you’re missing on Insta. Stop! Shuffle over to your desk, sit down, and write for 5 minutes (to start) before breakfast.

Celebration: Eat chocolate cake for breakfast. Or, you know, just have a small piece of that fancy dark chocolate you love.

Simple, right?

Notice how you’re not trying to achieve maximum output. At least, not yet. As these routines become habit, your word count and writing times will naturally increase.

Do you see the difference between the old “feelings first” approach and this new model?

Fogg’s method does generate good feelings in the final celebratory phase of his process. There’s nothing wrong with that. But, these feelings only help reinforce what you’re already committed to doing.

The only time you need to make any decisions about whether you’re going to write is when you initially set your goals.

From then on, regardless of how you feel, just write when the anchor event happens. No deciding. No rationalizing your way out of it.

Back to Top

Your Shockingly Good Year

Not writing feels terrible. It eats away at your soul, undermining your self-worth.

Remember, setting goals is necessary for achieving something great this year, but it’s not enough.

You must stay vigilant, keeping watch for the antics of that wiley trickster inside you. It will say anything to keep you from writing. Because while you’re goofing off, it feasts on your dreams.

Instead, you must cultivate a writing habit — stop relying on fickle feelings to drive your progress.

And when you reach the end of the year?

Imagine how amazing it’s going to feel not only hitting, but surpassing your goals.

When you finally:

Grow your blog

Break into a new niche

Multiply your income

No more sadness and frustration. No more guilt, shame, or self-doubt. And no more wondering whether you have what it takes!

You will be in control, with the power, confidence, and freedom to shape your destiny. Not only as a writer, but in all areas of your life.

If you haven’t set S.M.A.R.T. goals, do that right away. Don’t wait!

Then think about a simple routine you can start tomorrow. What trigger will remind you it’s time to write regardless of how you feel?

Remember, if it feels uncomfortable, hard, or scary then you’re on the right track.

You, the courageous writer who dines on discomfort and relishes resistance, are unstoppable.

Good luck! You got this!

About the Author: James Everett Youngblood is the owner of ProductiveMen.com. He’s a Smart Blogger Certified Content Marketing Writer specializing in search-optimized longform content, and he can help your blog capture more search traffic and better reader engagement. Click here to learn more about him (and hire him).

The post Why You’ll Never Reach Your Writing Goals in 2020 (Unless…) appeared first on Smart Blogger.

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[foursprouthealth-blog]

How Not to Break Up on Social Media

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/health/how-not-to-break-up-on-social-media/

How Not to Break Up on Social Media

My Facebook friends were really sad for me. Some random people just “liked” my status. Some mutual friends were shocked. “But you were the perfect couple!” one told me. “I no longer have faith in love!” another cried. Some dudes slid into my DM’s. My brother said, “What’s with the official statement? Sorry sis, ur no celebrity.”

EDITOR’S PICK

displayTitle

It wasn’t my idea. When I’m not spewing my guts in personal essays, I’m a pretty private person. And my brother was right: There’s something so self-aggrandizing and delusional about assuming people care enough that you need to make a grand announcement about a life change. I agreed to this weird Facebook announcement because after four years together, I was desperate to be rid of my ex.

Post breakup, we scheduled a meeting at our old place to hash things out one last time. He brought along love letters I’d witten him and read them out loud at me through sobs as I sat impassive on the couch. My mom and my therapist kept texting to make sure he hadn’t murdered me. His last request before he left (without murdering me, thankfully) was that we come up with a positive, heartfelt statement to our Facebook following.

I’m not entirely sure why he wanted to do that, but I have some guesses: I think that, partially, he didn’t want to be asked about me, but he’s also the kind of person who believes in weird formalities like that, ones that aren’t necessarily so much outdated as they are outlandish, like his dogged insistence that it’s necessary to send a personal thank-you to everyone who wished him happy birthday on Facebook. Or at least, that’s who he was. I have no idea who he is now.

So we simultaneously posted these status updates (oh yes, we both posted the exact same one, at the same time). I try and think about how I would have chosen to announce our breakup on my own, and I want to say: Well, I wouldn’t have. Easy.

I want to say, Whatever, Facebook is for old people anyway. Nobody gives a crap. I’d just change my relationship status and hide it from my timeline and let people figure it out when they figure it out. Adjust my privacy policy as needed. The people who need to know will know because I’ll tell them.

It’s so much more complicated than that, though. Because when you deal with a breakup, you do kind of want to post something. I did, anyway—I was so eager to be rid of my ex, and I wanted everyone to know I was no longer attached to him. I was eager to move on and wanted everyone to know it was time to think about their single male friends for me. It was a terrible, traumatizing breakup, and I just didn’t want to be asked questions.

#gettinbackinthegame / Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park.

All of this sort of begs the larger question, “What do we use social media for?” For some people, it is legitimately a form of socialization. For others, it’s to bookmark articles and memes and pictures of small animals. For another group I will never understand, it’s to have pointless political arguments. For everyone, however, it should be entertaining. And you have to admit, in the age of social media, breakups—other people’s breakups, that is—are interesting at the very least and entertaining at the very best.

Look me in the face and tell me you haven’t enjoyed combing through your old high-school rival’s Instagram, trying to figure out if she split from her perfect-seeming hubz. You end up being a self-congratulatory Nancy Drew (But see, wait, zoom in on her hand, is she wearing her ring? I can’t see her ring.)

Tell me you haven’t screenshotted some weird-ass song lyrics your old BF posted, the ones that kind of maybe indicate that he’s split from the side chick he was banging while you were together and he maybe left you for, then texted the lyrics to all your friends (What do you think this means? She didn’t “like” it or anything… No, I can’t see her stuff, she’s private.) Then again, I’m sure people were shook AF when my ex and I posted those bizarre matching status updates (Omg are they serious? What happened? … Also how f***ing weird is that post?)

The Great Ring Detective / Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park.

The thing is, they’re shook, and then they’re not. Thanks to the instant gratification machine that is YouTube and Instagram, our generation has the attention span of a turtle (maybe that’s insulting to turtles, I don’t know.) You text that screenshot to your friends and then, five minutes later, you’re deep in discussion over a screenshot of a potentially insulting text Becky From Work just sent you.

People cared that we broke up, don’t get me wrong. I got lots of very nice phone calls, texts, and invites for coffee afterward… it’s just that people don’t care for that long. The phone calls ceased, people stopped asking me how I was. Guy friends stopped hitting me up in my DMs. People move on. They have to: Everyone has their own sh*t. In five minutes, no one will remember that weird status update you posted or didn’t post—they’ll wonder and forget that you weren’t wearing your ring. Let them.

#singlelife / Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park.

Is this the first time someone has tried to tell you, hopefully very nicely, that no one really cares? It’s not a bad thing! It’s honestly kind of the best ever. Because when it comes to announcing your breakup via social media, you can very honestly do it for you, baby.

Enjoy your five minutes of fame. Drag people down a rabbit hole of mystery if you want to. Post a bottle of prosecco and a pint of Halo Top on the grocery conveyor belt captioned hashtag single life; screenshot your Bumble profile, hashtag getting back in the game. Get wasted and overshare on Twitter, break the internet by airing your dirty laundry, and then delete the tweet like 45 minutes later. Hit your before-this-last-relationship crush up, slide into those DM’s, and let them know you’re single—instead of hoping the Facebook algorithm will show them for you (it won’t.) Post this:

Don’t think about it too much. In five minutes, it will be yesterday’s news. My breakup status is literally the only thing I regret about my entire breakup, and believe me, it does not keep me up at night.

Do the important things. Call your therapist (and if you don’t have one, what are you waiting for?). Go home and have a good cry with your mom. Rally your people because that’s what friendship is for, these very moments when you feel like you’re not enough because you’re suddenly one instead of two. Take every piece of advice with a grain of salt or ten. Everyone means well, but they can only see so far outside of their own experience. Don’t give up on love. And always, always, always, for f*ck’s sake, keep it interesting.

Mikayla Park is a teacher/nonprofit creative person residing in the slums of Beverly Hills. Find her, and her two charming rescue dogs, everywhere at @mikaylapark.