#it would almost certainly take me months but maybe it would be a good project to come back to once in a while!

[ms-demeanor]

This is regarding your post involving making friends. I have had a spectacular amount of failures in meetup groups, particularly involving men from multiple meetup groups trying to take advantage of me or using me. In addition to that, the other members of the groups tend are often quite rude. Also, many meetups in my area tend to fall into one of the following categories: professional seminar, mommy & me, or the other members are double my age or older. What would you advise?

Volunteering - find something you care about and see if there is a local volunteer opportunity; you might want to look into food banks or mutual aid projects.

Crafting - this will likely be an older crew, but making friends with older people is cool honestly.

Sports - see if there's a kickball league or some other variety of low-key sport that you can sign up for.

Get super into the local music scene. Go to bar shows, go to basement shows, go to backyard shows. If you go to places where they have local music and hang out a bunch you will get to know local music people eventually, which includes both people in bands and people interested in bands.

Become a regular at your local library. Go once a week at the same time of day and you'll start to get to know people.

Become a regular at something else local. If you go to the same coffee shop three times a week for a few months and are polite to the employees you will probably eventually have friends among the people there; even if you do this by walking around the neighborhood park at the same time of day you will start getting to know the park regulars people love habits and if you can become a chill part of their daily scenery they will eventually want to investigate further.

Start your own club of some kind. Maybe start a book club for a particular genre of book that you like, or start a movie group where you meet up to see a movie together twice a month. You can post things like this on meetup websites or facebook, but you can also make fliers to put up in places that you think people you might find interesting would hang out.

Join a gym and go regularly. Sometimes a random person you see all the time in a gym can go from being a reliable on-the-spot spotter to a good friend.

Take a class locally. See if your town has a community center that offers cooking classes or computer classes or any kind of classes even things you already know. I keep making jokes about improv but improv people are great; see if you can take an impov class. See if your local music store offers music classes (I made weirdly good friends with the folks at the music store where I took vocal lessons; this was a pleasant surprise!)

When you try any of these places make friendly smalltalk with the people you encounter and express interest in them. If you are speaking to employees, make sure you're giving them lots of conversational outs because attempting to befriend people who are working can feel like you're cornering them, I'd actually say don't try to befriend the employees at a business unless you go there and they attempt to befriend you, however as someone who worked in coffee shops for ten years if someone randomly started showing up for six hours a week I would almost certainly have gotten to a friendly shoot-the-shit level with them within a month; if you go out among people who are sociable and are around them enough sometimes the sociable people go "aha! new friend sighted!" and do the hard work for you, but you do have to go to places to let yourself be found by the sociable ones.)

I do not, generally speaking, use meetup groups as a generic thing as much as I look into what groups exist locally that I am interested in. If a local game store is running a weekly Magic tournament, that's a better place to meet people in my opinion than a one-time bowling event.

[pep-rambles]

Lucifer is a Swiftie headcanons because I kin this man so much I am projecting my other hyperfixations on him

But also I mean c'mon,

Look at him

yes there is RadioApple in this

-It probably started from Charlie. When she was in high school (post emo phase obviously) she may have enjoyed Taylor Swift (maybe Fearless got her through her senior year because I can't stop projecting) Lucifer started listening to try and have something to bond with his daughter about. But about the time Charlie kind of lost interest is about the time Lucifer doubled down on his obsession.

-He has been to basically almost every Eras concert, usually in really good seats because many a swiftie has offered to sell their soul for tickets. He said keep your soul just let him tag along.

-He is definitely an Evermore stan mostly because of relating too hard to the divorce narrative of it.

-Speaking of, Charlie has threatened to lock him out of his Spotify after catching him on the floor crying to “Champaign Problems” on repeat too many times. She never would but most definitely tried to ban him from listening to it for a month.

-She then caught him crying to “You’re Loosing Me”

-Angel Dust is most definitely  Beyhive (killer bee probably) and though initially joking that they are rivals the two men bond over their love for the two queens of pop, recommending songs and videos to each other.

-Angel is a Reputation Stan though 

-After one of Lucifer’s many tiffs with Alastor,  Charlie is expressing her frustration asking her dad why can’t they just get along and Lucifer explains that he doesn’t trust Alastor because “I think his ever-present grin is a little troubling” and is a little upset when she doesn’t get it 

-One day, Luci is sitting in the Lobby doing his work while listening to Taylor on shuffle. He’s casually minding his own business jamming out to one of her poppier love songs and Alastor wanders in commenting on the “Obnoxious trite little diddy” Lucifer doesn't even hesitate to take the bait

L: HOW DARE YOU! SHE IS A TALENTED GODDESS!! A DOWNRIGHT MUSICAL CHAMELEON! You are such a snob Alastor! Good music didn't stop getting made after your tiny little lifetime.

A: I never said it did but it's certainly not this frivolous noise!

L: Oh, you uninformed uncultured cur! She is a fucking poet!

He then proceeds to play examples for Alastor of her most creative and heart wrenching lyrics (he absolutely makes Al sit through all 10 minutes and 13 seconds of ATW) 

After all that though Lucifer will never get Alastor to admit that he finds T.S. musically talented (or that Lucifer did in fact catch Al tapping his foot a couple times)

        -Alastor does come to Lucifer, after a bit of research, admitting that though he does not find her music enjoyable, he respects her business cunning. Luci figures that's good enough. For now. 

-because I bet my non-existent Eras tour tickets that Lilith was a hater. I’ll leave it at that.

-OP works at Barnes & Noble and let me tell you there are about 80 different Taylor Swift magazines that even my swiftie ass thinks is excessive but Lucifer has every single one

-including the Taylor Swift paper dolls magazine (yes this is a real thing). He probably gets a few because he convinces Charlie to use them as a team building activity.

-He has at least 3 copies of each of the covers for the 2023 TIME Person of the Year magazine. 

-Also all cardigans. On a casual day he definitely lounges in them and has a set rotation of when to wear each one (and I am totally not gonna draw that nope)

-Well, it seems Lucifer is no longer crying to the depressing break-up songs on repeat but now he seems to be angrily listening to “Gorgeous” on repeat. Charlie asks him about it and he goes full denial mode “No no Charlie I'm not thinking of anyone specific, I've just been really into this song lately.” Everyone else in the hotel, besides Alastor, has already figured out what's going on

Alastor: If I have to hear that obnoxious noise one more time I will reduce that tiny maniac’s room to rubble as well as the abode of whatever sad sack is making him play it.

Angel: *knowing smirk* I'm gonna hold ya to that one, Antlers. 

-Al may very well hear it one more time if Lucifer uses it as his confession song (I don't fully commit to this headcanon, I just think it's funny) 

-Anyway boy’s probably in his Reputation stan Era b/c LWYMMD is like his long overdue big F-YOU to Heaven song 

btw this is NOT gonna end at these headcanons I am running with this idea like scissors.

@nunalastor

@julsiemagne

@nose-nippin-fun (I know you're not a swiftie but we talked about this so idk if you care I can un-tag you if you want)

[marta-bee]

This story from @eilinelsghost really and truly blew me away. I don't want to say too much for risk of spoiling it (for he that breaks a thing to see how it works, etc. etc.), but by way of summary, it involves Finarfin and Finrod being reunited after Finrod's death and re-incarnation, and it is every bit as intense as a fic would need to be to do that moment really, really well.

I mean: damn.

Aside from that, I think it's pretty well known in these parts that my two big fandoms are Tolkien and Sherlock Holmes. What I've maybe made less obvious is I relate to these fandoms in pretty different ways, and this fic helped me understand why.

Tolkien is the one fandom I've ever really felt driven to write for, though I don't read it much these days. Whereas Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock especially, I love to read but feel so little drive to actually write in. And I think it's because with Sherlock, there are these great fun characters and so many people still writing in this really accessible, relaxing writing style. Also, canon really did do quite a few of us Johnlockers horribly wrong. Slipping back into that world is like slipping into a warm bath at the end of a long day. But there's not this metaphysical grist the way there is with the Silmarillion especially, and the way my brain works, there's nothing to work out the same way.

And writing is hard. It takes me months often as not, and while I love being on the other side of a good story-telling, the getting-there process is quite grueling. Even the wordcrafting, the turns-of-phrase, I really love writing a character that demands that and whose character demands it. Mycroft, maybe. Denethor, certainly. But more and more, with Sherlock stories, the kind of stories I feel like I should be writing there just don't seem to spring naturally from the canon.

Then I read this gem and got a glimpse of what I was yearning for. It's the archaic language, I think, and the way that other-ness just really, really serves the theme I think the author is aiming for. It's gloriously told on its own, but it's also not (to borrow a line from Hitchhiker's Guide) not just some guys, you know? It's almost like Finrod and Finarfin are characters almost (but not quite) elevated to archetypes so we can play around with what it means to be reembodied in Arda Marred, in a way a philosophical treatise never quite could.

Doesn't mean the story itself doesn't pack a punch. This is plunge the dagger in and twist it around while you're in there why don't you? level angst, and I do mean that as the best compliment.

As I said: damn.

To the extent I'm in a place to make New Year's resolutions, I'd say this makes me want to reread the Silm and maybe write some Tolkien fic of my own again. That wanting is the highest compliment I can muster. Whether I can actually do that is an open question (I'm both tired and very busy with RL), but the desire is real.

Seriously, Silmarillion fans, if you've gotten this far and are still reading me please go and read the thing. For a oneshot especially, it packed an utterly ridiculous amount of wallop.

Sherlockians, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. But sometimes, game just has to take a moment to recognize game.

[verdemoun]

Hey, it's me again! Sorry for being mousey last time.

I know this is a bit recent but if I wait too long I'll either lose the idea or my nerve.

For some reason, I adore the Transfem "Kieran" Duffy HC. It's almost certainly projection, because while I was never held hostage by a roving band of psychotic Irishmen, I am shy, neurodivergent, and paranoid to the point of having escape plans I will never use.

I know you already did one for 1899 Kieran (which may or may not have cursed me with a love of an incredibly niche HC for an already very niche character) but could you maybe do one for Timewarp?

Alternatively, if you would like something different, Sean and his father learn about everything that happened in Ireland after their deaths. The 1916 Easter Rising, The Troubles, or Margaret Thatcher as a whole.

As another alternative, disregard this ask all together, and go get a snack. You probably need one.

A snack would be good rn I'll have a snack with one hand and reply with the other.

Transfem Kieran,,, beloved.

Bessie motherfucking Matthews can smell gender dysphoria like a bloodhound and would notice the second they brought the non-verbal smelly homeless former-O'Driscoll home.

Kieran's been sleeping rough for a month, just like when he was first let off the tree in Horseshoe he desperately needs a bath.

After a slight miscommunication about hot water (and the concept of not needing to share bath water), Kieran is sitting on the couch two hours later shivering in three layers of clean clothes and a blanket with Bessie very gently and patiently brushing the knots and mats out of his hair. The first thing Kieran makes close to a noise is a delighted squeak in the back of his throat as Bessie says what nice hair he has. Bessie immediately ties a little braid in Kieran's hair, to another overjoyed squeak.

Kieran absolutely latches onto Bessie as a safe person. When her husband assures her Kieran had always been around the women in camp and just seemed to prefer their company, Bessie takes note.

Innocently saying that they weren't expecting any more timewarpers for a while so Kieran has to go shopping in her wardrobe for a bit. While Hosea's clothes are in there too he picks out a v-neck and a chunky knitted cardigan and looks very content in women's clothing that still fits loose because of how scrawny he is.

Bessie also offers to help Kieran shave. Getting a close shave was still a fairly rare occasion thing in 1890s so she could easily say it was a treat to make timewarping seem less scary.

Instead Mair gets a moment of seeing herself with her hair perfectly washed and brushed and soft and clean shaven in femme-presenting clothes that didn't even exist in canon era and very quickly goes from 'yay men can be pretty in modern era' to the gender euphoria of 'wait am I a man? or am I a pretty lady? can i,, oh i can be a pretty lady!!'.

Bessie would also be euphoric because a) timewarp actually giving people a chance to explore gender identity in a way they couldn't in canon era and proving all the fear and learning to adapt to modern era is a good thing b) she finally gets a daughter because throughout all the children she has accidentally adopted over her lifetime (Arthur, John, Sean, Lenny) she is yet to actually have a daughter due to dying before the gang picked up Tilly.

Bessie would adore brushing Mair's hair and taking her shopping to get fancy nice smelling soaps and clothes. Mair would still be a hoodie gremlin but the classic oversized paired with a mini skirt but the hoodie's so long it just looks like she's not wearing anything under it.

Exception being first-time she sees a dress she absolutely must have. It very much looks like something from the early 20th century and only modern to the gang, with a bell skirt and petticoat to match.

Processing timewarp honestly takes up so much of the gang's time most would struggle to actually recognise Mair as Kieran except for the OG timewarpers who would respect times change I guess Mair is her name now. 'There's cars now and no one owns horses, and robbing banks and getting away with murder is almost impossible, you have to get an actual paying law-abiding job, also sometimes people change gender'.

Molly would absolutely fall in love with having another girl in the gang who doesn't actively hate her (her and Karen still have some beef to work out) and spend hours doing Mair's make-up with all her fancy products and Mair would adore it. Otherwise she is useless at doing make-up because that shit is hard.

She's somehow an even bigger horsegirl because she really identified with the being a girl part. People thought Kieran was obnoxious with his love of horses? Mair is worse, infinitely, infinitely worse. The few who make the connection Mair was once Kieran Duffy? The way she talks about horses.

My Little Pony backpack that goes everywhere with her.

She makes friendship bracelets for her favourite people, because she would never part with any of her precious horse figurines for any reason. She would still bite Sean for touching any one of them.

Bessie: precious darling daughter would you like to get our nails done together? Mair: yes please!! - after - Mair: yay pretty nails!! pretty!! Bessie: Bessie: it's okay if you want to take them off Mair: oh my god yes please

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

I spent the last few hours going through every book I own and organizing them into piles of ones I actually want to read and ones I can almost certainly get rid of. I made a list of 150 books I want to read, which with my current attention span and reading speed would take me between 12.5 and 50 years to get through.

I was a reading machine in high school. I did nothing but read during my free time in senior year, got second place in the schoolwide competition (I'm pretty sure the winner cheated because I never saw them read a page at school and their list was coincidentally one book longer than mine). I think if I really focus, give daily page goals, and read a book instead of staring at a screen whenever I get bored throughout the day I may be able to take a sizeable chunk out of this list.

I broke it down as 83 fiction books I have never read before, 24 non-fiction books I have never read, and either 42 or 43 books I have read and want to re-read (the 43rd is Mostly Harmless, the fifth book in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series which sucked ass and I hate, so I'll probably skip it). Right off the bat the 43 re-reads are of secondary priority, so I only have 107 books I want to plow through. Someone like my older sister could conceivably read 107 books in a year, but I don't think that's physiologically possible for me in my current and expected mental state throughout 2025. I think even as many as 52 would be implausible, a book a week, just too much. I think 12 is possible, a book a month, maybe even 24, two per month, so my goal is 20. I will try to read every day and make up days I miss. I'll spend way less time on social media, which will be good for me.

I don't know how realistic this is. I think giving myself a goal is probably doomed to fail and my real plan should be to just read more regardless of exact quantity. I only read three or four books in 2024, two of which I had read before, though I started dozens. I think I should focus less on systemically working through the list and more on changing my life so I don't want to be on my phone or computer as much in the new year. Even if I don't read a single page, if I can reduce my screentime it will be a net positive; I have a ton of ideas for creative projects I would like to do in my new free time if I'm successful.

[topazadine]

Defeating Protracted Writer's Block

Sometimes we get a little stuck on a few words; that's normal. Sometimes we just don't feel like doing anything today and would rather roll around on the ground pretending to be a slug or perhaps a snail. Also normal. Very normal.

However, what do you do if your writer's block has gone on for days, weeks, months, years?? Well, you've got to make a plan to defeat the Block. Here are some suggestions I have developed.

Resist the urge to start something new.

Sit with the discomfort.

Give yourself grace.

Assess your overall life circumstances.

Read outside of your comfort zone.

Try a new hobby or activity.

Start over completely (in a new document).

Cannibalize the piece.

And at the end, I'll share some action points to sum up.

As always, I am not the end-all be-all of writing advice, maybe I'm wrong, maybe you have other suggestions, take what you like and leave the rest. Let's go.

Resist the urge to start something new.

I have discussed in another post why you should not have a million WIPs, with citations as to why having a million WIPs is not conducive to good writing processes, so I will not belabor the point.

Basically, the brain really only focuses on one thing at a time. The more projects you have going, the more scattered your focus is, and the less likely you will be to finish any of them.

I get that you might be bored with your WIP, but if you start a new project, you are exponentially less likely to actually finish it. Maybe you've given up on it totally, and that's fine, but if you did intend to get it done, then stick with it.

Any ideas you have can be set aside for later exploration; write them down and you can be assured that they're not going anywhere.

Sit with the discomfort.

One of the best things I have learned over my life, both in writing and overall, is to be okay being uncomfortable. This mostly comes to me regarding getting feedback on my work, but it also refers to being okay with having writer's block.

There's a skill that comes from knowing when you need to push through a bit of writer's block (which is typically just being unmotivated) and when you need to sit back on your heels and breathe. If you have thrown all your tools at the writer's block, such as turning off your phone or using Stimuwrite, and you're still stuck, then you need to accept that right now is not for writing.

Personally, I always get very anxious when I have writer's block. What if I just give up on the story completely? What if I'm just a bad writer and my inspiration has run out? What if I'll never be able to write anything ever again?

Then I remind myself that I have been writing since I was 7 and I have always come back to it, no matter how bad things have gotten in my life. Experience has shown that even if I take a break, I am almost certainly going to return to it because it's my longest-held and most well-developed skill.

In many cases, just acknowledging that I'm more anxious about the future of my craft rather than this particular story is enough to get me to calm down, and by releasing that mental finger-trap, I start to feel inspired again.

Accept and acknowledge the writer's block. Recognize that it's there. Don't avoid it. Simply let it be there for the moment.

Give yourself grace.

Creatives can be really hard on themselves, especially in a world that is constantly pushing us to develop content as soon as possible. We think that if we don't put out a story every week, no one will care about us anymore and we'll be forgotten. Algorithms have started to infest our brains and change our self-image into a "content creator" instead of a writer, artist, musician, and so on.

But these algos were not created by creative people. They were developed by tech bros who do not understand the process of producing something unique.

Downtime is part of being creative, just like rest days are part of being an athlete. Your brain needs time to decompress, relax, and mull over story ideas. No one would force a marathon runner to set out on another cross-country trek just days after completing their last one because their muscles would explode.

If you don't have a looming deadline, relax. Be gentle to yourself. Let yourself loll around and pretend to be a snail. Freeing your mind of that anxiety can, paradoxically, make you want to work again.

Assess your overall life circumstances.

In addition to my controversial beliefs about not starting a million WIPs, I also do not ascribe to the myth of the martyr artist. I covered that in more detail at the link, but basically, being depressed and stressed out does not actually make you more creative, no matter what you think. Not only does that post explain the science behind it, but it shows you some examples of my own writing done during different stages of bipolar disorder: manic, depressed, and stable.

I don't care what any starving artists say. As someone with a severe mental illness, I can confidently tell you that being unstable is not good for creativity. Your brain is under stress, and it doesn't have the metabolism necessary to produce great work.

But this does not just stand for having a severe mental illness like bipolar disorder; it can also refer to just overall shitty life circumstances, like being stuck in a bad job or having toxic people around you.

Sometimes a dip in productivity can actually be the sign you need that there's something awry elsewhere, something you may not even noticed was wrong. As such, when you're feeling The Block, sit down and think about your life circumstances. Are you happy? Are you financially stable? Are the people around you supportive and kind? Are you getting enough food to eat? Do you have regular healthcare?

Of course, sometimes you will face protracted life circumstances that are inconducive to creative activity, and there is nothing you can do about it. I'm not saying that if you're in a bad place, you should just stop writing - not at all. We'd be missing half the literary canon if that were the case.

But. If you are facing challenges, and you're feeling blocked, and you have the means to take care of those things, by all means do. Take care of your life stuff. The writing can wait. You as a person are much more important than what you produce. You deserve to be happy and healthy and well taken care of.

If you are facing challenges, and feeling blocked, and you can't take care of those things, then please give yourself grace. Be kind to yourself. Take it slow. Do just as much as you can and no more. Ask for grace from others if you need to. Again, you as a person are always, always more important than what you produce.

Read outside of your comfort zone.

In addition to writing The Eirenic Verses, I am a freelance SEO writer who mostly writes stuff about real estate and personal injury. You'd be surprised at how much inspiration I get from the boring stuff that I have to write for work! I'm serious - these obnoxiously dry statistics and such have helped me immensely in my creative fiction.

For example, there's a scene in one of the upcoming books where the MC falls down a cliff. I would not have even considered including that if it weren't for writing personal injury articles about construction accidents. I also got inspiration for the main theme of book 8 in the series, Perseity, after writing about real estate probate. I'm serious!

Sometimes, nonfiction like that can kickstart your creative process more than fiction because you won't just be copying the themes or ideas included in whatever you're currently reading. I recommend that you read fiction for things like dialogue, interesting words to use, and so on, but nonfiction for the actual story ideas. After all, life is frequently stranger than fiction. You never know what you'll find in there.

Try a new hobby or activity.

We, of course, use our brains to write, and our brains are always eager for new inputs. The more that you expose yourself to interesting things, whether that's going on a short daytrip or trying out a new skill, the more neurogenesis that occurs and the more metabolic activity going on up there. And we want neurogenesis and good metabolic activity.

If you're really struggling to write, step away from the computer and do something new. It could be anything, but at the bare minimum, it must make you feel like an idiot who does not know what they are doing. It must make you have to try new movements, or apply old knowledge in new ways, or go to somewhere you've never been before and don't know the layout of. This shakes you out of your old patterns of behavior and forces you to shift your understandings of how things work, which can give you new perspectives on your work.

Start over completely (in a new document).

I will only touch on this briefly because I don't use it, but I know other people have had success with it. Basically, you begin all the way over again, writing it as you would have from the beginning. Not copying and pasting, but typing it all over again.

Sometimes (or so I have been told), this helps you recognize where things are going wrong and workshop solutions as you go along. Many also use this for editing when they are done, as it helps you catch typos you wouldn't have noticed otherwise.

Cannibalize the piece.

If you are really stuck, fed-up, angry, and don't think you can bear to go on, then don't! Unless you've already promised this work to someone or you're doing this for pay, there's no rule that you have to finish everything you start.

But no writing is ever wasted. There is likely the seeds of something good in there that you can recycle. It may be really good phrases, ideas, characters, locations, dialogue, whatever. But there is something good in every single piece, no matter how down you are feeling about it right now.

I've given up on a ton of pieces, but I often find echoes of them in later works, even if I never copy-pasted anything. That's because it was still practice - I was still learning and growing as a writer. The only way to improve is to keep going forward, but that does not mean you have to beat a dead horse. Chop it up and feed it to your next piece so you have the strength to continue.

Action points for beating protracted writer's block

Don't start a new WIP unless you have completely given up on this one. If you get story ideas for something else, write them down but don't start them. Allow yourself to have writer's block: unless you have a deadline, the writing will still be there. Recognize that much of writer's block is about anxiety about your skills rather than a true creative stop. Remove the "content creator" curse that tells you that you must be working 24/7. Consider downtime to be part of the creative process, just like athletes need to rest. Remind yourself of how many other times you have have writer's block and the fact that you were able to get over it that time too. Assess your overall life circumstances and consider whether your writer's block is a symptom of something bigger. Prioritize self-care rather than attempting to be a martyr for your art. Read something you wouldn't usually in order to broaden your horizons. Consider reading nonfiction for story ideas and fiction for specific craft inspiration. Do a new hobby, especially one that is completely out of your comfort zone. Rewrite the entire piece in a new document. Take pieces from the old work and start something new if you have fully declared it dead.

If you enjoyed this, maybe you'll consider purchasing my gay fantasy romance, 9 Years Yearning. This coming-of-age story features two young soldiers in a world lightly inspired by the Mongolian steppes, infused with poetry magic and literary mythology.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: violence, blood, wounds, knife violence, gun violence, implied sa references/fear of touch due to Inej's trauma

AO3 link

Chapter 17 - Inej

Liesbeth struck first. 

Inej dove backwards as a blade arced over her head, so close to her nose she could hear it moving through the air, and rebalanced on the balls of her feet to remain standing as she tried to control her steps backwards. She saw Jesper draw his pistol and quickly waved him off - gunshots would surely draw attention and they were on Razorgulls’ territory, but with a bit of luck she could keep this knife fight quick, neat, and quiet. 

Liesbeth was strong and violent and by the looks of things not as utterly exhausted as Inej and her two hours of sleep in as many days were, but Inej’s one advantage was that Liesbeth didn’t want to kill her - yet. Of course there was always the chance that she’d mortally wound her and just drag her to a Corporalnik, but if she wanted her to talk Inej doubted that was the plan. She’d want to hurt her, certainly, but only enough to get her off her feet and end the fight. Of course then she’d probably torture her, but for now that tiny slither of advantage was still Inej’s. They both wanted her to survive this fight. 

Liesbeth was not better than Inej. But she was older, had been doing this for longer, had all the real motivation behind her in this fight. She was taller, her reach was longer than Inej’s, but maybe it would throw off her balance. Inej was very aware of the clock ticking lower. It was almost sunrise, almost time for the first boat on the Belendt line to leave the Ketterdam docks behind. How long would the walk be from here - twenty, twenty five minutes? 

Metal flashed and Inej caught Liesbeth’s arm in the air, struggling to find purchase as she drew her knives.

 “Jesper,” she managed through gritted teeth, as she dodged a blade and just missed catching Liesbeth’s flesh with her own, “Go,”

“Inej-”

“There isn’t time,”

Jesper turned and began to head for the mouth of the alley, and Inej made the mistake of watching him. She hissed as Liesbeth’s knife sliced across her arm, blood rising to the surface like something inside was forcing it out and beginning to drip over her skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, barely a slash really, but it had taken Inej by surprise. Liesbeth lunged, trying to take advantage of Inej’s brief daze, and Inej was forced to step backwards or take another hit. They moved like they were in a dance, stepping between each other, blades rarely finding flesh. Inej got a hit across Liesbeth’s forearm but paid for it on her shoulder, then returned the favour with a small arc over Liesbeth’s cheek. Blood ran slowly down her face, a bed of white flowers slowly stained red.

Liesbeth lunged again and Inej threw her weight to one side so both of them toppled as she forced the woman’s wrists farther and farther apart. It was from there, kneeling with Liesbeth pinned beneath her, grappling in an attempt to wrestle enemy knives away from her stomach and do something about the fact she could see Liesbeth was poising herself to spring free, that Inej heard the first gunshots bouncing down the little alleyway. She flinched, flattening herself towards the pavement with no idea where the shot had come from or where it was aimed at. Liesbeth took the opportunity to roll away, but Inej hadn’t missed the way she flinched as well, knives retracted and arms drawn round her to cover her head. Not back up then. Or not expected back up?

Inej slipped her knives away and scrambled backwards towards the wall of one of the drunken buildings leaning into the alley, trying to find purchase and begin to climb before anyone followed her. Her eyes scanned down the alley - three shadow clad strangers, at least one with a gun, and Liesbeth pulling herself back to her feet. Dammit. She shouldn’t have told Jesper to leave. 

Footsteps began to gather behind her as Inej turned to face the wall; she grabbed a slightly crooked brick above her head and reached to pull herself up only to falter at a terrible, stinging pain deep in her thigh. She gasped, struggling to keep her fingers connected with the stone, and when she dared to flick her head over her shoulder it was not to see Liesbeth, as she’d expected, but one of the newcomers. She recognised him after all; Oomen. An enforcer for the Black Tips, gangly and shambling, built as though his joints had been put together at wrong angles, but a terrifying cut nonetheless. Word had it he’d once cracked a man’s skull apart with his bare hands, then gone on drinking. 

Had Liesbeth been lying about having come alone, or were they both about to face some kind of trouble? After all, trying to kill Inej when the boss wanted to get hold of her may very well count as betraying one’s own gang. 

Oomen’s grip had closed tightly over Inej and he dragged her down, hand scrambling to find the knife in her leg and twisting it sharply. She had to fight not scream. 

“Did you think finding him a prize would get you back in favour, Liese?” one of the others was asking, a man Inej didn’t recognise. He had thrown his arm over the woman’s shoulders, his hand alone practically bigger than her face, “Or did you just want to keep her for yourself?”

Inej drew Sankta Alina back from the quick draw on her forearm, but one attempted step forwards and she knew her leg couldn’t take her weight. Her knee began to buckle before Oomen grabbed her again, and forced her back towards the wall as she struggled. His free hand fell to hers, twisting her wrist until the knife clattered to the ground. 

“Easy, Wraith,” he crooned, close enough for to smell his rotten breath, “Gotta learn when to stay down,”

Panic began to seize Inej, as though it were slowly creeping up from the floor and growing over her inch by inch, overtaking her limbs and holding them in place; a thousand spindly fingers closing over her ankles, then her legs, her waist, her arms, her throat. Her breaths were shaking as she tried to lean her head as far away from Oomen’s as she could manage. There was brick dust in her hair; the wall was scratching horribly against her scalp but it was the closest thing left to an escape she could feel. 

“I’ll have to teach you when to be still,” he hissed.

And then Inej could not bite back the scream that ripped into her chest as he pulled the knife out and plunged it back into her flesh. 

It’s just your leg, she tried to tell herself, he wants you alive, he won’t go anywhere important. It’s just your leg. It’s just your leg.

But there was another voice in her head too, cruel, perhaps, but also frightened. It’s your leg. You can’t climb, you can’t swing, you can’t fight without your leg. What use will he have left for you without your leg? 

The knife met Inej’s thigh a third time as the fear began to swallow somewhere deep inside her. She bit her tongue and still cried out in pain. Oomen pulled her briefly forwards and then slammed her hard into the wall, bracing his arm across her collarbone to pin her in place. Her toes were barely brushing the pavement. Inej’s breath was leaving her. She could feel blood dripping down her leg and soaking into the fabric of her trousers. 

“That’s enough,” someone snapped, their hand appearing on Oomen’s shoulder. 

Pale, thin fingers pulled him away so Inej fell the few inches to the ground and almost immediately slumped over the wounds throbbing in her leg. Liesbeth? She was barely visible in Inej’s spinning, darkening eyesight. Saints, how much blood had she lost? How deep had the knife gone into her leg? She shivered, palms grazed against the stones, trying to pull herself upright with shaking arms and drag herself along the street. Someone caught her shoulders again and she wanted to sob, to give in, to close her eyes and curl into a ball and wait for the world to end. 

They dragged her to her feet and she found herself held close to someone’s torso, their arm tight around her shoulders the only thing that kept her standing. One chance. No matter how far she managed to run or climb on adrenaline alone, she knew that Liesbeth would be able to follow her in an instant. But it didn’t matter, as long as she had just enough time. She gritted her teeth, gathered as much strength as she could muster, and hooked her foot around the stranger’s ankle. He stumbled, momentarily releasing his hold on her, and Inej managed almost five blundering paces as she tried to gain speed. 

“What did I just tell you,” hissed Oomen, his hand closing on the back of her neck and shoving her downwards so her legs were forced out from under her and her face hit into the stone, “about staying down?”

And then the knife came again. Inej was breathing hard, scrambling forwards in vain so she probably looked like a butterfly trying to thrash between pins and a page. The knife struck a fifth time - or was it sixth? She couldn’t even remember - thrusting through the muscle of her thigh so close to the other wounds it was as though he were trying to gouge a hole into her flesh. Her head was clouding and she was losing track of time and attention and her vision was blurring, but she thought it was about now that the gunshots started. 

Oomen swore loudly as he ducked, his chest suddenly tight against Inej’s back. It was a brief moment, before he lurched away and drew his own gun against the newcomers, but it sparked fire in Inej’s heart and she that age-old panic rising over her limbs again. She was ready to meet it, to best it, to control it. She took a slow breath. And in that tiny window of opportunity before he moved away she pulled Sankta Lizabeta from her belt, rolled onto her back, thrust the knife upwards. Oomen cried out as he stumbled off her, blood dripping from his shoulder and down the rose-etched blade still clasped between Inej’s palms. It wasn’t a deep cut and as far as she could tell it had done little but bother him; he still drew his pistol and joined the fray. But she felt better for it. Maybe that was bad of her, but in this exact moment she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

Inej bit back more screams as she rolled herself to one side, trying to reach the far wall of the alley. The knife handle was still protruding from her leg at an ugly angle and she didn’t realise until she rolled her weight over it, which definitely hadn’t helped the situation. She had no idea what was going on between the fighters as she begged herself to keep moving, hand scrambling over the bricks of the wall, lips moving feverishly as she whispered prayers to her Saints for enough strength to pull herself up by her arms alone. 

Climb, Inej.

She was trying. 

It took as much power as she could muster to haul herself onto a window ledge, just wide enough for her to lay there, lengthways on her back, her boots dangling over the edge. She breathed slowly. No-one seemed to have noticed her vanish; she may not have slipped away as subtly as she usually could, but they were too distracted by the fight to pay her proper attention now. For a moment she just lay and breathed, running a hand down her leg to find the cuts and the knife handle. Her palm came away wet. 

There would be time to panic later. Inej swallowed her fear, or tried to at least, and leaned cautiously over the ledge to see the fight unfolding below. Her vision was hazing, her head ached, and the pain in her leg was only growing. But… was that Jesper? He had come back. Well, either that or Inej had lost more blood than she realised and had started seeing things.

The Black Tips were on the run from Jesper and two other Dregs, whose outlines Inej couldn’t align to faces from here. She thought one of them might be Pim. There was a body on the ground and Oomen was running, dark blood spilling from his arm and decorating the cobbles, and for a moment Inej lost track of Liesbeth. She reappeared on the rooftop on the other side of the alley, and Inej tensed as their eyes met. She wouldn’t manage another fight now.

But Liesbeth gave her a single nod, then ran across the shingles and vanished in the shadows beyond a chimney. Inej let her eyes drift back to the sky. Dawn was beginning to tinge it orange and pink and the first signs of warmth were in the air, though judging by the gathering clouds that wouldn’t last them very long. It never did. 

What time was it?

The pain in her leg redoubled when she tried to move, but the sounds of the fight below had died and Inej could hear Jesper calling her name. She inched her way along the window ledge and tried her best to drop to the ground, leaning her weight against the wall. Something almost shameful crawled through her, chastising her for still feeling the panic rise and clutch at her now the danger had passed, but when Jesper’s hand found her shoulder she still flinched away. 

“Sorry - Are you alright?”

She nodded, but she was slipping slowly down the wall. 

“Wylan…” she whispered, through thick breaths.

“I sent Anika and Roeder in our stead,” said Jesper, “Are you sure you’re-?”

Inej pulled her hand away from the bloody mess that her leg had become. There was a wound in her knee as well that she had barely registered; he must have dug the blade in when she was on the floor.

“Saints, Inej, that doesn't look good,” Jesper’s voice was distorted, as though he were underwater.

She could hear what he was saying but she couldn’t quite listen.

“I think…” she took a breath, “Jesper, I think we have a problem,”

And then she was falling, and the pavement seemed dreamily far away.

[gtlurker]

Chapter seven of inhuman! Hope this chapter I'd enjoyed because I loved writting it, bit of violence but nothing to major in this chapter, enjoy!

Chapter seven

Atlas

“There is no way in hell he just said ‘you have twenty minutes,’ then hung up.” Ronan tells me from the other side of the kitchen where he's pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the locked cabinet that I'm not allowed within ten feet of.

He started to keep a lock on the cabinet a few months ago when I stole a bottle of rum and brought it to school to try with some other kids, so it makes me a little annoyed when he offers a glass to isabelle. “Isnt she underaged?”

I ask, gesturing to miniscule girl. Isabelle chose one of my favorite dresses that i made, a simple forest green ankle length, long sleeve running dress with built in shorts. It's simple, yes, but I can certainly see why she chose it.

“She's twenty, not fifteen. If she wants some alcohol then she can have some.” Ronan responds with an eye roll, he turns back Isabelle, who shakes her head in response. “I'd rather not.” Her voice is so quiet it's basically a whisper, I can't tell if it's because she's so small her voice won't project, or if it's because she's still scared.

She spent the night here last night, and most of the house didn't get a wink of sleep. I had stayed up the whole night trying to find more information about our little guest. Isabelle just stayed up the whole night, sitting on the window sill and watching the backyard, the house is surrounded by acres of forests, but at night there's not really much to look at.

I tried to start a few conversions, but her responses were always quipped, and each time I spoke she would jump out of her skin. I don't know how she's still so awake right now after spending the whole night awake.

Ronan had asked her a few questions about her time in the lab, but she didn't really seem inclined to answer any of them. It's impossible to not stare at her, she's holding a single cheerio, and it's taking her a while to eat through it. It's almost hard to imagine that just one of something people usually eat by the hundreds is enough for Isabelle to eat.

I wonder what it would feel like to hold her, though she hasn't let me hold her yet, i've seen ronan hold her a handful of times, she clearly hates it each time and is never very willinging to be picked up, i still find myself jealous that i probably won't get the opportunity to hold her before her brother comes to get her in a few minutes.

The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence only punctuated by the sound of Ronan taking a sip from his glass.

A loud knock at the door that's more like a banging than a knocking is the only warning were given before the door bursts open, and a very angry looking damien is storming into our house, in the span of five seconds, the chain lock broke and is currently sitting on the other side of the kitchen, ronan has got to put more money into our security system.

Ronan's glass has shattered to the ground and his gun is drawn and aimed at Damien, and Damien's gun is pointed at me. Why me!? I don't even have a weapon on me, unless you count a bowl of soggy cheerios a weapon.

As Damien and Ronan start to shout over each other, both threatening to pull the trigger if the other didn't put his gun down, my gaze shifts between the two of them for a good few seconds. I really hate when I'm held at gunpoint, it's not as fun as it seems in the movies.

As the two gun wielding assholes continue their screaming match, the sight of Isabelle curled in on herself and covering her ears catches my eyes. Did neither of these idiots think that maybe screaming and pulling their guns out might hurt her ears? She's four inches tall, her ears are probably a lot more sensitive than a normal persons.

I make sure neither Damien or Ronan have their eyes on me, before I slowly reach over to gently tap on Isabelle's back. Naturally, she recoils from my touch and looks up to me, her hands still pressed tightly over her little ears.

Our eyes meet and i nod to my outstretched hand, it takes a moment before she carefully removes her hands from her ears and scoots a bit closer to my hand, i quickly look up to make sure that both of them are still distracted and watching as damiens finger get a bit closer to the trigger of the gun.

I don't understand why both of them had taken their guns out, I'm also a bit concerned that Ronan had a gun on him when I thought that we were both unarmed. How many times has he had guns on him and I was unaware, he probably sleeps with guns under his pillows for all I know, and I really don't know why Damien pulled out his gun when he broke in.

we would have let him in if had just knocked on the door, you know, like a normal fucking person. It also makes no sense why he has his gun pointed at me.

After confirming that their both still distracted i gently scoop isabelle into my hand, bringing her to my chest and cupping my second over top of her to make a small quiet space for her, it's probably still noisy for her, but it's definitely more muffled than when she was covering her ears on the table.

When the realization that i'm holding an entire life in my hand right now. Her whole entire life is in the palm of my hand, and it feels so surreal. It's almost unreal how I can feel her squirming slightly in my grip. I swallow and try not to make a sound or move a muscle so as to not scare her into making a sound. I don't want either of them to notice that I'm now holding her.

I flinch at the sudden sound of Ronan bursting out laughing and damien demanding to know what's so funny. Rona looks over to me and points at Damien with his gun, laughing harder as he tries to get the words out.

“He- he has a BB gun!”

Ronan exclaims, followed by another fit of laughter. Damien stares dumbfoundead, and looks at his gun, my eyes also slide down to his gun. He turns to the gun in his hand and looks back to me, and then at his gun. His gun in fact, is not a BB gun, it's a 3.3 Semi-automatic handgun.

Damiens brow furrowed in confusion as roman's laughter abruptly stopped, and he fired two shots at damien, one in the elbow and one hand.

Damiens shout is more out of shock than pain, he gun clatters to the floor and Ronan wastes no time grabbing it and aiming that in him as well. I can feel Isabelle trembling in my cupped hands, muttering and trying to figure out what's going on.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Ronan asks calmly, there's an anger lacing his voice that I've never heard before. When Damien's only answer is a pained grunt, Ronan fires another shot that takes Damien's pinky finger right off, Isabelle shrieks at the sound of a third shot followed by a pained cry, and I feel my dinner rise to my throat at the bloody sight.

“I said, who. The fuck. Are you?!”

Ronan shouts again, and I quickly realize he has no idea who Damien is. I make a dash for the door as damien starts to shout who he is and what he's here for, i hold isabelle tight to my chest, and the sound of two guns clanking against the floor is the last thing i hear before i shut the door to my bedroom and open my hand to see isabelle.

she's been crying the whole time from the look on her face, so i set her down to not further overwhelm her. “Was, was that my brother?” she asks, and i nod, deciding to be honest.

“Why did he have a gun?!”

“I don't know.”

“Was he shot?”

“Yes. in the arm.”

“Will he die?!”

“No.”

Never mind being honest, she is not in the right mindset for hearing the truth. The truth is I don't know if he'll survive those bullet wounds, I don't hear any more gunshots or shouting, so I'm assuming they've started to get along.

Isabelle and I stayed in my room for another hour. She gets changed into a set of pajamas I sewn two weeks back, a pink pair of pajama pants and an ill fitting pastel yellow shirt to pair with it.

When I'm confident that they've dealt with all the blood and started to calm down, I take Isabelle and slowly creak open the door.

Ignore the question part I clicked it by accident and don't know how to remove it, so just enjoy a little pole lmao

ANYWAY hope you enjoyed this chapter, Ronan forgetting the face of his own client is honestly so real

[bonesandthebees]

as an adult fanfiction writer myself (i'm in my 20s, too), it's really impressive how much progress you've made with your writing. how do you balance writing with other adult priorities? this is what i struggle myself; i want to be able to write, but i don't seem to have enough time. i recently deleted all my old drafts and most of my outlines so i could focus on writing a few stories in mind. idk if this is the way to go, but i made my decision.

p.s. i'm on my way to read your sbi stories, they sound great.

oooo what a good question!

well, for one thing I think I need to say that I'm technically unemployed at the moment (and technically have been for the past year due to family stuff going on) which definitely gives me more time to write compared to if I had a full time job. but at the same time I do kind of have a job? I don't like revealing too many details about my personal life on this blog, but let's just say I kind of work for a family member (but I don't get paid for it). either way, I do have more free time than the average 23 year old probably does so that certainly helps

at the same time though, I actually wrote more while I was a full time uni student. like, I wrote clinic in 6 months during my senior year of uni. still not sure how I did that one. so maybe it's not the unemployment thing lol

ok I rambled a bit too much on this so I'm going to put it under the cut

either way, I do have a lot of daily responsibilities that I have to schedule my writing around which does present a challenge. I'd say two major things contribute to me being able to write so much: one, I just write way faster than most people can write. And two: I put a lot of effort into recognizing the scope of my own abilities, and try not to put too many projects on my plate at once.

with the whole being able to write really fast thing, that's the result of years and years of intensive writing practice. from the time I was around 13-14ish, I started trying to write almost daily. around 15 is when I discovered fanfic, and once I was actually able to write things I could post online and get feedback on, whenever I sat down for a near daily writing session my goal would be to write a minimum of 1k words. a lot of the time I missed this goal, but it was fine and I just kept trying, not beating myself up too much about it because I viewed it all as practice. I wanted to get really good at writing, which is why I just kept at it, knowing it would get easier with time. and it did!

in short, practicing writing, any writing at all regardless of if it's going to be published or not, will help you get faster at writing. now this is going to conflict with the next thing I talk about, but I digress

now, the easier thing to emulate is managing the projects you work on. in my head I have about 3 categories of wips—actively working on to publish, off to the side dormant that I'm either planning on getting to or I might get around to, and never going to see the light of day but I'm working on it just for myself. if I decide to mentally move a wip into the 'active' category, I need to make sure it's the type of story I'm going to enjoy working on and will be able to complete. then when I have free time, I know that's going to be a top priority and I need to focus on that before other things. if I have a wip in the dormant category, if I have free time and I either don't have anything I need to actively work on to publish (like if I just posted a chapter the day before) or I really just don't want to work on my active wips, then I can take a second look at my dormant wip outlines and see if writing any of them gets the juices flowing. then there's the never see the light of day wips, and those I can write at any time because it's just for me, and yeah I should prioritize the active wips over them and I usually will, but also writing is a hobby I enjoy first and foremost. and also, any writing practice will help you. so even if you don't plan to publish it, writing a self indulgent thing will help you get faster, build stamina, improve your writing—all of that stuff.

so I think what you described with deleting old outlines/drafts makes sense, but also I never delete my old writing drafts just bc I love seeing my progress over the years but that's just me. but either way, making an effort to focus on active wips is a smart move, but also remember that not everything you write has to be published. the more practice you get with writing (and by that I mean literally any writing at all), the easier it's going to be to write longer things and finish them. you build that stamina like a muscle, and it can take a very long time to build it up enough, but it's definitely worth it in the end.

also just experiment with how you outline and plan stuff in a way that works for your brain, because when you have to write around adult responsibilities you have to streamline things as much as possible. despite the fact that I started writing fic at 15, I struggled so much with finishing long fics until I started writing for dsmp when I had just turned 21. and that's because I figured out a new outlining method that worked perfectly for my brain. it was a combination of planning some things, but not everything so that I kept myself interested in the story. experiment with how much or how little you plan your stories, because when you have a limited time to write, you want it to be something you're interested in and able to dive right into writing.

sorry this was so long winded, I really suck at giving short answers sometimes. hope that helps though! remember, the most important thing is that you're enjoying what you're doing :)

[yellowcry]

Gluing the broken glass

(Tell me what to do to make it all feel better)

Mirabel had never cooked for such a big fiesta before. No, there were celebrations, often including the whole village. But usually, it didn't have such importance, unlike the gift ceremony. And, obviously, Mirabel hadn't cooked for a one ever before. The last gift ceremony was hers, and no one would know about her wonderful healing abilities that she would get. The other ceremonies that Mirabel lived through were Camilo's and Luisa's, but the latter didn't really count, taking into account that Mirabel was about eight months old at the time. So she was somehow excited. Mirabel made sure to create the best table for tonight.

The old stove sizzled as Mirabel placed another portion to bake, then she ran off to place the aborrajados in a decorative way. It wasn't any normal meal, so arrangements must be appropriate for the occasion. Then Mirabel got back to cooking for a bit; there were still a lot of repast she had to make until the evening.

"Mi amor, how are you doing?" Mirabel looked up and saw her mom standing next to the pedestal table. "It seems like a lot of work..." Mirabel just nodded, not looking up from the dough she was kneading at the moment. "It's good; I should make it in time." She rubbed her hands against her apron before getting back to the kitchener and turning the baked goods over. 

"Don't push yourself too hard," Julieta asked, putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I know you want to help, but you have to take care of yourself."

The girl just sighed, looking up at her mother for a bit. "I know, mama, I promise I'm doing great." Maybe she was tired a bit, but the thoughts of Antonio finally getting his door were enough to shave her tiredness off. In a way, this ceremony was way calmer than Mirabel's ten years before, as far as she could remember it. After all, she was the younger sister of a giftless Isabela, so there were questions about her getting a gift, even despite the fact that Luisa already had one. Antonio was in a better position. And, after four gifted grandkids, everyone just assumed that Isabela was a strange mishap, for whatever the reason. Abuela herself had always been saying that Isabela was just like she was. In a way, Mirabel felt bitter. Abuela was spending almost all her attention on Isabela, despite the lack of a gift. And, probably just to add herself even more attention, Isabela was always dressing the same way Abuela did in her youth.

Julieta took a place next to her, now helping with the cooking. Mirabel smiled kindly but still spoke out. "You don't have to help; I can do this." Having somebody to share the work with was a nice feeling, but Mirabel wasn't a child.

"She's right, Mija," Agústin interrupted them. Mirabel looked up at her father and let out an exhausted groan, seeing another dose of swollen bee stings on his face.

"Papi...." She sighed, taking one of her fresh-baked pandebonos and passing it to him.

"No, don't worry, I can take the rest of the menu on myself!" Agustin announced this after he finished his healing. Julieta and Mirabel looked at each other, knowing how bad of an idea this would be.

-

After what seemed to be hours, Julieta managed to convince Mirabel out of the kitchen for ten minutes. She agreed to that, mainly because she wanted to see preparations in her own eyes. The patio was filled with people, decorating it, placing benches for the elderly, and just generally trying to help. Mirabel paced a bit faster, as she saw Isabela with a notebook, she most likely was leading the process again when Abuela got distracted. Honestly, Mirabel didn't want to do this in front of her sister at all. Still, a stinging jealousy pinched her heart. Isabela was most certainly the favorite among the grandkids, despite the lack of a gift. Mirabel never quite understood why. The only thing she actually knew about her big sister is that she was usually with Abuela. And Mirabel had been busy with her cooking, trying to do her best to help.

Her thoughts were drowned in the townspeople's noises, and Mirabel didn't want to get struck with dozens of questions that she couldn't even answer to. So she walked upstairs, where the amount of people was smaller. Casita usually didn't allow outsiders on the second floor. From far away, she could already see Luisa's big figure standing in front of Mirabel's door, covering her carved picture. Noticing Abuela took a bit more time.

"Where's Osvaldo? He promised to deliver the rest of the decor half an hour ago."

Luisa pursed her lips, looking to the side. Her face muscles were strained a little as she filtered out the sound she needed. "He's almost here." She'd finally breathed out, turning her attention back to Abuela.

Their grandmother sighed harshly. "You needed to check on him once he didn't come in time." Mirabel bit her lip awkwardly; she knew that Abuela was strict and always demanded to do their best all the time.  Luisa just nodded wordlessly before turning her attention to her younger sibling, who was standing on the other side of the second floor. "Hermanita, do you need anything?"

Mirabel winced; even she sometimes tended to forget that there was nothing that could hide from Luisa's cat-like hearing. 

Abuela looked at her as well, finally noticing the fact that she had been spied on for a while. "Mirabel, why aren't you in the kitchen? You have to prepare for the night." She demanded, now staring at her across the patio. Mirabel looked down, clutching the railing tightly. She didn't mean to get distracted; Mom just wanted to do some cooking as well. "I'm sorry, Abuela; I decided to go out for some fresh air. Mama is replacing me right now." She knew it didn't excuse her, but at least it was some reason to slack off on her chores.

Luisa tilted her head before nodding in confirmation that it was true and that their mom was, in fact, in the kitchen instead of her youngest daughter right now.

For a moment, Mirabel looked down, not looking at her hermana and Abuela. "Is there anyone who would miss the ceremony?" If anyone didn't come, the amount of food would be slightly less, so Mirabel wanted to be sure of who would be at the party.

Luisa bit her lip for a second before replying. "Not as I know about." Mirabel tilted her head from the echoing voice. Why wouldn't Luisa know who wouldn't come? Mirabel was pretty sure Luisa could hear who had mentioned this. On the other hand, there's a chance nobody said it out loud, and Luisa was most certainly unable to listen to the inner thoughts. Well, it seemed that Mirabel would have to make her full plan.

Abuela lifted her head to look over Luisa. "Check if everything is going on time. Tonight must be perfect."

Luisa nodded, just like she always did at any request. "I'm..." Mirabel knew that her sister would most certainly going to say that she was on it, but she had suddenly trail off, wincing before she had covered her ears, hunching over the handrailing.

A moment later, Tía Pepa rushed upstairs like a crazy wind. The floor almost shook from her footsteps. Or it actually did. It was loud enough even for Mirabel to startle for a moment, not even mentioning Luisa, who didn't say anything but looked at Pepa with a face that said that she would gladly rip off Tia's legs to make her quieter.

Tia Pepa muttered in a yelling tone of voice, visibly trembling. "Tonight must be perfect, but if it's not perfect, then..."

"Mi amor, be careful." Tío Felix ran after her. 

A second later, Dolores had gotten upstairs too, joining this little family meeting. "Oh, mama, don't worry. Antonio will definitely get the best gift ever." The warm couple looked at their daughter, who waved her head slightly, creating another ark of flowers that wrapped around the barrier. Pepa looked down at her child, now running to her. "Ah, how much did you grow up!" She mumbled in awe, squeezing Dolores' cheek slightly. "Mama, please..."

Mirabel looked at the other side and noticed that Luisa was gone already. Alright, it was probably time for her to get back to work as well. There was a whole night ahead.

[literaticat]

When choosing an agent, is it worth taking into consideration if they will be subbing other books in your genre at the same time? I've heard of authors not being able to go out to editors they wanted because the agent had other clients out to those editors. Is this a sign of a not-great agent, or is it relatively common? I'm surprised I haven't seen this brought up as a factor when choosing between offers before.

I think you're overthinking it.

If you aren't sure what OP is talking about [and btw I'm making this up right now, btw, but FOR EXAMPLE]: Let's say there are 7 editors who have "Horror YA!" as their special interest. I, the agent, just went out with a new Horror YA, and all of those editors are looking at it.

You, my new client, have also written a Horror YA. In my opinion, it would be really ideal if I did NOT submit a new Horror YA to all seven of those editors until they are *done* looking at the one I already sent; I don't want to overwhelm the editors, nor do I want my own clients to compete with one another, it's already hard enough out there with all the OTHER stuff that OTHER agents are sending around, at least I can make sure that I'm giving my OWN clients their best chance!

(In my opinion, this is correct and best practices, and to do otherwise would be not-great. But hey, maybe some great agents LOVE to bombard editors with tons of similar material all at once, I dunno. It couldn't be me!)

The good news, though, is that while this can certainly happen, it doesn't really prove to be an issue often in my experience, and it's never a FOREVER issue. First, because there aren't usually only a tiny number of editors who do any given kind of book, in almost every instance, there are plenty of other editors to potentially go to. And, hopefully, an agent is pretty aware of their own list and is taking care not to have books that are so similar at the same time that they'd compete with one another on submission; if I already know I have a certain kind of YA horror ms with a certain tone about to go on submission -- why would I be offering on another project that is incredibly similar? I just wouldn't. So I would avoid this scenario.

Now, let's say I take you on with your Horror YA, and then out of nowhere one of my existing clients comes up with an extremely similar toned book that would certainly go to many of the same editors. Well, it takes time to get manuscripts ready for submission. Sometimes weeks of back-and-forth, sometimes months -- so presumably one of you is going to be actually ready first. I'd go out with that one, and then continue editing/prepping the other one, and then when that one is about ready, strategize timing on that submission.

Just because it's similar doesn't mean you'd NEVER go on submission -- it just might be better to start with some different editors, or wait an extra month or whatever until the lion's share of folks had gotten back to me, or something like that. (And in fact I have sold things in this scenario to the editors who DIDN'T get a chance to buy the first one -- like, I send Book A out, there's a ton of interest, one person ends up winning the auction -- the other folks who were super interested might be QUITE KEEN to see another similar-toned manuscript now!)

(It ALSO might be a situation where it's not even the same genre -- but, let's say I'm waiting for an answer from Editor A on a certain project or we have some big *thing* brewing -- I might have to wait on sending them something new until I hear a response on the first thing. But that doesn't mean that editor will NEVER see your work - just that I have to strategize timing a bit!)

Anyway, there's no possible way that you could prepare for that. How could that be a criteria for choosing an agent? What would you possibly ask them? "Do you have any clients who MIGHT write a book about XYZ at some future date that MIGHT happen to conflict with mine, or who MIGHT work with an editor who I want to work with and because of the status of their project my submission will have to wait a beat?" -- like... ??? Yeah! Probably! But I imagine that it will all work out just fine.

TL;DR - while this scenario can happen, it's not really a big deal if it does, and there's no way for you to plan for it anyway, so don't borrow trouble.

[sl-walker]

Recently in ‘Lines I Loved Writing’:

True to form, the first thing Cor said after he’d cried himself out was, “Sorry the eggs got cold.”

It was enough to get Scotty laughing, despite the fact that he’d ended up a bit cracked himself there; Corry hadn’t picked his head up to say it, but even though the words were kind of choked, and muffled into a wet shirt, there was a wry humor to them that was almost certainly for Scotty’s benefit.

There was mercy in some rituals, including the occasional use of the absurd to bring them back to an even keel.  Especially when they’d been knocked over.  It wasn’t really avoidance, just-- space, maybe, to get some air back again.

“Well, I just don’t know how I’m gonna live with this tragedy,” he quipped back, rubbing the edge of his jaw against the side of Cor’s head, chest a little ragged but-- everything still functional.

“Probably by going and finding ten other jobs to do in the surrounding area, until more local professionals beg you to stop.  I’m waiting for you to start on the chefs and short-order cooks, once you wipe out the lawn equipment.”  Corry picked his head up, drawing away to wipe at his face with his other sleeve.  “How about you use some of your moonlighting funds to buy me breakfast?” he asked, after heaving out a shaky breath.

“I could heat those eggs back up,” Scotty said, though it wasn’t so much a protest as an offer; it wasn’t any kind of issue to compost ‘em, if Cor really did prefer to go out somewhere.  He leaned over until their shoulders were pressed together, a moment’s more contact. “I mean, unless ye need to get outta here for a bit.”

Corry rubbed over his face, shaking his head for the first part and then nodding for the second.  “The latter.”  He smirked from behind his hand.  “I’ll even let you drive.”

As if he didn’t already let Scotty drive whenever he asked for the keys.  Scotty snorted, but he still got up to grab their jackets out of the hallway, giving Corry’s head a little shove as he did. “Least ye can do, given how much I save ye on maintenance costs.”

Corry snorted right back at him as he moved to clear away their failed attempt at breakfast.  “Like I didn’t spend four years in Engineering School.  I can do my own maintenance, I just don’t want to bother.”

“Spoken like a blue-shirt.”  Scotty layered as much woe into his voice as he possibly could, leaning on the melodrama to add, “Ye coulda gone on to become a famous engineer, but then the siren’s song o’ bio-sciences snared ye--” He wiggled his fingers on his free hand in Corry’s direction, aiming to get a laugh. “--and once the boredom had its claws in, it was all over.”

Even as he took his jacket, Cor did laugh.  “Are you implying that I was ever a good enough mechanical engineer to become famous?  Mister ‘I Made History at Age Sixteen'?”

“Welllllll-- I was maybe bein’ a mite generous--” Scotty shrugged, turning and heading for the front door, smiling to himself once he was sure he wasn’t gonna get caught in the act.

Corry could project his eyeroll just fine with his voice anyway.  “Of course you were.”

From Give and Take, Chapter 2.

Why I loved it:  These two guys have spent a larger part of the past year absolutely struggling.  Scotty’s mother died in January, he almost followed her twenty days later in February, saving his ship and crew but getting nearly fatally wounded in the process, then he spent a whole month unconscious only to wake up in a situation that hits every single last trauma trigger that he’s got and sends him into a panicked flight away from the people who should be finishing putting him back together.  And man, that’s just a fraction of the major psychological tailspin he’s in.

And Corry -- who would have a perfectly normal and gentle life if he hadn’t decided to adopt Scotty for a brother -- sticks his whole neck onto a chopping block just trying to protect Scotty, making incredibly hard and painful and consequential choices not on any logic, but purely out of love.

And then, even after they’re both back on the island, Scotty’s still a disaster of executive dysfunction and vulnerability hangover and continuing trauma, so there’s another month he just suffers because he can’t move and his brother can’t help him and.

But one of the biggest running threads through this is just-- the absolute depth of devotion these two have to each other.  And I mean, you get to see their friendship/brotherhood on display before this.  You don’t doubt by now that they love each other, you don’t doubt they’d fight for each other.

Before now, though, it was never tested like this.  They never got pushed so far.  They never got hurt that deeply.  And doggedly, they pick up the pieces, both individually and as brothers.  But even here, months later, they’re not completely healed yet, even though they’re a hell of a lot closer to it.

So-- I love it because it shows all that work.  Not only before this year, 2248, but during it.  Because before all this, it wasn’t in Scotty’s emotional repertoire to reach out and hold on like he did in the scene before this.  He had to learn this.  And because even though Corry has just pretty much sobbed his soul out -- and god, did he need to -- he still pulls out something of a joke because that’s one of their oldest methods of communication, too, that kind of bantering and absurdist humor.

And even though he got not-a-little misty-eyed, Scotty kicks the ball along, too, with his dry lamenting about not knowing how he’ll live with the tragedy of the eggs going cold, and Cor handing it back poking fun at his moonlighting and--

It’s just-- them.  It’s some of the most them dialogue there can be; it’s funny and serious and kind and I love you.

And I definitely loved writing it.

[notmaplemable]

I’d love to hear about your fics and your process as a writer.

How long have you been writing, did you do any fics before RWBY, and do you feel like your writing has evolved over time?

Well, I first started doing creative writing outside of English assignments during my Junior year of HS (11th grade), which would have been 2017/18. But I didn't start with fan fiction. I've written a full 92kish fantasy novel.

Which I wrote on and off from 2017 to very early 2020. And it's terrible. Which, it was my first attempt at long form writing, so it was going to be terrible no matter what. But it was the best I could do at the time and I certainly wouldn't be as skilled as I am now, which still isn't very skilled, if I didn't write it. So you gotta take the good with the bad.

And no, I will never ever ever ever release that document to the public. You people deserve better than that.

Then I didn't really write anything at all from March of 2020 to around this time last year. Why? To make a long story short, medical problems. I had to be rushed to the ER in March of that year, I've spend several days in the hospital since then, I almost had to drop out of college at one point, and I had my last surgery towards the end of August last year.

I actually wrote my first post here, It Worked For Mom, while I was recovering from surgery. So there's a bit of a fun fact for this blog.

I started maybe 5 or 6 Fallout and Dragonball fics while I was in HS that never made it past the first chapter. That I also never published.

I wrote my first RWBY fic around the end of May last year. Rosa Aurum which means Rose Gold in Latin, and yes it was Lancaster. I've been on that train since day 1. Which was sort of my spiritual successor to Beacon Beckons if you've ever read that fic.

I didn't even finish the first chapter for that one.

My second attempt at a fic was actually Lancatster (Jaune x Ruby x Blake) but I can't find the file anymore. And I don't remember the name, but I do remember making it to chapter 2 with the one. So, progress.

------

Now, with everything I wrote from High School to the fic before Ghosts of Summer I had a pretty thorough outline. I fact, it'd say the I probably over planned. The outline document for my novel is about 37k words itself. Which considering the finished novel is a little over 90k, having your outline be 1/3 the size of the finished project is just absurd.

And I tried to use that same method for those first 2 fics that never went anywhere. Safe to say, didn't really work out.

With Ghosts of Summer, which is the first fic I've published and the first that's really made it very far, I've kind of just used the Tumblr version as a rough outline. Which is also what I've done with Ginger Whisper and Arc-Noire and will do with my other series most likely.

So, I've gone from a hardcore planner to a kind of a middle ground between planning and pantsing.

So I guess you can say my planning method now is to throw ideas at you people, see the reaction and if there's any feedback, and see if I like the idea in practice as much as I like it in theory. Which helps me decide if I want to pursue that idea in the novelization or not.

I've recently started giving myself a minimum amount of words to write in a day. 1k words a day. So, actively tracking the amount I write a day has helped me quite a bit in writing consistently. Instead of kind of just waiting for inspiration and hoping that carries me along.

Which is how I've managed to write four 5k+ chapters of three different fics over the past month and change. And I do plan on being much more consistent on the front in the future.

------

As for how my writing has evolved over time. Well, I think my dialogue has gotten a lot better. As well as my prose and writing in general has gotten a lot easier over time.

I'm still terrible with plots. And I'm absolutely terrible with writing body language. So, I think I tend to rely a little bit too much on showing over telling on that front.

I do think I've gotten better overall in the last few months. I think most of that just comes from consistently writing and practice does make perfect. And the fact that I've had the opportunity to work with other wonderful writers on here really had helped too.

But, there's still a lot for me to improve on and I'm going to work hard to continue improving my writing. I do eventually want to be published, so I have a long way to go.

One interesting thing though is that I don't really have any more anxiety when it comes to writing or posting my writing. Not really sure why though.

------

I'm happy to answer any more questions you might have.

[sheliesshattered]

After my last rambling post about my recent and future sewing projects, I was able to make some real progress on the project currently on my table, the Lengberg Castle Bra interpretation. Setting the cups ended up being less of a pain than I thought it would be, possibly because I just went ahead and ran a gathering stitch right at the seam-line on the cups, then marked the 12, 3, 6, and 9 o'clock positions on each and pulled the gathers until it was just small enough to match the circular holes in the front of the body piece. Pinning each cup into place and sewing them to the body after that was easy.

Getting all the tiny wrinkles out of the mockup when I was draping it on myself was always going to be a longshot, and I guess in the end I didn't quite get them all smoothed out. But there's really not all that much gathering on the cups -- once I've fiddled with the fit and flat-felled all the seams, it probably won't even be visible, certainly not through clothing.

Eventually all those raw edges will be getting flat-felled, but for now I've left nearly all of it as is so that I can adjust the fit once I can really try this thing on. I did do a little bit of flat-felling to the vertical cup seams right where the cup meets the body, since I wouldn't be able to get in there again after that seam was sewn. In a theoretical future version of this I might actually want to take those vertical seams in a little more right where they meet the body, and thus avoid having to gather the cups to ease them in, but at least for this version I'm not going to mess with the fitting along that cup-to-body seam.

To really be able to try this on and check for fit, I'm going to have to get the eyelets for the side spiral lacing in place. I have been meaning to make a set of lacing strips with a little bit of scrap coutil and left over grommets from my Rhaenyra dress, but eh I don't feel like doing that much hammering right now. And I think that because this whole thing is un-boned, lacing strips might give me an approximate fit but not the real fit. Getting the side lacing in will allow me to fit it the way I actually intend to wear it.

But before I can start on the hand-bound eyelets, I needed to finish the top edge of the reinforced lacing area, and continue that part of the way around the armscye. I did this with a little twice-turned rolled hem held in place with a whip stitch. I continued that finish up towards the shoulder seam, but didn't quite get there -- I expect that in the fitting phase I may need to adjust that shoulder seam again, so I'm leaving that area unfinished in case I need to move the seam.

I left my long thread tails in place so that I can just finish this up once I'm solid on the fit of the shoulder seam. I did almost all that handsewing while on the phone with my brother last night (my 10 year old niece, who generally loves hanging out with me in person, always cries out "noooo!" when she realizes her dad is on the phone with me, because, and I quote, "you always talk for hours!!"). It was a good mindless handsewing project with lots of tiny stitches to do while chatting for not quite 3 hours, lol.

I didn't realize until a few hours later how much I had overdone in sewing all those tiny stitches, and my right wrist has been hurting since late last night. The spoonie chronic pain and weird joint issues are a primary contributor to how slow of a sewist I am, and I'm definitely going to have to delay my plan to start on the eyelets for at least a day or two, maybe longer. I might be able to handle measuring and marking out the locations for all the eyelets today, but at this point I'm doing as much with my left hand as I can just to give my right a rest. I'd rather take a couple of days off now than a couple of weeks or months off because I continued to push when I should have rested.

So the plan for finishing this, whenever that happens to be and at whatever slow pace I need to go, is to get the eyelets in for side spiral lacing, and then adjust the fit on the shoulder seams and the vertical seams of the cups (and maaaaybe the cup-to-body seam, but I'd really prefer not to mess with that one if I can avoid it). Once I'm happy with the fit in the shoulders and the cups, I'll be able to flat-fell those seams and finish up the armscye hem. After that it'll be down to handsewing a narrow rolled hem on the neckline and attaching a skirt of some description. I have some ideas for what I want to do with the skirt, but I'll figure out the specifics if/when I get that far.

If I need to take a longer break from handsewing and put the eyelets off for more than just a few days, I might shift gears and work on one of the projects with less handsewing. It might make sense to sew the mockup for Jack's Very Fancy Santa Hat while I have the muslin out and the white thread in the machine, but that's like, maybe an hour of work total. I also recently pulled out the 7 yards of brushed cotton herringbone that is destined to become a smokkr/Viking apron dress type over-layer piece, and if my wrist isn't in too bad of a shape, cutting that out from my existing pattern should be pretty straightforward.

And yeah, I'm mixing eras all over the place with my silly Pre-Raphaelite inspired historybounding -- 15th century Lengberg Bra and 13th/14th century cotehardies and 9th/10th century apron dress. But eh, that's the fun of historybounding in contrast to actual historical reenactment costuming: I can pull inspiration from whatever era I feel like, use whatever fabrics and colors and weaves (or knits!) that I want, put the seams wherever works best for me. And hopefully much like the Pre-Raphaelite art, I'll end up with something that is a little fantasy and a little historical, while still being comfy and practical to wear in my every day life. And hopefully my chronic illnesses will actually allow me to sew all the things I so desperately want to make and wear, sooner rather than later.

[legion1227]

Blink 182: One More Time Album Review

All the Small Things, Feeling This, Dammit, What's My Age Again.

In my household growing up, I can recall these songs playing a lot. I have an immense soft spot for these tracks and that time in my life. I'm enamored by All the Small Things and its heartfelt lyrics by singer Mark Hoppus to his at-the-time girlfriend and eventual wife. What's My Age Again is a pleasurable bop, especially now as the song follows a 23-year-old who pranks people and acts childish, and I turn 23 myself in a little more than a month from now. Dammit is an excellent break-up song that has terrific instrumentals that help hammer the message that the couple are not getting back together. And the passion of Feeling This moves me in a way that the other songs don't. Blink 182 has a handful of songs I know and adore, though not as much as other bands, but I respect them immensely for the quality of songs they provided decades ago that I still have in a regular rotation.

So, when I heard that Blink 182 was going to drop an album, I felt inclined to listen. While I haven't extensively listened to their previous catalog, I adore the previously mentioned tracks. Maybe there would be something I liked almost as much as those songs, I thought. One More Time dropped on October 20th, 2023. The album tackles themes of relationships and maturity lyrically while providing explosive, alluring instrumental work with its return of guitarist Tom Delonge after leaving the band years ago.

After enduring a 19-track run for 50 minutes, I find the album to be…fairly okay. Unfortunately, there's nothing here that I would hold to a high standard as their previous big hits, but there is certainly nothing bad. Its initial track, Anthem Part 3, starts with strong, bombastic drums and guitars; Dance With Me is similar but falls just a little short for me with a weak chorus. They guarantee an earworm with an unnecessary "ole ole" at the beginning of the hook. Take that portion out, and I would enjoy the track enough to add comfortably to my rotation. Fell In Love and Terrified follow after, and they have good elements but don't stand out much to me. But then One More Time, the track sharing the same name as the album plays and cements itself as one of my favorite songs from the project. The guitar work is minimal as the vocalist takes over for the song, garnering most of the focus. The subject matter reflects the history between the band members and how tragedy has brought them close together, like Mark battling cancer and drummer Travis Barker surviving his plane crash back in 2008. Every facet of the song works immensely here for me as one of the most personal tracks on the project.

Unfortunately, the songs that follow are a mixed bag. The next 6 songs and one interlude all either have fine vocals but instrumentals that don't work for me or could be better. Or it's straight up the other way around. It's not until Bad News where we have another song that I gravitate as much to as I do with the song One More Time. The presentation of a person falling out of love with someone after a lengthy amount of time in a relationship is intriguing here and works as well for me as One More Time does. I can't relate, but it's a bop, nonetheless.

The last few tracks come and go and…that's it. The vocals are a bit shoddy in a majority of the songs, but solid in a good number of them. The instrumentals are solid, and the subject matter varies from something familiar to something heartfelt.

Overall, I find the album to be…okay. I only really enjoy two out of nearly 20 songs, but there's no song here that I find absolutely abhorrent. It's worth at least one listen, but it's still mid. 3/5.

[buriedsecretspodcast]

Embarking on a quest to write more

I'll start with the tl;dr: I want to try to write more often. Specifically, I'd like to aim for "near-daily" blog posts, with a goal of publishing something approximately five days per week and accompanying it with a piece of art. I almost certainly won't hit that goal, but it feels like a good number to aim for.

Why?

I recently dropped an episode about a book that I really liked called Consorting with Spirits by Jason Miller. In the book, Miller talks about how when interacting with the paranormal, it's important to prepare less and risk more. In the episode, I talk about how I recognize that I need to take that advice to heart. When interacting with the paranormal, I often doubt myself and try to talk myself out of what I actually experienced.

And I do that even in the moment, while the strange thing is happening, which Miller explains is the exact moment when you should not be doubting yourself. (He basically says you can doubt yourself anytime afterwards, when you're analyzing what you've been told her what you've encountered. But if you do it in the moment, it shuts down that part of your brain that helps to process the unusual and paranormal and psychical.)

As I was working on editing the episode, I realized that the maxim prepare less, risk more applies to me more than I would like it to, and more than in just my paranormal experiences. I have very strong perfectionist tendencies, and I'm the sort of person who creates large amounts of art and then just never shares it with anybody.

Here are a couple examples:

Starting last May, I decided that I was going to do a drawing every single day. A YouTuber I like, struthless, talked about a challenge that he undertook where he drew the same thing every day for a year because that sort of repetition forces you to be more creative in your artistic approach. I chose ravens and crows as my subject matter. And while, of course, I missed a few days, I did, for about eight months, draw a raven pretty much every day. I didn't quite make it to a year, because while I love birds and love ravens and crows in particular, I did get to a point where there were tons of other things I wanted to draw and I felt like the creativity challenge was stifling me rather than helping me. (Though it did help built a daily drawing habit!) However, despite having drawn hundreds of ravens, I've shared maybe five of them? Probably fewer. Why? It's not like ravens are particularly off topic or outside of my niche, because ravens have a creepy vibe and one literally appears on the podcast logo. But I just usually choose not to share them just... because.

I create episode art for every episode, and yet I very rarely share that art on social media. The drawings appear on my website and on the specific podcast episodes—for podcatchers that support episode specific art—but I could be using them as social media assets and I just . . . don't.

I could go on, talking about how many first drafts of novels I've written but not edited to publishable form, or how many episode scripts and notes for episodes that I have not recorded yet, either because I felt like they weren't quite good enough, or I needed to do a little bit more research and put some finishing touches on them before I could let them go out into the world. But I think you get the point. I don't think that all art needs to be shared, but I also know I'm holding myself back by sharing so little of what I do.

Things that have helped

Often, when being less charitable about my own shortcomings, I feel that I am too flighty and get bored with new projects. (I think that's a feeling that many neurodivergent people grapple with.) I'm proud of the fact that this podcast has been running for almost three years now. It has become a data point that I use to convince myself that I can focus on things, I can create finished products and share them with the world, and I don't lose interest in projects.

The podcast has helped me fight some of my more perfectionist qualities. My audio quality can only be so good; I live in a noisy area and I have to deal with noisy radiators that like to kick up anytime I happen to be recording an episode during the chilly months. Because I am on a consistent schedule, I have to keep putting out podcasts, whether or not the script feels completely good to me (and by good, of course I mean perfect, and nothing can clear that bar).

But I'm able to tell myself that a podcast is not an indelible object that is expected to be perfect or close to perfect. It's casual and conversational. As a medium, it's not known for being particularly polished. That allows me to let go of some of my perfectionism around podcasting.

(Of course, that doesn't stop me from fixating on moments when I misspeak or on those pauses when my brain clearly buffers in the recording--I trim those down, but I can still hear them. Also, there are definitely episodes that make me cringe, but so far I've managed to keep myself from going back into the file and recording updates and qualifications.)

Show your work

Austin Kleon, an artist and writer who focuses on creativity, has a book called Show Your Work. The book is exactly what it sounds like, and it's geared toward artists who hate self-promotion. If you want to be an artist or a creative of some kind, there's no point in creating art in isolation. You have to show people the work that you're creating.

In the book, he talks about how his own blog has been so important to his development as an artist and has led to so many connections, opportunities, and friendships. He talks about how it's important to have a body of work online, even if it isn't 100% polished. It's okay to put out things that are in progress and rough. People are interested in the creative process and the thoughts that people have while they are creating things, not just the finished product.

Despite having read this book multiple times, I still have trouble showing my work. I have my podcast, but I tend to just... not promote it, at times. The same goes for my artwork. Even though I finish a drawing almost every day, I rarely share that artwork with others except maybe—sometimes—my wife. When I started the podcast, I decided to do episode-specific art to literally force myself to share some of my work publicly.

Digital commonplace books

One of my favorite thinkers, science fiction author Cory Doctorow, is someone who, like Kleon, blogs frequently. Doctorow writes a blog post pretty much every weekday. I recently read an essay that he wrote, where he compared his tendency to write daily blog posts with old commonplace books, which people would use to record their thoughts and information that they wanted to remember.

He said his blog was a sort of digital commonplace book, which contains his thoughts on different topics as they were evolving and as he was developing them. Over time, it becomes a source of inspiration and research for him to dive back in and find tidbits that he might need in the future.

To quote from his essay:

Peter “peterme” Merholz coined the term “blog” as a playful contraction of “web-log” — like a ship’s log in which hardy adventurers upon the chaotic virtual seas could record their journeys. Though “blogs” have always been a broad church, there’s a kind of platonic ideal of a blog that’s right there in the term’s etymology: the blog as an annotated browser-history, like the traveler’s diaries my family kept on vacations, recording which hotels we stayed in and what they were like, where we dined and what we ate, which local attractions we visited and how we felt about them. Like those family trip-logs, a web-log serves as more than an aide-memoire, a record that can be consulted at a later date. The very act of recording your actions and impressions is itself powerfully mnemonic, fixing the moment more durably in your memory so that it’s easier to recall in future, even if you never consult your notes. The genius of the blog was not in the note-taking, it was in the publishing. The act of making your log-file public requires a rigor that keeping personal notes does not. Writing for a notional audience — particularly an audience of strangers — demands a comprehensive account that I rarely muster when I’m taking notes for myself. I am much better at kidding myself my ability to interpret my notes at a later date than I am at convincing myself that anyone else will be able to make heads or tails of them.

Zettlekasten

The essay is excellent, and you should just read that, but I love this idea of thinking about daily blogging as a sort of repository of ideas or digital commonplace book. I am a enthusiastic user of the zettelkasten method of taking notes, which has a fairly similar vibe.

I'll have to write about zettlekasten another time, because it's something I am passionate about. In the six months that I've been using it, the method has helped me so much with my research and with synthesizing and developing my own ideas. I'm a real PKM (personal knowledge management) nerd, no surprise there.

But to be brief: The zettlekasten method involves taking in information from books and articles and other sources, and then putting it into your own words and synthesizing your own ideas around them—and putting all of that into an atomized, interconnected notetaking system. That aspect of a zettelkasten system has a lot in common with the idea of blogging daily, and I think that these two ideas mesh nicely.  

Sharing

I'm also very inspired by the artist Todd Purse, who posts a daily drawing and accompanying podcast episode. His work is so lovely and always puts a smile on my face, and I admire his talent, dedication, and positivity.

I know that sharing more and would be helpful for me in my paranormal research. I also have plenty of things to say about some subjects that aren't ready for their own episode, and I can only assume that spreading information within the community would be helpful.

It's not that I think my ideas are so groundbreaking, but I consume a lot of information. I don't like my tendency to hoard what I've learned just because I think my presentation of the knowledge isn't good enough. Kleon includes an Annie Dillon quote in his book that really stuck with me: "The impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes."

Also, hopefully, by putting these things in blog posts, I will allow myself to be a little bit less strict about how good—or perfect—something needs to be.

Just like the necessity of publishing my podcast helps me be less of a perfectionist, I hope that this will help me put my thoughts into writing and share my art, which I plan to post alongside my blog posts, and not hold back so much.

I really want to try to embody the idea of preparing less and risking more. And I think this is a great way for me to do that. I almost certainly won't be blogging everyday, or even five days a week, but even aiming for the goal of blogging five days a week should help me create a lot of new and interesting stuff. So this is the beginning of my quest to try to prepare less, risk more, and share more with my community. And if you recognize any of these tendencies in yourself, I can only encourage you to find a way to share your work, as well.

Note: I'll be cross posting these essays on Medium and in my newsletter, so you can read them or sign up to receive them either place, if that's easier for ya. This post originally went live on 03/13/23.