#not a newbie

[inthemaelstrom]

Moving on, still dowsing

Here I am on Tumblr, too cheap to keep paying for my old blog on Typepad, now that I've decided that I don't want to monetize the things I enjoy enough to keep a "professional" blog. I still hope to go back to making books again, once I've had a chance to heal up from spinal surgery I had in April, and I'll probably never stop writing, but whether it's poetry or fiction or fanfiction or blogs or essays or political rants, I leave up to chance. I turned 63 in June, and while I hope to keep working for a while yet, because I've got a great job with a lot of flexibility, who knows how long that will last either.

I hope what you'll see here, eventually, is a bit of my creative output: artist's books, poems, links (maybe) to the various kinds of fiction I've been writing, and my thoughts on what the fuck is wrong with people. Oh yes. There will be swearing. Sometimes that's the only way to express what's inside, a good four-letter word. Take yourself elsewhere if that offends you. This is not the blog you're looking for. Move along.

So who am I?

Nobody special. I’ve been any number of things in my life—former wannabe marine biologist, servant of physicists, word wrangler, exploited vagabond scholar, New York City’s secret lover, union activist, accused lesbian, novelist, unapologetic science, tech, and Star Wars geek and Trekker, uncloseted fanfic writer, dilettante book artist, believer in the apocalypse—but through all of that, I’ve been a poet. No matter what else I do or think or believe or what labels I wear, I know that poems are the best single delivery system of emotional bombs, the kind that blow off the masks we all hide behind, if only for a moment, and only to ourselves.

I'm back in Brooklyn, where I started out when I first moved to New York in 1986. Now I'm near the bay, where I can see the ships go by and it's dark enough to see Orion overhead in the winter. I live alone, with my cat. Yeah, go ahead, stereotype that. I'm having a great life. The best part of it is I have ceased to give a fuck what other people who are not my friends and loved ones think of me. I have a fantastic family of choice, some of whom I've known since elementary school, and only a few for less than 10 years. The cat? Miss Bean is a stray some asshole left in her carrier on the street with the door open. She's got serious attitude and a scream like a panther. Some days I can see why they threw her out; but nobody deserves that. And she's learning, after almost five years, to love snuggling. Her cat tree does not have a sign on it that reads "Fort Asshole" for nothing though.

That could be hanging on my front door too, so that's fair enough.

[formlessvoidbeast]

newbie fic authors, shooting themselves in the foot: This fic is bad haha I suck at writing lol I am being mean to myself in the hopes that you will be nice to me but actually am dissuading anyone from even clicking on my fic because all I have done to advertise it is tell you why you shouldn't read it

me: I am King Big Dick of Fanfic Mountain and I have arrived in your fandom with the Express Intention of writing my Very Favorite Fics, which I will generously allow you to read. You're welcome.

[bixels]

out of all my misconceptions and false assumptions about who the sonic characters are, omega's definitely the funniest.

[whimzician]

trying ink medium (someone give me tips🥲)

[heywriters]

okay, which social media site just became more uninhabitable to cause an influx of faceless, non-bot new users? Twitter again?

[shotmrmiller]

your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF movie Vanessa wants to meet Glamrock Bonnie..

[thebenevolentvampire]

[kidovna]

what makes you deserving of a happy ending?

[demaparbat-hp]

Thinking about @stygiovictoria's Roleswap AU.

[frownyalfred]

underlings in the Justice League in trouble being threatened with having to talk to "him" but no one is 100% sure if him is Superman or Batman. both are equally terrifying prospects for entirely different reasons.

[mrslantsov13]

Feels weird to be sharing my own work instead of just reblogging other people but I made these

Find my pottery at instagram.com/ceramicas_lucerito

[yellowocaballero]

There's a genre of post that I see pretty frequently, which can overall be summed up as, "Modern fandom has a culture problem where fanfic authors are treated as content producers instead of community members and their fanfic is treated as a commodity to be consumed instead of a high-effort labor of love that deserves attention and compliments given directly to the author". I agree with 3/4ths of that. I find the part I disagree with very interesting, the same way I find a lot of writeblr interesting, because it's a perspective that I had to work very hard to actually understand.

Because the posts have such a warped view of what writing is and why we post our writing! They say that fanfic fights against the commodified internet we live in, but all they're doing is changing the currency of payment in this attention economy. Another way you can summarize about 70% of these posts is, "My payment for writing and posting my fanfiction is compliments, and if you do not give me those compliments you are not paying. If you give those compliments behind my back, or talk about them privately without giving them to me as well, then you are stealing from me." I don't want to put it like that, but a lot of these posts use words like 'deprive', as if the reader who enjoys the fic without commenting is withholding something from them that they deserve. They use the word engagement, and they do talk about how part of that engagement is just the joy of talking about AUs and ships with other people, but when people say that comments are their motivation to keep writing, what they mean is that validation is their motivation to keep writing. Which is compliments.

I understand that, because I understand that fanfic writers are not immune to the attention economy. But I don't understand how almost every one of these posts talk about how this lack of attention makes them stop writing - that this act of theft is killing their desire to write. I could understand this if they meant 'desire to POST fic' (I don't post fic I think zero people would read.), but they talk about how lack of payment stops them from writing at all.

IMHO, that is what creates a commodity from fic. People want to treat fic as art, but an artist makes art for themself. Art is made because we want to hold parts of skills and ourselves in our hands. If you won't make art if you get no payment, then you have devalued the art completely.

We think of AO3 as this unique site that's born entirely from passion and is filled with fics written for love of the game. But guilt-tripping posts that shame people for not commenting on a fic they enjoy, and that describe how there's no point in writing fic if it's not getting attention, are directly contributing towards the culture of treating fic like a commodity.

I also really want a fandom culture where the relationship between artist and reader is reciprocal, where it feels like a community, and where I get to talk about my fanfic with people. My favorite part of posting fanfic is rambling about it on my blog, because I can talk about my art all day and I love it when people stop and listen. But I love that because I love my own art. If you love your own art, then it'll always have value.

Also Google your username, just trust me, that's how you find The Secret Discussions. Someone made a TikTok fansong of me once. WHAT?

[smile-files]

the way to the heart is through the potato chip

(new version of this comic)

[heywriters]

once again, to the people charging money for fanfiction: be more freaking careful before you get us all taken down?!?!?!?! you shouldn't be doing that at all because you don't have any right to make money off someone else's copyright, but making noise about it risks legal repercussions even for people who don't charge! STOP THAT.

and DEFINITELY don't be advertising it on AO3