#polish drafts and one-sentence notes

[gricean-sphinx]

Thunsheer 12th, Emon

It’s cold up here. All about stepping out of Shamal has been a rush, but the desert felt like a homecoming, and the swamp felt like a classroom. Tal’dorei feels liminal, like an interlude or a daydream.

We arrived at Emon via airship. Fancy things. Terrible security. In another life, maybe, we exploit the fact that the guards have neither light source nor dark-vision to aid their watch, tame a peryton, and come upon them in the dead of night, become proud owners of the Star Duster or some such nonsense.

Emon’s a different kind of sprawling than Ank’Harel. Absent’s the effervescent hustle and bustle of the markets and hagglers in the Jewel of Marquet—the blurry sense of rush and frenzy, winding and weaving, behind, around stalls and veils and smokes and perfumes. The air seems crisper here; a sense of order and hierarchy written in the walls and ways, the grime secreted away into who-knows-where. Emon’s not as massive as Ank’Harel, but it’s monumental—the port harrying about ten times the amount of traffic we saw in The Bay of Gifts, its palace protruding from the city like a crown jewel.

We, Agara Inc, are here for all your pick-up and delivery needs! I’m curious, read hopeful, to meet the dukeling. Get to know him and what he knows. Dyon did seem rather fond of him and they are not the kind of person to be easily impressed (though I suppose knowing someone from infancy does impose a sort of bias).

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Letters to No One - Chapter 6: The Rift

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Reader (wlw).

Theme: Ghostwriter x Athlete | Slow Burn | Angst | Emotional Intimacy | Happy Ending.

POV: 2nd person (you), emotion ally immersive.

Setting: Barcelona, Present Day.

Previous chapters: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

ACT: II

Writer's note: I am still enjoying writing for this series. I hope that you are still enjoying reading this series.

The next morning, you leave without saying goodbye.

Her door clicks softly behind you. Like a secret sealing shut.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That it was nothing. That you imagined the weight in the air. The way her breath caught. The way her fingers curled into fists when she pulled away.

But shame is a quiet animal, and it follows you home.

The distance starts like fog.

You don’t call. You don’t send the edits. You avoid the folder labeled Putellas Project, letting emails pile like untouched snow. When your editor asks for an update, you type half a sentence and delete it.

You’ve never been good at pretending, and the words taste like betrayal now.

You’re scared and you hate that about yourself.

She doesn’t reach out, either.

Days pass.

Then a week.

The next time you see her is in a press conference.

You’re not supposed to be watching it live, but you do. A bad habit. Maybe. Or just something that feels like penance.

Alexia sits in front of a sea of microphones. In Barça gear. Flanked by her coach and a teammate you don’t recognize. She looks like a statue. Polished. Remote.

The question comes halfway through:

“There’s been talk about a book... an authorized biography? Something more personal?”

She doesn't blink. “It’s not confirmed.”

“But you’ve been meeting with someone? A writer?”

Pause.

You know that pause.

Then:

“She’s just doing her job.”

The words land like a slap.

Curt.

Cold.

Past tense.

You close your laptop with more force than necessary.

Later that night, in a haze of anger and heartbreak, you open the manuscript draft. You stare at the cursor until your eyes blur. Then, without thinking, you paste in a line from Letters to No One.

Not on purpose.

Just muscle memory.

You don’t notice until you read it back:

She says ‘don’t’ like she’s trying to save us both from the same fire. But I would have burned for her. Gladly.

You freeze.

It’s raw.

It’s not meant for her.

It’s not meant for anyone.

You hover over the delete key.

But don’t press it.

The next morning, your editor replies to your file submission.

“The new section is breathtaking. Who is it addressed to?”

You stare at the screen.

You almost reply No one.

But you don’t send anything at all.

Meanwhile, Alexia reads the headlines from the press conference. She sees the way the media spins her words. Cold. Distant. Done.

She doesn’t correct them.

But when she’s alone in her car later that night. She replays the moment. The way you reached for her. So gently. The look on your face when she said “Don’t.”

She regrets it before she even pulls away.

She just doesn’t know how to fix something she never let herself name.

You both think the other has moved on.

You’re both wrong.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Self-Editing

Take a Break Before Editing

One of the most effective self-editing techniques is to distance yourself from your writing before diving into the editing process. After completing your draft, give yourself some time away from the text – a few hours, a day, or even longer if possible. This break provides a fresh perspective, allowing you to approach your work with a more critical eye.

Read Aloud

Engage your auditory senses by reading your work aloud. This not only helps identify grammatical errors and awkward phrasing but also allows you to assess the overall flow and rhythm of your writing. Awkward sentences are more apparent when heard.

Focus on One Element at a Time

To avoid feeling overwhelmed during the self-editing process, concentrate on specific elements in each round. Start by checking for grammatical errors and punctuation, then move on to sentence structure, coherence, and finally, style. This systematic approach ensures a thorough examination of your writing.

Add Dimensions

After you are finished with your first draft, flip to the beginning and start anew. As you write and edit more of your story, you may add different aspects to a character that might need to be mentioned in a section you already edited. You might add a part of the plot that should be alluded to earlier in your book.

Fill in the Gaps

Re-reading your first draft might reveal plot holes that will be addressed via revisions. It may expose logical inconsistencies that must be buttressed with enhanced detail. If you, as the author, know a lot of details about a character’s backstory, make sure your reader does as well.

Mend Character Arcs

Audiences want engaging plots, but they also want detailed characters who undergo change during the events of a story. Use a second draft to make sure that your main character and key supporting characters follow consistent character arcs that take them on a journey over the course of the story. If your story is told through first person point of view (POV), this will be even more important as it will also affect the story’s narration.

Track the Pacing of your Story

Find ways to space out your story points so that every section of your novel is equally compelling and nothing feels shoehorned in.

Clean up Cosmetic Errors

When some first time writers think of the editing process, they mainly think of corrections to grammar, spelling, syntax, and punctuation. These elements are certainly important but such edits tend to come toward the end of the process. Obviously no book will go out for hard copy publication without proofreading for typos and grammatical errors, but in the early rounds of revising, direct most of your energy toward story and character. If you consider yourself a good writer who simply isn’t strong on elements like spelling, grammar, and punctuation, consider hiring an outside proofreader to help you with this part of the writing process.

Inject Variety

The best novels and short stories contain ample variety, no matter how long or short the entire manuscript may be. Look for ways to inject variety into your sentence structure, your narrative events, your dialogue, and your descriptive language. You never want a reader to feel like s/he’s already read a carbon copy of a certain scene from a few chapters back.

Check for Consistency

Consistency is key to maintaining a professional and polished tone in your writing. Ensure that your language, formatting, and style choices remain consistent throughout your piece. Inconsistencies can distract the reader and diminish the overall impact of your work.

Eliminate Redundancies

Effective communication is concise and to the point. During the self-editing phase, be vigilant in identifying and eliminating redundancies. Repetitive phrases and unnecessary words can dilute your message and hinder clarity.

Verify Facts and Information

If your writing incorporates facts, figures, or data, double-check the accuracy of your information. Providing accurate and up-to-date information enhances your credibility as a writer. Cross-referencing your sources during the self-editing process ensures the reliability of your content.

Consider Your Audience

Keep your target audience in mind during the self-editing process. Ensure that your language, tone, and examples are tailored to resonate with your intended readership. This step is crucial for creating a connection with your audience and enhancing the overall impact of your writing.

Utilise Editing Tools

Take advantage of the various editing tools available to writers. Spell and grammar checkers, and style guides can serve as valuable companions during the self-editing journey. However, remember that these tools are aids, not substitutes, for your critical evaluation.

Seek Feedback

Engage with others to gain fresh perspectives on your writing. Peer reviews or feedback from mentors can offer valuable insights that you might have overlooked. Embrace constructive criticism and use it to refine your work further.

Be Ruthless with Revisions

Effective self-editing requires a degree of ruthlessness. Don’t be afraid to cut or rewrite sections that do not contribute to the overall strength of your piece. Trim excess words, tighten sentences, and ensure that every element serves a purpose.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ On Editing

[dancethroughthethunder]

Bobby From High School Chapter Five: I've Got You

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 6.4k (I had a lot to say, and I'm not sorry about it)

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Of All the Gin Joints, Chapter 2 Two Coffees, Chapter 3 It’s Not Prom, Chapter 4 If Life Were a Musical

Summary: After the bird strike, Bob and Nat end up in the base medical center. As Bobby's local emergency contact, you get a call letting you know that he's sustained injuries. Your afternoon becomes a whirlwind of emotions as you and the rest of the team rally together to care for them. Bob's lucky to have a pilot that's also his best friend, and he's lucky to have such a great girlfriend. It's a rough day but it's easier with the way you all have each other - Hangman included.

Author’s Note: We get a little angsty this chapter but it all works out, I promise. This chapter is so long but means so much to me. Thanks for sticking around for it. You may have noticed that I increased the chapter count. It just felt like this wasn't how this story was going to end. I promise I'll break everyone's hearts (mine included) less next time. I have so so many thoughts and feelings about this chapter and as always, would love to hear yours. xoxo As a reminder, if you find yourself thinking "that's not exactly how it works", this is fiction and I'm doing this because I love it, not because it has to be perfect. Divider credit: @/saradika

tw: mention of injuries, mention of doctors/hospital.

You’re hitting your afternoon slump hard . It’s not just you – it’s your coworkers as well. You’ve all been working so hard on polishing up your latest draft report that handing it over to Captain Tompkins just before lunch means you barely know what to do with yourselves now.

Mark is regaling you and Cynthia with a story of his latest bad date when the phone on your desk rings. While you almost never use it, your email signature lists your office extension so it wouldn’t be unheard of for someone to try to get a hold of you this way. You’re not expecting a call and you can’t immediately remember if you’ve sent anything out that might prompt someone to call you anyways so your attention is elsewhere as you answer.

“Good afternoon.” You pick up the phone with one hand, twirling a pen aimlessly with the other.

Even when the voice on the other line asks for you by name, you don’t immediately think anything of it. You work on a Navy base, you’re used to the formalities. At every turn, it’s “Ma’am” this and “Miss” that. So while you confirm that yes, that’s you, you’re still half-listening to Cynthia and Mark. 

“This is Lieutenant Sanchez at the Naval Medical Center at Miramar. I’m calling in regard to Lieutenant Robert Floyd.”

“Sorry, what? What was that?” At the desk opposite yours, Cynthia looks over, drawn in by the shock in your voice and watches as your pen slips out of your fingers and onto the desk.

“I’m with the Naval Medical Center at Miramar. I’m calling on behalf of Lieutenant Floyd, you’re listed as his local emergency contact.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” You sit straight up.

“Lieutenant Floyd has sustained injuries and is currently in our care.” 

You miss his next sentence entirely, too focused on the phrase sustained injuries. The man on the other end of the phone – Lieutenant Sanchez? — is telling you what entrance to use to get to the base hospital and what kind of ID you’ll need to get in, when your brain starts working again.

“I’m on base now. I work here. I’m a contractor.” 

“Okay.” He says, altering his instructions. “You can use your base badge but I recommend bringing your civilian ID as well since you work in a separate area and they’ll want to verify your identity at the front desk.” 

You nod and then remember he can’t see you, so you thank him for the information and hang up. You look at Cynthia who has been looking at you with concern. Even just hearing your side of the call, it’s clear something’s wrong. 

“Is everything okay?” She tentatively asks. Mark has gone quiet.

“No, I don’t know. Bobby’s in the base hospital. He’s hurt.” You slowly stand up, in a daze.

Cynthia’s hand flies to her mouth in shock before she starts to collect herself.

“Alright, let’s go.” She stands up and shakes her head at Mark to let him know that she’s got you.

“What are you doing?” Your brow furrows.

“Walking with you. I can’t get back there with you but I’m not sending you alone.” 

While you grab your purse and lock your computer, Cynthia ducks into Captain Tompkins’ office to let him know that she’ll be back but that you’ll be out the rest of the afternoon. Mark chimes in to indicate that he’s available if the Captain needs anything. You follow Cynthia’s lead as she guides you out of your office and towards the hospital. 

You’ve only been Bob’s local emergency contact for a few weeks. He had asked somewhere around your fifth date. The two of you had been officially dating for a few days, and were laying on your couch watching tv when he turned to you with a question.

“Hey darlin’, I was wondering,” he started nervously, “and you can say no if it’s weird. Would you be interested in being my local emergency contact? We can list someone in the area we want contacted in an emergency who can come visit and get information. It’s not the same level as a next-of-kin, or anything.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and you could practically feel the tension radiating off of him. You didn’t even have a chance to reply before he barreled on with more information, hoping to reassure you in case he’d already overwhelmed you. (He hadn’t.)

“I’m not asking as your boyfriend. Well, I am a little bit. But mostly because you’ve known me forever, and it would be nice to have someone local to be able to put down. Not to guilt you though. Just if you want.” Bob shrugs.

Gently, you grabbed Bob’s face with both hands. “Bobby, hey, it’s okay. I know what you mean. Yes, you can absolutely put me down. Thank you for asking.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s actually a great idea, I don’t think I’ve updated mine since I moved. Is it alright if I list you, too?” 

You could practically see the tension melt away from your boyfriend as he agreed.

That’s one of the best things about your relationship – you two get each other. Even in a situation like that where you might be a little worried that it could be construed as too soon, you’ve known the other long enough to know that they’ll get what you mean. It’s why you decided to make it official after four dates instead of possibly waiting longer. You got the surface level, laying the groundwork, attraction-defining stuff done ages ago. 

Besides, even if you weren’t official yet, you couldn’t think of anyone you’d feel more comfortable with in an emergency than Bobby. It’s a relief for him, too, to be able to list someone local after bouncing around from place to place for years. It’s even better because it’s you.

You both knew there was the chance you could get a call like this, though you both prayed you wouldn’t have to. You certainly didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

You’re thinking back to that conversation while Cynthia leads you through and around base. You focus back on her as she’s in the middle of a sentence. 

“– take care of the rest of the day.” 

“Sorry, Cyn, what?”

“No worries, honey. I was just saying that Mark and I can take over for the rest of the day. No matter what, you focus on that sweet boyfriend of yours.” 

“Thank you.” 

You’re not sure what else to say, not sure what you’ll be walking into. Cynthia seems to pick up on this, changing topics entirely. 

“So how long do you think it’ll take us to get feedback on our draft this time?”

You’re thankful for the distraction, thankful that you’ve worked together long enough that she knows what you need right now. You let Cynthia steer you where you need to go, and just focus on your conversation so you can avoid panicking. For all you know, things could be fine. Maybe it’s just a minor injury and this is protocol. You’ve been around the Navy long enough to know how protocol can be (which is to say, a massive headache). 

Finally, the two of you arrive at the medical center and Cynthia walks you right up to the main desk before giving you a hug and departing. 

“May I help you?” The nurse at the desk greets you. 

Out of habit, you offer her your name and base ID. 

“I’m sorry, Ma’am.” She says after swiping your ID. “It doesn’t look like you have access back here.”

“Oh, right.” You say, pulling your wallet out to get to your driver’s license.

You’re too frazzled to elaborate further, you just silently present her with your license. 

“Ma’am, I can’t let unauthorized individuals back there.” She continues sternly. 

“I understand that. I’m not trying to access the hospital in my role as a contractor, I got a call as an emergency contact.” You’re trying to remain calm, you know the nurse is just doing her job but you’re overwhelmed and you want to scream fuck protocol. Just take me to Bobby!

It’s as if the words “emergency contact” are a magic password, and suddenly her tone changes entirely.

“Oh, absolutely. I can help you with that. Apologies, Ma’am.”

Your head is still swimming as you sign in as a cleared visitor. Eventually, she points you in the direction of Bob’s room and lets you know that the doctor will find you with an update.

The walk through the doors behind her, down the hallway, and through to the wing that allegedly contains your injured boyfriend feels like the longest drag of your life. Eventually, you turn a corner and find a familiar face. 

“Hey there, Tiger.” Jake greets you, and your knees almost buckle. 

You had still been hoping this was all a big misunderstanding, that you were going to get here and find Natasha waiting for you with an explanation, something less serious – a nosebleed, a rolled ankle on the tarmac, anything other than an injury sustained flying. But it’s not Nat standing in front of you, which means she’s hurt too. It’s the only reason she wouldn’t be standing here outside Bob’s room. You haven’t known her nearly that long, but you already know enough about her to know that. 

“Jake.” His name is the only thing you can figure out to say at first. “Are you okay?” You say after a moment of staring at one another. 

“I’m alright. How are you doing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know anything right now.”

“Shit, has nobody talked to you yet?” He rubs a hand over his face, clearly exhausted.

“No, not yet. I only just got back here. They said the doctor would come find me shortly.” 

“Alright. Come on Tiger,” Jake places a steady hand on your back, “let’s go take a seat. They’ll know to look for us over here.” He guides you towards a waiting area where you’re greeted by Mickey, Reuben, and Javy. 

You nod at the guys as you take a seat next to Mickey. You have so many questions but you don’t know where to start. You also don’t know how much they can tell you. You wonder if they watched whatever happened, you almost feel selfish for being so scared. An hour ago, they were probably up in the air, just as at risk as Bobby and Nat while you were safe and sound in your office with Cynthia and Mark. Realistically, you know it’s not that cut and dry but your mind is spiraling, trying out every scenario it comes up with. 

Jake sits across from you, next to Reuben and Javy. Maybe it’s because he’s the one who greeted you, maybe it’s because he’s sitting across from you, but you don’t know how to look away from him, from the way he seems to be the calm to your chaos right now. 

“Jake, how do I do this?” You blurt out.

“You can be scared, Tiger. He’ll understand. You’re here. That’s what he needs.” The others all nod in agreement. 

“I haven’t told him I love him yet. I didn’t want to scare him, it’s so soon. But of course I love him, how can you not? Do I tell him now? I don’t want him to think I’m only saying it because of this. But I don’t want to not say it after this. Jake, what do I do?” You bring your hand up to your chest, grabbing tightly onto the top of your blouse as if you can physically grab hold of the weight that feels centered right on top of you while you let loose your every thought at your boyfriend’s teammates.

“Alright, come here.” 

Instead of answering your question directly, Jake just kneels down in front of your chair and pulls you into his chest. For the first time since you answered the call, you start to cry. For his part, Jake just sits there silently, letting you hold onto him for dear life. You feel a hand on your shoulder that probably belongs to Mickey, and someone offers a quiet “it’ll be okay” from behind Jake.

“It’s alright. You can be scared. You can tell him you love him. Or you can wait. Either way he knows.” It’s the kindest thing Jake’s ever said to you, and somehow exactly what you need to hear.

The two of you sit there for another minute as your tears slow down. With some of the tears gone, the immediate weight on your chest feels lighter, you feel like you can at least make it through the next minute. And maybe even the one after that. You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath.

“Well shit, Bagman. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Rooster says as he walks up. 

Jake immediately turns around, ready to scold him. He’s ready to tell Rooster that it’s too soon for you to make jokes, that this might be the reality they face every day but it’s not yours.

But then you laugh. Loudly. Loudly enough that Reuben starts checking to see if someone is going to come out and quiet you all down, and suddenly they’re all laughing with you.

“Nat’s going to be so pissed she missed Jake being a human.” You joke as you gently pat Jake’s shoulder in a thank you. 

“How’re you doing, Tiger?” Bradley asks.

“Oh you know, I’ve had better days. But I’m okay, just a lot of uncertainty. How are you guys?” You look around earnestly. It’s one thing to hear their stories day in and day out, and to work on base and logically, conceptually understand the risks they take every day. It’s another thing entirely to sit here next to them after two of their own have gotten hurt doing it. 

“She’s still waiting for news from the doc.” Jake tells the guys, who all missed your first conversation in the hallway.

“We’re okay. We just want information too.” Reuben says, answering your question.

“Do you want to wait for the doctor or do you want us to tell you what we know?” Javy asks.

“I’m up to it if you guys are. But if you’d rather not, that’s okay.” You’re trying to be considerate, trying to walk the line you can’t locate between thoughtful and not treating them like they’re made of glass.

“Phoenix and Bob were up in the air with me, so was Mav.” Javy starts.

“Coyote went into G-LOC and almost crashed and then almost as soon as everyone was in the clear, there was a bird strike.” Mickey takes over telling the story.

“Bird strike?” You’ve listened to them talk about work enough to understand most of what they’ve said until that point.

“It’s sort of what it sounds like, Tiger. A bird hits the plane. It can be a bigger deal than it sounds sometimes.” Rooster chimes in and you appreciate his attempt not to scare you but still tell you what you need to know.

“Oh. Okay. So what happened?” 

“It got sucked into their engine. They did everything they could to recover but they had to punch out. Phoenix and Bob had to eject.” Jake steps in with the worst part of the story, leaving out the gorier details regarding the fire. A look passes between the four men as they all silently agree you don’t need to know more than that right now. Nobody is going to tell you how scared Phoenix and Bob sounded, how scared everyone was that they weren’t coming home.

“Oh my God.” For a moment, you’re frozen. Just long enough for the team to start to worry that they’ve told you too much. Then you straighten up and say “okay. That sounds really scary for all of you. I really appreciate you guys being here and telling me. I know Bob and Nat will too.” 

Then, because you’re so glad they’re okay and thankful for them, you launch yourself at them one at a time. Javy gets the first hug and you make sure to tell him that you’re glad he’s okay too. Then Mickey, and Reuben each get a hug. Next is Rooster and you know just enough from Bob to understand why he holds you a little tighter than you might expect, why today’s hard for him. Then it’s Jake, who has somehow become the glue holding you together. 

Stepping back, you thank them all again, right as the doctor appears. Hearing your name, you turn around and identify yourself.

“Hi, that’s me.”

“Great, follow me please. I understand you’re Lt. Floyd’s local emergency contact.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod as you walk towards the doctor, following as she leads you back down the hallway by the patient rooms.

“I’m not sure how much information you’ve been given, so I’ll cover the basics. During training this afternoon, Lt. Floyd and his pilot were involved in a bird strike. Their engines caught on fire and they were forced to eject. As far as ejections go, they’re doing alright. Lt. Floyd has some superficial lacerations from the landing, bruised ribs and he’ll likely have some bruising and soreness. Ejection is hard on the body, even if they’re ‘lucky’ enough to get by without any breaks but he didn’t sustain any injuries from the fire.” 

“Okay. What will he need, medicine wise? Or treatment?” There will be time later for you to focus on the words��fire and landing, but for now your priority is learning everything you can to help Bob.

You listen while the doctor explains that the medicine they’ve given him will make him a little bit groggy for the rest of the day, and that barring a bad reaction during the concussion testing you can probably take him home in a few hours.

The doctor lets you know that the nurses around can help if you have any additional questions and that you’re free to visit Bob. You don’t waste any time thanking her before letting yourself into his room.

Unsurprisingly, Bob is asleep. You take a minute just to look at your sweet boyfriend. Someone must have already cleaned him up, all of his cuts and scrapes have been tended to but that doesn’t hurt you less to see. In a way, you’re glad you got your tears out in the waiting room because you don’t think you’d want him to wake up to that – you’re determined to set aside your fear in front of him as best as you can, and just be there for him. 

You pull up a chair next to his bed, so you can be as close to him as possible and sit down. Now that you have some answers from the doctor and permission to be there, you’re not going anywhere.

You think about calling Allie but decide to wait and see what Bobby says when he’s awake. The med center has probably already contacted his family, and you really don’t have any more information to offer yet. You’re trying not to stare at your watch, but roughly half an hour after you sit down, Bobby starts moving. At first, you stay silent, not sure if he’s really awake and not wanting to risk waking him if he’s not.

Finally, he groans and slowly opens his eyes.

“Hi there, handsome. I heard you had a rough day at work.” You’re not quite sure what the protocol is for greeting your boyfriend after he ejected from an airplane, but figure that maybe a little levity is okay.

“Hi, darlin’.” He groans again as he tries to adjust his position in bed. 

“Hold on, sweetheart. Let me help you.” You gently place one hand on his back and one on his arm to help him sit up, trying to avoid putting any unnecessary pressure on his injuries. There’s a cup of water next to his bed, so you offer him some and sit silently while he drinks it.

“How’s Nat? Is she okay?” He asks. It’s so typical of Bob to be thinking of someone else at a time like this. It’s partly the bond between a pilot and their WSO, and partly just the kind of man Bob is.

“I haven’t heard much yet, they really only told me about you but as far as I know she’s alright. Want me to ask the guys if they know anything yet?” 

When Bob nods, you pull out your phone to send a quick text to Jake and Rooster asking for an update that they’re quick to share.

“It sounds like she had a slightly better landing than you, honey. She’s sore, but she’s alright. Bradley and Jake are in with her now. Do you want to see them?” 

At the news that Nat is doing okay, Bob relaxes, as much as he can given his injuries. You know it’s just the lighting, but you almost swear that some of the color returns to his face.

“Not yet. Can you sit with me?” 

It almost breaks your heart how softly he asks. You don’t even take the time to answer out loud, you just immediately slide over and gently sit down next to him on the bed, making sure not to put too much weight on him.

“I’m sorry if I scared you. I can’t imagine what getting that call was like.” Bob says, and you think back to your conversation with Jake.

“That’s part of loving someone, honey, being scared when something happens to them. It was scary, but I’m okay. I can’t imagine how it was for you. I’ll be honest, this is all new to me. I don’t know if you want to talk about it, or not talk about it, or how best to support you. But I’m here for whatever it is.” You lean back against the bed and Bob leans his head against your shoulder. 

For a moment, you think that maybe the first part of your sentence slipped right by him. But even given his condition, on medicine and so injured, you should have known he’d have heard you.

“Part of loving someone?” It melts your heart the way he perks up, fighting against the exhaustion.

“Yeah, Bobby, loving someone. I know it’s soon but I think I’ve loved you for quite a while. Don’t you dare think this is just because of today.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He says with a smile and as much of a salute as he can muster. “I love you too, honey. Thank you.” 

As gently as you can, you lean over and press a soft kiss to his forehead. The two of you just sit there silently for a while, holding onto one another until Bob finally breaks the silence.

“Okay. I think I’m okay to see the team. Do you mind getting them?” 

“I can do that. They’re probably all with Nat, so just give me a second.”

As soon as you leave the room, Bob wants you back with him. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. All he could think about as he was ejecting was how badly he wanted Nat to be okay, how badly he wanted to come home to you, and how scared he was that he wouldn’t get to tell you he loved you. Waiting for S&R, he couldn’t help worrying about you, about how scared you’d be getting the call. He’s glad you’re here with him, loving him the way you do. 

He knows ejection and injury are possible. It’s a reality he faces every time he gets in the plane, he just hoped he’d never have to experience it. He knows there was nothing they could do and that they’re safe now, but that he’ll feel a lot better when he can lay eyes on Nat again and confirm for himself that she’s okay. He’s glad that you seem to understand when his first question is about her, when it’s clear that you care about her, too. 

You’ve already told him that the doctor tentatively cleared him to go home later and that, in no uncertain terms, you’ll be inviting yourself over to take care of him. He wonders if maybe he can convince Nat to spend the night, too, so neither of them have to be apart from each other yet. 

It doesn’t take too long for you to return with the entire team in tow. Including Nat.

“The doctor said I could only leave my room if I did it like this.” She gestures down at the wheelchair that Javy is pushing her in. “But, she didn’t say anything about when I got here.” 

The second she stands up, the entire team encourages her to sit back down. The only person who doesn’t, is you. Instead, you take a step forward and silently offer her your hand. The guys all watch, shocked, as she accepts, letting you lead her right over towards Bob and helping her get settled next to him, right where you were sitting before. 

“We got you something.” Hangman says with a smirk, holding something behind his back.

“Do I even want to know?” Bob asks dryly. 

Suddenly, Hangman reveals a teddy bear and a card. He hands Phoenix the bear and Bob the card. The front of the card reads: “Woah, Baby!” and underneath, someone has added “On Board!”. Before he can even read the message on the inside, Bob starts laughing. It hurts his ribs but that’s okay right now. He’s alive, and his friends are assholes, and his pilot is okay, and his girlfriend is perfect, and he’s alive. 

Leaning over to read the card, Nat throws the bear at Jake. 

‘You’re such a dick, Bagman.” Bob says, but everyone knows that he really means thank you . 

At some point, while you’re telling the guys secondhand gossip about Mark’s disastrous date, Bob gently nudges Nat and whispers to her.

“Hey, you okay?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“I don’t either. But I think we will be.” 

“I trust you.” Nat says, and they both know she means it implicitly. 

“You’re my partner. I trust you.” Bob watches Nat breathe a sigh of relief at the news that he doesn’t blame her, doesn’t harbour any animosity about needing to eject. Bob laces his fingers with hers and gives a quick squeeze. There’ll be more to say later, but for now they each know what the other means. It means we’ll be okay, you’ve got me and I’ve got you, we’re in this together.

It’s been one hell of a day, but everyone is alive and you’re all here together. One of his hands is in yours, and the other’s is in Nat’s and you all sit that way for a little while, just holding onto one another.

When the doctor stops by an hour later, if she’s surprised to see the entire squad in the room, she doesn’t say anything about it. Natasha is still perched on the bed next to Bob, and you’ve moved your chair to the other side of the bed where you’re nestled as close as you can, still holding his hand. 

“Alright, well that would explain why Lt. Trace isn’t in her room.” Nat shrugs shamelessly. “Can I have all of you clear out so I can check Lt. Floyd out one last time?” Everyone else stands up to go back to the waiting room, and Bob maintains his grip on your hand so you stay. This time, Rooster guides Nat back into the wheelchair and helps her back out into the hallway, towards her own room.

While Bob and Nat are busy signing their release forms and changing out of their hospital gowns, you make your way back to the waiting area.

“So, good news is that I get to take these two home. The bad news is that my car is all the way on the other side of base by my office.” 

Silently, Reuben holds his hand out for your keys. You already knew they were a team, but after today it’s clear that they’re a family and that you’ve become part of it so you don’t ask any questions as you hand them to him. You just tell him your license plate number, make and model, and he and Mickey set off to get your car.

“We’ve gotta wheel them out to the car, but otherwise the doc says they’re okay to walk around. I’ve got the instructions on how to check for a concussion or any other concerning signs over the next few days and instructions for medicine for both of them.” 

Rooster grabs the paperwork out of your hands, looks down at both packets and hands you back Bob’s. 

“I’ve got Phoenix.” You recognize the look in his eyes, if you had a mirror right now you’d see it reflected in your own. There’s nothing more to say so you just nod.

When the nurses handling their discharge papers poke their heads into the hallway to summon you and Rooster, Jake and Javy tag along.

“Do y’all want to come over for dinner? We can order something.” Bob asks as you all head out to the parking lot, where Reuben has your car waiting.

“Sure thing, Baby on Board. My treat.” Hangman says. 

“I can do it, Seresin.” Rooster offers, and you and Nat roll your eyes simultaneously at their antics, even though you’re both glad that things seem okay enough for them to go back to normal.

Even though they don’t need to, the guys help Nat and Bob get into your car. 

“Why don’t y’all head over to your own cars and meet us at Bobby’s? I’ve got them.” You say, grabbing your keys back from Reuben. “Maybe later a few of us can swing back and pick up Bobby and Nat’s cars?” 

With everyone in agreement, it’s your turn to get in the car and you start driving. Nat and Bob are both in the back seat, where it was easier for everyone to help them in. You put some music on and let the two talk to each other, trying not to listen in. You know they need this time, whether they’re talking about this afternoon or not.

When you get to Bob’s house, you’re wholly unsurprised when Nat bounds out of the car, as quickly as her body will allow without help. Bob waits silently for you to walk around and open his door. You both know he’s just as capable as Nat, but is trying to give you the chance to help, to do something . 

By the time the three of you make it up to the door, Nat announces that she’s going to change out of her flight suit.

“Does she have clothes here?” You ask, amused. “I feel like I would have noticed them at some point.”

“Probably. I stopped questioning it a while ago.” Bob shrugs, unbothered by his best friend’s antics. 

You and Bob head to his bedroom in silent agreement to also change – you out of your work dress and Bob out of his own flight suit. Just like at the car, Bob lets you help him more than is strictly necessary. As you unzip him and help lift off his undershirt, you softly place a kiss on each of his collar bones and then pull him in for a hug. 

He’s shirtless, with his flight suit around his waist and you’re still in your dress but you don’t care. Well, at first you don’t, until the overwhelming need to feel him, to have his skin against yours takes over. You take a step back, quickly discarding your dress before stepping back into his arms.

You lay your head on his chest, lightly adjusting until you can hear his heartbeat. In reality, you probably stand that way for a minute or two, but it feels like a lifetime of just holding onto one another. Bob lets out a big exhale, the kind that just indicates pure, deep exhaustion. 

“I love you. Thank you for being here.” He says into your hair.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Bobby. I’m not sure if you know, but I’m pretty stubborn.” 

This time when Bob laughs he instinctively places a hand over his ribs, trying to minimize the pain. 

“Alright, sorry, sorry, I’ll have to rein in the funny tonight.” You joke. “Seriously though honey, you tell me what you need. If you want to talk about it with me, or specifically with the team but not me, you just tell me. I’m out of my depth here, Bobby. I’m just really glad you’re okay.” You’re trying your hardest not to cry again, but you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Thank you. I don’t really know right now.” He admits.

“And that’s okay.” You reassure him. “Do you want to finish getting dressed and go get comfy on the couch?”

Bob just nods, and you resume your efforts to help him get dressed. If you stop every few seconds to sneak another kiss, neither of you are going to say anything about it. 

You’re delighted when you get to the living room and Natasha tells you that Jake and Reuben are going to pick up dinner on the way and that everyone else is almost there.

Bob sits next to Nat on the couch. Close enough that they could reach each other without much effort, but far enough for the pretense of space. It’s another way that they’re saying I’ve got you, and you’ve got me . They stay that way all through the night. It’s easy when you and Rooster insist on getting them everything they could possibly need. Eventually, even Nat stops fighting you guys on it. 

As if by unspoken agreement, the team stays the perfect amount of time before departing in duos. First, it’s Jake and Reuben. Jake grabs Bob’s keys and the two head back to base so Jake can drive Bob’s car back while Reuben heads home for the night. A few minutes later, Mickey and Javy make a similar journey in Mickey’s car for Javy to drive back Nat’s car. If you ask Bradley, Nat’s car will stay in Bob’s driveway overnight. If you ask Nat, she’ll drive it home today. It’s anyone’s guess which one of them will win out. Well anyone but you, you’re already planning on where you’ll hide her keys.

It’s a complicated game of musical cars, but everyone’s more than happy to do it. To go above and beyond for each other, even if they spend half their time bickering.

When Jake returns, you meet him on the front porch.

“Thank you for today. I don’t know how you knew what I needed, but you did. You’re a good man, Jake.” You say, offering him another hug.

“Don’t mention it, Tiger. Seriously, don’t. You’ll ruin my reputation.” He jokes, as he returns the hug.

“Nah, you can’t stop me.” You tease.

“Bob, your girlfriend is bullying me.” He calls through the door into the house.

“Good, someone should.” Bobby calls back. 

You wish Jake goodnight right as Javy returns with Nat’s car. You toss him his keys in exchange for Nat’s and while everyone’s busy saying goodnight to Javy, you hide Nat’s keys in Bob’s pantry.

Eventually, it’s time for Nat and Bradley to leave. Rooster declares you his favorite when it’s clear that you know something about Nat’s missing keys, and you laugh and blow Nat a kiss when she says you’re undermining feminism. Later, you and Bob will agree that you’d both love to be a fly on the wall when those two arrive at Nat’s house.

You and Bradley exchange numbers and promises to keep each other updated while Bob and Nat do the same. Nat threatens to steal the Bronco to check in on Bob if she thinks he’s hiding something, and Bob just rolls his eyes and pulls her in for a hug. 

Finally, Nat and Bradley leave and Bob’s house is silent. It doesn’t take too long for the two of you to decide you’re ready to call it a night.

“I’m so tired, but I can’t even think about climbing into bed without a shower.” Bob says once you two are in his bedroom.

“I know what you mean. Why don’t I hop in there with you?” 

“That sounds nice.” 

Sex is the furthest thing from your minds right now, but the room is heavy with the intimacy of you two caring for one another. First, you help Bob undress and then he insists on helping when it’s your turn. While he goes to turn the water on, you grab the towels and turn on a playlist, silently navigating around each other. Once you’re in the shower, you hum while you wash Bob’s hair. Bob argues but eventually acquiesces to letting you wash your own hair, with a promise that he can do it once his ribs aren’t hurting so bad. 

When you delicately trace the bar of soap over his torso, as careful around his injuries as can be, Bob finally cries. You notice immediately, you’re so tuned into him, you notice the second he starts shaking. But you know what he needs, so you let him get it out and just keep taking care of him. 

Once you’ve finished with the soap, Bob pulls you into his arms and just holds you. He’s getting you all sudsy but neither of you care. You just stand there feeling the warm water, and each other. It’s the most important thing either of you have done all day.

“I love you. Thank you.” He says again.

“I love you, you’re welcome. I’ve got you, Bobby.” 

Eventually, Bob releases you and rinses off what soap is left that the water couldn’t reach. You quickly turn your attention to cleaning yourself before following suit. By the time the two of you are done, the water runs cold. It’s soothing though, so you stay a little while longer – not saying anything, just being together. 

Bob knew he loved you long before today, but after today he can’t imagine a world without you. For your part, you’re feeling the same way. By the time the two of you crawl into bed, all you can each think is I love you, I’ve got you, we’re in this together.

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Mary's Swan Song

It's the day before Valentine's Day, so I thought, why not break some hearts with a post about love lost? Missing You by Jem certainly fits the bill, and would be a number for the Sunshine in Hell soundtrack if there ever was one. I listened to this song on loop when writing the first draft of Grand pas de Deux, and I'm doing it again now that I'm polishing it up to hopefully post in Sunshine in Another World sometime soon.

Content Warning: This post contains discussions of death, grief, murder, chronic illness, childhood trauma, abusive families, golden child and scapegoat dynamic, sickness, suicidal ideation, depression, PTSD, codependency, and other such dark and heavy topics.

This is such a somber song, and it fits the soul crushing scene of Mary dying of grief so well. The mood that the instruments and vocals paint is one of devastating loss and the emptiness left behind after a loved one dies even before you get to the lyrics.

I wish this could be A happy song But my happiness disappeared The moment you were gone Don't think I ever believed that This day will come Now all I'm feeling Is lost and numb And oh, I know I promised Mmm, that I will try But I, yes I miss you And it's killing inside I'll always be thankful For the time we had We were blessed I should celebrate But I feel too sad Our wonderful memories Just make me fall apart And it feels like somebody Stepping in my heart No, I know I promised Mmm, that I wouldn't cry But I, yes I miss you And it's killing inside, oh Well I, yes I miss you Want you by my side Walking, holding hands Talking making plans Touching my heart, my soul I wish this could be A happy song But my happiness disappeared The moment you were gone Tell me it's not happening Say it's not as it seems Tell me that I'm gonna wake up It's just a bad dream Please tell me that it's fiction Tell me it's just a lie Whatever you choose to tell me Please say you didn't die Yes I, yes I miss you And it's killing inside, oh Well I, yes I, I miss you Want you by my side Oh, well I, oh I miss you Want you by my side Back here by my side Here by my side

I probably don't need to explain why this song fits Mary's grief at the end of her life, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't ramble a bit about my thoughts related to the subject.

The fact that the lyrics start with a wish feels very fitting with the nickname Mary gave to Joseph and what he represented to her. In so many ways, he helped her make her wishes come true.

Mary was a bird locked in a cage in her childhood, a possession rather than a cherished child. She spent years lying to herself that her family loved her, but Joseph was the first person to show her what love really looked like.

He was there for her when she first started getting sick. She was scared and in pain. They were both scared children, not sure how to help make her pain go away or what it would mean. But he refused to leave her. He didn't dismiss her hurt and fear.

Mary's parents refused to talk about the death sentence the doctor gave her.

"You're not dying!" they'd snap, and that was the end of the conversation. They didn't want to hear it.

They didn't believe it really was that serious. They wouldn't have bothered with doctors for a persistent "stomach ache" if they could help it, but the school needed notes signed by a doctor as excuses for her constant trips to the nurse and absences so it wouldn't look like they were bad parents. A child being taken away by Child Protective Services would certainly reflect poorly on them.

The Phoenix matriarch and patriarch never wanted a daughter in the first place. They wanted just one child, a son. They had succeeded first try with Ezekiel, affectionately nicknamed Zeke, their golden child. They never planned to have Mary. She just happened - an accident they simply couldn't erase.

Mary was such a burden to them, especially when her health got worse. Without a diagnosis, a name to her illness, so many people believed that she was making it all up. Even her family thought she was exaggerating, playing up minor aches into melodramas. Big brother Zeke never hesitated to accuse her of faking it for attention. Even he knew that their parents favored him over her. It was just the way things were.

It was the way they always would be.

Joseph was a breath of fresh air. He helped Mary come out of her shell and stop making herself smaller to make others more comfortable. He made her feel special in a way no one else ever did.

He was her freedom, her hope, her guiding star in a dark night. He gave her the courage to wish for a brighter future than the dim one her family had painted all her life.

That was why Mary confessed her feelings for Joseph after her doctor told her explicitly that she wouldn't live to see adulthood. He was the only one who cared to comfort her after hearing such devastating news. The doctor hadn't and neither had her family.

Mary could have kept quiet, burying her feelings for Joseph so deep that he would never know just how much he meant to her... so he wouldn't hurt so much after she was gone.

But Joseph was the one that encouraged her to share her feelings with him, to stop hiding how she felt and speak her mind. If she can't share something with anyone else, she could always share it with him, no matter how serious or silly. He didn't want her to suffer alone in silence anymore. He made sure she knew that. It was the two of them against the world, now and forever.

When Joseph accepted her feelings and even admitted how much he cared about her in return, he created hope and happiness in the darkest day of her life.

Well, darkest so far.

Knowing that Joseph loved her helped Mary to find the strength to keep going, to tolerate all the awful tests and doctor visits that gave no answers, only disappointment.

Even after the pair were forcibly separated by her parents, Mary could still hold onto hope. Just knowing that Joseph was out there in the world, knowing that he cared about her and wanted her to be happy gave her the strength to keep fighting. She could hold on by telling herself that one day they would be reunited.

Eventually her wish did indeed come true.

In spite of being in pain every single day, with no real diagnosis to help with treatment, Mary's life was growing brighter. She was reunited with the love of her life and pursuing her dream to create stories and share them with the world. She managed to distance herself from her family despite how they tried to keep her silent and caged. She was starting to make friends who were helping her create her story. She managed to grant a wish of Joseph's and make him a star.

It wasn't easy. It was a struggle every day, fighting for more time and to make those dreams come true. The world was cruel and fought back every step of the way, but Mary had Joseph by her side to support her. Just as importantly, she now had the ability to support him in return. She struggled to remain standing on her own two feet with shaky legs and crumbling ground as things kept getting harder, but she was still moving forward one step at a time.

Two gunshots were all it took to kill Mary, Joseph, and their dreams.

The trauma of losing Joseph so horrifically in front of her damaged Mary beyond repair. She blamed herself. If she never got him the part of Jack... if she never even wrote the SunnyTime Crew Show in the first place, then he would be alive.

If Mary never found Joseph by the side of the road, she could still keep going believing that he was alive and that they would one day find each other again.

Mary had promised Joseph she would keep fighting every day so that they could live a long and happy life together. It's what calmed his fears that one day this unknown illness really would end her life sooner rather than later. They were both afraid that he would be forced to live on and on, haunted by the grief of losing her.

Mary never thought the roles would be reversed. She did sometimes fear that they might be separated again like they were as kids, but she could keep telling herself that they would find each other again. She found him before.

But she couldn't tell herself that anymore. Joseph was dead.

Even her dreams of leaving a piece of herself behind by telling a story and sharing it with the world were dead. That damned studio erased it all, buried every last trace of the story, the show, the characters, and the names of every person who was a part of it. They erased the mark she tried to leave behind after she was gone.

Not only did Mary lose Joseph, but his time in the world was erased. It was as if he never existed at all.

And Mary could only blame herself for all the mistakes she made that led them to this tragedy.

Mary never should have trusted LambsWork with all their unfair clauses and connections that could utterly obliterate both people and dreams without a second's hesitation. She never should have just sat there in the audience, frozen in mute fear as that maniac pointed a gun at her Joseph. She should have done something, anything differently. There were a million ways that might have saved them from this ending.

Mary knows Joseph wouldn't want her to wallow in misery and blame. He always did his best to make her happy. He was her happiness.

But now her happy memories of him, those priceless moments she always cherished so dearly, hurt like hell. It's so cruel... to seek solace in at least his memory, but thoughts of happy moments with him only bring her pain now. She'll never see him smile again, never hear his voice, never have that future she fought so hard to have with him...

Her life has become a nightmare that she can never wake up from.

Mary knows Joseph would want her to live. She made him promise to live on even after her death, even though he swore he couldn't life without her. Still, he promised to try anyway... for her.

But she couldn't make the same promise in return.

Mary tried. She tried and tried so hard for so long... but everything hurt so much. The pain was too much.

How could she keep fighting when there was nothing left to fight for?

Joseph was gone. Forever. Her dreams were erased. Her family never reached out. Her friends drifted away. They still had their dreams to pursue. They still had hope.

Her dream led to the death of her hope.

All Mary had left was the ashes of her dreams, a body falling apart around her, and once happy memories dyed blood red with grief.

There simply was nothing left for Mary to keep her living.

All Mary had left was her wish for all of it to disappear like a bad dream, for her to wake up in a new life, unburdened by all the pain that was slowly killing her... another chance at a happy future with Joseph - or whatever new name he might have next time they meet - by her side.

Fortunately, her wish does indeed come true, as Mary Phoenix is reborn as Alice King and is given a second chance with her shining star of hope and love, Jack.

Hoo, even with that uplifting note, this ramble got heavy. I might've indulged too much in tragedy for one post, so I'll end things there. I guess that's what happens when I listen to this super sad song on repeat. It hits me right in the feels and gives me sad plot bunnies that I just have to share.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

[random-non-shower-thoughts]

Write with your heart, edit with your inner critic and ears

My last two post have been more from the heart, but I think more people need actual editing advice like I have talked about in a previous thought post. Like I said there, plenty of teachers and professors have no issues talking about writing and formulating and drafting works. I only know of one professor over all my years of writing that I can recall with 99% certainty that taught us useful tips for editing.

And I will say that like writing, there's no one size fits all, because nobody writes the same as anyone else--or even themselves as they hone and improve their skills. A lot should be based on what vibe you want to create and what is needed for the work/chapter/draft you are focusing on.

But if nothing else, there's three things you want to focus on:

Spelling and punctuation as fitting for the message you want to convey

Formatting to make it readable and to improve the message

And most importantly: READING THE WORK ALOUD BEFORE PUBLISHING

The last one is what I don't see talked about enough, and was reminded by a community post recommended for me (I will never follow them, they're impossible to share and most seem like a waste of time), so I decided to expand on it in a more shareable format.

(Note: I believe that doing this with your own voice or text to speech are equally helpful. Sometimes you want to go at your own pace and use voices. Maybe you have to have another voice to notice things. Both work to reach the same goal of polishing your writing!)

I am going start by saying that there's times when you can tell a piece could have used an extra pass by how it reads. There's often weird turn of phrases and spelling that is not obtrusive but makes you pause (and I will be the first to say I want readers to tell me if they catch these for whatever reason, even the less error prone machine still lets flecks of misspellings and pebbles of forgotten commas). The missing period that makes two sentences become a long run-on sentence that technically makes sense.

The editing is on the surface sufficient, but missing a last pass that could buff out a final draft and have you read it later when more experienced with pride. And without asking why you forgot something so obvious, or why you worded it that way. (I love looking at outstanding line from old works, I often laugh at how even my spicy stuff can have a raw scene outside of the bedroom).

One of the best ways I found, after formatting and spellchecking and double-checking the right words are used, is to give it a final read out loud! Yes, I can understand that you might ask why it has to be out loud when you already went over it so many times, and the editing software and you not say it's fine. And that's exactly why. Things that a computer might say is good might not be the right wording for the story. You might have changed something to get the sentence to make sense but it ruined the actual mood, or you added something that is out of character. An extra adjective you thought worked didn't actually fit and you forgot to hit delete. There's so many times I have changed something because I wasn't satisfied with the flow and just didn't backspace enough during a much earlier draft and it slipped through till the final pass while I read it aloud.

Or--and this is a big one for me--reading it out loud made me realize that it won't work at all. Not due to anything technical or because the section makes no sense. Just something about having it spoken out loud awakens my inner critic to an issue I didn't notice until now. A whole paragraph might finally show it can be cut and make a transition easier. A sentence might be deleted because it was more distracting fluff and I see it should be deleted (no matter how nice it worked in my head). Or if not gone, it was in the wrong spot. Now I have to read it out loud, word by word, I can paste a section in a better place and change the whole flow.

I've seen people talk about how they use text to speech to see if something goes on for too long and know when to stop by how it starts to distort it's voice to keep going. You can do the same too.

By reading aloud, you'll at last understand the readers' plight of flowery purple prose by struggling to catch your breath. Suffer while the TTS malfunctions from you using too many adjectives about the MC in the mirror. See if maybe you can change that comma or em dash into a period or semicolon. Play with different voices and see if that fanfic about your favorite character sounds OOC or you are really that good at getting inside their head. See how the words fit as you get a fresh perspective, watching them fall into place like puzzle pieces while observing how each flows like a poetic melody.

It is all experience for when you write that next chapter or work. Sure, it's not as intense as typing it all out, but it's not like you're not learning from it. Editing is writing too; what you master here can translate to better writing next time, and a cleaner first draft in the future. (Like I've said before, you'll never have a perfect first draft, but you can write a clean first draft to make it easier for yourself.)

Just remember, writing is supposed to be as good as you are today, and never a suffering contest. Not every aspect of it will be exciting but do not force yourself to make it more difficult than you can handle. If I am miserable, I am not creative, and this is true for so many; and if anyone tells you that makes someone a fake/poser/imposter, ignore them. If they like being sad to write a depressed and angsty character, that is their method alone. Editing does not have to be a slog, but it should be something you put effort in to so the final product is something you are proud of.

Listen to the fun writing voice when you are outlining and writing, and unleash the inner critic when you edit. Both are there for a reason.

[cfparsons]

<Top Ten Writing Fears – And Why They’re Lying to You>

I’ve published books while grieving. I’ve written scenes I wasn’t strong enough to reread. I’ve doubted every word. But I did it anyway.

These aren’t just writing fears. They’re survival fears. They sound like logic, but they’re lies meant to keep you safe—and small.

Here are ten things that tried to stop me—and the truth I found when I didn’t listen.

1. “I’m too broken to finish this.”

Then you’re exactly the shape your story needs to exist. Not in spite of your pain—but because of it. The things you’ve survived have given you a unique lens. You know what it means to feel deeply, to fall, to get back up different. You aren’t broken—you’re carved.

It's geometry. Your scars know the way forward. That’s your power.

2. “If it doesn’t go viral, it’s a failure.”

Art doesn’t need to be popular to be sacred. Metrics are a genetic lottery. Algorithms aren’t a reflection of your worth. The true goal isn’t virality—it’s longevity. You’re not creating noise. You’re creating resonance. And resonance lives longer.

The right people will find you when they need you most.

3. “Nobody will care.”

Maybe not everyone. Maybe not at first. But someone will. Someone out there is waiting to feel seen. And one day, your story might be the first time they don’t feel alone. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.

Write it for them. Even if you don’t know who they are yet.

4. “This draft sucks.”

Good. First drafts are supposed to suck. They’re not final forms yet—they’re fossils, waiting to be dug up and cleaned off. No masterpiece started out polished. What matters is that it exists now. Because once something exists, you can make it better.

Ugly beginnings are still beginnings.

5. “I’m not a real writer.”

You are if you write. That’s it. There’s no secret council. No badge to earn. Publishing doesn’t make you real. Followers don’t make you real. Passion, effort, and honesty do.

If you’re showing up, you’re as real as it gets.

6. “If I stop, I’ll never start again.”

False. Creativity isn’t a race—it’s a rhythm. Sometimes you need to pause. Sometimes life interrupts. That’s okay. The story doesn’t disappear just because you step away. It waits. And when you return, it will still be yours.

You’re allowed to breathe. You're allowed to change perspective.

7. “I don’t have time.”

Steal it. One sentence a day. A note on your phone. A thought before sleep. You don’t need two free hours and a candle-lit desk. You need a sliver of time, claimed like a secret. Even tiny sparks can start wildfires.

Progress isn’t speed. It’s motion. That's what makes it so dangerous.

8. “I’ll never be as good as [insert artist].”

You don't know them. You weren’t meant to be them. You’re supposed to be you. And “good” is not a universal scale—it’s an expression. That artist you admire? They had doubts too. They still do. But they kept going. Not to out-perform someone else, but to become themselves more fully.

You’re not behind. You’re just becoming.

9. “It’s already been done.”

Yeah, and so has love. So has grief. So has survival. But nobody has told your version yet. Nobody has written with your voice, your memories, your contradictions. Even familiar stories become new in the right hands.

The greatest form of rebellion is originality. And your hands are the right ones.

10. “This idea has an expiration date.”

No it doesn’t. Good stories aren’t milk—they’re seeds. Some bloom right away. Others need years underground. If an idea haunts you, it hasn't gone bad—it’s just waiting for the moment you’re ready to carry it.

Some stories take years to earn their petals. That’s not failure. That’s destiny.

11. (Bonus) “I need a strict timer and a schedule or I’ll never write.”

Timers and schedules can help some—but for others, they add pressure where gentleness is needed. You’re not a machine. Creativity isn’t always productivity. And you’re allowed to work in tides, not clocks. If schedules leave you feeling shame instead of focus, throw them out.

Write when you want to write, for as long as you want to write. You don’t need to earn your story with suffering. You just need to trust that it still wants to be written—even if you arrive late.

You don't use timers for lovers. You can't schedule your emotions in advance. Why limit something limitless?

I know what you're thinking. You've come this far, written so much. It's almost like there's too much "nothing." One minute, you want to delete everything. The next minute, you're apologizing to yourself with snacks and overthinking. So then what's the catch?

The catch is you NOT doing it.

You are not falling behind. You are not out of time. You are not alone. You’re an artist. Keep going.

Never ask permission from someone you're not anymore. It's not fiction. It's confession.

[se7ens-oc-heaven]

Have you ever wanted to practice having multiple drafts for your writing, but didn't know how to go about it, like I did? Do you find your drafting process really daunting or tedious? Are you a "low spoons" writer who can only pick at their work in chunks at a time? If any of these resonate, then this little tip I've come up with just might work for you.

Mind you - I'm not some great celebrated author, fanfic or otherwise. I don't write very often, either. But one thing I've learned in life is to explore alternative ways and formats to do things to make it more intuitive for you, and this way works for me - and for all of the more prolific writers in my social circles that I've shared this idea with, it seems to make a lot of sense to them. So take it with a grain of salt, but hopefully if it doesn't exactly work for you, it'll at least inspire you to shake up your writing approach to streamline it for you!

There's a long walkthrough of how I do it under cut, but the summarized tip is:

Rather than editing the whole piece at once, I paste it into a fresh doc one paragraph or so at a time, only adding the next part once I'm satisfied with my rework.

This prevents the work from feeling overwhelming with a wall of text to have to edit, as well as makes it easier to tell where I have worked and where I left off.

This also prevents me from being too attached to the idea of forcing the paragraph to align with the upcoming ones - it's good to keep the gist, but if I see the future parts I get fixated on how to connect point A to point B. Removing "point B" means I can focus all my attention on rehauling Point A, and I can hook it up to Point B once I'm ready to edit or add to B.

A new document also gives me a "work table", where I can put the sentences and words and bits I like anywhere on the document I want until I'm ready to address them.

All in all, it reduces the amount of rigid structure without forcing me to freeform it - which, as someone with bad memory, is not optimal. I also can choose to Kill Some Of My Darlings, but keep others that just needed that little extra polish.

So.... How does this process for my "second drafts" look? :3

STEP ONE: pick your first/early draft of choice, of course!

This was my pick to make an example out of - very first draft of a piece for my pmd/pla oc Ritsu, I like the concept but even when writing it this opening just felt so. Blah. I've been a few months away from it so perfect opportunity to revisit and fix it up!

Also - I'm in google docs (/deragotory) but this will work literally in any writing program so don't worry too much about what you're using vs what I'm using.

STEP TWO: Make a new document!

Cool! .....But empty!

Personally, I put draft notes up top to help differentiate them. Also yep, separate docs is necessary for this process, at least temporarily. To avoid clutter I (re)move the earlier drafts once I'm done with them.

So all that said - let's fill this doc up!

STEP THREE: Slap that bad boy of an early draft into your new document using copypaste...

.....But only one paragraph at a time. Let's start with this one, and do the next steps before moving more in. I'll explain why later.

STEP 3.5 (optional): Put down brackets or some other visual cue to help tell your brain, "this is the old unedited stuff!!!"

You do not have to do this, but it helps a lot for what goes on next, and if you're like me and step away from your writing often, will give you an idea of where you left off in the drafting process.

I personally do Not recommend color-coding via highlighting or text color - you Could, but the next step typically involves shuffling things around, reordering things, adding new things, etc. So it'll become a visual mess pretty quickly and/or become redundant fast.

STEP FOUR: Let's dig in and start fixing up this paragraph into something worthy of being a part of our new draft! This is where the actual writing happens.

In this instance, I further isolated the first two sentences. I like the gist, but it really needs something More, and I can't worry about the following details until I get this down the way I like it. As you can see, I removed the sentence from bracket purgatory and closed the remainder-in-waiting back in. This visual helps me focus better on what I want to do.

Here's those two sentences after reworking them! In this case, I kept certain elements - nighttime, the "moon high in the sky", the fact that the pokemon in town are asleep - But have mix and matched them, padded out details, and entirely changed some phrasing. Phrases I didn't fully remove has just kind of gotten frankenstein'd around until I was much happier with their placement and added meat.

These are of course obvious changes when looking at before and after, but I figured outlining the changes won't hurt anything!

So now that I'm happy with the new opening sentences, I'm going to tackle the rest of the paragraph...

...Like so. As you can see, I've expanded one paragraph into about two, and restructured not just the information within, but also where paragraphs break. Now I'm much happier with the end result already! So onto the next step...

STEP SIX: rinse and repeat!

I keep doing this, paragraph by bracketed paragraph, until I run out of steam and need a break. When I do, I paste one last paragraph into the document, bracket it, and close the document out - that way it's there for me when I want to pick it up again later.

Also sometimes I pick a few paragraphs at a time, depending - mostly when it's all on the same concept.

That's the gist of it! Very simple despite me writing a novel with it. Like I said before, feel free to mix and match or experiment with it!

[gkyoyukinona]

How to Write an Essay (Without Losing Your Sanity lol)

The essay. That dreaded form of writing that often brings out feelings of fear, dread, and confusion. But fear not! Writing an essay doesn't have to be as terrifying as it seems. Whether you're a student or someone who just got stuck with a writing assignment, i am here to guide you through the process. Get ready to unlock the mystery of essay writing in a very simple way.

Step 1: Understand the Prompt

First things first: Read the assignment. I know, I know—this sounds too easy, but you'd be surprised how many people skip this crucial step. Understanding the question you're being asked is the foundation of your entire essay. You wouldn’t build a house without a blueprint, would you? (Unless you’re a DIY enthusiast)

Ask yourself:

What is the essay asking me to do? Analyze? Argue? Explain?)

Are there specific guidelines or requirements? (Word count? Format? Citation style?)

What’s the purpose of the essay? (Are you informing? Persuading? Telling a story?)

Step 2: Research Like You’re the Next Sherlock Holmes

You may be tempted to skip this part and just write whatever comes to mind. Big mistake! Essays are all about backing up your ideas with solid evidence. So, channel your inner Sherlock Holmes and start researching.

Use reliable sources (we’re not citing Wikipedia here, folks).

Take notes and organize your thoughts. This will save you from diving into a writing frenzy and realizing halfway through that you’ve completely lost track of your argument.

Look for a variety of sources—books, articles, interviews, or anything that feels appropriate for your topic.

Once you’ve done your research, take a deep breath and let the facts fill your brain. You’ll need them in the next step.

Step 3: Make an Outline

Okay, you’ve got your research, and now it’s time to plan out your essay. The outline is like a map that keeps you from wandering into the unknown wilderness of “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

There are different ways but this is how I make the most simple outline for my essay

Introduction: This is where you grab your reader's attention. Start with a hook—something that piques curiosity or makes them think. A quote, a question, or even a joke (that’s relevant, of course).

Body Paragraphs: These are the meat of your essay. Each paragraph should cover one main idea. Start with a topic sentence, support it with evidence, and wrap it up with an analysis. Rinse and repeat.

Conclusion: Time to bring it all home! Restate your main points, tie everything together, and leave your reader with something to think about. And please, for the love of all things good, don’t just copy-paste your introduction.

Step 4: Write the First Draft (Embrace Imperfection)

Now, it's time to write! Don’t worry about making it perfect just yet. The goal is to get your thoughts down on paper. You can always clean it up later.

Here are a few tips:

Write freely. Don’t censor yourself—let your ideas flow.

Use transition words like "however," "for example," and "in conclusion" to connect your ideas smoothly.

Don’t obsess over grammar and spelling in the first draft. You’ll have time for that later.

Now once you're done writing drafts think of some title ideas related to the topic of your essay. Remember a catchy title is necessary as it serves the first impression of your write up. ( Some of you may do this before starting your essay and i really admire you for that becoz for me thinking title take hours )

Step 5: Edit Like You’re a Grammar Ninja

Once you’ve got your first draft, it’s time to put on your editing hat. You know, the one with the sharp sword of logic and the shield of perfect grammar.

Check for clarity. Does everything make sense? Is your argument easy to follow?

Grammar and punctuation: This is where you get to play the detective. Look for missing commas, awkward sentences, and spelling errors. Use apps or Google to check your grammar

Step 6: Polish and Submit (The Final Touches)

Now that you've edited your masterpiece, it's time for the final touches. Ensure your essay follows the required format and citation style (MLA, APA, Chicago—pick your poison).

Take one last look at your essay:

Are your paragraphs well-organized?

Is your argument clear?

Is your spelling flawless?

Congratulations! You've now survived the essay-writing process and emerged victorious.Keep practicing, and soon, you'll be an essay-writing pro—no sweat, no tears, just a few cups of coffee and maybe a well-timed joke.

Good luck, and happy writing!

Visit this link to see my essay and other writeups on Instagram

https://www.instagram.com/gkyoyuki.nona?igsh=Mzhxa2c5ZjNpY2kx

[sincerely-sofie]

Seeing as you have finished writing the script for your AU thingy, I wanna know, how?

Like, were you motivated the whole time? Or was it a on and off writing type thing?

i'm trying to write but I don't know if I have the motivation...

How did you keep the motivation if so?

Oh man. I have so much to say about writing and creativity that I could make an entire series of posts talking about the subject, but I'll try to keep things orderly and brief.

Disclaimer: I should let you know that I have never finished a writing project before recently finishing my TPiaG AU. Keep that in mind when reading the advice I offer— the tips I give have only been put into work in my own life over the course of the last couple of months, but they’ve proven very effective in my experience!

Sofie Creativity Tips Episode 1, go!!!

Was I motivated the whole time I was writing TPiaG / How did I stay motivated?

Absolutely not. If I hadn’t provided myself a detailed chapter-by-chapter outline for TPiaG before starting the writing process, I would have given up thanks to a mix of writer’s block and absent motivation. Motivation is a fickle muse and prone to ditching me for months on end, so I’ve adapted by trying not to rely on it, but also by creating new motivation rather than clinging to past motivation. I create motivation for myself in two ways: removing friction when writing and being my own fandom.

Removing friction is pretty simple— I create very detailed chapter outlines that remove any fear of writer’s block, set up my devices in a way to make it easy to access my manuscripts and notes, download premade writing playlists that have Pomodoro session break timers built into them, and more. Anything that makes the writing process easier to get into and enjoy doing, I make sure to incorporate into my life.

Being my own fandom is less intuitive, but a thousand times more rewarding in terms of motivation. I make memes of my characters. I write self-indulgent snippets on the side. I make AUs of my own work. I make playlists and save audio clips that suit the characters. I draw comics exploring concepts that might not get into the manuscript itself but that I want to make content for regardless. Basically, I dive in deep into the story, characters, and world, and try to do so with the enthusiasm that I give other people’s projects.

(That part is extra fun, because if I have a headcanon, it automatically becomes canon to whatever AU or original project I’m working on. I have all the power in the world when working like this, and it’s very fun.)

What changed and made it so I finished my first ever written project?

This isn’t exactly what was asked, but because I have eschewed motivation as the main driving force in my writing process, I figured I’d give another insight into how TPiaG went against the pattern of half-started and swiftly abandoned projects that came before it and actually got finished. Late into October, I adopted a new method of producing first drafts. Previously, I would spend weeks polishing the same chapter and would only move on to the next chapter once the current one was perfect. My new method is the complete opposite. I’ve started calling it Writing BFF:

Write bad

Write fast

Write fun

First up, write bad. The point of this is not to waste your time writing prettily during your first draft. Don’t bother agonizing over how to reword that one sentence to be more elegant when it does the job well enough to get its point across. Don’t go off on a 30-minute research tangent in the middle of a writing session because you want to fact-check that one detail and make sure it’s perfectly accurate when you could just put a placeholder detail in brackets and CTRL+F search and plug in something accurate later on. Don’t write pretty, write bad. And be okay with it. You can’t edit an empty page, so fill the page with as much garbage as possible so that you can turn it into gold later on.

Next, write fast. This is only effective when paired with writing bad. Don’t pause, don’t hesitate, don’t deliberate. Write as much as you can and do it as fast as you can. This idea is best illustrated by Chris Fox’s book 5,000 Words Per Hour, where he talks about increasing your WPM (words per minute) and how it makes everything about your writing better. The person who creates a beautiful first draft once every three years is doing okay, but the person who cranks out a complete manuscript every three months learns leagues more about writing than the first person does by the end of three years. The second person has practiced outlining, drafting, editing, publishing, and more with every manuscript completed. The faster you write, the better you get, because practice makes perfect and quantity begets quality.

Finally, write fun. I write what I enjoy, and if I’m not enjoying it, I pivot the project so that I enjoy it again. I like writing deeply personal stories, so pretty much everything I write is heavily based on my life and experiences— TPiaG included. Grovyle’s portrayal is deeply influenced by my experience being an elder sibling who has been a bad example of self-talk, and cleaned up my act because my younger sister started echoing how I spoke to myself. Dusknoir’s portrayal is informed by my experiences with being the therapist / mom friend in different social circles as well as attending actual formal therapy. Twig is the character that my experiences have the greatest influence on in her portrayal, and I joke about her being a self-insert, but ultimately all of the characters are self-inserts to some extent. I also enjoy low-stakes and slow slice-of-life stories that are driven by character growth. If I ever stop having fun with a project, I inject more of myself and my preferences into my work to get it back into my favor.

TL;DR / Writing advice lightning round

Write as badly as possible as quickly as possible, and have fun as you do it. Momentum yields motivation and stagnancy yields doubt. Editing comes only after the first draft is complete. Be your own fandom and your project’s biggest fan. Give yourself direction and ward against writer’s block by making detailed chapter-by-chapter outlines. Make the writing process as easy and enjoyable as possible. Motivation is a lie and if you chase after it instead of making your own, you’ll be writing on hard mode for the rest of your life. Reject perfectionism, embrace flawesomeness.

If I didn’t answer your question right, let me know! I’ll do my best to correct it.

[articleguru]

Why You’re Overthinking Your Writing—and How to Stop

Overthinking can paralyze even the best intentions. If you constantly second-guess every sentence, rearrange ideas repeatedly, or delay writing until everything feels “perfect,” you’re likely sabotaging your productivity—and the quality of your work.

This is especially common for students and researchers writing peer-reviewed articles. Let’s break down why overthinking happens and how to stop it, so your writing becomes more effective, confident, and less stressful.

1. The Real Reason You’re Overthinking

Overthinking your writing often stems from fear—fear of judgment, of getting a bad grade, or of failing to sound “smart enough.” This fear leads to:

Excessive planning

Constant revisions before completing a draft

Avoidance or procrastination

But here’s the truth: Your first draft doesn’t have to be perfect—it just needs to exist.

2. The High Cost of Overthinking

Overthinking drains mental energy and eats up valuable time. It can lead to:

Missed deadlines

Writer’s block

Confusing, overwritten text

Incomplete projects

And in the case of peer-reviewed articles, this can delay your academic progress or even lead to rejection.

3. How to Stop Overthinking Your Writing

A. Use the “Fast First Draft” Rule

Set a timer for 25–30 minutes. Write without stopping. No editing. No backspacing. This forces your brain to move forward instead of spinning in circles.

B. Write in Layers

Treat writing like painting:

Layer 1: Ideas and structure

Layer 2: Clarity and support

Layer 3: Polish and formatting

This gives you permission to focus on one element at a time, rather than everything at once.

C. Stop Chasing Perfection

There is no “perfect sentence,” only clear and purposeful ones. Ask yourself: “Does this get my point across?” If yes, move on.

D. Set a Word Limit for Your Thoughts

When planning or outlining, cap your thinking time and notes at 10–15 minutes. This prevents spiraling into endless research or idea tweaking.

E. Ask for Feedback—Not Permission

Instead of rewriting the same paragraph five times, write it once, then get input from a peer or service. External feedback helps you move forward faster.

Conclusion

You don’t need to overthink your writing to do it well. In fact, simplicity and clarity are often the most powerful tools. Use fast drafts, layered revisions, and feedback loops to write with confidence and finish on time.

[fennnii]

We Buried the First Draft

It was still twitching when we put it in the ground.

Warning: contains longing for a home I can never come back to (novels are homes, too, we spend enough time there)

I remember the first time I finished a novel. Not the first time I started one—God knows there were dozens of those, half-formed and feral—but the first time I typed “The End” and believed it. I printed the pages out, held the weight of it in my arms like a child I had somehow made.

And then I killed it.

The draft was too long. Too messy. Too full of itself and me and everything I wanted to say but didn’t yet know how to. Still, it breathed. You could feel it—beneath the overwrought metaphors and tangled pacing, something was alive in there. Something with sharp little teeth. It wanted out.

But instead of setting it free, I buried it.

And like anything buried too soon, it came back.

Writers talk about the revision process like it’s a matter of pruning. You trim here, tidy there. But what they don’t tell you is that revision is a form of possession. That your old words don’t leave easily. That when you try to change a sentence, it fights back.

I’ve opened old drafts and found lines I don’t remember writing, things I’m sure I never would have written. Some were beautiful. Others felt like they were written by a stranger who had watched me sleep. I started finding them in places I didn’t leave them—on note apps, scribbled in the margins of unrelated documents, even once in an email draft I don’t remember opening. I laughed it off at first. We all leave ourselves little hauntings.

But then the story started to whisper at me again.

There’s a myth among some authors. They say that first drafts aren’t meant to be good, just finished. That a first draft is a map—you don’t build the world yet, just sketch where you might go. But what happens when the map doesn’t want to be redrawn?

That happened to me with my first finished novel, a blood-slick war story set in Vietnam. The original draft was something wild and angry. There were whole sections written with trembling hands and a heart full of smoke.

When I rewrote it, I stripped it down. I made it sharper. Cleaner. More "publishable." My family praised it. An editor called it “promising.”

But the twitching never stopped.

Sometimes I dream in the voice of the original narrator—not the rewritten one. His voice was broken, accusatory. He didn’t care about neatness or tone. He just wanted to be heard.

In the new draft, I muted him. Gave him context. Structure. A spine.

He has never forgiven me.

Some nights, I go walking without meaning to. I find myself in front of the desk, the soft blue glow of the laptop like an open wound. The file of the first draft is always there, no matter how many times I delete it.

I open it. I read the first sentence. It’s wrong. It’s always wrong. It changes when I’m not looking.

And that’s when I know: I didn’t bury it deep enough.

The publishing industry loves a polished story. It craves clarity, hooks, arcs, branding. It wants your book to fit, to behave, to serve. But the wild ones—the ones that twitch and mutter and bleed—they don’t go quietly. And I think, sometimes, we’re too quick to bury them.

Not everything should be smooth. Not every story should be safe.

There was something raw and holy in that first draft. Something sacred in its mess. I can’t bring it back now—not as it was. But I can remember that it lived. And maybe that’s enough.

We buried the first draft.

It was still twitching when we put it in the ground.

And sometimes, when I’m very quiet, I swear I can still hear it digging.

[unsanctioned-if]

Update 20/10 2023

Hey everyone! Here comes yet another monthly update.

I'm currently at a bit over 56.000 words. Not exactly where I wanted to be this month, but I feel like progress has been pretty solid nonetheless. It's my hope to be able to get more done during my upcoming vacation next month.

(More information about how the chapters so far are divided below; don't read if you want to go in completely blind once the chapters are released!)

I've decided to do things a bit differently than I originally intended when it comes to dividing the chapters. At first I had planned for the MC's childhood to be covered only in the prologue, but since the entirety of the prologue is now long enough to be its own chapter (and that's not even counting the origin/background stories for each background that I've yet to write), I've reworked things a bit.

The prologue is going to cover the intro (first draft finished) and your chosen origin/background story, all which will provide a different starting experience depending on which one you choose (not yet written).

Chapter 1 will cover the MC's childhood after they come into Cirern's "care".

And Chapter 2 onwards will cover the MC's life as an adult.

The first draft of Chapter 1 is almost finished by now, as is the first part of Chapter 2. The first draft of the first and last parts of the prologue are also finished (that's a bit of a confusing sentence smh).

What I've got left to do is:

Write the origin stories

Edit, polish and code the prologue + Chapter 1

Add codex/character info/etc.

Finish the rest of Chapter 2

I'm not sure yet if I'll release the Prologue + Chapter 1 when they're finished or if I'll wait until I finish Chapter 2 and release it all by then. If you have any opinions or thoughts about that, feel free to let me know!

On another note, I've also updated the intro post a little bit and will continue to polish it here and there going forward, both when it comes to its content and some of its design.

Thanks for the support and interest <3

[midnight--ink]

Holy shit hello paian nation it's been so long. I didn't mean to abandon this blog but unfortunately I've been super busy :')

I thought about sharing this before and I figured I might as well, this is the first little RD drabble I wrote forever ago that would eventually evolve into my Paian fic "like real people do." Some bits are the same and you can probably see how this eventually grew into the longer version. I found it in my drafts again and I still like it a lot so I decided to polish it up a bit, and I thought people on here might enjoy it :)

Ian sighed, typing out the last couple sentences of a report for Dr. Edega before collapsing back into his chair. He squinted at the bright monitor screen, reaching up to rub at his stinging eyes under his glasses. He'd been staring at his computer for entirely too long.

He stood from his chair, yawning and stretching out his back until he felt it pop. He glanced over at the stairs that led out of the basement and wondered absently if Ada's shift was over yet. He was supposed to have left at five PM himself, but there was still so much work that needed to be done and Edega had really been breathing down their necks lately.

He shoved several of the scattered papers on his desk into his shoulder bag and trudged up the stairs to the first floor, making his way down the hall to Ada's office. He raised his fist to rap his knuckles against the wood, before the door abruptly opened inwards and he found himself nose-to-nose with Ada. They narrowly avoided knocking their foreheads together, and he stumbled back a little as he tried to ignore the way his stomach fluttered. She blinked at him in surprise. Her coat sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and her brown curls were tied back in a loose ponytail.

"Ian?" Her mouth turned down in a worried frown. "I thought you went home. Isn't your shift over?"

"Oh. Y–Yeah. Sorry. Just...had to finish a report for Edega," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He checked his watch.

"The carer's with my mom until eight, so I still have some time."

Ada stared at him with a furrowed brow and big, brown, serious eyes. She sighed.

"Just...promise me you won't do this too often, okay? I'm worried that he's pushing you too hard."

Ian laughed softly.

"You're worried about me?" At Ada's stern look, he acquiesced. "Okay, okay, I promise."

"Good," she said, finally allowing herself to smile a little. Ian took note of the dark rings under her eyes, the coffee stain on her coat, the way several locks of brown hair were escaping her messy ponytail. She returned to her desk and started organizing the myriad papers that were strewn over it. He followed her inside and hovered awkwardly by the door. Ada looked up.

"Oh—did you need something?"

Ian froze, heat rushing to his cheeks. He looked at his feet and rubbed a hand up and down his arm.

"Oh. Uh...no, I guess not. Just—just wanted to say hi."

She gave him a small, bemused grin.

"Hi."

He watched her shuffle some more papers around on her desk, humming under her breath as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear. Eight years was a long time to get to know someone, and he had spent those years memorizing all of Ada's traits and quirks and idiosyncrasies. He knew how much milk and sugar she liked in her coffee, the way she snorted when she laughed, which movies always made her cry. He knew all of her worst insecurities and how she covered them up with a smile. He knew how, whenever possible, she would take a few extra minutes to chat with the patients or reassure their nervous loved ones before an operation.

She grabbed a stack of loose patient reports and tapped them against the desk to straighten them. She looked so tired.

Wordlessly, he opened his arms for a hug, and it was only a moment before she dropped the papers and tackled him like a linebacker. He wheezed a little at the force of it but wrapped his arms around her just as tightly, and she leaned into him. They began to sway unconsciously back and forth, holding each other, and he could feel her smiling into his neck.

"What are we doing?" she asked, giggling deliriously. "Dancing?"

He was giggling, too. "I—I don't know. I'm so tired."

Ada snorted, and Ian's heart did a stupid fluttery thing that hopefully wasn't an arrhythmia.

"God. What a pair we are."

Ian took a moment to be thankful that she couldn't see his face just then, because he knew that he must be grinning like an idiot.

"I think my shift just ended, too, by the way," Ada mumbled into his shoulder with a yawn. "Intern's taking the night shift."

He huffed out a laugh, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"What would we do without the intern?"

Ada hummed appreciatively.

"They're a saint."

Ian closed his eyes and buried his face in her soft hair, letting himself feel her heart beating in tandem with his. After a long moment, Ada heaved another sigh and began to pull away. Ian immediately missed the warmth.

"Okay, I should probably head home. Gotta go scrounge up something for dinner."

An idea struck him. Ian willed his voice to sound casual, unsuccessfully. He tried to lean back against Ada's desk and almost slipped.

"Hey. Um. S–Since we're both off, do you wanna...come back to my place for dinner? I'm gonna be cooking for my mom anyway, and she—she always enjoys your company."

Ada blinked up at him. "Oh, are you sure? I—yeah. That would be nice."

"Okay! Cool!" He winced as his voice audibly cracked, but Ada only smiled before she bent down to grab her bag from under the desk.

"Cool. I can help you cook," she said over her shoulder.

"Uh...that's okay. I'll—I'll cook."

Ada popped up from behind the desk to glare at him in mock offense, placing a hand dramatically over her chest.

"You wound me. C'mon, I'm not that bad."

A grin stretched its way across Ian's face.

"Remember that time in college you nearly burnt down our apartment making a quesadilla?"

Ada held up a finger as she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"That was...once," she muttered. Ian laughed as she circled around the desk to join him.

"Our—our neighbors called the fire department," he added, chuckling at the memory. She rolled her eyes and bumped her hip against his with a smirk. A swarm of butterflies fluttered like a whirlwind in his chest cavity.

"Geez," she responded wryly. "You set one quesadilla on fire and nobody ever lets you forget it."

She was smiling at him now, all gentle and fond, her eyes crinkling at the edges. Ian found himself staring at the light smattering of freckles on her nose that were only visible up close. He could feel his face steadily growing warmer. He stepped forward and held the door open for her so he wouldn't have to keep making eye contact. As she passed, however, she casually snagged his hand in hers, pulling him out into the brightly lit hallway. Ian startled and stumbled after her, his stomach turning somersaults. He glanced around frantically to make sure Edega wasn't lurking around any corners.

"Okay. Let's blow this pop stand," Ada said nonchalantly.

"I—I don't think...I don't think anyone says that anymore," Ian mumbled vacantly. He stared down at their intertwined hands, uncomprehending. Another smile tugged at the corners of Ada's mouth. She laced their fingers together and brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, sending a feeling like an electric shock all the way up his arm and through his chest, straight to the heart.

"Well, I say it."

She tugged him down the hallway in the direction of the front lobby, her hand warm in his. Ian let himself be pulled along in confusion as his insides twisted themselves into knots. They emerged together into the brisk purple dusk outside, where the light was starting to fade over the tops of the buildings.

Ian was trying his best to remember to breathe, drawing air in and letting it out like a normal person would do. Dozens of clamoring thoughts raced through his head, the most prominent of which, flashing in his brain like a neon sign, was WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?! Ada was still smiling placidly, though he could swear there was a hint of pink blooming in her cheeks.

She glanced back at him, her face framed by the soft glow of twilight. He took one deep breath, and then another. It didn't help; he still felt a little bit like he was drowning. She chuckled, though not unkindly, and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, which was admittedly what he thought every time she laughed.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh," was all he managed to get out. Ada bit her lip against a wide grin and squeezed his hand, sending a honey-sweet warmth flooding through him that was stronger than the evening chill.

If this was drowning, then maybe he didn't mind.

[flyingwargle]

clara's writing notes: we'll make it work (we always do)

it's difficult for writers to share their progress beyond the final, completed product, and i want to make a post (and hopefully future posts) sharing my process from idea to fic. i hope that other writers would find this helpful, or at least you can see how chaotic i can get haha. more under the cut!

part i. planning

i got my assignment in june, with my giftee requesting a road trip. some tags included angst with a happy ending, idiots to lovers, and confessions, among others, but these are ones that i focused on.

initially, i wanted to do something similar to paper towns by john green, where suna sends osamu on a roadtrip across japan and suna confesses to him at the end, but it didn't quite fit their prompt. i also thought about something with magical realism (another tag requested) but i couldn't think of anything either. this is when i started working backwards.

so, now i know that sunaosa will confess and get a happy ending, but there needs angst. boom - suna going overseas for volleyball. the prompt asked to include komori, atsumu, and aran, and komori and atsumu, who likely have front row seats to their pining, would orchestrate a road trip to force them to confess. aran ends up becoming the guy with a car.

with that foundation in place, the next question becomes: where should they go, and how should i plan this?

i did some research on common road trip routes in japan that started either in hyogo / osaka or tokyo. eventually, i found the romance road that could take anywhere between 3 - 5 days. using different itineraries and maps, i devised a route, what attractions would be fun for the boys, as well as tropes that'd work with komori and atsumu's plan for a confession.

(my sis inspired me to use some reverse romance tropes that was circulating on twitter at the time. i used two for the first 2 days but stopped afterwards since they didn't fit)

after making a rough structure outline to determine the plot arc and chapter count, it was time to make the chapter outlines.

part ii. outlining

i always make outlines, no matter if it's a oneshot or longfic. sometimes i wing it, but most of the time, i need some kind of structure. plus, it's fun to outline the larger events and then insert small snippets of dialogue for each, whenever i come up with it.

it was during this phase that i used locations and timestamps to serve as scene breaks, and show forward progression.

the amount of detail for my outlines vary from simple sentences to long descriptions with lots of details. this is because i brainrot some scenes and think about lines of dialogue or prose, while for other scenes, i'm like, eh. they're there because they're there.

once the outline is complete, it's time to start drafting.

part iii. drafting

all my fics go through at least two drafts before posting. not saying that posting first drafts is bad practice, i just prefer to give my readers something polished, and since this is a longfic, the process takes much longer.

i started the first chapter while on vacation because i wanted to get ahead, knowing that in september, i'd be busy with school and work again. i hadn't thought about how to start, so i just went with the first thing that came to mind. (this introduction was cut because it didn't feel relevant to the overall fic, but here is a snippet of it)

the first draft clocked in at 31k, which is about the same count for the final draft. there weren't too many differences, aside from the introduction and some minor details, like the rings at the end and some conversation points. before starting the second draft, i always give it shelf time (i.e. stepping away from the work completely) before doing a complete readthrough and taking notes of what to change or include for the second draft.

shelf time varies depending on how much time i have and what other projects i need to work on. i finished the first draft in september and since the due date wasn't until next month, i waited until the first week of october before coming back and doing the second draft. some parts, i copy and pasted some passages since they fine as is, and for some, i rewrote completely to be more succinct.

hopefully that gives you a bit of insight of how my drafting process works. i hope to do this again with origami hearts (my next thing that i'll definitely publish) and future works!