#publishing process

[kelyghtbooks]

Had to order three proofs from amazon before they got the cover right. It was so dark you couldn't see a thing the first time, but I'm glad I had the opportunity to fix it before release.

[theravenclawrevolutionary]

Art Commissions Open!

Attempting to be able to afford an editor for my novel, 'The Incorruptible, Corrupted' as a college student. My next step after completing editing is submitting it to an agent and agents and publishers are more likely to consider a manuscript for publication the more polished it is when they receive it. Plus there's only so much I can do myself.

If you're at all invested in the possibility of my book and/or my art or are just generally interested I'd really appreciate you buying a commission.

Details under the cut. If you would like to request one or have additional questions just DM me!

~Dara

Sketch package- $10

3-day delivery

Up to 3 figures (full body or less)

Includes optional background/scene

2 free revisions of my work

Sketch

Lineart package- $15

6-day delivery (or less)

Polished lineart

Basic shading

Includes optional background/scene

Up to 3 figures (full body or less)

2 free revisions of my work

Lineart and grey scale coloring/shading

Full illustration- $20

10-day delivery (or less)

Completely polished piece

Full color

In-depth shading and rendering

Polished lineart

Includes optional background/scene

Up to 3 figures (full body or less)

2 free revisions of my work

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

Heirs of Tenebris Update

MY TEAM AND I HAVE A PUBLSIHING TIMELINE FOR FIRE & FLIGHT'S SEQUEL, EMBERS OF ETERNITY!🥳🎉

It's still a little too early for me to feel comfortable sharing the exact date we've chosen for EoE's release day, but I'm just so excited I couldn't wait to blast it all over social media😅 There's still a lot to do, but I'm feeling pretty confident in our timeline because EoE is in proofreading now and book 3 is with my developmental editor so...yeah. I should probably work on my cover reveals, huh?

[narcissadeville]

What is the Purpose of a Publisher? The Decline of Traditional Publishing

Over the last five years I’ve noticed an increasingly disturbing trend in ‘traditional publishing’, between increasingly slashed budgets, and an ever-evolving landscape publishers seem to be offering less and less. For a while now it’s been the expectation that new authors works should already have gone through a considerable amount of edits before even reaching a publishers desk. It’s been an…

[rhythmicreverie]

In post-apocalyptic realms, where hope was scarce as dust, a hero emerged. With a heart of courage, she fought for the remnants of humanity. Through battles and trials, her spirit soared like a phoenix, rekindling hope in the hearts of those who survived.

[icaruspendragon]

make sure to leave suppressed bisexuality and self-worth issues out for castiel tonight

[somewriterchronicles]

I have a deadline at the end of this month, I’ll have to be finished with the first draft by then.

I just have to finish the last chapter, I already have half of it down, so I am confident I am gonna make it.

I’m a bit anxious because the book is gonna come out on bisexual visibility day, September 23rd, but only if the Publishing House will approve my first draft and send it to the editing process smoothly.

I am a little afraid they’ll give me my first draft back and tell me I have to work more on it because it’s shorter than what they expect it to be. They wanted it to be super long, but I know my story, I know that longer will be too long.

This story was supposed to be a thirty pages long novella, I already did my best with getting it to one hundred and fifty pages (microsoft word pages, they will greatly increase once the book gets printed because the page size will be smaller).

Some stories do get watered down if stretched for too long, this is one of them. I hope they will understand that.

I am satisfied with it, at least. I really hope they are gonna like it and accept it as it is so that it will be able to come out in a few months. Otherwise, the publishing date will be delayed.

Fingers crossed for me!

[newbestsellerbook]

New Bestseller: Make Your Message Matter by Michelle Bybel

As a best-selling author, Michelle Bybel’s “Make Your Message Matter” unpacks the entire publishing process into simple, easy-to-follow steps and offers a highly adaptable 32-day blueprint for anyone to turn their knowledge and thoughts into a complete self-help book. View more for amazon kindle or paperback here - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BT8TM319

[greykolla-art]

Had a bit of a hard day, but I still wanted to draw something, so here’s some cold hugs!🙏💕

(But If I’m drawing that means I win, not the problems✌️)

[learnelle]

(9/30) How I write assignments -> For both Psychology and French I always start with chaotic drafts to try get loads of work done without worrying too much about everything being perfect. Then I chisel down the mess into a neat french creative piece or paste my best psychology work into a premade apa 7 template word doc. My work may not be amazing, but I will never lose marks on presentation 📖✨

[ettawritesnstudies]

Original Tags for context:

#I was trying to research the pros and cons and couldn't find much info online#indie authors doing kickstarters seems to be a new thing within the last year or so#to GREAT success at least within my instagram circle so that's why I'm curious#probably following Brandon Sanderson's example#so it seems like a very viable platform#While preorders have been around for as long as Amazon has existed#and they're an established way to make yourself known with that platform's AI#So you can hit bestseller lists and gain momentum in the feeds and whatnot#but functionally both serve the same purpose of raising awareness and getting people to buy your book before it's actually out#so I'm curious what readers actually prefer

Assume you are interested in the book in question, and you could get which ever format you wanted in either situation. (Ebook, paperback, hardcover).

For the preorder: Everyone gets the same rewards regardless of what you order. There might be a larger giveaway that would be won by lottery.

For the kickstarter: You can pick your tier + rewards going up in value for larger items.

In general, the merch itself would be the same for both campaigns, for example, everyone in the preorder gets stickers, and everyone in the lowest tier on kickstarter gets stickers. The rewards would be exclusive to either the preorder or the kickstarter, so you wouldn't be able to get them afterwards, except at special events like book signings or something.

please boost!

[kirby-the-gorb]

[notherpuppet]

Tagged by @az-roser this was fun! Thanks!

LAST SONG: Feel Special by TWICE

FAVORITE COLOR: Red ♥️💋🌹🍷❌🥀🍒💄🩸

CURRENTLY WATCHING: kpop music videos and video essays about solving the housing crisis in the USA. LOL I have to balance my brain

LAST MOVIE: I rewatched Final Destination 2, ahh that series is SO good but I’m literally hyperventilating the whole time i watch it! It’s great

CURRENTLY READING: Hazbin fanworks from Japan (thank you to the artists and Google translate). Many works are sold out, but I’ll link the artists under the cut.

All of Meguru Hinoharu’s work (My favorite is Kamisama no Uruko aka The Dragon’s Betrothed)

Also The Smithsonian magazine, it’s a great magazine 🥰

SWEET, SPICY OR SAVORY: All, every single day. But I am most enchanted by sweetness 🍫

RELATIONSHIP: not for me! 💚🤍🩶🖤

CURRENT OBSESSION: Hazbin Hotel ofc. Also TWICE, Beyonce, and Pokémon

LAST GOOGLED: “reusable mop” LOL I’m very eager to change the way I clean my floors. I’m trying to find the cheat code to a trifecta of convenience, environmentally-friendliness, and effectiveness. But I may just have to continue the classic way 🥴 isn’t life an exciting adventure? 🧼

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: “Morning After” part 4/4 and the concept for a new AU!? (Genderbent, human)

Hazbin mangaka whose works I am reading. Many are sold out, 18+, and/or freakayyy. So investigate with discretion. Twitter profiles of artists linked

- Marriage in Blue by Mr_Poorness

- Goodbye Ol’ Pal!! by kmsuzu

- Bomb Born Bon!! by kagimaruchisuke

- Stay Tuned by yomunow

- As You Wish, Voxy by ruriruko25

- Hello Bambi by yamiji84dp

- Miracle S*x Toy by usanoxp

- tmain04’s books

- some huskerdust fan books but neither have profiles I can find 😵‍💫

I bought all these on toranoana

[peaches2217]

Guided Brooding

AO3 Link!

~~~

“Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro!”

The words ticked back and forth like a metronome in Mario’s head, changing in pace with each new song, but always relatively consistent in its rhythm. Inevitably a stray thought or a stumble would make him lose track, but then Luigi would call out the counts once more until he was (more or less) back in rhythm. That was probably his only saving grace, if he was being honest with himself.

Uno. Due. Tre. Quattro. Shoulders. Square. Spine. Straight. Don’t. Step on. Luigi’s. Feet. Uno. Due. Tre. Quattro.

“Okay! Ready for Phase Two?”

Luigi’s sudden interjection broke Mario’s concentration, and immediately he stumbled and trampled his younger twin’s foot (which made Incident #58, if he was keeping count correctly), yet Luigi didn’t flinch. He guided them both to a standstill, some conspiratorial twinkle in his eye.

“Phase Two?” Mario was almost afraid to ask. No, scratch that— he was afraid.

His brother immediately justified his fears. “Spin me.”

“What—”

“Spin spin!”

With that, Luigi lifted his left arm and Mario’s right, stooping to fit beneath their linked hands as he turned on the balls of his feet. Mario was forced to stand on his toes and thrust the entire right side of his body as high as possible just to keep from losing his grip, and even then, he barely succeeded. He was milliseconds from tipping too far left and faceplanting into the hardwood when it mercifully ended.

“With room to spare!” Luigi cheered on the other side. “See? You’ve got this down!”

Mario stared him down as he resettled on his feet. Luigi, in his defense, had the foresight to wear heels for this impromptu practice. But the tallest shoes he could keep his balance in still only put him at 5’8, a paltry number next to Peach’s 6’1 in her usual modest heels and 6’3 in her finest ballroom attire (read: the heels she would most likely wear during the real deal).

Mario, all 5’1 of him, did not in fact have this down.

The final notes of a mid-tempo song faded into needle chatter. Another record played all the way through. Another testament to his own failure.

As soon as Luigi let go, Mario found himself numbly shuffling towards their couch, pushed against the wall some hours earlier to give the brothers more room to practice. Not that this stopped them from colliding with the cushions or stubbing their toes against the wooden legs. The elder brother paid no mind to his twin rummaging through their music collection and casting suggestions in his direction. 

“...but since it’s kinda jazzy it might be harder to keep up with, but that could also give us a chance to practice, like, syncopation! And maybe that would��” But what did it matter? The next record would serve the same purpose as the first two: background music to accompany his downfall.

Mario plopped his backend onto the overstuffed cushions with the same grace he’d displayed dancing with his brother (which was to say, none). His legs were tired. His calves burned and his thighs tingled from overexertion. Since when did his restless legs get tired? He leaned over the back of the couch and stared up at the slats in the ceiling, as if they might crack open and bring forth some divine revelation that would make this whole mess make sense.

“...Mario? Hey, you okay, bro?”

Mario, burdened with two left feet and a heart that just had to yearn for the unattainable, was not in fact okay. 

He thought he’d known what to expect when he accepted his new role as Peach’s personal guard. She warned upfront that it would be dull and unexciting most of the time, standing through long-winded meetings and sitting through lectures about the inner workings of the Kingdom’s government. It all paled in comparison to the promise that he could spend more time at her side, and even better, the promise that he could serve her and protect her whenever she needed him.

He hadn’t really considered the social aspects of the role until that afternoon. He’d been just as excited for next week’s royal soiree as Peach was. Since he was required to hover nearby wherever his Princess went, he could easily swoop in and save her should any particularly chatty guests monopolize her time — they’d invented hand signs and covert exchanges and everything, which they practiced and perfected over tea cakes and laughter — but what had excited Peach most…

“I’ll finally get a dance out of you yet!” She’d dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, her smile naïve yet mischievous. “It would be rude for my own guard to refuse any of my requests, after all.”

And she was right. Time after time she badgered him for a dance when he attended her parties as a mere guest. Time after time he informed her that dancing with him was a disastrous idea. It was a game, a playful ongoing back-and-forth, never a serious request , surely not. But now…

She was serious. Oh, stars, she was serious.

“I’m doomed,” Mario groaned at last.

Luigi groaned right back at him, mirroring his tone almost perfectly, and Mario might have been annoyed if he wasn’t also a bit impressed. The clack clack clack of high heels against hardwood tracked across the room, then the couch dipped beside him.

“C’mon,” Luigi said, nudging his shoulder against Mario’s. “Big feelings. Let’s talk ‘em out. You won’t feel better until you do.”

Mario huffed. Feelings. Feelings were supposed to be joyful and colorful and make life more vibrant. Feelings like this served no purpose other than to dampen that color. Life was too short to waste, too beautiful to squander, and sitting around wallowing in his own misery only squandered it further. 

Wallowing with a loved one gets it over with a lot faster, Luigi was always reminding him. And Luigi, who was never one to suffer in silence, was admittedly more of an expert on the topic than Mario was, so who was he to question that wisdom?

He sighed heavily. Might as well.

“I’m gonna screw it all up, Weegee.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’ll look like an idiot. Or worse, I’ll— I’ll make her look like an idiot!”

“You know she won’t let that happen.”

“But it’s not her job to keep me from messing up! I’m the one that’s— it’s my job to—”

“It’s not a job, it’s dancing. A couple mistakes here and there won’t bother her, you know that!”

“Well, no, but…”

Mario clenched his jaw.

He could almost see it, like an image in light projected on the panels above his head. Dancing with Peach. She would guide his steps with patience and grace. He would hold her slender hand safely in his own and hang on her every instruction, and every time he tripped or stepped on her foot, she would giggle, correct him, and lead him back into a steady rhythm.

A smile tugged at his lips. Learning to dance in the haven of her private garden, the rustle of leaves in lieu of music, away from prying eyes…

But it couldn’t happen like that. No, he couldn’t waste their first dance forcing her to teach him. She deserved better. She deserved a competent dancing partner. One who could match her expertise with confidence, who she could trust to fall into step with her right away… who wouldn’t falter even when the whole nation’s eyes were on them…

Mario sat back up just so he could hunch forward, resting his elbows on his knees, threading his fingers through his hair. “I can’t mess this up.” It came out far weaker than he’d hoped. He really was pathetic.

While he sulked, Luigi patted his back and hummed, the drawn-out sort of Hrmmmmm that told Mario his answer wasn’t good enough. “Why not?”

You know why! seemed the most obvious response. Not that he could actually say as much; Luigi would make him say it out loud anyway, and he preferred to avoid invoking that impossible desire by name whenever he could, so he scrambled for an answer with fewer sharp edges.

“Because she’s…” Beautiful. Graceful. Intelligent. Artistic. Astonishing. Literally perfect. Long overdue for an entire religion revolving around her. “She’s a princess,” he eventually settled on.

“And you’re her best friend, yeah?” Luigi’s hand stilled for a moment, then he switched to rubbing circles into his brother’s back. “Look, I-I know this is important to you. But if you’re not ready, you’re not ready! Just tell her! You know she won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Heat rushed through Mario’s body. He couldn’t even assemble an Absolutely Not before Luigi cut back in: “Compromises, remember? You can’t always let your pride win. I guarantee ya, promise her a dance next time, and she’ll be over the moon.”

Though he hated to entertain the thought, Mario knew he was right. He grumbled in displeasure as he mulled over the notion. Peach had never commanded him to dance. Though she’d presented it as an order of sorts, he did know she wouldn’t force him into it. It was merely a suggestion, one he was perfectly free to refuse.

…Just like his place as her guard, come to think of it.

“The motion for your appointment passed Parliament unanimously,” Peach told him that day, her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes unable to select a focal point. “But please understand that you’re under no obligation to accept! It’s… unfair, asking so much of you, given how much you’ve already done. Those are my thoughts, anyway.”

Mario never intended to refuse the offer, but initially, he was apprehensive. He was plenty strong, and he had rescued her from abduction once already, and he would do everything in his power to help her. But how much power did he actually possess? Was it enough to keep her safe? Was it enough to live up to whatever expectations were laid upon him, not just by Peach, but by her government? By its people? “Bodyguard to a Princess” wasn’t a program his vocational school had offered.

But one good look at said Princess overrode his doubts. Her fingers drumming against her knuckles, the small smile she kept forcing into something more neutral, her gaze shifting between her gloved hands and the surrounding shrubbery and, eventually, Mario’s face— growing up with an autistic twin taught Mario to be extra attentive to nonverbal cues. Peach’s offer was every bit as much for her sake as it was for his and for her Parliament’s.

In her words, she expressed reluctance, but in her body language, she gave her true thoughts away. And in her eyes, sparkling turquoise in the morning sunlight, he found his answer.

Her eyes had sparkled just as brilliantly today, discussing a prospective dance with her dearest friend and devoted guard. He wouldn’t be the one to extinguish her spark.

You can’t always let your pride win.

What a silly thing to say to Super Mario, Hero of the Mushroom Kingdom, Bodyguard to its Princess. Of course his pride would always triumph. That was kind of his schtick, wasn’t it?

“Okay, enough internal monologuing.” The weight on Mario’s back was lifted, and Luigi’s hand relocated to his head, tousling his curls playfully. “You gonna talk this through with me? Or am I gonna have to drag it outta ya?”

Another rush of heat overtook him, but this time, there was no indignation. This was the heat of renewed purpose. Lifting his face, the warm lights of their living room filled Mario’s vision once more, and suddenly the empty floor before him called to him with a pull he refused to ignore.

His muscles protested as he stood, but he paid them no mind. Every obstacle could be conquered with enough determination. He’d fail as many times as he needed to so he could succeed, just once, just for her.

“Hey— external!” Luigi cried after him. “External monologue! Don’t leave me in the dark, bro!”

Mario grinned as he closed the gap between himself and the record player. “You’re right,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m not gonna screw it up.”

The clack clack clack of block heels followed him once more. “And why’s that?”

“Because I haven’t let her down yet.” He pulled the first record his hands touched out of its case and set it into place. “And I’m not gonna start now!”

“And why’s that, huh?”

“Because…” A bright, jazzy instrumental filled the air, and Mario waved his hands with a flourish, grasping for words other than the ones Luigi was goading him to say. “Because I don’t know when to quit, I guess!”

“And why’s that? ”

“Stelle santo—”

He found Luigi waiting for him at the center of the room, his arms folded, his right hip jutting outward, his high-heeled left foot tapping in expectation. The smirk he fixed Mario with was far too devious for his liking.

“Well, if my beloved baby bro is any indication,” he shot back, mirroring Luigi’s folded-armed stance and meeting him where he stood, “then I guess being annoyingly hard-headed just runs in the family.”

Luigi’s smirk wavered. “Baby bro?”

Mario huffed, if only to keep his own mask from slipping. “I was already around when you were a baby. That counts.”

“You were a baby when I was a baby.”

“Well I still have twenty minutes on you, so at one point I was literally twenty times your age. Doesn’t get much more baby than that, yeah?”

Their competitive stares held strong a few seconds more, then they faltered, their make-believe tension powerless against the lively music. Both brothers clasped each other by the arms and chuckled, and just like that, Mario’s earlier angst was gone.

And these sorts of feelings he was all too happy to let himself feel.

“Thank you.” Mario pulled in closer to clasp Luigi’s shoulder. “For… being so stubborn.”

The corners of Luigi’s eyes crinkled as he mirrored the motion, clasping Mario’s opposite shoulder. “Guided brooding. That’s all it is.”

“And that’s all I need, I guess.” Mario soaked in the contentment a moment longer, then he let his arm fall to Luigi’s waist, releasing his opposite arm to take his hand. “C’mon. We’re losing moonlight.”

Luigi nodded firmly. “Way ahead of ya.”

Maybe Mario’s newfound drive didn’t grant him lighter feet or better coordination, but his heart felt so much lighter. He was able to laugh and joke with his brother when he made mistakes and celebrate each minor victory with sincerity. Nothing miraculous, maybe, but he could certainly work with it. And each time he fell out of sync, Luigi was right there to guide him back in.

“Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre!”

[trans-axolotl]

Image description: [Black text on lined paper. Text reads: Share your story with the Psych Survivor Archive. Hold the psychiatric system accountable for the violence and coercion we've survived. Make space for our anger. Grieve together. Celebrate our resistance. The Psych Survivor Archive is a forum for psych survivors to share about their experiences and be believed. You can share as much or as little as you want. Your story will be anonymously published on the website with writing from other psych survivors. The archive is open to anyone who identifies as a psych survivor, including people who survived inpatient hospitalization, rehab, troubled teen industry, partial hospitalization, outpatient programs, ABA, and any other form of coercion psych treatment. Check out the prompts, participant rights, and content guidelines. Share your story now: www.psychsurvivorarchive.com/submit-your-story]

Hey everyone. I wanted to share this here as well. The Psych Survivor Archive is looking for anyone who wants to share their story and have it anonymously published on the website, in order to create a collection of our experiences navigating the psych system. Your responses will be anonymous and can be as detailed or vague as you want. On the website, there are prompts, but you can feel free to share in whatever format makes sense to you.

This is a more informal way to participate in the Psych Survivor Archive if you are not interested in creating art for the zine, but still want your story to be heard and validated.

For me, it has felt very cathartic to write out my story, on my terms, in the way that I want to be known. I hope that the archive can offer that space to other psych survivors as well, and I can't wait to keep developing this project and offering even more. In the next couple weeks, submissions will open up for the second edition of the zine, so if you're interested in submitting creative art or writing keep an eye out!

love and solidarity always <3

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: Bakugou dies but comes back to life, “comes back wrong” trope, implied fighting, angst

When Bakugou died, you’re not sure how you went on living. Grief had taken over your life, sat you in the passenger side while it cruised off the highway into icy waters. And even then, you couldn’t find the energy to drown.

It’s why there’s a sudden uptick of energy when you’re promised to have him back. Some top scientists contact you months after his death, tell you to hurry down to the headquarters labs, come and rejoice for what you’re about to witness. And you’re horrified, to say the least.

“This isn’t my husband.” Are your first words when you walk in, watch the figure on the other side of the glass examine its own hands. It looks like your husband but—but his hair isn’t the right shade of blond all over. His nose bridge had a slight bump after a scuffle with a villain. He had a scar on his hand but—but it never looked like it was to sew a pinky beside the other fingers.

“Is that really my husband?” You ask next in disbelief, slowly entering the room. Bakugou’s head snaps up, his eyes a little brighter than you remember but—they hold so much emotion. So much memory, so much panic, so much guilt.

“I left you.” He mutters, his voice raspy and ragged, and you wonder if it’ll always be like this now. It makes you cry a little harder than it should, but you only embrace each other. He’s cold and his shoulders don’t hold the same mass and his back doesn’t carry the same scars. There’s one, jagged and rough, running down his back, and you think, you think that’s where they slipped a new spine in.

“Welcome back home.” You tell him, weeks after meeting him again, new and not totally—Katsuki. He’s stiff and he doesn’t immediately take off his boots when he enters, and it worries you. Makes you think if you’ve just let a stranger into your home, one that has stolen your dead husbands face. Makes you wonder if he’ll be as loving as Katsuki once was, or if he’ll become your monster looming over you with the guilt of not being able to rest anymore.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You whisper against his mouth one night, a little while after he’s moved back. You don’t know why you lay under him, why you let him nestle himself inside of you, why you let him hold you against his chest. Katsuki always ran his hands over your cheeks and neck whenever he held you like this, but this…man, only holds himself up with his hands resting beside your head. It’s alien, how he looks at you, how his hips are methodically measured with every thrust, how he kisses you every 8 seconds. You wonder if he’s more robot than Frankenstein monster.

“Why did you come back to me like this?” You ask him one night, barricaded in the bathroom away from him. You can hear his sobs on the other side, his pleading to be let in. He tells you he never wanted to come back if he had to be like this, that he’s sorry, please let him in, he misses the warmth of your skin, he’s never been so cold before, he’s never liked the cold.

“Is this considered cheating?” You ask yourself aloud one night, when Bakugou is forced back to the lab when he becomes too…un-Bakugou. To sleep with a man that is your husband in every way but? Your husband has been dead for a year now, and yet you stroke the chin of the man that tries so hard to be him everyday, but fails so miserably at it every time.

“I’ll come back to you right this time.” Bakugou promises to you when he’s strapped down to leave for the lab and before he’s sedated. But you don’t believe him—you never did. Your husband is dead, and this animated corpse has been nothing but a cheap mockery of everything you’ve lost and something you will never truly get back.