#the prose is abysmal but anyways ....

[ofbatsandballads]

darling, won’t you take me home?

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: reader has a mild cold, but nothing much else (lmk if I missed anything)

a/n: this is just a lighthearted sick fic that got real prose-y at the end bc I was listening to my Jason playlist and got all in my feelings while drowsy off cold medicine. again, i give thee my wares.

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You wake to soft light filtering in through the white curtains of your bedroom and the warm weight of your lover’s arm across your waist. The quiet snores echoing in the air and the soothing rise and fall of his chest against your back would usually be enough to lull you into a gentle morning sleep. But usually you can breathe out of both sides of your nose. And you usually don’t feel like there’s sandpaper in your throat. And your body doesn’t usually feel this heavy.

Goddamn it–you’re sick.

You feel a sneeze coming on and try to stifle it, to keep it locked tight in your lungs so you won’t wake the love of your life from the rare bit of peace and quiet he gets. You make no noise, but the shaking of your body stirs him anyway. Damn vigilantes and their preternatural awareness. He hums lazily as he pulls you further into his chest. You think he might be able to doze back off and you’re glad for it. Then your hopes are dashed. One, two, three sneezes wrack your body in succession and you are finally forced to admit defeat.

“Are you sneezing?” Jason asks, groggy but inquiring.

“…no.”

You don’t even know why you tried to lie to him. You’re a bad liar in most cases, and an absolutely abysmal liar when it comes to Jason. He simply sighs and you’d bet twenty dollars that he’s rolling those pretty seafoam eyes of his. He easily turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him. Great, now you really won’t be able to lie to him.

“I told ya that you were gettin’ sick,” he scolds gently.

“‘M not sick!”

He did. And you are.

“Then why do you sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

He tries to keep his face serious, but soon the facade cracks and he lets out a deep belly laugh as you glare at him. You push yourself out of his arms and make it as far as the edge of the bed before he’s pulling you back to him again.

“Aw, c’mon, ma. Don’t be mad. You are sick. Just admit it,” he says, voice kind as he runs his hand up and down your spine.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble, your words trailing off unintelligibly.

Jason doesn’t miss it. He never does. Fucking vigilantes and their fine tuned hearing.

“What was that?” he smirks.

You whisper it again, quiet as a mouse. He shakes his head. You smack him in the chest.

“Ah ah, I wanna hear it,” he laughs.

“I said you were right! There! You happy now?” you pout, burying your head in his chest.

You can feel the giggles travel through his body and find it impossible to fight the smile it brings to your face, even if your head feels foggier than Gotham after a heavy rain. You squeeze him tight, a sudden aggressive love for him that you just need to let out. It does nothing to his strong frame. He just squeezes you back, then manhandles your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He rises from your bed like you weigh nothing to him, hefting you into the air so that you’re better positioned.

“C’mon, we’re makin’ soup.”

One thing about Jason Todd is that he’s an amazing cook. He didn’t cook much for himself before he met you. He’s told you he didn’t see any point when cheap takeout would fuel his body just fine for whatever fight was inevitably coming for him. But now he has both the reason and the time to care. And he cares. So much.

You can see it in the way he sets the chicken to bake while he tells you about the new book he got from the bookstore down the block. You can see it in the way his skilled hands, calloused and bruised, slice the carrots razor thin because he knows you hate the crunch of them. You can see it in the barely noticeable look of pride on his face as all the ingredients simmer in the big metal pot, giving your shared home a warm aroma of comfort. You can see it in the fact that everything he needed for this was already in your kitchen, in the fact that none of it was there when you fell asleep last night while he was on patrol. Jason cares. He cares from the tip of the stubborn curl that sticks up on the top of his head to the soles of his feet that guide you in a slow waltz around the kitchen.

“I know you probably aren’t too hungry, but I need you to try to eat at least one bowl for me,” he says in his gentlest negotiation voice as he puts a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the counter.

You nod your head that’s tucked against his chest, sniffling as you feel your nose start to run. Without missing a beat, Jason pulls a tissue from the pocket of his pajama pants and hands it to you.

“And you’re takin’ cold medicine the second you get some food in you.”

He’s not asking anymore, just stating facts.

“Gonna stay up all night watching me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I might,” he retorts.

“I love you too, Jay.”

He goes rigid momentarily before he relaxes against you. Then a soft smile breaks out on his face. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning his face away from you. But you can be observant too. You don’t miss the way pink dusts his cheeks and, oh, he looks so pretty like this. You tell him as much just to watch the soft pink turn to vibrant red.

“Shut up and eat your soup.”

One bowl of soup and a disgusting shot of cold medicine later, you find yourself wrapped in the arms of your lover as you both lounge on the couch. Jason reads the new book he was telling you about as you listen to music, dozing in and out of consciousness. It’s not your fault he makes such a great pillow; his large body is warm and soft as he lies relaxed on your sofa. Every now and then, especially when he thinks you’ve fallen into a light sleep, he’ll place a featherlight kiss on the top of your head.

You may not be a vigilante or The World’s Greatest Detective, but you can put all the pieces of the day together well enough. Carrying you out of bed, making you soup, letting you rest on him, the soft kisses and touches he flutters over your skin; it’s all his way of saying he loves you when the words themselves are simply too much or not enough. But the words are enough for you. You swear that you’ll go to your grave finding all the prettiest ways to tell him just how much you love him. Because you do.

And maybe it’s the homemade soup settled in your belly, or the afternoon sunlight shining through the window, or the warmth of the man you love beneath you, but you soon find yourself lulled into a peaceful sleep that feels just like home.

[lifewtr]

∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹ * fan fic tag game * ∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹

HELLO @krankittoeleven! THANKS FOR THE TAG, WE ARE DEFINITELY HOMIES NOW :D i enjoyed your answers a lot; it's nice to meet you! ♥

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

as of today, i have 50 fics on the archive!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

426,518. jeez.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

predominantly avatar: the last airbender, though i have certainly dabbled in others over the years. right now i'm slowly working my way into the jujutsu kaisen fandom ♥♥

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Lemon, Two Sugars (zutara, rated M): 905 kudos.

Give It Up (zutara, rated E): 824 kudos.

Half Joy (vinceno, rated E): 457 kudos.

Lyk Dis (zutara, rated E): 425 kudos.

Put It Down (zutara, rated E): 414 kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I DO I'M JUST ABYSMAL WITH TIMELY REPLIES. I'M SORRY I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND I READ EVERY SINGLE ONE I SWEAR <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

like the homie krankittoeleven, i pretty much only use angst as a plot device - there are only happy/hopeful endings in this household lmao - but if i consider context, the fic with the angstiest ending is probably Honorfall (zutara, rated E). maybe Of All the Things My Hands Have Held (zutaraang, rated M)..?

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

lots of my fics have happy endings ;))))) as for the happiest... ahh, probably If It Means a Lot to You (zukaang, rated M) and Flowers Never Pick Themselves (zutaraang, rated M).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

er, yes and no? i feel like hate is a strong word. it's more so that there are some readers who have simply ~disliked~ certain premises of mine, which, y'know, is what it is! click away or write your own shit! ♥

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

the good kind, baby, and absolutely nothing less. if it doesn't make me wet, i don't post it!

10. Do you write crossovers?

i used to! especially with and amongst irl friends. if there was a fandom i/we were into, there was a harry potter crossover in our shared docs to go with it LOL.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

an entire fic? no, not to my knowledge anyway. but i've definitely had some scenes and dialogue grabbed and scattered across the web over the years.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no ;-; i've never even had art made for/inspired by my fics ;-;;;; one day though. one day i am going to write something [clenches fist] so fucking good...

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

several times! said fics will not be seeing the light of today, but yes! i love a good co-write!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

once again, like the new homie i will not be picking just one and you will simply have to deal with it LOL. i am extremely down bad for tony stark/bucky barnes, tony stark/t'challa, tony stark/stephen strange.. okay i'm tony-centric, fuckin sue me. anyways. i still really love sesshomaru/kagome, zuko/katara, harry potter/hermione granger, trevor/alucard/sypha, and now gojo/nanami. when i tell you i am fERAL ABOUT NANAGO—

15. What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Take Care (zutara, rated M), and several other zutara fics that i have put into a graveyard so that even though they're unlikely to be completed, they can still be appreciated!

16. What are your writing strengths?

mmm. this is a bit hard for me to answer because i feel like i could use improvement everywhere, always. i could probably use some more work in my dialogue though (just having more of it, i think). with conflict resolution as well - circling back to angst, i usually gloss over it because i want [my] characters to have nothing but good times and good endings. i need to be less wary of putting them through some shit, which i am working on!

anywayyy. my biggest strength is my prose!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

up for debate, but personally my weakness is outlines. i try to use them but my brain does not like having "rules" when it comes to creating a story, even if i am the one to write them ;;

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

i'm a native (american) english speaker, so this question feels.. odd? bc ~american~? but as a native english speaker, i absolutely don't mind at all. i love languages and i love letting them into my brain! i myself use words from different languages, especially in what i'm writing is based in another country/place of origin.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

inuyasha! no you cannot see it, it's lost in the ether!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Real War is Far Easier (zutaraang, rated M) and Performance Issues (zutara, rated E), which was a gift to the wonderful @zutarawasrobbed! there's a whole universe there that nobody but the two of us know about and i can't wait for the day that everyone can laugh about it as much as we do LOL

∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹ *∘⋆∘⋆․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹․⊹․∘⟡˖*⊹⊹․⊹․∘⟡

tagging: @nire-the-mithridatist @gemgirl28 @andthedicestopped and @fidget-scribbles ♥

[elio-monroe]

argh there was a tumblr post about how tv shows are being cut short and i agreed a lot with it. but their long movie take was so abysmal i couldn't get myself to reblog it. id add in the notes how i feel differently but id rather not be subjected yet again to someone thinking their opinion is so extremely righteous they need to mock me in front of their followers for absolutely no fucking reason.

but anyways, there have been long ass movies since people started making movies. this idea of the 3 hour movie (which is not at all what i would even classify as a long movie) is not new! its not invented by capitalism. just because you personally cannot sit through it does not mean its not good. also don't equate film to prose? films are not "short stories" thats a prose term and you are making absolutely no sense when you say that. same with the idea that television shows are suppose to be novels? i just... what exactly do people think novels are, like what does that word actually means?

its just weird to put your own personal preference for movie length in a post about how capitalism is ruining television and film. thats a pretty piss poor way to analyze art or even talk about the effects of capitalism. especially considering that the majority of studios used to want very short run times, and still heavily prefer them to this day. avengers end game was "long" because producers wanted a novelty. the irishman is "long" because scorsese normally makes long movies as thats the pace he feels is necessary to tell the story he wants to tell.

[meredoubt]

I'm usually an uptight stickler about not writing in books, but the string of bad trans books I've read recently has me feral. Livid. It's about the lack of attention to craft just to get the voices out.

I will not apologize. They got my money. I've supported the community diligently and dutifully. But now the writer/editor in me has thoughts, and most of them are not positive. I would have some things to say about the purpose of the books I've read, and the practical writing talents of the authors. It's not kind, my heart, but it's because I care. I care so much, and I'm not interested in making excuses for defanged art anymore. Leave alternative recommendations, if you'd like. In warning: I am famously a hater and a perfectionist. Oppenheimer just won a ton of Oscars, and I hated that film. Don't take it personally.

In any event, the last book got me so up in arms that I've descended into desecrating a goofy ass straight book to make it about faggots. Having a good time, actually.

In much the tactile way of an arts and crafts project, it is soothing my troubled soul. It's almost meditative, in a way that merely rewriting, or editing, in a word document simply could not. I'm critiquing in the margins. I'm colouring. I may add illustrations. I will rip out the Spotify playlist like the ever-present cancer it has become, even in some books I've enjoyed.

I will fix this extremely mediocre book, with the Morgan edit. I'll get this fucked up trans guy the dick he deserves.

Anyway, it's not all bad. I started the first Tom Ripley book. And when I tell you the relief that washed over me immediately...bitch. An actual novel? Prose and dialogue that flows naturally? I could cry. I'm going to finish my edit, but it's a relief to know I've got a decent fiction lined up. I will say my last two non-fictions have been great. But I've read two fiction books I've liked so far in 2024. My average has been abysmal.

[gentleoverdrive]

[四] The Words are coming out all weird, where are you now? When I need you...

Do you ever think about the fact that, for all the shit Ernest Cline (some deserved; some not so much) got thrown his way for writing his nerd handjob tomfooleries, him and Bret Easton Ellis are essentially two sides of the same coin?

----

Like I wish I was kidding, but read whichever one from Less than Zero, Rules of Attraction or American Psycho (Ellis' first three novels), and then go read either of Cline's Ready Player duology entries, and tell me they aren't using the same rhythm basically throughout.

----

It was so bizarre having this realization. You can make the argument that Cline's abysmal capacity as prose-stylist (when reading RPO, at times it feels as though you're reading a particularly long Cracked article) would differentiate him from Ellis, but honestly, it kinda surprised me how similar both their works flow as they get going.

----

And... idk, I wish I could get a glance as to what literary critics and scholars at large thought of Ellis' work early on in his career. Like sure, thanks to his podcast, it's easy to get a much better reading on BEE himself (he's a thin-skinned dickhead), but it's striking just how huge he still is in some literary circles when his writing style has always been... kind of a wet fart? Which is hilarious given how much of a tryhard edgelord he tries to be both with his work and in real life with his opinions.

----

Anyway, no hate if anyone reading this likes either of these guys' output, but fr: History might not always repeat, but it sure tends to rhyme in really funky ways on occasion. Read ya' later, alligator!

[miiracleboys]

fic recs 7!

soda can blues by kitouma | T | 1.6K

pre-relationship osasuna. [annoying little sibling voice] oooooh suna has a cruuuush!

let the river rush in by brella | T | 3.6K

kuroken. kuroo helps kenma retouch his roots. this fic is very beautifully done; it’s about the Pining.

dog days by devote | G | 9.6K

iwaoi relationship study as they grow up together. Holy Shit, my Feelings. the prose and the flow are fantastic here; in the author’s words, “love is stored in the iwaizumi.”

Under Pressure by ghostystarr | G | 8.2K

sakuatsu. bokuto and hinata notice sakusa’s crush on atsumu and decide to take it upon themselves to coach him on how to flirt. all parties involved do an absolutely abysmal job. funny and sweet in equal measure :)

Like An Ocean by kiyala | M | 1.6K

iwaoi. iwaizumi and the shapes his love for oikawa takes over the years. ough.

Sunday morning rain is falling by Hyeyu | T | 1.5K

iwaoi. oikawa goes through some fan mail, iwaizumi loves him, and the two of them spend the morning together in their kitchen. warm and domestic

most people never even get a single high school rival by sulfate | G | 5.2K

team argentina gets an outsiders’ glimpse of iwaoi. this whole fic is, i think, the author’s love letter to oikawa, iwaoi, and the series itself, and MAN is it good. this is another one of my all-time favorites!!

Jump the Gap by fathomfive | G | 1.3K

people don’t like to sit next to aone on the train; futakuchi realizes this one morning and decides to keep him company in all his glory. excellent characterization and a wonderful depiction of their friendship. aone is So important to me.

We’ll Figure That Out When We Get There by fathomfive | G | 2.2K

moniwa runs into a bit of trouble in a train station and the rest of datekou take it upon themselves to help. a delightful read; moniwa is Very tired and datekou’s a team—they have each other’s backs!

Close to the Chest by darkmagicalgirl | T | 61.2K

yahaba character study centered around him, his sexuality, and growing up. some kyouhaba and side iwaoi. MAN was this one good; the pacing, the prose, the depth of the emotions—all incredible. please note that this deals quite a bit with homophobia though

an unlikely duo by miracleboysatori | G | 1.7K

au where yachi goes to shiratorizawa and she and tendou end up bonding and becoming friends. short and sweet ^_^

by jove (we are going to own this thing for sure) by owlinaminor | T | 1.5K

ushiten enjoy their mornings together, and tendou’s a bit of a nerd. domestic and soft.

soft blue by groaninlynch | G | 6K

bokuaka. bokuto finds akaashi’s sketchbook by accident. a very sweet depiction of their dynamic; they like each other so much.

Running Into the Sun by booksong | G | 3.9K

kagehina’s relationship development through a series of their little competitions. they’re so dumb and i love them.

Add New Contact by booksong | G | 8.6K

daisuga college au. daichi keeps making up excuses to see the cute IT tech and his technology suffers for it. cute and fun.

melissa by toyotas | T | 6.6K

daisuga fullmetal alchemist au. daichi’s a state alchemist, suga’s his communications specialist, and i am in a constant state of Losing My Goddamn Mind about this fic. the pacing, the action, the narration, the characterization—DELICIOUS.

Yakuza Laundromat by dgalerab | T | 2.9K

kuroken meet for the first time in a laundromat in the middle of the night. they’re both sort of disasters here and it’s great; kuroo’s internal narration and his and kenma’s progression is endlessly entertaining.

don't bother checking my work (i've never cared for math anyway) by pseudoanalytics | T | 15.7K

ushiten character study through shirabu’s eyes. THEE pacific rim au; ushiten are jaeger pilots with a history of being drift incompatible with others, and shirabu is the ever-exhausted tech who screens them. i rb’d some art for this a little while back and i can’t recommend it enough. the canon parallels. the detail. the prose. the characterization and everyone’s dynamics. the style. i first read this in march 2021 the day i stop frothing at the fucking mouth over this is the day i die.

[estoniacobaltpayne]

A Life Day Story

So, I had an idea of a cute Din n Grogu thing, based off the movie A Christmas Story. It's in Grogu's POV.

I hope y'all like it lmao. Be kind, I haven't written fanfiction in like 6 years or more lmaooo

----------------------------------------------

There it was.

The Holy Grail of all the parts and gadgets and gizmos on the ship.

The chrome-plated ball bearing from the landing gear with the engraved ridge around the center had single handedly consumed my every waking thought this Life Day season, and if I played my cards right, and deployed subtle tactics of persuasion, I knew it wouldn't be long before it was in my grasp.

As I sat in the cockpit contemplating the next move of my meticulous plan, loud grumbling from down below in the engine room could be heard through the vents. Thick puffs of black smoke weren't far behind.

Now, aside from bounty hunting, my father was the most notorious engine compressor wrangler in the parsec. A few kicks, screws, and well-timed curses was all it took to get the thing up and running again.

At least, that's what he claimed.

The woman watching me, a short tempered thing my father always addressed as Dune, scolded my 'subtle' attempt at securing the ball bearing (I made the mistake of pointing at it while looking at her, a rookie mistake). She grumbled out a curt, "no, that is not a toy, kid!"

Agh! No! What she had just said was every adult's secret deflection method against allowing me the toy! Their innate bias that what is functional can in no way be a toy came crashing down on me. I had blown my chance!

Dune watched the vent in horror as another stream of "dank farrik"'s and "damn this thing to hell"'s wafted through it. She quickly ushered me out of the cockpit and down the ladder to the hull in order to spare me the assault of words ill-intended for children.

She said it was time for me to head to the small Nevarro school, anyways.

As we walked the short distance, we met up with our usual walking partner. He was a young boy with dark hair who always had the best snacks packed for him by his mother. The first day I met the boy I stole his blue cookies.

Being locked away for so long kept me from learning the basics of speech and writing, so the only part of his name, Phixlana, that I was able to pronounce, was a short Phix; although it wasn't long before all my other classmates called him that as well.

In class, our teacher assigned us a writing prompt to be handed in the next day. Whoa boy. What a drag! Homework was tiresome and boring at the best of times, but my inability to write in any language made this assignment seem impossible to accomplish.

But wait! Did my large ears deceive me?

No. They did not!

The most glorious of prompts that would bring salvation to my plight!

"Write about what you would like most for Life Day!" proclaimed the droid.

This was my chance! I would use the force to wield the pen as my sword! It surely would do a fine enough job putting my prose to paper! It would be my scribe, and I was sure I would produce the most magnificent paragraph!

"All I want for Life Day is the chrome-plated ball bearing from the landing gear with the engraved ridge around the center! Oh! My! How marvelous!" the droid would read, expressing its satisfaction with a plethora of pluses on my A grade! The entire class would jump up and cheer, as the droid at the front would suddenly grow the ability to emote and dramatically express his overwhelmingly pleased feelings upon reading my assignment!

--

Oh! Oh no! This couldn't be! My dreams shattered as I opened up my tablet! What was supposed to be an A+++ on my beautifully thought out paragraph prompt, read as a measly C+. How excruciatingly agitating! I supposed I shouldn't tell my father. I'd spare him the disappoint I myself was currently enduring. And just below! How could I have not noticed before! The inscription of, "that is not a toy, kid!" at the bottom! This put a sour on my mood that lasted throughout the remaining duration of the day.

--

The gloomy cloud only let up slightly when dad took us out with Dune and the man of whom I did not know the name of, but fawned over me regardless whenever my father brought him another bounty. With all of us piled in the small speeder, we set off in search of the finest Life Day tree money could buy.

The trees the shady merchant showed us were dismal and pathetic at best, but my father was a world-class heckler, and never passed up an opportunity to bargain for his buck. After a moment of bickering with the merchant, my father let out a curt, "deal," after the salseman offered to knock back the price and load the large tree into the speeder.

All was well! Dune and who I had heard my dad proclaim as Karga sang tunes for me as my mandalorian father begrudenlingy drove the speeder back home.

Pop! Whap!

"Dank farrik!" drawled my dad. "Piston blew!" he exclaimed from the front seat of the speeder.

We climbed out and dad handed me a pan of bolts to hold as he replaced the piston. He worked quickly. Too quickly, apparently, because as he came back up to grab a bolt, his hand hit the pan, sending it flying straight into the icy blackness that was the busy road in front of us.

Time stood still as I watches the pieces fly out into the night, never to be seen again. Time stood still as I let out some of the only comprehensible words I knew.

"Dank ferret"!

Except I didn't say 'ferret'. I said the mother of all 'f' words. The 'F-----' word.

"What did you just say?" my father asked quietly; and might I add- far too calmly.

All I could do was stare wide-eyed at the mandalorian before me.

He only scuffed and concluded, "that's what I thought you said. Get back in the speeder."

I climbed back in. Whoa boy, was I done for. I was never getting that ball bearing now. It was only moments later that my dad hunched back into the small speeder. He leaned over to Karga and Dune and told them what I said. They both let out gasps of disbelief.

--

How I loved snacks. I loved eating, and the glorious taste of all the different foods the galaxy had to offer.

But right now, all I wanted was for my underdeveloped taste buds to shrivel up and die.

The bantha scrub Dune had in my mouth was disgusting. I wouldn't be surprised if it impaired me forever in some way.

Dune shifted her weight from one hip to the other, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. "I'm going to ask you one more time, kid. Where did you hear that word?"

I had probably heard my dad use that word twelve times a day, every day that I had known him but instead of saying as such, I panicked. Blanked. All conscious thought had left my brain like it was a house on fire. Instead of the word 'dad,' I blurted out the only other name I knew how to say; "Phix!"

Dune left the room with an understanding "oh" and went to call the boy's mother on the holopad.

Poor, poor Phix.

Surely he was getting his punishment a few kilometers away.

--

Despite my slip up on the speeder a few nights ago, and the disappointing grade in school, Life Day still came, and how glorious it was! How beautiful the tall tree was, sparkling with lights and the scrap my father and I had collected from around the ship!

But most importantly, how beautiful the gifts under the tree were!

Before I could even pull one into my lap, my Mandalorian father tiredly sauntered down into the hull of the ship. I could feel the excitement rolling off of him through the force. I didn't need to see his face to know he was happy as he plopped a present in front of me.

Karga and Dune soon joined us in the festivities, the latter of whom quickly fell asleep on the floor after all the presents had been opened. Karga asked if I enjoyed the celebratory day, and if I had gotten all the presents I asked for. I groggily looked at my palms. I had gotten many a splendid gifts. But not everything I had asked for.

My father leaned forward and directed his head towards the corner of the room.

"Hey, what's that over there?"

I looked up at his helmet expectingly. Over where? To where was he gesturing?

"Yes, over there. Behind that crate."

I waddled off of his lap, and over to the crate. Alas! A small package wrapped in shiny red paper! It was the perfect size for-

No. Could it be?

I tore off the paper in awe to reveal a box. And oh! What a glorious sight the opened box was! What was resting inside? None other than the chrome-plated ball bearing from the landing gear with the engraved ridge around the center! It was mine! Finally mine!

I excitedly waddled to the door to go outside and play. My dad came to open it, but quickly stopped when he sighted the roasted, imported porgs Karga and Dune had brought over. Now, my father was a notorious porg junkie, and was sorely disappointed at Karga's loud scold for him to stop picking at the feast; that it wasn't ready yet.

As they bickered, I opened the door myself and ran outside to play. How glorious it felt to have that ball firmly in the palm of my small hands! I threw it as far as I could, and wielded the force to bring it back to me. I rolled it down the ramp many a times. Oh what fun! Until-

Oh no!

Just one small slip of fate! With the tiniest of accidents, the ball rolled over the edge of the ramp and fell into a crevice beneath one of the landing feet! I couldn't even see it to force it back into my hands!

I rushed inside to alert my father of the atrocity! But before we could go back out to reclaim the ball bearing, the unthinkable happened.

Rustling could be heard in the back of the hull; the scratching of nails against metal and loud chirps sounded as well. My father picked me up and rushed back to see what was going on. Dune had woken up, and she and Karga went with us to investigate the crime.

Oh no! The horror! A thousand and one meerkats scampered about the floor, breaking crates and most abysmally, eating the beautiful porgs set out for us to feast on. The three adults hearded the scoundrels out of the ship, but it was too late.

The porgs were gone. All gone! Not even a wing!

The heavenly aroma still hung in the air, mocking us. My father dragged himself over and defeatedly kicked at the remains of what was to be a magnificent Life Day feast. However my father, ever the pragmatist, lifted his arms and declared, "everybody up. Get dressed. We're going out to eat."

Not much was open on Life Day; just a small restaurant owned by a family from a planet far away. One that did not celebrate Life Day, something for which we were thankful.

What a turn of events! But one thing was for certain, as I fell asleep that night, clutching my chrome-plated ball bearing from the landing gear with the engraved ridge around the center, I knew it was the best Life Day I had ever had, and the best of all Life Days left to come.

[lilquill]

Here’s my preliminary review of Tiger’s Curse by Colleen Houck! The review is copy-pasted below.

I was mesmerized by his bright blue eyes, which somehow sparkled even in the dark. Finally, I snapped out of it. I mumbled the first thought that came to mind: “You don’t look like other Indian men. Your . . .your eyes look . . . different and . . .” I stammered lamely. Why can’t I get it together? If I sounded idiotic, Ren didn’t seem to notice. “My father was of Indian descent, but my mother was Asian.She was a princess from another country who was betrothed to my father to become his bride. Plus, I’m more than three hundred years old, which might make a difference too, I suppose.”

Yes, that's a real goddamn quote. Colleen Houck said that!

This book is incomprehensibly, comically bad. Truly one of the worst pieces of literature I've ever had the displeasure of reading.

I screenshotted phone screen pages of my ebook to share with some friends when I wanted to hit my head against a brick wall at reading something. I'm pretty sure they got most of the ebook pages (and, mind you, with my font size settings those pages have maybe 1-2 paragraphs).

I literally cannot believe that this book exists. Well, if I put into context the fact that some white woman wrote it about her weird fantasy for ~exotic~ brown people, and has some insipid white girl travel to India with a shapeshifting white tiger and encounter a black tiger (whose name literally means "dark," and also yes, a BLACK TIGER), I can believe that it exists, I suppose! ESPECIALLY because the author, Colleen Houck, seems to have a penchant for writing about annoying white girls having bad white savior complexes and exotified brown love interests. The last book in this series (yes, SERIES, it's 5 books long and I honestly wish I was joking) came out in 2018, which is awful considering how blatantly racist and how clearly terrible this book is!

There is....an abysmal lack of research in this book. I almost pity Colleen Houck for how bad this book is at portraying India. Very basic GOOGLE MAPS SEARCHES weren't done right. She tries to write Indian "accents." It goes VERY BADLY. She also tries to write an Italian accent at the beginning, which is also horrible to read, but the attempts at portraying South Asian manners of speaking English are strikingly offensive.

The prose is awful. The narration is so absolutely mind-numbing. This book was written specifically to burn out my retinas.

I literally don't even know how to write this review. How the hell am I even supposed to condense how much is bad about it into this review?

I kept reading out of sheer fucking horror at the author's clownery. Other than the racism and orientalism that permeates this whole book, there's also incredibly wild misogyny! There's a scene where the love interest, Ren, asks the protagonist, Kelsey, if she wants to kiss him. She rejects him because apparently asking for consent isn't ~romantic~ I guess! I wish I was joking.

He looked at me curiously, which made me feel even more panicky. To say I had no experience with kissing would be an understatement. Not only had I never kissed a boy before, I’d never even met a guy I wanted to kiss until Ren. So, instead of kissing him like I wanted to, I got flustered and started coming up with reasons to not do it. I babbled, “Girls need to be swept off their feet, and asking permission is just . . . just . . . old- fashioned. It’s not spontaneous enough. It doesn’t scream passion. It screams old fogy. If you have to ask, then the answer is . . . no.” What an idiot! I thought to myself. I just told this beautiful, kind, blue-eyed, hunk of a prince that he was an old fogy.

Anyways, if I was going to share bad quote with you guys in this review, I'd be illegally distributing this book online, because the whole damn thing is such an irredeemable piece of trash. For the love of all things holy, DO NOT BUY THIS BOOK. If you're in for a laugh, please just pick it up from the library, because this book is truly hilariously bad.

I might add more bad quote highlights to this book later, but for now, I'm not going to look at it because if I do I feel like I'm hallucinating something because it is unimaginably bad! 

[thisisagoodtimetoleave]

I am going to rant here for two minutes, because here I can say whatever the fuck, because no-one comes here to read anything I write. I don’t say that with spite, I think it’s a good thing.

I’ve been writing stories and shit ever since I can remember. They’re not always of course very good stories, but that’s okay - my readership/viewership is too limited for my bad stories to upset anyone. But for the past few months, I’ve been putting my stories out there to be seen, judged and I’m still painfully aware that, they are not really the best ones. And now everyone can see me for the fraud that I am.

But yesterday, I met some friends and we saw a screening of a show we did together. I cringed my way through some scenes, because they were not my or my co-writer’s finest moments. But people laughed anyway, people cheered anyway - because that’s what your team does for you. And my producer came upto me and quietly said, you know this is all you right? They’re clapping and cheering for you - because very often it’s just those seen on the screen who walk away with all the credit. Her words were encouraging and mortifying at the same time - because THIS IS ALL ME. This is what I’ve put out there. And everyone could hate it so so much.

I was also nervous, because I watched a very close friend’s show which came out at the same time. Everything about that show was beautiful. But my friend felt very very far. Like I didn’t know him anymore. And I wondered if I was jealous or I just missed my friend. Did I like him better when he was anxious and struggling and like me in so many ways? And now that he’s not, I can no longer relate? What a horrible person that makes me. I thought I was above all this.

Which made me think. The past three-four years have been life altering in so many ways. My closest friends are no longer physically near me. Some not emotionally either. Some of them are married, about to be married, thinking of/already have babies. I still love them, and perhaps they love me too - but they’ve left me so far behind in terms of personal growth. They know so much more. And I’m struggling just to keep head above water. Maybe they are too. But we don’t talk much anymore. And if I’m to believe some of them, I don’t even bother listening.

I’ve been on my hamster’s wheel for years - dwelling over things like my mother dying, my weight issues, depression, writer’s block, inability to connect with my family anymore blah blah blah whine whine whine. Honestly, I’m a little tired of it too. And I can see it in my abysmal prose, my sad attempts at writing a screenplay, a story. I have no stories to tell. The ones I do, you’ve all heard them before.

[blazehedgehog]

who is dean takahashi and what did he do

Dean Takahashi is a writer in the game industry. I first heard about him because he wrote a handful of books about behind-the-scenes game industry stuff, one called “Opening the Xbox,” about the launch of the original Xbox, which he followed up with “The Xbox 360 Uncloaked″ four years later. He now works at VentureBeat in their gaming section, GamesBeat.

In the run up to the release of Cuphead, a video from GamesBeat at a press preview event surfaced of Dean playing the game and unreasonably struggling to pass the tutorial, clearly ignoring the text printed on screen. He eventually gets through it and on to the game itself, but it takes him a while to learn even the most simple concepts.

This video spread like wildfire as a clear example of how “out of touch” the “game journalists” are. “They” aren’t even good at video games! They’re unfit for their jobs! Rabble rabble rabble! It touched one of those weird nerves in this industry where the fans of games are at odds with the people who get paid to write about games and neither side seems to get along.

And there’s just so, so, so much to unpack and talk about. It’s a delicate issue, too – previously I’ve talked about this from the side that people in the games press are bad at staying connected to their fanbase, and that today’s scorned fans could be tomorrow’s rising stars that are stealing the jobs of the people they once idolized. Once you reach a certain level of popularity, there’s a “don’t read the comments” rule most people subscribe to that I genuinely don’t like.

I’m really starting to think one of the reasons gaming can be so toxic is BECAUSE nobody driving the bus actually pays attention to the type of community they’re cultivating around them. They just see their fanbase as one big group of incoherently screeching monkeys and your viewpoint has to be way more nuanced than that. It’s dehumanizing to be treated that way, and I know because I used to be that guy seven, eight, nine years ago. You try to connect with someone you admire over social media or whatever, and after they ignore you, you just kind of get louder. You try harder to grab their attention. And the more you get ignored, the easier it is to get angry about being ignored. That frustration just grows, and grows, and grows, until you’re saying things you don’t really mean, because it’s not like they’re paying attention to you anyway, right? You may not even realize it (I certainly didn’t), but you’ve started acting like a jerk, hoping to get them to do anything.

And time and time again, you hear stories of even the most minor celebrities finally acknowledging an angry fan, and all of that frustration and booming vitriol just vanishes. They instantly turn back in to a real person again. They exist, to their hero. That’s all they really wanted. Even if it’s just wordless eye contact, that might be good enough. They wanted confirmation of existence from somebody they admire. They needed to hear, “Yes, you are a human.” Because that makes them human.

Instead, you get “Don’t read the comments.” Shun the people who love you. It breeds a universal contempt in these people who went out of their way to leave a comment on your article. Suddenly their default response for all internet celebrities is screeching for attention they never expect to get, because true enough, nobody “worth a damn” gives them the time of day. Truly, they can say anything and get away with it. It’s almost like Lord of the Flies.

Which turns in to what I’d maybe describe as the “witch hunt” Dean Takahashi briefly experienced over this Cuphead stuff. Because now the peanut gallery had a verifiable, concrete example that “these people” don’t really care about games. Years of being ignored, being made fun of by their heroes, all of it suddenly crystalizes when they have a real, genuine demonstration of fact to show their friends about how game industry writers are taking this industry for granted. Dean Takahashi doesn’t know how to play Cuphead. Our beloved Cuphead. Cuphead, winner of a steadily increasing pile of trophies and awards for artistic excellence. How dare he be so presumptuous as to get away with this ruse.

To which I say: who cares if Dean Takahashi sucks at Cuphead?

Browse Rotten Tomatoes. Of the critics it tracks, how many do you think have ever written, directed, or produced their own movie? Never mind a good movie, just any movie at all. Probably less than 10%. Roger Ebert briefly tried his hand at writing movies after becoming famous as a critic, all of which were regarded as abysmal. He still went down as one of the most famous movie critics in the country.

Want something more comparable to video games? Look at ESPN. They hire ex-pro players for play-by-play color commentary, but when they want in-depth articles written about the actual sports industry, they hire real journalists who are good at writing, not at sports. I’m sure if you asked Shaun Assael to get in the ring at UFC he’d be brutalized by his opponent almost instantly, but he wrote a fantastic article about one of the biggest bank robberies in modern history that was masterminded by a UFC fighter from London. Assael doesn’t need to be a UFC fighter himself to accurately tell that story.

You hire writers to write. It doesn’t matter what profession they’re writing about, you want somebody who is good at prose. You don’t need to be good at the subject you’re writing about to be able to write about it. Never have been, never will be. This is a standard spanning multiple writing mediums and hundreds of years.

Dean Takahashi sucking at Cuphead doesn’t mean anything more than Dean Takahashi sucks at Cuphead. This is not proof that game industry writers “don’t care” about their audience. That’s a much deeper, much bigger systemic problem than I (or anyone else) can grasp. Give Dean a break, and give anyone else who flails at a game a break. They aren’t insulting you, and you don’t know what it’s like trying to play a game at a press event. A little empathy will go a long way.

And that goes in reverse, too. Read the comments, journalists. Put on your big kid pants and brave the dark depths. If you dehumanize your fans enough, eventually they’ll never be human again.

If somebody out there has ever read anything I wrote and left a comment I never responded to, I am sorry. You exist. And I thank you for existing, and for leaving that comment. You lift me up, even if I don’t necessarily have anything of value to respond with.

[spidersanctuary]

A disordered venting about RP problems:

My experience RPing with Tumblr RPing is not very extensive - goes back about five years, I think. Before that, I RPd a bit, much earlier, but for the most part the only RPing I've done is on Tumblr (and Skype, but as an extension of Tumblr RPing).

I don't like bouncing around. I tend to stick with a place that looks legit, get attached to the characters (mine and others') and stick it out, even sometimes unreasonably so. I've been in... basically three group RPs. Two of them were larger (let's say, defined as "more than around ten active players at any given time", and the third was smaller and purely reactionary, a-la "we don't like the way things are here so we'll make our own". Though not without problems (and I can't say I didn't have my part in them), it was the most drama-free as a whole. It also looks like the fourth, soon to come, might follow along the same pattern.

Despite my sample size of one, I'm confident in saying small groups have a different dynamic. Especially if they're founded by people who already know each other. Bigger groups are trickier, in many ways, and I was struck by the realisation that the different problems I encountered in both my bigger groups were representative of two ends of a spectrum.  Similar things going wrong in opposite ways, so to speak.

One of them was defined by lack of forethought and planning. Indeed the whole RP just kind of happened organically, something more serious growing out of something very silly and casual. While it had its fun sides - and it was wildly fun, at times, for as long as the fun lasted - it's also obvious in retrospect how that could be a huge problem. Different players. No standardised rules or guidelines until way, waaay later in the game (after much drama had already happened). Lots of different people with different RPing backgrounds and personalities and playstyles, none of them fully on the same page. While many of the problems had to do with one or two difficult personalities in the group, that's not really the isuse. There is always a risk of... unpleasant people, no RP group is safe from them and no RP guidelines will truly protect you from someone who WANTS to start shit or manipulate things to their benefit and is cunning enough to do that. But even aside from that... the lack of regulation about who could grab what characters and how many (some players ending up with 20+ blogs), or any kind of spoken agreement about activity guidelines and replying etiquette. Lack of agreement about how "canon" certain plots were, in the RPing continuity. Lack of agreement about the continuity, period. A clash between people who wanted to develop a certain pre-planned (and rather exclusive) storyline and those who were more in it for spontaneity. It was a recipe for disaster. It didn't need to get as bad as it did, but starting off like that, it was bound to get unpleasant eventually anyway.

Now, the other group... oh, the other group. After the colourful experience of the first group, the things it offered seemed like a reassuring breath of fresh air. Planning! An almost DnD-esque level of detail to the established universe, rulebook, bestiary and lore! Basically an entire little sandbox lovingly crafted for you to play in. Transparent activity guidelines and rules! An actual mod team working to be approachable while still holding authority! New plots for everyone to participate in to be released basically by the clock, so nobody would feel left out! So lovely! Unfortunately, things are rarely as sunny as they appear. A certain type of literate, application RPs is infamous for their snobbishness and elitism, and despite the initially welcoming tone, that was exactly what this unravelled to be. On the flip side, many of the appeals of the group amounted to little more than elaborate publicity acts. Always, always must the group remain attractive and desirable to newcomers (perhaps unsurprisingly given the apparently abysmal player retention rates, both short and long-term). The tone turned out very different from what was advertised, the sandbox-like universe revealing itself to be more of a literal sandbox, with complex topics turned into gimmicks, and supernatural characters (prosecuted and feared for their in-humanity) easily and casually sharing information about their powers with near-strangers like kids on a playground comparing their toys. The "plots" thrown one's way are not only usually poorly (if at all) developed but intrusive, so that they are impossible to avoid completely even if one is not interested in them. Worse yet, the RP insists on doling out serious consequences and high-stakes crises like death, destruction, invasions of murderous monsters or malignant town-wide spells, but is curiously reluctant to allow any room for serious RPing or sense of consequences.

In fact, it's impossible to talk about consequences when even a sense of any basic continuity is thrown out the window, precluded by the occasional hiatus and re-launch and the various measures taken to make sure that new players enter onto a relatively blank slate. Yes, even if long-time residents of the area and the populace in general SHOULD remember and be affected by that politically motivated massacre half a year back, or that time monstrous vegetables SLAUGHTERED half a school of elementary schoolchildren. Thus, even though the RP is long-running (turning two years old soon), it is impossible for the setting to develop any sense of history, and instead it seems to turn more and more comically nonsensical the more tragedies befall the town and are promptly forgotten a few weeks later. Rather than a serious and in-depth setting, one begins to feel instead as if all the characters are living in a Lotus Eater-like state of vague oblivion, briefly reacting to various events but never quite letting them reach collective memory.

Now, all this might be bearable (and even fun! There's an appeal in a certain kind of wacky no-strings-attached horror-comedy-gore, no denying that), IF a couple things weren't true. a) If the RP (and specifically the mod team) didn't make such a huge deal about what a serious and respectable and serious RP it is. No OCs allowed. "We allow shipping but we don't put an emphasis on it! Please don't think this is one of those silly ship-obsessed RPs". No more than two characters allowed. Replies MUST happen every x days, and even though replies of various kinds are accepted (all prose, just different formats and individual reply lengths), only CERTAIN kinds count towards the activity requirement (???!), and a long-term failure to keep it up will end up in you getting the boot. Even if you ARE active and involved with other people and interact a lot. (Don't even get me started on that. I and about three or four other people, most of whom LEFT shortly after, ended up having our plots disrupted SIGNIFICANTLY because the mods booted - or in this case harangued into throwing in the towel and leaving in a huff - a player who was active with all of us, but wasn't active enough in "the RIGHT way" i.e. the right format. This was part of a bigger package of them caring more about keeping up certain pretenses and ticking off certain boxes to be more outwardly desirable to new applicants than the fun of the users who were already there.) b) The nit-picking. Oh god the nitpicking and micromanagement. Some of the shit I've personally seen, some of it I've heard about. It's one thing to crit a player for not being IC with a mod pre-made character. It's another thing to do that after they've been in play for A YEAR, and if you do that then, you're being blatantly disrespectful of all the development the player's put into them. And it's yet another thing to do that to someone's OC (before the 'no OCs' rule was instated). I've had mods dictate to me that my character shouldn't be reacting to x event like this or that, by listing a bunch of factors that, while possibly convincing, were only ONE possible way to interpret the big picture. For real. Psychology is complicated but for some reason all that goes out the window the moment the mod team decides they know how your character should be played (and I'm not talking about blatant realism or accuracy issues like "that's not how PTSD works" but actual decisions/ways of thinking, things that there should, in theory, be no "wrong" option with because once again, people are complicated).

Which brings me to: C) The omnipresent feeling of entitlement by the mod team aka the Powers That Be, as if they believe that theirs is such a supremely privileged, special and elite group, that they merely DEIGN to let you be a part of it. All of it manifesting in a complete lack of basic courtesy when approaching players. Or rather, any player who's been there longer than a month and who they're not actively trying to be Welcoming(TM) to. I should have seen it pretty early when I had a beef with another player who, to wit, disliked that an RP scene we had depicted her character as a "bad guy" (who was previously ESTABLISHED in canon as a psychopathic murderer!!! and the RP scene basically showed him doing more of the same!!!). She ended up badmouthing me to other players she was interacting with closely, and then they as a group complained about me to the mods, in which she twisted a certain conversation we'd had over Skype into something that reflected very badly on me, along the lines of me forcing her to RP a scene she would be triggered by. Now. This was resolved when I provided the mods with copied Skype messages (direct Skype quotes, a format that, in theory, can't be doctored) that showed she was fabricating that conversation - that she had outright told me she WOULD be okay with doing that scene. She eventually got booted for that (and other stuff). And all would have been well if it weren't for the way I had been initially addressed by the mods, and the condescending, denigrating, making you feel like shit TONE of it. Going from zero, utter peace, to "you have an attitude problem and you need to stop now or we'll kick you out". They also tacked on about half a dozen minor "offenses" I had done, like rambling too much about how the reasons I liked a school subject someone else disliked in the ooc chat, or trying TOO hard to get involved in plots, or other bullshit things that the people involved hadn't even complained to them about. I later realised that this, too, was a Pattern. Whenever they went to you with any sort of grievance, whether from their own side or from another player, they would tack on about half a dozen other "transgressions" you had made, sometimes making them up entirely out of thin air. (Other examples include: Me trying to "enforce a headcanon" by having my character react x way. I then pointed out that the "headcanon" I was allegedly """"enforcing"""" was the information stated on THEIR blog about how characters are large are reacting to a previous major town-wide event. (To wit: the information stated that the Event, a violent and deadly clash between two groups of people, exacerbated tensions between them and led to more mistrust between them. My character, who belongs to ONE group, was being mistrustful of the OTHER group. And somehow, this was not okay. Yes. That's it. That is literally how asinine it got. But then again, it's not surprising - as I explain later, it wasn't baout the offenses making sense. It was about getting to make me feel shitty for something) Or: I was being "inconsiderate" by having my character "out" the supernatural status of another character whose player was no longer in the group, and who they were not in contact with. Said player and I HAD in fact discussed this at the time, and they'd WANTED to have it happen, but the mods didn't know one way OR the other. They simply ASSUMED so they could try to pin it on me!) A long line of instances of them taking "offenses" that they didn't know for sure were offenses, that the player DIRECTLY affected HAD NOT come to them about, to paint a bigger picture of you being some kind of Problem Child who was daring to be naughty in THEIR classroom.

Now, I don't know if this was deliberate, but I can see why they did it. It makes you, as the player, feel like crap, puts you on the defensive, makes you question yourself. "Holy crap, were people really bothered by that time I went on a jokingly-serious rant about how awesome botany is when someone said they hated that topic in biology class?" (Hint: No they weren't. They thought NOTHING of it. But the mods saw it and filed it away for when they needed to make you feel like crap.) It puts the mods in a position of power and strengthened their authority. It forces you into a no-win scenario where you either deny the nonsensical accusations, and thus weaken your position and look less credible because it looks like you can't accept responsibility when you're wrong, OR accept the accusations and thereby agree with them that you're the naughty child and bad at following the rules. So it's a shitty, shitty manipulation technique. All of it coming from a place of entitlement and elitism.

I wish I could say I come from all this wiser, but it does feel like entitlement and elitism are the common denominator here. Part of the problem of the first RP was certain people needing to feel like they were superior and hating it when other people got in the way of that. Part of the problem of the second was stuck-up, self-important mods. Ultimately, it comes down to people who enjoy, just a little too much, to feel power and authority over people. To say that "it's THIS way, because I say it is" and have that listened to without question. Who enforce the rules not because it benefits the community, but because it makes them look good. Who view discussion, in and of itself, as disobedience, as an attack on their authority, an attack on them. I can't say I know for sure how to recognise the warning signs of a group like that BEFORE applying. But maybe big RP groups just aren't worth it, period.

[1truesentence]

Four Things I Wish I’d Known

This year has been big for me as a writer. I’ve been writing for fifteen years, yes, but all of a sudden I feel like was doing it all wrong before. In the space of a year I’ve learned so much, and I wish I could go back in time and share some of it with teenage me. It might not have made that much of a difference in the long-run, true (I was not very good at listening to adults, for one thing), but at least I would have heard some of the advice that is really and truly making me better at my craft each and every day.

I’ve taken a few creative writing classes in my time in high school and college, and they tell you lots about active voice and the importance of showing and not telling, but they don’t tell you the good stuff, the really good stuff. Like…

#1. All words are good words

Seriously. No, really. Please, please hear me. There is no such thing as a “bad” word. There might be a word used in the wrong context, or a word that doesn’t fit the tone, or a word that distracts the reader from something else important that’s happening over here, but you’ll learn how to sort them. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s all about sorting the words – weighing them, sifting and sorting, until it’s time to weave them together. Let them be written – the sorting is the second step. Which leads me to my next point…

#2. You can’t edit a blank page

For a long time, this is what my writing sessions would look like: I would feel inspired, I would blissfully go to open up my laptop and create a word document. I would format it just right because I’m a little OCD that’s very important. And sometimes the words would just pour out of me – they’d come so easily it felt like my fingers were seven steps ahead of my brain. I wasn’t writing the story – I was just the vessel; the story was coming from some sacred well of prose that only literary geniuses are able to tap. It was beautiful. It was transcendent. It was why I wanted to write in the first place.

The trouble was, it was only happening about once out of every ten times I opened my laptop… and I wasn’t opening my laptop (because I wasn’t feeling inspired) but once every few weeks. I don’t care to do the math (you can if you like, nerd), but my productivity was abysmal. It is SO much easier to write everyday – something, anything, just keep moving – with the understanding that it can always be undone or changed.

#3. You will NOT DIE if you let someone read your writing

Okay, so this is a weird one, I know. For years, I was publishing fairly frequently to the world wide web under a pseudonym and with the understanding that no one who actually knew my face would ever know that those words were my words. Which was a little silly, because I liked those words – they were the words I was choosing to send out into the word; I was proud of those words – and other people seemed to like them too. I was getting good reviews, positive feedback, and making friends. Yet somehow, something kept me from ever sharing with the people closest to me. My sister, who is also a writer (and, props, a way better one than me!), would beg me to see some of my stuff. Nope. Never. I wrapped it all up, hid it away, and swore I’d rather die.

Well, last Friday I relinquished my first completed manuscript – 85,000 words (I’m not bragging, you’re bragging) – to my sister for critique. We’ve talked a few times since then, and while it’s still strange hearing my characters’ names out loud and in someone else’s mouth, there is such a freedom to it. I feel like it really exists for the first time. And, perhaps most importantly, I don’t have such a death-grip on it that I find myself open and willing to begin other projects. That piece isn’t my one-shot best-shot anymore. It’s still my baby, and when it comes back I will make it even better than it was… and then I’ll let someone else read it. Maybe.

#4. Read other people’s work

I’m already a reader. I’ve always been a reader. Reading was the genesis of everything for me; without it, I think I cease to exist. I am therefore I read – that’s right, isn’t it? Anyway, I read a ton and I read all different genres. I teach reading. But there’s something different about reading someone’s unpublished, fledgling attempts at fiction. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it at first. I thought I would get irritated at writers who weren’t as good as I believed myself to be, and become discouraged by writers who were much better. But something else happened entirely. Not only did I really and truly enjoy critiquing others’ writing, but it made my writing better. All reading makes writing better – sure, yes, I know that – but it’s different when it’s someone’s unfinished work, when you’re given the opportunity to see them undergoing the same process you are, trudging through the same mire, battling the same missteps. Every note you make prompts you to think back to your own manuscript and consider your own choices. It’s fun, it’s liberating, it’s basically magic.

So yes.

To teenage-me: Please read these. Please follow them. Please don’t dye your hair green the summer before senior year.

Love,

Someone who knows better but still has, and will always have, so much left to learn.

[silentwalrus1]

yo buddy have u read millenium? Thought u might love lisbeth

oh god i have read the series and the thing is: yes, i love lisbeth, but i HATE larsson’s writing. i H A T E it. it’s my go-to example when ranting about pointless scenes and appallingly boring syntax. idk if the translation (i read it in english) was just........ so amazingly next-level awful that they somehow obliterated any semblance of good prose, but translation can’t account for the fucking relentlessly useless scenes/descriptions larsson puts in. Reading those books was like reading a fucking grocery list. “He went to the store. He got bread, eggs, milk, butter and cheese. He went home and put them away. Then he worked out for 30 minutes.” LITERALLY. SO MANY FUCKING PARAGRAPHS LIKE THAT. WHAT DOES THAT ADD TO THE STORY??? WHAT DOES IT TELL THE AUDIENCE??? WHY DO WE FUCKING NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE GUY BOUGHT AT THE GROCERY STORE OR HOW LONG HE WORKED OUT FOR??? these details never get used and they never fucking go anywhere!!!! who was his fucking editor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

ANYWAY. 

lisbeth salander is an excellent character and i loved her, but it was an uphill fucking struggle through the entirety of larsson’s weird fucking fetish for describing every single sentence of every single characters’ lives for no goddamn reason. i plowed through all three books during a week without internet and while i don’t regret it i would never recommend the books without the caveat of ranting about the fucking abysmal writing style.