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fieryhonesty · 4 years

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The life of You

[AO3]

“This is funny I never planned this become multi chapter. Was meant only as chaptered oneshot (time to make a masterlist, huh) what can I promise you: this series will always have the banner where only name of specific chapters changes”

Words: 2479

Warning(s): rated this as mature on AO3 just cause it might turn whatever direction in future (I say might, not will 😳), already has swearing in and might get more (depends on situation I put characters in, we don’t swear without reason, right?), maybe suggestive innuendos

Perhaps you could have expected journeying with your ever so flirty friend would turn into one wild ride. Especially if the destination was Stormterror’s lair. As Dvalin was freed and the area is now accessible. The place piqued the curiosity of many. When Frostblade approached you if you were fancy to tag along. You were quite surprised as he didn’t seem like somebody who deliberately enjoys adventuring.

However after sharing his reason you quickly understood. Fatui started being active, the ones within city walls were seen in small groups. Debating about the honorary knight, no how people of Mondstadt were able to drive Stormterror away. They were scheming something, that’s for sure.

Maybe it hurt their imaginary pride or perhaps they had their own plans. Whatever it is, Kaeya wanted to be one step ahead. Seeing what was behind the wind barrier for so long was a good start. And who knows. Maybe he will be able to screw over Fatui plans.

Well that’s it if the area was not overly complicated. The ruins you had to explore first in order to get further into the lair were quite complicated. But the problem was you accidentally activated a trap and now each of you were standing at different sides of the bars which nearly skewered you.

Staring with wide eyes at the bars which were just a few inches away from your face. One step more and you would be goner. Gulping loudly. “Too close to my comfort.”

“Oh? And if it were me?” Letting out a sigh and shaking your head in disapproval. “Then I’d reconsider if giving you frostbite would be punishment enough. Anyway I’ll backtrack and try to find another way.”

---

More than you finding another way, the another way has found you. During your exploration you came across a ruin guard. Its eye light up in dangerous demeanor. If one thing could go wrong then it was probably meeting up with this walking hunk of steel. Corridors were too narrow for fighting.

You decided to run away from it, hoping it will either lose sight of you or get stuck somewhere. You had no idea where the hell you were running. But managed to end up in a dead end. However you noticed the wall was in a bad shape, feeling wind blowing between the bricks.

Charging elemental energy in your sword and hurling it forward, creating a hole. Big enough for you to get out. Finally getting out and breathing fresh air, your hair were ruffled by the blowing wind. Such a nice change after all that time spent in ruins where it smelled like- well mold and dust.

The noise of falling debris behind brought you back to reality. The ruin guard was making its way out. Following the intruder no matter what. Such a persistent thing. But at least now you can fight. Air got extremely cold as you summoned several cryo blades and dashed towards the machine. It tried to hit you but it’s too huge and slow to land a hit on you. Rolling to the side or jumping a bit back to avoid any kind of danger. No matter how much it tried, you were faster. Slashing here and there. Your attacks might not do much but there's way too many of them. Even the sturdy material those things are made off will slowly fall apart. Leaving the more vulnerable parts exposed. Nothing can work in such cold temperature as you were attacking it with.

Cutting one of its arms off. As it fell down, dust rose up. How heavy are those things? You better never find out. Sliding between its legs, leaving a thin slippery surface behind you, hoping it will slip and fall down. However the ice crushed under its weight. Well it was a good try?

Noticing how it turned around and kneeled. You had seen this once. Dashing behind a pillar and praying it will withstand the rockets. When you were sure no more explosives were coming your way. Jumping out of the hiding spot and seeing the Captain of Cavalry was having its attention. When did he get there?

You had exploited this situation and aimed one of the cryo blades at its weak spot on back which caused it to flinch. Kaeya didn’t waste any moment and used his own elemental power to hit its front eye, causing it to shut down. The damage caused by the both of you was enough for it to never initiate the auto recovery function. Leaving it in a half destroyed state forever.

Keaya has looked towards you and clapped.

“I knew I can rely on you, partner.”

“Technically it was you who was the game changer. How did you find me anyway? The exit is near by?” Chuckle coming out of the male’s chest. He walked closer to you, lips curled up into his usual smug.

“Princess, I’m not deaf you know. I heard distant noise and thought it might be my cute friend needing help. But I guess you were having fun, sorry for breaking your toy.”

The sarcasm in his voice was more than obvious. Rising your hand up towards him, saying ‘high five’ which made him chuckle once more. He was quite worried when each of you stood at different sides of bars. He felt responsible for your well being although he knew you can take care of yourself. You had to do it for half a decade anyway. Yet, something inside of him was making him anxious.

As the two of you reunited it was time to slowly explore the unknown area. It was quite peaceful there but also empty. There probably used to grow trees and more stuff but now it was just a few twigs here and there. The lair felt like one big crater with several ruins shattered around with one bigger at the entrance. To probably keep invaders off. That’s it if they could get through the wind barrier. But it was gone now, so of course you would meet something here.

Hilichurls had several camps around the whole area. Making you wonder if they were living here ever since or just recently moved in. Also wild animals, which was even weirder as you knew animals are sensitive to elemental energy. And just until recently there was a huge concentration of anemo.

To your surprise or maybe not, you had encountered a few more ruin guards. However as you are two it was no huge issue to deal with them. The only issue was it started raining during one of the encounters. Deciding it was kind of pointless to hide as your clothes were already wet so why not explore a bit more.

The fourth encounter with a ruin guard was quite more challenging for you than the rest. It seemed different than the others, it was bigger and more sturdier and hit like a truck. You were rubbing your wrist. It seemed alright however your sword didn't look so well. It was more than visible how the steel was slightly curved as you had to use it to block one of its attacks.

Looking up at Kaeya who was examining the destroyed colossus. Having a hand on his chin, thinking of something.

"Hmm, I just realized this is our second time being just the two of us and it's again raining." Rising his head and giving you a playful wink.

You just chuckled at his remark. He was not wrong. Ever since you got back you two didn't see each other that often. Kaeya was sort of avoiding you or so it seemed like. Until you accidently ran into him one day. You were hungry and decided to dine at Good Hunter. Before he could disappear you spoke up. Teasing him to yet again chickening out which obviously made him look back at you. Sometimes he is so easy to challenge.

In the end you sorted out everything over a double honey sticky roast. Talking about stuff like nothing, like you weren’t separated or anything. Since then you kept seeing each other here and now. Be at the tavern or when you were passing by the knights. Dropping by, knocking at doors and just exchanging a few words before you ran off to do your tasks.

"Still. It's so strange. Why is there so many of those oversized toys? And what's more strange. How the hell did Aether pass by without coming across any of them?!"

You pouted, arms crossed on your chest. When you come back to Monds you will have to ask the blonde.

"I wouldn't be surprised if this was Abyss Order's makings." The bluenette answered and pointed towards something that looked like a small cave. "Let's head there and rest."

The cave was big enough to fit both of you in. However the issue was you were soaked and there was no way to make fire. Unless Kaeya will magically pull out of nowhere a few dry sticks. Luckily you had packed a blanket which surprised the iceman. Scoffing at him.

"What? I am an adventurer now, might not be a fully fledged one. But still I'm always ready!"

"Always ready, huh."

His remark made you blush, you did not expect it. Well, maybe you did but still you reacted this way. ‘Why must he be like this?!’ Coughing a little.

"What I mean is. I always carry with me this little fuzzy blanket. It was my first thing I bought when I got here. And not once it proved to be useful. Also! I got some canned food!" You chirped happily.

Ok, this surprised him even more. When he asked you to accompany him on a small venture. He did not expect you to bring an entire survival kit. The bag was not even that huge. How do women stuff so many things into such small bags?

"Let me guess. You got there packed your entire bedroom." He joked as he took one of the cans from you. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, instead giving him a spoon.

Kaeya checked what's on the menu. Some veggies and ground meat. Not the fanciest thing he ever ate but better than nothing. All that fighting made him quite hungry after all. He won’t admit it but he quite enjoyed this little adventure with you. It’s been so long since he could fight side by side with his friend. The way you swung your blade and used the cryo vision to obliterate enemies. Color him impressed, not once he wanted to just whistle.

When you had finished the very modest lunch it was still raining which meant you will be stuck there for a while. You stood up to pull the blanket over your friend and realized it’s not that big as you thought. Sitting next to him, your shoulders were brushing against each other. For some reason you could feel heat in your cheeks. Rather looking outside, hoping he didn’t see it. Otherwise you can ready up for another wave of teasing.

"It's sad none of us have pyro, we could dry our clothes." You whined while trying not to shake.

Suddenly feeling Kaeya's breath at you ear. "Dear, that would require you to be naked for a certain period of time." He whispered in a teasy manner. You didn’t look at him but you are one hundred percent sure his smile is dangerously wide.

The way you groaned, ears turned red despite all of your efforts. Kaeya was more than satisfied. It took him awhile to find out how to make you feel embarrassed. Now he just found deliberate joy in teasing you all the time.

"You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that?" You murmured with an annoyed voice. Eyes still locked at cave entrance. How long will it take until it stops raining?

The sound of rain drops landing on the ground was quite relaxing. It didn't take long until you felt really sleepy. Trying to keep eyes open was close to impossible.

"Kaeya?"

The bluenette hummed in response.

"Talk to me or I will fall asleep..."

He did not want to admit it but he was already half asleep. The only thing which kept him awake was your occasional shaking. Silently chuckling as he turned head to you.

"I've got a better idea. Do you remember that one night when you were sleeping over and couldn't sleep. When I found you looking out of the window in the middle of night?"

Shaking your head, not remembering anything at all. Wondering how he can remember something like that.

"Well, we ended up watching out of the window together. Sitting on a chair while you were leaning on me. We fell asleep and the maids woke us up in the morning. Questioning why we weren't in beds."

Really? Did they? Why can't you recall anything like that? Giving Kaeya a confused look.

"How could we fit one chair-" As you finished it, the answer flashed through your mind. Finally you get what he meant with lean on him.

Not even giving it a second thought you shifted in front of him, hesitantly pressing your back on his chest. If you did this as kids then it clearly felt different than now. You were not sure if the warm feeling was caused by your flushed cheeks. Feeling like your entire body is burning right now. Or if it was because of how Kaeya put the blanket over the two of you and wrapped one hand around your waist.

"Don't mind that hand. I just want to have you secure.~"

"Secure for what?"

"In case you slide to side while sleeping, silly."

"I'm not going to sleep. It's embarrassing and worst is you are having fun!" You protested, pouting once again.

He could not deny the fact he found this whole situation amusing. Not even feeling guilty for his little lie. You are such a cutie when you are pouting like that

"The real embarrassing thing would be you shifting around and waking up my-"

"What the- Kaeya!" You groaned and wanted to get up but couldn't as his hand kept you in place.

"Shh, I'm just joking, Dearie. Relax. Let's just keep each other warm." Pulling you closer, feeling how your muscles relaxed a bit.

There was silence between you for a while. You were wishing he can't hear your heart beating so loud for no reason. The butterfly feeling in your stomach was lingering there for the whole time.

"You better not run your mouth about this to anyone, or..." You whispered silently, not even bothering to finish the sentence.

"Or? What's wrong about two friends being close, hmm?"

"I dunno." Admitting while completely relaxing against him and closing eyes. You are too tired to bother about anything.

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#genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #i wonder where this will take us #f!reader #genshin diluc #genshin kaeya #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact kaeya #diluc #kaeya #fiery series #what could go wrong?

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10000badframes · 6 years

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Why I Left Music

To understand why I left music, you've got to start with why and how I got into music.

When I was little, I was deaf, and when my hearing was restored, it came back in stages. I would listen, rapt, to a My First Symphony tape as the sections of the orchestra were introduced one by one, and as time went on, each became more intelligible. High pitches were easier to discern, so the flute stood out like a beam of light in the darkness. What's more, I was surrounded by music on a daily basis. My dad is a wildly creative and intuitive musician, proficient on a number of instruments, my mother and brother sang beautifully, and my sister had been singing and playing violin from an early age. We sang as a family at home and at church, and I was in choir and handbell choir from my earliest memories on. I don't remember not being able to read music. I started with piano, and moved to flute once my arms were long enough for the starter headjoint, in about fourth grade. My first teacher was the principle flute player with the Rochester Philharmonic, and when I moved to Iowa, I learned from the principal of the Des Moines Symphony. Both teachers made the smart move of throwing repertoire at me which was much more advanced than the usual stuff at my level, and because I didn't know it was supposed to be hard, I rocketed forward at a feverish pace. I continued with choir and handbell choir, and as my skill became more evident, I added youth orchestra, honor band, and pit orchestras, and that was just after school. During school I was in marching band, concert band, jazz band, and orchestra. I attended elite months-long summer camps for the nation's best young musicians. I competed regularly, and at one point was considered to be one of the top three musicians in my age bracket in the country. My first tattoo was of a treble clef. As a shy child in a talented family, I was pleased to have found my talent, the thing I didn't have to work very hard at in order to achieve great things. I rested my self-confidence on that talent, and when opportunities came up to show it off, I didn't turn them down. Nobody forced me to do any of the activities above; it came with a built-in social life and plentiful affirmation, so I almost never paused to think about whether or not this was something I actually wanted to do forever. It was simply assumed, as inherent a fact of life as the sunrise. I probably should have known it wasn't for me when practicing was boring; almost unbearable. I heard about people enjoying practicing, and assumed that they were lying in order to look good. I would avoid it however I could, and did pretty well regardless. I loved ensemble work because I loved music, but listening to myself for hours on end, however good the result was, was miserable. At the worst of times, I assumed that my hatred of practicing meant that I was lazy and undisciplined, inherently a bad artist, and probably a bad person. I heard talk about 'flow state,' and how it made the time fly. Having never achieved it, I assumed that it was a lie. Since I'd specialized to such a high degree, music was the only course to follow in college. The culture surrounding classical music then became much more evident, divorced as it was from my little Midwestern fishbowl. I learned about the way I was expected to present my gender, and was pressured by my teacher to grow out my pixie cut out of concern that I wasn't feminine enough to be a flute player. I learned about the ingrained gender divide, and how child-bearing was considered the knell of doom for female musicians. I learned that I was one of thousands of young musicians all competing for the same handful of jobs, which could wait for perfection to walk through the door as the market was so flooded. I learned that blind auditions don't mask your gender if the judges can hear you inhale. Most depressing of all, I learned that my chances of getting an orchestral job - the only thing which I enjoyed about being a musician - were so small as to be statistically impossible. I would have to join the military, become a teacher, or quit. At first, I quit. Two years into my bachelor's degree at a prestigious school, I quit, leaving my family and community reeling in shock. They had all invested faith, time, and money in my dream of being a musician, and I had thrown it away. To them, it appeared to be an impulsive, flaky, and selfish decision to make, flying in the face of every opportunity I'd been given. To me, I was trying to stand up for myself. I was lost, depressed, occasionally suicidal, and suffering from ulcers. I was still battling the notion that I was lazy and undisciplined, and now everyone I knew saw me in the worst possible light. I leaned into my new failure status, and piled bad choices on top of bad choices, embarrassing myself and my family. Years later, when I had leveled out somewhat and come to terms with the fact that I needed a bachelor's degree in order to be taken seriously on the job market, I wanted to do anything except for music. I enrolled in a community college and took math, science, and art courses, the latter having been a hobby of mine since I was young. I'd been drawing cartoons to put in my boyfriend's lunch for years, and in my drawing and painting classes, I honed the skill. When the time came to transfer my credits to the state college, the majority of my post-high school credits were in art and music. I applied at the state's art school, and was turned down. My financial reality became clear; in order to get a bachelor's degree in under three years, the majority of my transferrable credits were in music, so to music I had to return. I was accepted at the music school, and went back to rehearsals, practicing, and competing. It was much the same as the last time, in ways both good and bad, with the notable difference that this time I was resigned to the impossibility of it all. Whenever people said they'd had a satisfying practice session, I lied through my teeth and said I had, too. I incurred my debt, got my degree, and left with zero intention of pursuing a master's, surfing a new wave of disappointment from teachers and my community alike. The shambling zombie of my career ambitions followed me when I moved to New York City due to my husband's job, and I paid hundreds of dollars for lessons from eminent professionals at Juilliard and the New York Philharmonic. I took masterclasses, invested in new equipment, and auditioned. Nothing substantial ever came from it, as the statistics had foretold. I watched my classmates move into the military and teaching, with a lucky few going on to teach at the collegiate level, and even fewer achieving a performance career. I practiced, and hated every minute. Then, at my breaking point, I watched Monsters University. It's such a weird way to switch gears. People took a number of things away from their experience of MU; mine was the message that you can be amazing at something and still never hope to make a career of it. What you have to do when you've faced up to that truth is to find what you loved about the career you thought you were going to have and apply it somewhere else. Adapt. Something better might be waiting. I thought about how live music is being replaced with synthesized music and orchestras are dying across the nation. I looked at my dusty art portfolio. There were dozens of animators in that credits sequence after MU, I thought. There are two flutes in every orchestra. The next day, I sat down with my husband at lunch, and said, "let's move to California. I want to be a 3D animator." This was surprising coming from me; I'd only ever reluctantly taken to digital media, and barely knew how to use Photoshop. My reasoning was that if I wanted to be at the forefront of a growing industry, and if I re-trained in animation, I would have a better chance of getting work than I had now (there was nowhere to go but up in that respect.) There would be more opportunities for both of us out in California, where his company had a major office, and where several prominent studios were housed. He agreed immediately, and got me The Illusion of Life for my 29th birthday. Maya is a hell of a tough program at the best of times. It has a mind of its own, and even when everything is running smoothly, you have to contend with such gauntlets as the graph editor (a mathematical representation of motion over time.) You know what you want the characters to do, but you have to use this thorny, labyrinthine program to do it, and I've cried many tears of frustration over it. You are responsible for every single movement, every blink, every shrug, every breath. It is dizzyingly easy to mess up, and impossibly, sixteen-dimensionally complicated. And yet. Flow state, that thing I thought was a lie? I found it. It was about six months in, while I was still wrestling with the program. I was grappling with the reality that I'm not naturally good at this, that my talent lies elsewhere, and any progress I make in this quarter will come from elbow grease alone. I was making adjustments to a scene, and realized that four hours had passed unnoticed. I felt energized and satisfied. I craved more. At thirty, I found out that I wasn't lazy and undisciplined, that I didn't hate hard work, that I wasn't a terrible person - I was just very, very good at something I didn't truly want to do. Now, I struggle and weep and sink weeks and months into seconds worth of footage, and I love it. Wild horses couldn't keep me away.

#career change #classical music #flow state #3d animation #personal

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allisonilluminated · 7 years

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How To Pace a Fanfiction

Hey All,

We're going to talk about pacing today, but let me start by telling a story.

When I published my first fic, Serena's Sister (Pokemon, T), I had no idea where I was going to go with it. All I knew was that I had a cool idea and enough inspiration to turn it into words. In my entire life, the longest thing I had ever written was seven thousand words, so I was understandably amazed when I wrote three thousand words in two day. At the time, that seemed like a ton, and I was nowhere close to slowing down.

By the time summer rolled around, I had finished the first part of my story, and I was ecstatic. 60k was more words than I had written in my entire life, and I still wasn't close to done! Happy, I set my story aside for the summer, ready to come back in the fall and finish it for good. I had the plot, I had my characters, and there was nothing that could stop me.

There was just one thing I hadn't accounted for – I had become a much better writer than I was when I had started.

I came back, and suddenly my chapters were exploding in length. I wrote five thousand words one week, then six the next. The scope of my project ballooned too – it wasn't just a drama between sisters anymore. Now, it was about Erin, Paul, and Korrina, but also Serena, Ash, and their group, but also Alain, Mairin, and the Ninja Village, but also friend drama with Elle, Shauna, Tierno, and Trevor, but also high stakes political drama about Diantha, Cynthia, and Malva, but also villainy with Team Rocket and Lysandre, all while following an overarching plot spanning continents and time lines and dimensions. Plus, since the fandom was Pokemon, every single one of those characters had a team of at least two Pokemon, all of whom had their own personalities and movesets to keep track of.

Is it any wonder I hit a dead end?

I'm really proud of Serena's Sister – as my first and so far longest story, it holds a special place in my heart. It has tons of problems – plot holes galore, underdeveloped characters, major fanservice, a protag who borders on Mary Suedom, etc. However, I think the biggest problem with the story is the pacing. To understand what I mean, here's my forty chapter story broken down into ten chapter chunks:

Chapter 1-10 (Part One):

Word Count – 26,206 words

Main Perspectives – Two (Erin, Serena)

Protagonists – Six (Erin, Serena, Bonnie, Clemont, Paul, Ash, Elle)

Time Frame – A Few Weeks

Chapter 11-20 (Part One):

Word Count – 32,110 words (+ 5,904 words)

Main Perspectives – Four (+2 Team Rocket, Clemont)

Protagonists – Seven (+1 Korrina)

Time Frame – A Few Weeks

Chapter 21-30 (Part Two):

Word Count – 58,665 words (+ 26,555 words)

Main Perspectives – Eleven (+7 Ash, Elle, Mairin, Alain, Diantha, Zygarde, Froaky)

Protagonists – Twelve (+5 Mairin, Alain, Diantha, Zygarde, Cynthia)

Time Frame – One Week

Chapter 31-40 (Part Two):

Word Count – 59,221 words (+ 556 words)

Main Perspectives - Fourteen (+3 Korrina, Bonnie, Sawyer)

Protagonists – Seventeen (+5 Shauna, Trevor, Tierno, Yuki, Sawyer)

Time Frame – Five Days and One Timeskip

The problems here should be pretty obvious. From part one to part four, there was a 126% increase in word count, three times as many protagonists, and 3.5 times as many perspectives – all in a much shorter in story timeframe.

More importantly, people tend to look for average word count per chapter when they look for stories. Serena's Sister looks like it has a 4k average word count, but in reality part one has a 2k average and part two has a 6k average. Once people hit the longer chapters, a lot stop reading, which is the biggest problem with bad pacing.

Okay, so that's the problem with bad pacing. How do I fix my pacing in future stories?

Here are some strategies to work on your pacing. None of these are necessary, and it's up to you to figure out what works for you.

Standardize your chapters. This is the best way to fix your pacing issues – make all of your chapters roughly the same length. Your goal shouldn't be to produce as much as possible, but rather to make the most cohesive product you can. Major variation with chapter length is jarring, and it can take a reader out of the story. Some common standard chapter lengths people use are 2k-3k, 5k-7k, and 10k to 12k. It's super important that you understand how much you feel comfortable writing, so you don't overshoot how many words you can realistically put into a regular chapter with your goal. This doesn't necessarily include first chapters, which can be shorter, or finales, which can be longer.

Standardize your sections. A lot of people tend to split their stories into parts – both of my main projects are. One problem Serena's Sister had was part one only had twenty chapters, while part two was just as long when I hit a wall yet I wasn't close to where I thought the part should end. Try to think about your parts like separate narrative arcs making one longer arc. If you can make each part about the same number of chapters, your story will feel a lot smoother for it. It's like building a rhythm – breaking it can throw your readers off.

Limit Your Scope. It's totally cool to want to rewrite an entire show. Chances are, you're not going to have the endurance to make it all the way through.

Case and point – Ashes of the Past by Saphroneth (Pokemon, T). It's a time travel fic encompassing every character and event from the first thirteen seasons of the anime in a comprehensive reworking of history. He's almost done, too – his plot revolves around events from the fourth generation (Pokemon has seven) and that's what he's currently writing. There's a reason his story is the most popular in the fandom – it's fantastic.

You know what else? He's been writing it since 2011. There are 250 chapters and 1.5m words. There are more rotating perspective and plot points than I can keep track of. On top of all of that, Saphroneth writes really sparse prose, so imagine how long it would be if he had lots of extra detail and description.

Know your limits. What's the story you want to tell, and what do you actually need to tell it? If the background political intrigue arc can be summed up in a single line of dialogue from a secondary character, does it really deserve 10k words of your time? Tell your story, not every story, because that's what the readers want to see. This includes limiting your perspective characters, sending unnecessary subplots to the background, and above all understanding what your focus is.

In short, you don't have to turn your idea into an ASOIAF scale project just because it's a possibility. Control your muse.

Time management. You know that moment you're reading a fic and thinking, “This is taking them a really long time?” Guess what – sometimes that's because it is, in fact, taking a really long time to describe a really short period of time. Try to avoid any jarring or unannounced time skips, or spending too much time on one short time frame. This is a lot more flexible, so this point is mostly to the extremes. It's just as important to think about how much time is elapsing in the story as outside.

Your writing style sets the tempo. Every story has different pacing. Recognize what speed you want to be going at in the first place! Are you writing a fast paced thriller or a slow burn romance? The meatier your prose, the faster your story will feel. Keeping your style steady is something a lot of people don't have to think about, but knowing what your goal for pace is is super important.

Outlining. I don’t personally outline, but it can be a wonderful tool for setting out your plot and keeping to a set road map. Having a good outline can often be enough to alleviate pacing issues, although checking your scope is still incredibly important.

Essentially, the key to good pacing is consistency. Good pacing shouldn't be noticeable, because pacing is what keeps your reader in the story. It gives a story a sense of cohesiveness that's essential for an immersive reading experience. How do you pace your stories? What's your experience with bad pacing?

Thank you all, Allie

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#writing #fanfiction #fanfic #pacing

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actutrends · 5 years

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Crossing basketball borders with Mike Conley and Donovan Mitchell

What you are about to read is overwrought with sympathy, and it shouldn’t be — Mike Conley, Jr., after all, was once the highest-paid basketball player in all the land.

And yet, when Mike Conley, Jr. returned to Memphis earlier this season, I cried. I had not expected to cry, and I’m sure I wasn’t alone in this reaction. I could write more on how I’ve become uncontrollably sentimental as I’ve grown older — and maybe one day I will—but first, a tale that has very little to do with my emotions or even the point guard whose name I’ve mentioned as a trigger for sentiment.

The Utah Jazz had not been to the playoffs in four seasons. In regard to weather patterns, such an absence might be termed a drought. The franchise had come close the previous season, finishing ninth in the Western Conference standings, but, ultimately, they had proven themselves too young and too inconsistent to even be bullied by contenders after the regular season’s end. The 2016-17 season, however, was different. The team notched 51 wins and claimed the fifth seed. Not quite a contender they were at least present.

They were led by Gordon Hayward, a star whose ducktail riff of a haircut, college pedigree, and pale complexion aligned him ever so kindly (or cruelly) with the state’s wholesome heritage. Utah fans could easily transcribe him as the heir to Stockton and Malone. In the post, the team featured Rudy Gobert, a human being stretched to his limits. He was at the time already one of the game’s preeminent defensive forces. Rodney Hood and Derrick Favors were young and improving. Joe Johnson, George Hill, and Boris Diaw all brought proven pedigrees and playoff moxie. And Joe Ingles, a man old before his time, could shoot when called upon.

This Lego set of basketball acumen would win its first-round series against Blake Griffin and Chris Paul’s Los Angeles Clippers in seven games. So what if Griffin didn’t finish the series? This was still an up-and-coming team leapfrogging a perpetual contender in the hierarchy of all things that mattered. This was something to be excited about in the Beehive State, in that city beside the world’s eighth-largest saltwater lake.

The Jazz would go into the second round with high hopes for a miracle — they were, after all, matched up against a Golden State Warriors squad that included, for the first time, Kevin Durant in addition to the elegant Splash Brothers and mercurial forward Draymond Green. The Jazz would be swept, but the future remained bright so long as the young nucleus stayed together in the state that produced Roseanne Barr and the Sundance Film Festival.

The Jazz, however, could not keep the band together. George Hill wandered ever westward, landing in Sacramento for a time. Hayward, meanwhile, departed Salt Lake City, retreating back into the east — beyond his home state of Indiana and all the way to Boston — in order to join forces with his former college coach and a flat earth conspiracy theorist.

Utah’s young roster still included the likes of Gobert, Hood, Ingles, and Dante Exum. The cupboard was not left bare by any means, but the team had lost arguably its two best perimeter players. And Hayward, who had averaged nearly 25 points per game in that playoff series against Golden State, would be especially difficult to replace. (Hill only played one game in that series.) But Utah held an ace up its sleeve.

Precisely twenty days prior to Hayward’s departure, the organization drafted Donovan Mitchell out of Louisville, causing Brigham Young to yell once more for posterity’s sake, “This is the place!”

About Mitchell’s first two seasons in the league, Trevor Magnotti wrote the following:

He’s exceeded expectations in nearly every category in his first two years in the league. His first year was all smiles and rainbows, as Mitchell went from the 13th pick in the 2017 NBA Draft to scoring 20.5 points per game and leading a 48-win team in scoring. The presence of Ben Simmons kept him from winning Rookie of the Year, but only barely. In his second season, Mitchell struggled early on with efficiency, but post-All-Star break, he averaged 26.7 points, 4.5 rebounds, and 4.6 assists per game while posting a 58.1 true shooting percentage. In terms of future star indicators as a shooting guard, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better resume than Mitchell’s.

The body electric that is Donovan Mitchell personifies the Western myth. He stands just an inch over 6-feet, but he boasts a near 7-foot wingspan. Like a young cowboy lighting out for the territories, he fills space, and every offensive maneuver is a passage lifted from early on in Cormac McCarthy’s Border Trilogy:

They rode out along the fenceline and across the open pastureland . . . . like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing. (30)

In just his third season and still only 23, Mitchell’s career is still something of a lark, except that his competitiveness is hellbent on imbuing the world with his power. In other words, this is all serious fun as long as he remains undaunted and unabridged. He is already better than Gordon Hayward and that would make for a decent story, except life is never so easy and abrupt. The length of a career begs for longer arcs.

Photo by Jesse D. Garrabrant/NBAE via Getty Images

So far this has all had very little to do with Mike Conley, Jr. and everything to do with Mitchell’s outrunning Utah’s pastoral ghosts, subverting past legends and would-be heroes with the violent repertoire of a young offensive genius.

If Conley had been the focus, then this all would have had very little to do with Donovan Mitchell. That distance collapsed, however, on July 6, 2019. On that day, the Memphis Grizzlies traded the lone surviving member of its Grit ‘n Grind era to the Utah Jazz, and seeing as how the Grizzly point guard is 32, it is rather easy, in a nonsensical way, to paint the two players as being each other’s inverses.

Moreover, the bounce in Mitchell’s game is a testimony to playing unburdened — weightless even — although time and unmet expectations can eventually warp such perceptions for any athlete. Conley was not always the figurehead of a failed contender, and yet that’s how the basketball public has almost always known him. In all his star pairings, he has always been the less-heralded one at the start, and he has remained quick so as to stay one step ahead of despair.

He arrived on the national basketball landscape as part of a vaunted Ohio State recruiting class. The “Thad Five” included Othello Hunter, David Lighty, Daequan Cook, Greg Oden, and Conley. They were supposed to own college basketball, and they almost did. They lost in the national championship game to a Florida Gators team featuring Joakim Noah and Al Horford. Such runs are respectable, and basketball is full of teams at every level that dispersed too quickly. Oden, Conley, and Cook all entered the NBA draft following the loss to Florida. Oden and Conley would be picked first and fourth and sandwiched in between them were the likes of Kevin Durant and Al Horford. Oden’s career fell into ruin, and Conley became something of a survivor.

His longevity in a Memphis uniform along with his nice-guy charisma — his tragic persistence — have forever acted as tools for redeeming his teammates: Oden’s physical frailty, Zach Randolph’s immature behaviors, Tony Allen’s offensive limitations. As a salve for his team and his community, rightly or wrongly, Conley is often portrayed as the one who completes others. But fate has often fallen with too much force for a single point guard to bear.

He, too, has needed saving.

Conley spent his first twelve NBA seasons in Memphis. That means when he first suited up for the Grizzlies, George W. Bush was president and the word “hope” under Barack Obama’s likeness could be taken literally and without any derision or debate about what constitutes a progressive presidency. The Grizzlies reached the 2012-13 Western Conference Finals, but never went further. They traded Marc Gasol to the Toronto Raptors last February, leaving Conley alone to carry the load. By season’s end, with only a handful of games left on the schedule, Conley was a regular feature on the DNP list, wearing street clothes instead of a uniform.

There is a second protagonist in McCarthy’s Border Trilogy, and McCarthy puts him through hell. The character’s name is Billy Parham, and he will ultimately fail to save a wild wolf. He will fail to retrieve his family’s stolen horses. He will fail to return his brother’s body across the border from Mexico, and in The Crossing’s final scene, he weeps after failing to retrieve a stray dog that reminds him of the wolf he already lost. Conley is always smiling and nowhere near Parham’s nadir, but he is waiting on his first All-Star appearance.

Photo by Gary Dineen/NBAE via Getty Images

The year before Mitchell entered the league and outdueled Russell Westbrook in the playoffs, Conley carried the heaviest load of his career in terms of Win Shares (10.0) and played what is arguably the best season of his career. In his team’s 2016-17 first-round series against the San Antonio Spurs, he looked, at times, every bit as good as Kawhi Leonard. This was almost a year after he had signed that fat contract that, for a time, made him the game’s highest-paid player. And this was also after Grit ‘n Grind had already died many deaths. Conley was, if anything, not just a survivor but a resurrection artist, and that’s something Utah and Mitchell hope he’s still capable of doing.

Utah is currently the Western Conference’s sixth-best team. They came into the season hoping to contend with either Los Angeles franchise, the Denver Nuggets, and the Houston Rockets — and they still might.

So far, however, the offseason acquisitions of Mike Conley and Bogdan Bogdanovic have gifted Utah with only the 23rd best offense in the league. History in Utah begins with a tale about two Spanish missionaries so lost in the wilderness they had to eat their own horses to survive. A shoddy offense, featuring too many missed jump shots and perhaps too much isolation, can’t be that bad, but it also can’t be that good for traveling far into the playoffs.

If Conley fails to rediscover his shooting range, then there is at least something fitting about seeing him play out this portion of his career in those Nike City jerseys that consist of golden yellow and burnt crimson bands cascading over a wild canyon’s walls. Conley is, after all, much closer to the sunset than the sunrise.

He has played in over 800 NBA games. His hamstrings are tight. He can’t take naps; he has to chase the kids around when he’s not playing basketball. He’s not washed, but he can’t stay up as late as he once did. And that would all be okay and normal except playing in the NBA requires staying up late.

Mitchell is a younger man than Conley. He is an explosive scorer and exactly the type of player people dreamed of pairing with Conley back in Memphis. What a cruel blow from the basketball gods it is to have delivered Conley and Mitchell to one another at the precise moment in Conley’s career when his game has begun to leave him. Then again, there’s still enough game left in Conley to conjure hope in the wilderness, to permit letting them play out this string to some end that is fitting of their character.

No one wants to speak ill of Mike Conley. No one wants to speak ill of a man who is so liked and respected. But there is a time in an individual’s wanderings when telling the tale becomes truer than living it, and that is also the moment when one passes from a realm of substance into a realm of belief and despair. In the closing passages of McCarthy’s Cities of the Plain, which is his Border Trilogy’s last installment, Billy Parham “and the children would sit at the kitchen table and he’d tell them about horses and cattle and the old days” (290).

I did not cry when Memphis traveled to Utah on December 7, 2019. The Jazz won, and Mitchell scored 22 points. But the man who is currently in the best position to prevent Mitchell’s career from echoing his own did not play. Such silences in a Western can be badass, but they are also where the tough get lonely.

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