#I mean finishing it would be ideal but like I’d take a rough draft | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bettsfic · 3 years

Text

february pinned: the real & the ideal

in this month’s edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and consultation availability, i have short story recommendations for you and an essay on the nature of reality in fiction!

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

in other news, i finished two fics this month:

digging for orchids (hualian, 43k, explicit, fake marriage au)

let ruin end here (hualian, 8k, mature, neighbors au)

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

oof,

what a month. january is already a rough time. throwing in a pandemic, a coup, and an economic revolution spearheaded by reddit just seems unfair. as for me personally, the spring semester came at me fast and even though it’s only week 2, i am already buried in grading. which i realize is my fault, considering i’m the one who assigned homework.

so after hearing your feedback, i thought i’d make this newsletter even more writing-related by writing more about writing. this month i’ll start off by talking about the nature of reality in fiction in a segment i call “been thinkin a lot about.” more on that below.

new resource

i’ve compiled a folder of PDFs of the short stories i teach most often, which is to say, the stories i like enough to re-read every semester. most of them are literary fiction but a few veer into fantasy, sci fi, and horror.

i know before the MFA, i didn’t really know what a short story was. like i knew, abstractly, the concept of a short story (it is as it sounds), but i could only list a couple i’d ever read as an adult, and i hadn’t read anything that had been published in the last decade. i remember wondering why i was even being asked to care about short stories. who writes short stories? who reads them? apparently, a lot of people. short storyists are a lot like fanwriters in that they make no money and when you talk about your writing in public, people give you that “why would anyone waste their time with that?” look.

so here’s why i was asked to care about short stories: a good short story gives you the entirety of a world in a very condensed space. moreover, it can sometimes leave you as satisfied as a novel in a fraction of the reading time. all the stories i’ve compiled here are ones that stuck with me, that i find myself recommending over and over to writers who want a good example of developing character, or weird narration, or establishing stakes.

if you’re a writer considering publication or an MFA in creative writing, i highly recommend familiarizing yourself with short stories, if for no other reason than to get the feel for them so you can write some of your own. if you can get a few short story publications under your belt, it’ll be easier to open doors when you’re ready to query agents for a novel. also, short stories make a great writing sample for grad programs, workshops, fellowships, residencies, and grant funding.

if you want to check out more short stories but have no idea where to start, the 2020 best american short stories just dropped in november, or if you want a cheaper one, used copies of 2019 and earlier are available on thriftbooks. if you want an overview of the history of the (american) short story, there’s also the best american short stories of the century. fair warning, though, while it’s more diverse than expected, it’s still a bit heavy on dead-white-dude writing.

content warning: the stories in the above-linked folder may depict instances of sexual assault, suicide, and/or abuse. i have not labeled them individually with warnings but i hope to soon, as well as provide a catalog with summaries.

i’m also still working on my essay and novel recs. more to come on that hopefully next month.

writing-related posts

how i quit my banking job to do a creative writing MFA

how i learned to read faster/stop subvocalizing

how to write when you have no time or energy to write

my experience writing fic in small/dead fandoms (aka fics that will probably not get any traffic)

how to describe facial expressions

how to ask for help from your professors

how to navigate tenses during flashbacks

how to separate yourself from your work

how (and why you might want to) write a shitty first draft

why you should consider making the climax the inciting incident

for a complete list of my writing-related posts, check out this masterdoc (which i still need to update it with the past few months’ posts).

stuff i’m into rn

i’m about halfway through the rhetoric of fiction by wayne c. booth which has more or less become my narrative bible. it’s a little dated (1961) but it tackles banal writing adages that are somehow still believed, like “show don’t tell” and whatnot, and breaks them down with amazing insight, clarity, and research. it’s a bit of a dense text so i’m only reading a few pages a day, i think the first time i’ve ever let myself read something so intentionally slowly. now i’m kind of obsessed with doing things slowly. reading slowly, writing slowly, cooking slowly. i even drive slowly, because it’s so rare to go anywhere at all, and i want to enjoy it. also, it’s very snowy where i am. also also, the battery died in my car this month and i really have to make it a point to drive more often.

february availability

i have 2 openings for initial writing consultations in february! if you’re interested, please fill out this google form.

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

been thinkin a lot about

compulsory reality in fiction. many of us have probably received feedback along the lines of, or thought to ourselves as we read, “that’s not realistic.” many of us believe, consciously or not, that fiction that is more “realistic” is inherently better than fiction that is less “realistic.” for some of us, real means a saturation of details, the clear depiction of the surfaces of things. reality is found in the rendering thereof; if you can “see” it, it’s real. for others of us, it might be the development of complex characters and their growth across a narrative. and for yet others, reality is subtlety, or misery, or the idea of “slice of life,” a term i don’t think means anything, because aren’t all stories a slice of a character’s life? what would a story that’s not a slice of life look like? you’d either have to take away the “slice” part and render a whole life, which is impossible, or you’d have to take away the “life” part and create a dead story, which may be possible, but why would you want to? even if you wrote a story about a rock, the rock would be brought to life by virtue of being written about.

anyway. i think the word “real” is a shitty word for the same reason “slice of life” is a shitty phrase: everything is real and therefore nothing cannot be real. slices of life are all we know because we are alive and cannot truly perceive not being alive; reality is also all we know, and any depictions beyond reality are thus made real because they have been depicted.

so the “goal” for fiction to be “realistic” seems to me to be a false one. all fiction is real because it exists and no fiction can be truly real because it’s only a facsimile of reality. not to get all “this is not a pipe” but writing is just making squiggles, and we as a community of English-knowers agree that certain squiggles correspond to certain sounds, and certain sounds together make words which conjure meanings. and words put together into sentences into paragraphs conjure even more complicated meanings. and when those paragraphs are woven into narrative we create yet more and more complicated meaning.

every time you write anything — a text message, an email, a tweet, a fanfic — you are taking the infinite abstraction of your own cognition, narrowing it into a single concept, and representing that concept with patterns in the form of sounds represented by letters and given meaning with words, so that the infinite abstraction of your own conscience can be fractionally witnessed by the infinite abstraction of someone else’s. and even though we can’t definitively prove for ourselves that any other thing possesses a consciousness, writing shows us the shape of someone else’s mind, and tells us we are not alone.

and yet we still expect writing to be “real.”

have you ever read a story where a character sneezed? like just, a description of a sneeze for the sake of it, with no purpose or function in the plot? if not, is it because our characters aren’t real enough to sneeze, or because the sneeze isn’t relevant to their plight? what would a written sneeze look like, and why would somebody want to write it? moreover, why would somebody want to read it? that leads me to wonder, do we depict reality in the service of narrative, or narrative in the service of reality? in other words, do we write to portray reality (sans sneezing), or do we depict reality to constrain our writing, the way one might request bumpers when bowling so as not to fall in the gutters?

i’ve never read an artful rendition of a character pissing or shitting, either, even when those things are related to a character’s plight and circumstance — stories involving long road trips, living in the woods, being kidnapped. the only exception i can think of is when those things are eroticized (we do not kinkshame here in this lkwrnl), the same way it’s rare to find detailed sex writing that isn’t for the purpose of reader arousal. are there just some things about the nature of being human that are too intimate, too complex, or too boring to write?

once i wrote a murder that takes place in a small fictional midwestern town in the 90s (for the ~aesthetic), and it went uninvestigated by said town’s police force. early readers repeatedly commented along the lines of, “that’s not realistic.” and i thought, no, if anything, the incompetence of police is too realistic for the heightened reality i’m trying to render. have you ever heard of a cop solving a murder that didn’t come with an obvious suspect or immediately found evidence? i haven’t. that doesn’t mean those cases don’t exist, but i definitely think they’re less likely than mass media has us believe, and the average small-town police force has far less motivation (and possibly training) to solve crimes than we think.

i started working on the above-mentioned novel in 2016, and my goal was to depict a reality that hovers above the surface of plausibility. in this novel, which is based on macbeth, a preteen girl, mercy, becomes jealous of the love her best friend elisa shows to her father. mercy decides to get her older and very unstable brother to kill him. naturally the deed goes awry, but it does occur, and the cleanup is far messier than anticipated.

is it plausible for a 12 year old girl to plot and execute the murder of her best friend’s father? no. is that what this book is about? yes. a book about a 12 year old girl who has a perfectly healthy relationship with her best friend and who has no feelings toward her bff’s father one way or another is probably far more “realistic,” but that’s not the book i’d want to read and certainly not the one i want to write. my goal of a heightened reality is what henry james calls the intensity of illusion, the thing that allows a reader, through the witness of one’s distilled cognition into language, to exit physical, knowable reality, and enter a new and unknown reality. and isn’t climbing to that higher place, that intensity of illusion, the purpose of fiction? if it’s not, what is?

the best feedback i got on the aforementioned murder scene was from one of my professors, who, of the perfect calm of all children involved, said, “they just shot a guy. at least one of them would be freaking out.”

he was totally right, but it opened up a lot of questions for me. by what standard did he reach that conclusion? was it something in the chapter itself, was it his personal understanding of the work of narrative, or was it the logical conclusion of the slim plausibility of the scenario? moreover, where did i come up with the idea that all of my preteen characters would commit a murder and proceed to be very chill about it? if an implausible scenario begs the expectation of emotional distress, would it be more compelling to buy into that expectation or deviate from it? is it even my obligation to be compelling when i can never have a cogent grasp of the personal tastes of my audience?

that brings me to what appears to be reality’s opposite: idealism, the state those of us who write fanfic are often trying to achieve. we’re working in an entire genre of ideals, of happily ever afters, of hurt that is always followed by comfort, of glossily rendered sex during which everyone orgasms and no one has to pee afterward. we fix broken texts and continue incomplete ones. sometimes, we want to make existing things better, deeper, more complicated. but all the time, we want to make a text more than what it is.

some see this process, this drive for the ideal, as antithetical to realism, and i think that’s part of the reason fanfiction and other idealistic genres (romance, etc.) get a bad name — the assumption that more real (which for some means more miserable) is better, and therefore its opposite, the ideal, is worse. for them, i have this quote from vladimir nabokov:

For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm.

the ideal, aesthetic bliss, the intensity of illusion. these are all phrases that boil down to the same thing: you the writer get to define the constraints of your own reality. you get to choose if your world even complies with the known laws of physics. and if it doesn’t, you get to choose which ones to break, and why to break them. you get to choose if your stories take place in a real house in a real town on a real day. if you wrote a story that takes place on september 11, 2001, would the events of that story be shaped by the events of that actual day, or are you writing a better world where 9/11 doesn’t happen? consider the consequences of both: why might you want to write reality? why might you want to write ideality? how do these things shape your identity and goals as a writer?

no matter where a work falls on the real-ideal spectrum, you have to accept that prose itself will only ever be a verisimilitude of reality and therefore an interpretation of it, one that might be interpreted differently by a reader. in writing and everything else, you can never have complete control over what others perceive. it’s like giving someone cash as a gift. they might buy themselves something nice with it, or they might spend it on groceries. the point is, eventually we all have to let go of our realities.

#lkwrnl #pinned

25 notes · View notes

littlegiantposts · 3 years

Text

pilot (~revised~)

Kageyama x f!reader

may contain spoilers!

description: In which Y/n is a new addition to Karasuno’s Girl’s Volleyball Club

warning: I’m sure there are some curse words in there.

A/N: yeah so there is another version of this on my blog, but that was really like a test run/rough draft, so here is the revised one that I like better and I added more scenes. ALSO, just ask if you wanna be added to like a taglist. I already stated this in the previous pilot post i will state it again to make sure.

This started off as just as a nice story to play in my head, but I really wanted to see if I could write it down. First things first, I am raised in California. Thus, I am quite incompetent in knowledge about Japan schooling. All my knowledge is really from me googling stuff and ofc, watching haikyuu. With that said, if I made a mistake on the take of Japan schooling, I do not mean to cause any offense. This is solely for entertainment purposes. With that said, I do not own the characters of haikyuu. However, there are some characters I made up with my own imagination. In addition, this is an “x reader” sort of story but I will be defining some of her characteristics so I am sorry if it hinders you from imagining its you. Finally, I am not that good at writing stories lol but im trying. I hope you enjoy.

I hate introductions. Y/n thought to herself as she sat back down in her seat after standing in front of the class, stating her name and her previous school. Her gaze shifted towards the window. The sun was out and shining and she had the perfect view of the gymnasium. Oh how she just wanted to get up from her uncomfy chair and leave the boring lecture and head towards the gym.

It was the first day of school for Y/n at Karasuno High. It’s not like she started in the middle of the semester, no, she was just about a month late into the school year. With her work ethic, she didn’t feel any pressure in order to catch up with everyone else. She knew she would get it done.

It’s not really her fault she came a bit late into the school year either. Her dad’s job required a small move, not that she was complaining. She didn’t really feel tied down at her old high school because: she wasn’t there for that long and she didn’t really make any friends, despite joining a sport.

It’s not that she didn’t want to make friends. It seems that her track record, or the lack thereof, from junior high with meeting new people has left an imprint on her.

Y/n looks down at the worksheet that was passed out in the beginning of class. The assignment was already completed due to Y/n’s eagerness to finish any homework that would take away time from her main passion.

Some people would say she was obsessed. Some would say dedicated. She simply sees volleyball as an opportunity. The class bell rings, signaling for lunch. Before she realizes it, she is walking towards the gym, in which she would meet the girl’s volleyball captain. As she is switching shoes, she can hear screaming from inside.

“-What did I tell you about touching my onigiri! You are going to pay for that!” “I really didn’t mean it this time, I promise! I didn’t know it was yours!” The voices were muffled, yet she was still able to hear the sincerity in both of the voices. Y/n was about to open the gymnasium’s door when the door swung open by a tall pink-haired girl. She was being chased by another tall girl with long blonde hair, but she was a bit shorter than the pink one. Before Y/n could process stepping aside because it seemed the pink-haired girl had no inclination in stopping, she was tumbled to the ground by the girl who she can only guess took an onigiri without permission. As well, the blonde clumsily tripped and fell on top of the two.

“You idiots! Will you stop it! We already told you, we got a guest coming today and we want to make a good first impression!” A stern voice called out inside the gym.

“Um, Moa-san, I think our wishes are already soiled.” Another voice chimed in from the gym.

“Wha- You dumbasses! Hey, are you okay?” A girl with dirty blonde hair came out from the entrance and offered a hand towards Y/n as the two perpetrators started to get up with apologies towards Y/n.

“Yeah, I am good.” Despite just being tackled to the ground, Y/n remains as neutral as ever.

“Aren’t you going to ask if we are okay?” The energetic, pink haired spoke.

“As if I care when you collide into our guest! You really need to be more cautious, Etsuko!” She barked. “I am Aihara Moa. Pleasure to meet you. You’re the first year that turned that application past the deadline, right?” she states more calmly than her previous statement.

“Pleasure is all mine. And, yes. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Y/n states with quite the unfazed face.

Does this kid crack a smile once in a while? Moa asked in her mind. She seems quite different than the other first years we have. Her thoughts continue.

“I am Oba Yuma and this is Morita Etsuko.” Yuma, who had the pretty, long blonde hair, spoke with a warm smile.

“Why did you introduce me?! I wanted to have a cool introduction!” Etsuko huffed with a small pout.

“Well, it’s not like you can recover your so-called ‘cool introduction’ from that full-body collision.” Yuma smoothly replied. Etsuko’s eyes widened and cheeks heated up as she couldn’t come up with a sly comeback to her logic.

“You guys are just lucky that Rinko isn’t here to scold you.” Moa warned the 2 first years. With the mention of the scary third year that wasn’t even the captain, yet she reigned supreme in the disciplinary department, they shivered at the thought of the punishment.

As Y/n stepped further into the big, bright court, she spotted that she could only assume was the captain as she looked so appalled at what happened.

“Hello, you must be Michimiya Yui.” Y/n knew she had to say something to pull the worried captain from her thoughts.

“Hi! Yes, that’s me! I am so sorry for those two. I would say they aren’t always like that, but I don’t want to lie to a potential teammate.” Yui spoke with an uneasy smile.

Yuma and Etsuko’s interests peaked when they heard “a potential teammate” come out of their captains' mouths. They were the only first years on the team, so the thought of another person in the same boat as them made them excited and wanted to join the conversation. The two first years gave each other a look and started to walk towards Yui, and hopefully their new friend. However, before they could even be in ear-shot, the pair got pulled away by Sasaki Chizuru, another third year.

“Oh, no. Don’t think you will be bombarding her with questions right off the bat.” She bluntly states.

“Oh, c’mon Sasaki, aren’t you curious about her? Like how did she get into volleyball? Or even, is she a beginner? Or maybe she is an absolute monster who dominates the court!” Etsuko proclaimed as her mind went too fast for her mouth to follow.

“As of right now, it’s not our business. All we can do, and are allowed to do”, emphasizing the word ‘allowed’, “is to watch from the sidelines and quietly eat our lunches.” Chizuru instructed the first years and pointed at the far corner of the gym.

Despite her own words, Chizuru couldn’t help but glance at Y/n and wonder the same things that the first year questioned. At face value, Y/n was quite the enigma. The 2 first years gave a pout, but headed towards their desired location.

“So, you came from Niiyama Girls' High? That’s a really good school for volleyball. What made you come to Karasuno?” Yui asked.

“It was the most ideal school in terms of my dad’s work location.” Y/n states plainly. She didn’t technically lie. It was an ideal school in terms to the proximity to her new apartment, but that was not the only reason. She saw videos of their interhigh-prelims last year and to be quite frank, Y/n was not entirely impressed with the state of their team. However, she knew that this meant there was room to grow for them. She knew very well that she could have gone to Shiratorizawa and joined their girls’ volleyball. Objectively, with her skill set, Shiratorizawa made sense. Nonetheless, Y/n didn’t know what compelled her to pick this one. She convinced herself it was because she is a sucker for rooting the underdog.

Does this kid show any emotion? Yui thought in her mind. It’s like nothing affects her.

“How long have you been playing volleyball?” Yui curiously asked.

“Since the 2nd grade.” Y/n quickly states. As much as she wasn’t showing it, she was just itching to show what she can do. The court was right there in front of her, after all.

“That’s impressive, alright, well if you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to see some serves and sets from you. After school, we can hold a three on three since we all aren’t really in the right clothes to play.”

“Sounds good.” To say Y/n was excited would be an understatement. As she removed her cream sweater, she could feel a set of eyes burning a hole on her back. She turned around to put her sweater down and realized that she was wrong. It wasn’t one pair of eyes, it was all of them, curious to see how good she really is. She could feel her heart pounding at the thought of holding everyone’s attention. She knew if she let her mind continue, the nerves would get to her and hinder her performance. She took deep breaths and started to quietly humm a song that was previously playing on her phone from her morning ride to school.

Yui passed a volleyball to her and ran to the other side of the net, and yelled, “Let’s see what ya got!”

Y/n carried herself behind the serve line, taking one deep breath to keep her hands from shaking. With that exhale, she opened her eyes and focused her sights on Yui. The captain wouldn’t admit it, but she could already feel herself sweating under the first year’s gaze.

She looks so intimidating. I’m not even on the court, yet I’m scared. Yuma viewed Y/n’s determined look. For Y/n, it was as if everything crumbled away and the only thing remained was the court. She starts her run up.

A jump serve?! Yuma, Etsuko, and Chizuru incredulously thought simultaneously with eyes basically bugging out of their head. They watch in amazement as she jumps with severe height and reeled her arm back. After that, all that could be sensed was a loud snap and then the ball smacked the ground next to the wide-eyed captain. The impact from the ball gave a small breeze through Yui’s short hair. The deafening silence that followed her serve filled the room in an instant. Those watching from the sidelines had to pick up their jaws from the floor.

“She’s a first year?! Are you sure?!” Etsuko broke the silence with her curiosity getting the best of her.

“Boke Etsuko! That was already clarified, don’t make her repeat herself!” Yuma scolded. While Yui read your capabilities on your application form, it was nothing like actually being on the receiving end in real time.

“That’s quite a serve she got in her arsenal.” A voice startled the three high school students, sitting on the sidelines. Etsuko and Yuma were the most startled, but Chizuru was quite used to her fellow classmate popping in every now and then.

“Seriously, Sudou. We have to put a bell on you or something because I don’t think my heart can take any of your surprise entrances.” Sudou Rinko only slyly chuckles at Etsuko remark. She looks over at Y/n and Yui on the court.

“Did you guys see the precision on that serve?” Rinko posed to the other three sitting on the ground, munching on their lunch.

“Well, not really, but it landed, like, near Michimiya, right?” Etsuko tries to come up with the answer that Rinko was looking for.

“It landed right next to her left foot. I think that pipsqueak is able to aim her serve.”

“What?! That’s insane.”

“Yeah, insane, but not impossible.”

“With her, maybe we can win more games!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Etsuko, a team is only good if everyone is giving their all.” Yuma reminds. “After all, there’s not only one person on the court, there’s six.”

“I heard she came from Niiyama Girls' High.” Sudou stated as she reverted her gaze back to her fellow teammates. They stared at her after she gave more information on the stranger in their gym.

“Why would she come to Karasuno then?” Yuma asked honestly. She knew that her team had strengths, but she also knew that other teams had strengths that overpowered them.

“How could you diss your own school like that?” Etsuko was almost angry at how her teammate was treating their school. She always was the one to take pride in everything she does.

“No, that’s a valid question. It makes sense that a player with her caliber would be well-suited in a powerhouse school.” Rinko supported Yuma in her question. All four look ahead and see that Y/n is beginning to set for Yui.

“Her precision and accuracy are so on point, it almost makes me sick.” Yuma commented on how your form for setting only held the necessities. Y/n stepped with purpose, and it showed as she passed a nice set for Yui, allowing her to have optimal choices in where she can place her spike.

The bell rang, ending lunch. Etsuko couldn’t wait for practice. She wanted to play against Y/n on the three on three. As for Yuma, she always wanted to learn how to set, but with her grand height, most people would assume she would be great as a spiker. Everyone started to pack their belongings up, heading to their respected classes. Y/n started to head towards class 1-5. Etsuko and Yuma caught up with Y/n, standing on the sides of her.

“Do you guys need something?” Y/n poses the question bluntly, yet she was quite startled. Y/n never expected to have people purposefully come up to her.

“Yeah, where did you learn to serve like that? It’s crazy!” Etsuko praises.

“Don’t you remember what Sasaki said? Don’t crowd her with questions, dumbass!” Yuma scolded, which Etsuko already had an irritated look on her face.

“It’s only one question! It’s not like she’s going to fall apart by it, and I just wanna know because I want be strong as well!” Etsuko’s vain on her forehead looked like it was having a field day.

“Yeah, like that would ever happen.” Yuma remarks.

“What did you just say?! I’m going to make you eat your words!”

“Ooo Frenchie has me shaking in my boots” Yuma taunts with the famous pink haired character from Grease. Etsuko started to jump at Yuma. Because Y/n was between them, she raised an arm.

“Please do not fight, you may cause a ruckus.” Y/n chimed in. The first years returned to their previous spots. Etsuko huffed a little and crossed her arms and slightly turned her head away.

“So, what class are you in? I am in class 1-4. I don’t think I have seen you in the hallways.” Yuma tries to maneuver the conversation to something other than volleyball. Y/n was honestly confused. It’s been awhile when someone her age, someone in her grade asked her a genuine question about herself. She almost felt it was some sort of joke.

“Um, I have class 1-5. And that’s because today’s my first day. Transferred a bit late.” Y/n had pauses in between her words, still not used to people going out of their way to talk to her.

“Woah! You must be pretty smart! That’s a college-prep class, right?” Yuma genuinely comments with a warm smile. Y/n nods, complements on stuff other than volleyball made Y/n short-circuit. The trio walks inside the main school building, the air condition changing the atmosphere. Y/n didn’t notice, but she received some stares from other students as the three walk through hallways. While Y/n remained oblivious, Yuma and Etsuko realized immediately and looked at each other with perplexed looks, not because of the stares that were directed towards you, but the fact that you seemed unfazed by it.

“Woah, who is that? She’s really pretty.” a student spoke to their friend.

“She’s new I’m pretty sure.” another commented.

“I heard she has a famous dad. She’s like loaded.”

“I wonder if she’s taken”

“I heard she came from California.”

“Someone told me she’s snooty.”

“Her looks certainly make up for it”

“Why is she hanging out with those weird volleyball girls?”

Etsuko physically jolted at that last comment, anyone can physically see the irritation on her face. She turned her head towards the voice of the last comment, wanting to immediately put them in their place. On the other hand, Y/n was too much in her head at the moment.

Shoot, I haven’t asked them a question. Well, that’s what I should do, right? That’s what friends do? Wait, we aren’t even friends, I just met them. They probably think I’m weird. Oh great, now I haven’t said anything for the past 3 minutes. They probably think I don’t like them. Y/n felt that this was weird foreign territory.

“So, what’s your favorite subject?” Y/n broke the silence, just wanting to say anything to make sure that her two future teammates knew that she was still invested in this conversation.

Are you serious, Y/n?! No one wants to talk about school, that’s so lame! They probably think you’re a smart ass. Uhg. You’re terrible at this. Y/n wanted to groan and bow her head in shame, but all she could do is hold her head high and follow through with her question.

“I like math, and you won’t get an actual subject out of Etsuko, she will probably say something stupid like lunch.” Yuma answered.

“Hey! Why do you keep answering for me?! I am fully capable of answering!” Etsuko barked at her snarky teammate.

“Yeah, your English grade can clearly vouch for you.” Yuma sarcastically stated. Etsuko looked like all the blood from her face left, looking quite pale due to her not so great English grade. Y/n didn’t realize it, but a small smile was on her face as she saw the two interact.

“Well, this is my stop, And, Etsuko, your stop was awhile ago.” Yuma stated as she didn’t really know if she should just send a wave your way or a handshake because Y/n seemed so formal. She settled with a pat on the back. Etsuko copied Yuma, but her pat was a bit more forceful and it really just turned into a smack. Y/n didn’t say anything, but noted that Etsuko has one hell of an arm on her.

“I already knew that! I wanted to talk to our new friend!” Etsuko looked like she was going to cross her arms and stomp her foot like a small child throwing a tantrum. Y/n stopped her walking when she heard the word “friend” come out of Etsuko’s mouth. Y/n turned to look at Etsuko and Yuma with a surprised look. Etsuko and Yuma instinctively thought they misspoke and perhaps angered you.

“We’re friends?” Y/n held a pause between the two words. Her incredulous face kept switching eye contact between the 2 first years in front of her. “You don’t even know if I will be your teammate yet.” Y/n stated. Etsuko bursted out in laughter and it caused Y/n’s face to turn beet red, embarrassed. Yuma’s face looked like she wanted to backhand Etsuko, but before she could, Etsuko spoke “You don’t have to be our teammate for us to be friends! There isn’t criteria the last time I checked to be friends. Besides, you’re really cool!”

Yuma retracted her arm, despite Etsuko being a dumbass, she somehow always knew what to say in awkward situations. Y/n felt something that spread through her chest. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling. Etsuko and Yuma bid there goodbye’s to Y/n, leaving her to get to her class. The feeling in her chest was not new, it’s just a feeling that she has not felt in a long time.

Y/n sat down in her seat and pulled out her notebook. Everyone started to take their seats. Right before the teacher reached to close the door, a short girl with a small blue hair tie in her short blonde hair just managed to slip through the door. She was out of breath and sweaty, muttering an apology and quickly sat at her desk, which was coincidentally on Y/n’s left side. The teacher began lecturing, instructing to open a page in their textbook.

The end of the school day approached rather quickly. Because of her most recent interaction with Etsuko and Yuma, she couldn’t wait for the three on three. Specifically, who would she be playing against. While thinking of possible offense moves to coordinate, Y/n grabs her volleyball bag from her locker and makes her way to the girl’s gym. The door was already open and she peaked through to make sure there was no way she will be tackled again. She makes eye contact with a girl with short black hair, which she vaguely remembers as Sudou Rinko.

“Hello! I’m sorry I am a bit early, I just wanted to get a head start in warming up because I do take awhile for those.” Y/n quickly explains with a hint of timidness.

“That’s alright! I already setted up the net so you’re welcome to warm up in here or outside, whichever you prefer.” Sudou stated, making sure she didn’t seem to overbearing as others perceive her to be.

“Okay, thank you. I do prefer outside.” As much as Y/n’s face held a deadpan look, she was nervous in front of the third year. She didn’t know if she could just head out or bow. Unfortunately, she went with the latter. Sudou cheeks turned red. She didn’t really expect that, I mean in her eyes, she’s just a third year. But, your formality was appreciated.

“Heh, no need to be so formal. I’ve seen what you can do even without warming up, and we would be lucky to have you on our team.” Sudou reassured.

Now it was Y/n’s turn to turn slightly red. She’s new to accepting genuine compliments. So, all she did was a weird salute with a firm nod of her head, and headed out.

That kid has an interesting way of interacting with people. Sudou thought to herself. Hopefully, she’ll be able to open up more. Sudou busied herself by warming up as well.

In the meantime, Y/n found a spot near the side of the gym where there were no trees and the sun just perfectly drenched the scenery with natural light. It was as if the sun placed a golden film over everything and settled on a calm atmosphere. Here, Y/n began stretching.

After awhile, Y/n was tossing a volleyball up in the air, getting comfortable with how the ball fit perfectly in her hands as she set it in the air. After a couple of sets, she got into the rhythm of bumping, setting, and spiking against a wall. While she was focused on the ball, out of her peripheral vision, she notices someone. After a spike, rather than bumping it, she catches it.

“If you are going to stare any longer, I expect a name out of you.” Y/n stated with a calm yet stern tone while still staring at the wall in front of her.

“I-I’m sorry. You just seem so focused.” The stranger spoke.

Y/n closes her eyes, when she opens them, she turns to look at the stranger. He’s tall, way taller than her. He’s got a beard and his hair is pulled into a tight bun. If Y/n didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was a teacher, but he was wearing a school uniform after all. With her eyes set on him, it was as if the guy visibly shook in fear and eyes widened.

“Well, you have to be, in an actual game of course.” Y/n responded.

“You play?” The mysterious guy asks. He does have a calming voice for someone who looks like the opposite.

“In order for me to answer, you should give me your name. I’ve been taught to not talk to strangers.”

“Oh r-right. I’m Azumane Asahi.”

There was a beat of silence as Y/n kept staring at him, deciding how she should approach this conversation. In Asahi’s eyes, he thought she was judging him and he started to wonder why didn’t he just mind his own business.

“Yes, I play.” Y/n answered his previous question. Asahi perked up at her answer like a little puppy.

“You seem like you’re really dedicated.” Asahi offered his observation to her. Y/n chuckles. Asahi’s eyes widened once more at the sudden reaction out of the girl.

“I’m guessing you play as well.” Asahi was dumbfounded at your observation. He was scared at how you were able to pick that up quickly.

“H-how did you-”

“Someone who is able to easily recognize the dedication in one person, also finds that same dedication within themselves”

Damn, this girl is wise. Asahi thought.

“However, volleyball was just a guess.” Y/n continued. “And I was lucky enough to be right.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

Y/n looked at him again. Y/n wasn’t one to let someone divulge into their personal life. Mainly because no one really came up to her for advice since she was quite the nonchalant person. However, if today is any indication, it seems her social interaction skills has been given a second shot. Y/n analyzed Asahi’s troubled face.

“Are you having an internal battle?”

How unfortunate that you phrased it that way, Y/n. Jeez. You can be so formal sometimes. Y/n scolded herself.

“Yeah, of some sorts.” Asahi responded with a puzzling look at the ground.

“About volleyball?” Y/n specified.

“Uh, yeah.” he reluctantly responded.

“What’s up?” Y/n knew that was more informal and she mentally high-fived herself for talking like a normal teenager.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah”

“Have you ever not wanted to do something because you failed at it?”

A beat of silence.

“No.” Y/n said confidently. However, she knew what he was trying to ask, so she added, “But, I’ve felt frustrated at it before.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Well, tell me, can you be frustrated at something yet you want keep trying it?”

Asahi didn’t respond, just thinking of what she said.

“The answer is yes, by the way. Volleyball is a sport where you are constantly improving yourself, just like any other sport really.” Y/n started to blabber on. “Volleyball provides that uncomfortable tension of not being enough. For some people, it discourages them completely, leaving them to quit or be stagnant. But, there are rare cases where the person is strongly encouraged by it. Those are the people who really do succeed.”

Asahi was deep in thought as he processed your words. As Y/n looks at Asahi, he looks like he’s going to hurt himself if he thinks any harder.

“Here, stand over there. Let me set for you.” Y/n commanded. Asahi Looks up, “h-how did you know I spike?” At this point, he thought you were some sort of psychic.

Y/n shrugs, “Only an ace would have that mindset and label a simple mistake as a “failure”. You feel like you’re whole team depends on you, right?” Asahi nods with shame. “Well, I think you need to understand that the other 5 people on your side have their own jobs as well. Sure, they know that you are capable of grabbing a point, but that’s because they are supporting you in the process.”

Asahi is quite overwhelmed at all the truth you are speaking, but it makes sense to him. Asahi obeys and walks where you pointed to.

“Now, run up like you are going to spike. You’re job is to knock,” Y/n grabs an apple from her lunch box, “this off of this trashcan.” Y/n places the apple on the the tin can and positions it in the way where a blocker would be in terms of where Asahi is standing. “Imagine this,” she draws a line in the dirt with her foot, “is the net. And, I don’t doubt that you are able to hit over the net.”

“O-oh I don’t know, you see, I haven’t really-”

“Just do it.” Y/n cuts him off with a sigh. Asahi gulps and catches the ball from Y/n.

He takes a deep breathe in. And a deep breathe out. He tosses the ball to you. Of course, Y/n perfectly sets the ball for him.

She notices after those deep breathes, it seems Asahi is a completely different person. He looks more focused and confident. His eyes are concentrated on the ball.

After the set, Y/n quickly looks over at the tin trashcan. And lo and behold, her apple is now on the dirt floor. Y/n smiles fondly. Asahi carries the most precious smile on his face.

“Now, how did that feel?” Y/n questions him.

“Makes me want to do another.” Asahi was staring at his hand as if the key to life was written on his hand. He then looked over at Y/n with a glint of inspiration in his eyes.

“The boys volleyball team should still be practicing, right? I still have to start my own practice.” Y/n shares a soft smile, which she hasn’t done in awhile. Asahi reverts back to a nervous state. Y/n’s guessing there is some awkward tension between that relationship.

“Just go to them. It never hurts to just try, right?” Y/n tries her best to be encouraging, but not too pushy.

“I-I don’t know I left them so suddenly-”

“Just go! Or else.” Y/n knew she shouldn’t use fear as a tactic to push him, but to be quite frank, it’s useful in these rare occasions. Asahi fervently nods, he didn’t want to hear what came after ‘what else’ so he quickly grabs his bag and starts his jog to the boy’s gym.

“Oh wait! What’s your name?” Asahi was already a bit far, so she had to yell, “Y/n! Good luck!” She cups her mouth as if that will totally help her voice travel to him. “Well, thank you, Y/n!”

Y/n picks up her things and heads towards the gym, where she has her own journey to embark on.

Taglist: @riceballsandanime

26 notes · View notes

noctisfishing · 3 years

Text

2020 Wrap-Up and 2021 Wishes

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to do this or not, but I decided, why not? Even though this year was pretty wild for everyone in various ways, I want to celebrate my writing progress and accomplishments, and share with you what I wish for in 2021.

I’ve already posted a similar post on Reddit, although this one has a more detailed breakdown and includes my fic titles! I won’t link any of the fics mentioned, but you can visit my FFN or AO3 pages to find them. You can also click through my Welcome Post or find them all listed here (if you’re on desktop) (*every project I talk about can be found somewhere on my Tumblr :D)

Click below for some nice Fic Stats!! (mostly wordcounts and rambling!!)

Preview: I wrote a good amount of words, got some nice progress on some long fics, churned out dozens of ficlets!! Plus: What’s on my fic mind for 2021, and a short bit about other personal wins.

Before I ramble with numbers, I think we can all agree that we should say goodbye to 2020 this way:

Now, the numbers you’ll see are close approximations to how much I’ve written this year. I’m including works that I’ve published on AO3, FFN, Tumblr, and Reddit, and also works unpublished (and will post probably next year).

So, here it is:

Total Wordcount: 107,662 words!

Dang, I wrote a lot more than I thought. I think there was one year that I wrote 200,000 in a year and I’ve always set that number as my standard. But I’m still pretty happy with this year’s number! I think I’ll make 100K my “soft goal” for 2021 given how topsy-turvy life can go but it would be awesome to hit 200K again :)

And now, we break it down:

Completed Works (54,432 words)

2 Multi-Chaptered Fics (10,353 words)

Both happen to be Sorato! I posted the last chapter of The Sound of His Goodbye back in March (I started the fic late 2019), and I posted all of The Last One Wins towards the end of November. Both gave me reminders earlier and later on in the year that I can complete fics, haha! It’s possible!!! \o/

38 Ficlets/Scenes (19,667 words)

“Ficlets” don’t typically have a wordcount but are generally less than 1,000 words. I’d have to say that the impact of quitting my job, moving back home, and the pandemic brought on major changes and responsibilities that I had to adapt to. Simpler, smaller scale ideas were easier on my basket case of a mind and kept me writing, and that is most likely why for most of the year my inspiration was more drawn toward different little scenes. I got to write for and explore six new fandoms outside of Digimon which is cool!

When I say “scenes,” I mean those that either didn’t fit in the (slightly) larger works I’ve published, or those for future projects (which technically shouldn’t be counted as “complete” but I had to stick them somewhere :P).

9 One-Shots (24,412 words)

Day 6 Prompt of Takari Week just barely made it to be counted as a One-Shot, but the rest in this category are all Taiora: six for Taiora Week, as well as The Princess and the Dragon, and Colors in Distance. The Color Shot was actually sitting unfinished in my drafts for a few months so I’m glad I found the motivation to finish it before the year’s end. The other fics were inspired by prompts with deadlines - this was the first year I’ve participated and completed those and I’m happy I did them!

Works in Progress (53,230 words)

I’ve posted one new chapter each for Digital Recovery (4,770 words) and Tsukiakari (2,292 words) and I had the hope of working more on both of these this year! But you know, this year was tough (see also why I threw so many ficlets at my readers). I had three huge ongoing longfics and I made the decision to set these aside and put my main focus on one of those so as not to overwhelm myself. These fics are mostly planned out. They just need to be written more! We’ve got a long way to go with both of these.

Just One Drink (10,131 words) was.. probably my most popular fic this year, lol. I don’t see this one being too long (I would be surprised if it goes past 50K) but I see myself continue to update this next year. ;)

And let’s talk about The Spark of Dawn (DoreDore Adventure Part II) (24,316 words). This was my chosen longfic to focus on this year, as evidenced by the wordcount, and even the number of chapters I’ve posted - three with 10,659 words total. This fic also carried me through July’s Camp NaNoWriMo where I reached my word count goal of 12,000 words. I think two chapters from that event ended up being posted, and there are still 13,657 words’ worth of content yet to be published. Overall, I think half of this story has been written out (including the content I haven’t posted yet) but that being said, this fic remains as one of my priorities to finish before moving along to my other WIPs!

Here’s a list of the rest of my unpublished works:

Untitled Taiorato Fic (1,433 words)

More Taiora Snapshots (2,454 words)

The Girl Who Stands Out (7,834 words) - This one is a Mimato, and should show up really soon. ;)

2021 Wishes: My main wish is for me to *keep writing*!

I’m already making some pretty elaborate spreadsheets for myself to help track my personal writing and reader stats. Hopefully they help motivate me in my writing progress in 2021!

Toward the end of the year, I felt the need to “clear out” my plot bunnies folder and realized that fics from few ideas weren’t going to be as long as I initially thought. That’s where The Last One Wins came from, as well as The Girl Who Stands Out. I think once the latter is all written out, I will work more on DoreDore and see where it goes.

I want to tackle my “Write Your Melody” prompts, because since I’ve written them I feel obligated to. XD I’m sure there will be room for more ficlets and one-shots in next year’s endeavors; while it’s ideal to work on one big longfic until it’s done, I know for a fact that I’ll need writing breaks along the way.

Other Personal Wins (Not Writing-Related): This year, left a job and living situation that took a toll on my mental health. I also started to learn R and SQL programming languages. I was asked to be a moderator of one of my favorite communities! I made new friendships and a few of my friendships grew. And I found joy and comfort in things I hadn’t been able to in years’ past. I had a fair share of rough moments this year, but looking back at my small wins gave me reminders of the good I have. <3

If you made it to the end of this post, GO YOU. I’m optimistic that next year will bring more good things. I hope to continue remembering to take time to breathe and rest, and keep talking to my friends and loved ones. Many of my wishes are for long-term goals/projects in general, but rather than setting year-end deadlines, I want to focus on just working on them, my efforts varying between chipping away at them little by little, or hardcore-drop-everything-and-spend-the-weekend.

Anyway, thank you for reading! I wish you all the best as we head toward a new year. <3

#noct musings #end of year wrap up #2020 #noctiswriting #writing progress update

3 notes · View notes

oathkeeper-of-tarth · 4 years

Text

2020 SU Fic Sampler - WIP Showcase

So in my continued attempts at distraction, I trawled through my SU fanfic folders, looked at the ol’ endless WIP pile. Figured I’d do a little roundup of some that are in something resembling a decent state. Maybe even see where interest lies and all that, get some attention and validation, you know, all that good stuff one craves. Of course, there’s loads more than this, and I might one day post some things I wrote but never quite managed to finish up, or that got super jossed in ways I couldn’t get myself to work around.

Now, in no particular order, here’s 8 draft snippets totaling almost 6000 words - not very polished, obviously, some quite rough around the edges, some long, some short, some that work better without context than others. But here they are anyway, with an utterly predictable array of focal characters. Any missing segments or my asides/notes in the text are [written like this], because I usually write very non-linearly. Hope you all like mood whiplash!

P.S. I live for comments.

Like Talking To A Wall, aka Bismuth making friends with the wall, statue, and floor Gems. Early precursors to radicalisation and “I would have liberated everyone”, perhaps. Started as one of my first reactions to the Diamond Days episodes.

“Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. You’re lucky I’m so supportive,” Mica piped up from up on her arch.

Bismuth laughed. Bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Then, with a surprisingly gentle hand pressed to the carvings she’d been so careful about, she added a soft: “I’ll miss you.”

“Chin up! It’s gonna be a lovely off-planet adventure for you,” Granite rumbled from just above her head. “A brand new colony! Think of the sights!”

“You can tell us all about it when we see you again.”

Bismuth leaned back, pressing her whole back against the wall, reluctant to leave, even if a snooty shift supervisor was bound to come around and chase her off soon. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.”

They all knew very well that, as always, when the building was done, it was goodbye. The chances of there being a need for repairs or remodelling - and the exact same bismuths being brought in to do them - were incredibly slim.

But pretending was nice, sometimes.

Hey, Steven, think I could get a moment before we leave? I won’t be long.

They were right where she’d left them, and the years had done very little to change them. A bit of a patina there, some dust, the tiniest bit of wear on sharper corners.

“Bismuth?” Several familiar voices cried out to her in shocked recognition.

She knew she must look a sight - battle-ready and battle-worn, but armour still gleaming, and with a bearing of one who had been through much and was always ready for more. She felt her back had never been so proud and straight, her shoulders so resolutely set.

“I think,” Bismuth grinned, “you’re gonna start seeing changes around these parts.”

---

One for that favourite Pearletariat/Pearl Solidarity fic sub-genre of mine: Clever Pearls Cleverly Getting Around Badly Worded Orders. A bit of an origin for an as-of-yet unnamed pearl OC, because I sure don’t have enough of those!

In the untold thousands of years of Homeworld and Gemkind, and the hundreds of thousands of commands given to hundreds of thousands of pearls, nobody ever thought to Order a pearl not to think. That would imply a they mattered at all, and who would ever put stock in a pearl’s thoughts? Most Gems weren’t sure pearls could think, anyway. I mean, if they could, all that standing around would be intolerable, wouldn’t it? And imagine not being able to say no to anything, even crushing your own gem - shards, at least I’m not a pearl!

They were, occasionally, when dealing with an owner’s important, private, confidential business, Ordered to forget, or, a bit less esoterically, Ordered never to tell.

And [OWNER] has always been all too eager with the Orders. As if she went to bizarre lengths in her thinking that pearl couldn’t - or wouldn’t? - do anything upon merely being told, let alone by herself. Every little thing, from sweeping up the shards of a broken decorative plate to taking down the minutes of an important meeting [OWNER] was presiding over - (im)pressed upon pearl with the crushing weight of an Order.

But she could still think.

Even when Ordered to wait by the door, freezing her limbs and anchoring her legs to the ground with all the force of a starship mooring mechanism. Even when Ordered into silence for days and planetary rotations on end because [OWNER] had wanted to read an important document without being disturbed and it simply didn’t occur to her to lift it when she was done.

In the wake of the Rebellion and the Renegade Pearl, it only gets worse, and soon enough pearl can barely remember the last time a single movement she made was voluntary.

---

SU Future-era Bismuth and Steven convo I scribbled down in between some of these recent eps - after Growing Pains in particular I think - because Bismuth is the absolute pep talk queen.

“You already said you were sorry for trying to kill me in the Forge, and really, it’s okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Besides, it’s more than a lot of people have done!”

Bismuth blinked at the pinkish sheen around Steven’s cheeks, around the downturned brows - strange trick of the light, that. “Steven, come on. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Okay,” Steven sighed, and leaned against the railing Bismuth had fixed just that morning.

“Point is, for me, the war had never ended. It wasn’t only yesterday, it was today. It was over for everyone, it seemed, except for me. And getting over that, getting used to that, really seeing that as the truth, not living every day buzzed up with that anticipation of the next battle, just waiting for Homeworld to come down hard on us with whatever new horror they’d come up with… that took a while. And it took help.”

[sudden apparent non-sequitur but It’s An Allegory, Steven.]

“When you make a sword, you can’t make it rigid and unyielding. You can’t just temper it into toughness and hardness and make it unbreakable. It needs to have some give in order to be durable, it needs to be able to bend so as not to shatter on impact. And sure, maybe the first parry or strike wouldn’t be the one to do it, but the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth? Any time you might just find yourself holding on to a hilt with the jagged remnants of everything, and shards scattered on the ground. And if you’re very lucky, that’ll happen during friendly sparring, not in the heat of battle.”

Steven shrugged without response, and seemed to be shrugging off all the words as well. Back to the direct approach it was, then.

“Now you, Steven,” that at least got a bit more attention, “Sure, you can brawl with the best of ‘em, and you put that gem to damn good use. You’ve got great technique drilled in, too - I’d expect nothing less from one of Pearl’s students. But that’s not how you won, in the end, is it? You never won because you were tough, or strong. You have a diamond in you but you’re not hard at all. Well, except on yourself.”

“In the end all of this was possible because you were soft. Just malleable and pliable enough when it was needed. And that takes guts.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Bismuth put a hand on his shoulder, and even with all the very human growing he’d done, he still seemed to almost disappear in it. “You put yourself out there for others… maybe it’s about time you let them help you.”

---

The next chapter of the His Dark Materials/Daemons AU which I am sooooo painfully late with it’s not even funny anymore. Already posted some excerpts [here] and [here].

“She’s been... away on business, but we’ve sent a zeppelin for her and she’s well on her way back. Hopefully.”

“You have a zeppelin?” Rose was rapidly failing in all her efforts to keep her voice down.

“Of a sort. We, er, we... stole it.”

“Stole-!”

“Yes, well, stole might be a strong word,” Pearl tapped a finger against her chin. “You see, there was a small decommissioned postal craft left below the southern mail station aërodock that nobody would ever miss, all I had to do was fix it up a bit and-”

Rose blinked. “You fixed a decommissioned zeppelin.”

Pearl waved a hand almost casually. “I had some help, but yes. Svalbard, understandably, is hard to reach with other means of transport, and Bismuth needed to be able to go back and forth.”

“You,” Rose began, awed, “are utterly wasted on bringing me my slippers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well then, maybe,” Pearl blushed, but there was nothing hesitant about her smirk and the strikingly proud tilt of her head, “maybe you could take them off with a bit more care than kicking them halfway across the room and sending them off under the cabinets and- and then I wouldn’t need to do that at all. And I could fix all the zeppelins in the world.”

[more from the super secret backroom rebellion meeting]

“They’re with the Consistorial Court of Discipline, no doubt. Always on the lookout for,” Bismuth grimaced, “heretics. A lot falls under that. A lot of good excuses to snatch someone off the street and do who knows what to them. And they’ve been funneling people there, people vanished by the CCD. Not lacking in test subjects lately.”

“How did you get this? Where?” It was Sapphire, this time. Ruby seemed overwhelmed, and sat clutching her hand desperately as the tiny frog and hare both whispered something to her.

“We traced the funding for all this. It was difficult and deliberately obfuscated, but we managed. A facility like this, an entire operation, cost a pretty amount, you’d assume - and you’d be right. It had to come from somewhere. And whoever was paying for it was likely to want to know what was being done with their investment.”

“So we followed the trail. And it turned out I was… ideally positioned to… to, erm, procure what evidence there was to be found. Because, well...” Pearl trailed off, and lifted one of the stolen report sheets for all to see.

It was as clear as day, the family crest right above the astronomical amount being granted. Four diamonds, neatly arranged.

Neshu’s ears were flat against his mane, and Rose found herself wishing the ground would simply open up and swallow both her and him and the chair that she sat on and he’d tried to duck under.

Bismuth spoke up, grim, every drop of earlier exuberance gone from her. “When the Diamonds look out from the windows of their mansion, they don’t see people. They see tools, toys, and weapons. Nothing else.” She sounded more tired than angry. “It’s just what they’ve always been doing, but writ large.”

---

And then, of course, the Longass PearlRose Fixit because I hate the gag order but at the same time want it gone… slowly and organically. Alternating Rose and Pearl POVs spanning throughout the rebellion era, all sorts of flashbacks and Imagining Things included. At one point they end up attempting to essentially jailbreak Pearl, because Pearl is, as we all know, absolutely the most hardcore. Also thank you SU Movie for confirming all the awful Alexa-flavour fanon/headcanons and giving me an excuse to dive into a bunch of Gems-as-AI tropey stuff, on top of everything. [another previously posted fragment here]

“I don’t want to. I never want to do that to you again.” She stops, takes a breath, reconsiders. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, the trust I just… trampled over. So I want to make sure that it’s not just that, you trusting me not to make the same mistake again, with no reassurance anywhere. I—I want to not be able to. Nobody should be able to do that to you.”

“Nobody should be able to do that to anyone,” Pearl corrects readily.

“You’re right,” Rose smiles, only a bit wry, “as always. My brilliant, brilliant Pearl. What would I do without you?”

“Never get back to the point you were trying to make, I imagine,” Pearl quips with something resembling sauciness, and Rose feels at least some of the weight starting to lift off her.

“Right,” Rose agrees, chastised, and tries to focus. “I just… I’m not sure how, or what I need to do at all. It’s not like there’s much precedent – ownerless pearls are unheard of. Even when their owners get shattered, it’s only ever temporary, and, with such high demand, very brief.”

Pearl nods in agreement, and hums. “Luckily, we’ve seen plenty of unheard of and unspeakable things here.”

[echoes of Scabbard convo]

“I want to know, I want to be certain, that you’re here because you want to be.”

“So do I.” Pearl responds quietly, letting their fingers entwine.

[Giving an order not to follow orders doesn’t work, failsafes exist. Then they try a sort of ownership transfer thing, and try to make the new owner Pearl. It doesn’t register, “invalid transfer target”, even when Pearl tries to hack it - some odd gem tool that scans and pokes at her gem - she gets all bummed out because she can’t even reprogram a very basic and modifiable handheld tool/device to recognise a pearl as an actual gem and person. What chance does she have against hearts and minds and an entire ingrained culture of an entire sprawling empire?

“You changed my mind,” says Rose all softly and earnestly.

Have I really? Pearl asks herself but doesn’t let it escape out loud. Still. Step by small step, she admits to herself. Incremental, slow, but persistent work. She can do that. Even as down on herself as she is, she can do that.]

“The… the override.” Pearl breathes out suddenly.

“What?”

“The administrative override - you, or, well... Pink Diamond should be able to trigger it, even without a Rejuvenator. We shouldn’t…” Pearl looks strangely scared now, swallowing small gulps before pushing onwards, hands trembling and fingers knotting together, “w-we shouldn’t need a full reset, really, but. But we can try modifying the owner identification...”

Having to… turn into Pink again (turn back into yourself, you mean, a small voice whispers, who are you trying to fool) doesn’t sit well with her, of course, but. Get a hold of yourself, Pearl certainly has it so much worse in this scenario.

[more here about how they both need to kind of “revert” a bit to try this and it sucks, because no! unpleasant poking of holes in the elaborate fantasy! For the greater good, but still.]

And oh, Pearl looks just about ready to either cry with some strange terror Rose has never seen her display, or dissipate her form on the spot - the small dam of coldly throwing around terms like administrative override activation and owner identification variable providing just enough distance for her to carry on.

“It shouldn’t be too risky if we’re… if you’re careful.”

[Pearl trusts her with everything, her literal entire self - with this thing that is such a blatant violation of her being and her person, that she now wants to turn against itself, using one of the most humiliatingly clearly objectifying aspects of her status as an instrument of her liberation. It is all A Lot.]

Rose remembers, also, with a sting, the way she grumbled and sulked over the gaping pit of guilt in her stomach and refused to even look at the glowing, floating shell Blue was so insistently pushing her towards. She wanted her Pearl back, not whatever White and the others had decided to foist upon her now. Not a pale replacement, nothing they deemed suitable.

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

“Come on, Pink,” Blue urges, softly but mercilessly as ever, large hands enveloping Pink almost whole from where they’re planted on her shoulders, “White had her specially made, just for you! And we helped as well - only the best for our Pink. Now it’s up to you to put your finishing touches, as is proper-”

“What for? You’ll just take her away when you feel like it anyway,” she grumbles into her arms, curling up on the floor and resolutely refusing to look even as the glow spreads from the corner of her eye, insistent.

Just as insistent as the awfully familiar little voice. “Please state preferred customisation options.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” But now with a newly noticeable, if strained restraint - not, like her usual, punctuated with a slam of her fist on the floor tiles, perfectly shiny and pink. No, she couldn’t- do something like that again-

“Default setting selected. Please stand by.”

Yellow scoffs and moves to leave. “Come on, Blue. No point to us wasting our time being here if she’s just going to throw one of her tantrums.”

But Blue refuses to leave it at that, and makes sure to cut with parting words, before slinking through the large pink doorway. “I am very disappointed in you, Pink. To act like that, and with White personally making sure you got such a lovely gift even after everything...”

“Waste of good nacre, if you ask me,” Yellow muses from somewhere up above. “At least try not to break this one.”

The glow intensifies with a hum, and Pink screws her eyes shut and pretends not to see or hear anything.

By the time she opens them again, the others are gone.

But then there is another presence at her side, hovering just behind, as is proper court protocol. The shuffling of tiny, soft slippers on the polished stone - weren’t pearls supposed to be endlessly, effortlessly quiet?

“Leave me alone,” she preempts quietly. The shuffling moves away.

“Please identify yourself.”

Calmly, now, calmly but firmly, just like we planned it. Don’t mess this up now. She’s counting on you. She trusts you. “Pearl.”

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

They’ve discussed this too, of course - extensive (over)preparation and planning down to minutiae is Pearl’s go-to at the best of times, and something she clutches at for comfort at the worst of times. And she’s always, to a sometimes comical extent, despised that ridiculous dress. To a wonderful extent, too, all things considered.

“Revert to last implemented appearance.”

“Settings selected. Please stand by.”

[Of course this doesn’t work because all it does is change the $username$ variable, not the actual identity of the person imprinted: it’s still Rose/Pink, she’s just nicknamed “Pearl” now, but she can still give orders and everything.]

[evolves into Pearl literally hacking herself… the most hardcore of modders]

---

Pearl Playing the Field aka “why not hyper-analyze that one brief shot of the notes and phone numbers in Pearl’s gem and write 9 meet-cutes”. Pearl goes out to “find herself”. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Supposed to be set pre-ASPR, but also extends past it. Ended up with some Bispearl in it too because I am predictable and can absolutely not help myself.

“Your hair is wonderful!” She feels like she almost has to shout to be heard over the din of the bar’s ill-chosen soundtrack, and she doesn’t appreciate it. Definitely not one of her favourite places she’s decided to visit recently. And the ventilation is atrocious.

But still, she’s come all this way, so she may as well make the best of it. And while the preoccupation with hairstyles during first meetings seems like a bit of an odd running theme (can it really be termed a running theme, though, if it’s happened all of two times?), it’s certainly worked in the past (recent, very recent, and hardly bursting with relevant instances, Pearl!). Oh, and this particular one is just too fascinating. Approaching a work of art, Pearl would dare say. Especially, well. Especially when paired with the lovely eyes and striking jawline and strong neck it seems to deliberately be drawing attention to.

Pearl leans on the bar, in the bit of space the woman happily makes for her, and tries to look confident and well-informed, but not smug, no, never smug. “I know... about the, uh, goop, of course. I know how one accomplishes this.”

The woman gives a bemused smile. “Thanks! Not too shabby yourself.” She leans in closer. “I'm actually in school for it.”

“School?” Pearl casts desperately back to what she's heard from Steven and Greg's often hasty instruction. That was for educating human children, wasn't it? She'd put one together for Steven that one time, with desks and a blackboard… and Connie attended one regularly...

“Yeah, kind of a late game career change.” Pearl nods along as she realises - or, rather, remembers - she is absolutely terrible at gauging human ages. “But I thought... after almost 30 years in accounting and not going anywhere I wanted to be going... it’s not like we have all the time in the world, right? So I figured, why not? Go for something I'm actually invested in and that I've always wanted to do, y'know?”

“Oh. Oh yes, yes I do.” And for once, she really does. Well, not the time-related bit, perhaps, but the very particular delight of getting to pursue one’s genuine interests after a long while of being denied? Absolutely. “I’ve done something of the sort myself, actually. Go for it! As they, uh, say.”

The dramatic gesture of almost punching the air with a closed triumphant/defiant fist might have been a tad over the top, but it wins her a smile that doesn’t seem unkind. The woman winks and tips her glass at Pearl, then finishes her drink - something sweet-smelling and almost as colourful as her hair.

“I had a classmate do this one for me, and I did hers after.” Pearl is nodding along again, leaning in to hear better as the woman’s voice dips lower. “I kind of like to experiment, push the limits, go wild with it. Hey. You interested? Promise I won’t go too wild on you.”

Pearl's mind goes blank there for a moment. The woman is… very close, and there are unignorable implications unrelated to hair styling so obvious here even she is picking up on them without issue, and the music hasn’t gotten any quieter. Interested in what, exactly, she wants to ask, but she came here for wild new experiences and exciting novelty, didn’t she, so instead comes out with a rather strangled-sounding: “Eughhhhh...uhhh.... Ye...s?”

The woman’s expression goes serious. “Hey, come on, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

---

Forge Showdown AU - aka in a twist of fate Bismuth poofs Rose during their confrontation and revelations happen that change the course of… well, pretty much everything - one of a bunch of AUs where the PD reveal happens earlier and under different circumstances (I had an idea of doing a 5+1 of those at one point).

The glow of the lava coloured the quickly dissipating smoke more orange-red than pale pink, and Bismuth stared numbly at where their revered leader, Rose Quartz herself, had been standing mere moments ago. She’d lashed out, true, but she hadn’t really been expecting the clumsy blow - more of a warning, or underlining a point in their continued argument-turned-fight - to land. In all their many sparring sessions, Rose had never succumbed to something like that, would have never so much as let it brush against her. But she’d been- frozen, distracted… by what?

There, scraping softly against the ground as it rolled with leftover momentum...

That was not a rose quartz gem.

Bismuth raked her mind feverishly, thought back through the last few, oddly blurred seconds.

“We’re not using this, Bismuth! It’d make us just as bad as them!”

“No! You’re the one who’s as bad as them- look at you, lording over all of us, thinking it’s your right to command me, order me around, like you’re, what, my diamond?”

It… it had to be some kind of imposter, or spy. Right? Some kind of… awful Homeworld plan, trying to tear the Rebellion apart from the inside. Where was Rose, then? The real one? Captured? Being interrogated somewhere, her whereabouts kept strictly secret to minimise the chance of rescue? Shattered? Impossible, they’d never hear the end of the victorious crowing.

When could it have happened? The last few battles and meetings had been nothing out of the ordinary, and Bismuth couldn’t think of anything odd or off about Rose recently at all. Not a single hint or sign that anything was amiss. Not a single misstep. Homeworld would have trained and conditioned its agents well, but Rose- Rose was singular, and utterly one-of-a-kind, and how could they possibly capture all of it so perfectly-

Bismuth startled out of her thoughts as the beginnings of light seemed to gather in the core of the gem, and all but threw herself onto it, encasing it in a bubble.

Rose was rather special, wasn’t she? And not just in what she said or what she did or how she behaved or what she led and encouraged them to do, but…

Her endless array of wondrous powers. Her sheer strength, overpowering ruby fusions and quartz battalions alike almost single-handedly. The healing which Bismuth herself had been on the receiving, lifesaving end of countless times. The way she called upon the organic creatures of the planet to fight for her, fighting in their name. And then, her regular absences. The way she seemed to know exactly what the Homeworld troops were up to - that wasn’t just some kind of tactical brilliance.

She dared to look at the gem again. Its hue was changed some by the bubble, but that was still in no way a rose quartz gem. No, it was an altogether different shape, but a terrifyingly familiar one.

But it made no sense!

Bismuth ran a slightly trembling hand down her face.

Pearl. Of course, Pearl would have to know, if anyone. About… whatever this was.

But if this, if she was… her, then Pearl-

Bismuth’s insides twisted in horrible ways as the implications began to flitter through her mind, each one worse than the one before it. There was the old call-and-response ringing in her ears, making her feel disoriented and sick with what had to be the beginnings of anger, could grow into a great fury, leaving her unnecessary breaths ragged: Who do you belong to? Nobody!

But-

Not Pearl, then. At least, not at first. Garnet. Garnet would know, and Garnet could See. They’d get to the bottom of this.

---

A metric ton of rebellion era ficlets, vignettes from my eeeEEeeEEeeEEE Bismuth collection mostly, which I’ve been accumulating since 2016 and have only posted some - Pearl, Rose, Garnet, Bismuth centric, occasionally with my takes on namedropped characters, some of which would now need an update to match actual canon.

Snowflake was there, held in Garnet’s arms. The familiar pattern of white speckles on black skin, the tight silver coils of hair sticking out every which way.

“We got her back. She wanted to see you.”

“Me? And you just listened to her? Are you out of your mind? How can I help? Have you taken her to Rose? If her gem- if she-”

“I’m right here!” Snowflake struggled out of Garnet’s hold, and stood up - wobbly, barely upright, but determined, on those legs that ran circles around Homeworld, and ran interference and messages faster than any Wailing Stone, in a pinch. “And I’m fine!”

“You don’t look fine, Snowy- listen, please just-”

Snowflake walked up to her, not stumbling a single time, and, gritting her teeth, looked right at her. The hairline fractures in her gem were visible from here, and Bismuth couldn’t help a wince. “Snowflake, come on-”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Bismuth wanted to clutch her to her chest and scream a thousand things at her, but You don’t have to prove anything to me and I’m proud of you and I’m going to make them pay for ever laying a finger on you all waged a war in her throat.

In the end she just settled on holding her close, very gently, until Garnet left, unheard, and came back with Rose, tears already in abundance.

[Later:] “I never properly thanked you, Garnet. For bringing Snowflake back.”

Garnet shrugged. “It was a group effort.”

A familiar voice sounded at the entrance to the Forge. “Now come along, it’s just here. Bismuth? Do you have a moment?”

“You know I always have time for you, Pearl,” she called back, putting her current project away. “What did you nee- oh.”

Bismuth blinked.

“Uh... wow,” was the only thing she could manage as pearl after pearl filed into her Forge, soon taking up most of the space around the anvil in impressively neat rows. “New recruits? A whole bunch of you, too.”

“Yes, well,” Pearl made her way to the front of the group, carefully avoiding brushing against the others on her way. She was fidgeting again, long fingers tangling and untangling rapidly, and that was one sure sign of mounting distress. “Garnet and I had planned out an attack on one of Blue Diamond’s supply lines. There was supposed to be a shipment of weapons coming in today, but it turns out it was… pearls.”

There was something rather off about Pearl’s tone, too. Bismuth made a note to ask later, and do her best to catch her alone.

“Well, all the better for us. Nice to have you all on board.” Her jovial tone was only slightly forced - the pearls all looked like they clearly needed something resembling friendliness, but their skittishness was palpable. She turned towards a pale green pearl right at the front of the group. “Now, what do I call you?”

There was nothing but mild confusion, vague fear, and general quiet shuffling. “No ideas yet? Don’t worry about it! There’s plenty of time to decide and find something that fits.”

[she does indeed manage to talk to Pearl alone, later]

“What’s the real problem, Pearl? You can’t fool me. I can tell something’s wrong.”

The rather flimsy front finally crumbled at that.

“I just… we- we took out the citrines they’d sent with the shuttle, and Garnet boosted me up so I could force the hatch open and I did, but then...” Pearl let out a distressed little half-sigh half-sob, one hand gesturing weakly. “They were all looking at me so wide-eyed and...”

She took a moment to at least attempt to collect herself.

“I don’t mind having them here, it’s not that at all. It’s just that… we were standing there, with all these newly-made pearls and… obviously I couldn’t just leave them there, in the middle of nowhere! And after what we did, whoever found them, they’d just have them shattered. Because of me. They were compromised. You’ve heard what they do now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. They’re the monsters, Pearl, and it’s not on you. It’s not you doing that to pearls, it’s them.”

“But it is on me! It quite literally is because of me, because of what I did, and continue to do. I made myself visible and played at being important and look what it got us,” Pearl was near tears, a frustrated blue colouring her face, “a handful of runaways and the rest being treated worse than ever.”

The tears were out in full force after that, and Bismuth put an arm around Pearl’s shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey, none of that.”

“We ended up taking them with us, but it feels like… it feels like I forced them to come here. Is it really any better than what Homeworld does? All I did was say you’re going to be rebels instead of you’re going to serve and they never got a say in anything.”

“Have you asked them?”

“They don’t know what-”

“Hey. Just ask them, okay? Ask them what they want. We can help them either way. Of course I’d love them to stay. But it’s not up to me, and if they want to go to wherever it was they were supposed to go- we can do that, too.”

[Rose discovers her healing tears in a dramatic fashion - they come up with the idea to make the fountain - and thanks to Save the Light we have a pretty good idea of who lovingly made all those statues]

She gently wiped away some of the chiselling dust with the flat of her thumb, just like a tear. A magnificent, healing, life-giving tear.

This was familiar work. But with none of the endless chafing, none of the hated reminders of her former station - Bismuth couldn’t find anything in herself but reverence. And… inspiration. She was a Gem, stars knew she didn’t need rest, breaks, anything of the sort, but still - this pace wasn’t something she’d felt driven to in a long, long while. All day under the burning summer sun, and every night under the light of her own gem. All alone, as the sanctuary took form under her hands.

To get the curls just right, tiny detail by tiny detail, somehow communicate the softness of those cheeks in stone… it took drawing upon the very depths of her well of skill, because how else could she ever hope to capture the likeness of someone as extraordinary as Rose Quartz?

With small, careful movements, she formed the roundness of the lips that could spit fiery words of rebellion, inspire like no other, scowl fiercely in the heat of battle, smile contagiously, bellow out an outrageous fireside guffaw, murmur comforts so softly, kiss…

And then she did it again, and again, and again.

[in the end, Rose is presented with a veritable shrine to herself]

“Rose? Is something wrong? You… don’t like it?”

“No, no, Bismuth, it’s… it’s incredible.” The smile Rose turned on her was as beautiful as anything, but it wasn’t hard to notice it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

#steven universe #oathkeeper writes things #INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO:#pearl #bismuth #rose quartz #bispearl #pearlrose #daemon au #the pearletariat #pearl playing the field #those stars of brightest magnitude #let's get down to bismuth #steven universe future #i love pearls just... bury me in a big pile of pearls honestly #endless wip pile #fanfiction #my fic

38 notes · View notes

mimzy-writing-online · 4 years

Note

I'm incredibly sorry for this ask , but I'd like the opinion of different writers. I have this story I have finished. It's has been re-read, edited, polished. It's technically done. The story is consistent, the pacing is okay. But what I don't like is how the characters are portrayed. They lack life, and I think it may be because during the years I improved my writing, and now I'm sure I'd be able to do better. What would you do? Would you rewrite the story from scratch? Thanks in advance.

First, no worries about asking for advice. That’s legit what I’m here for. And having been in the same position you are now, (twice) I know how impossible it feels.

Off the bat, advice I would recommend:

Beta Reading: Get some fresh eyes to look at it, ideally someone who 1) reads books in that genre and that age range, and 2) has no obligation to worry about your feelings.

Thoroughly consider why you want to rewrite it: make an actual pros and cons list. It sounds silly, but it helps because you realize what decision you’re arguing for, what your instinct says.

Give yourself a shot at attempting a rewrite. Give yourself a set time limit to try it out. Your current book isn’t going anywhere and publishing takes forever anyway, so what’s another month or another three months?

At the end of this trial run you can ask yourself: Did a rewrite make it better? Do the characters and their world feel more alive? Even if it looks like a mess, given more time to finish and edit, would it look better than the original?

If you find you like the characters better, if you feel like you know them better, then you can consider going through the book and highlighting where they feel out of character compared to your new understanding of the characters

Watch Whispers of the Heart. I mean it! It’s a Studio Ghibli movie, and I swear to god it will inspire you and make this decision a little easier. The whole movie is about developing your creative craft. Its overall analogy is that of a geode. Your craft looks rough and sloppy on the outside, but with time, practice, and love you’ll find the beauty hidden underneath and make it shine. Amazing movie, it will change how you think about writing.

Now, finally, ask yourself: Is this the story I want to debut with? Is this the story I want to begin my writing career with?

This will be when you make your decision.

That’s the most objective advice I can give you. Since you’re asking a lot of writers for their stance, you’ll probably have a few different opinions, but I think running through this troubleshoot method will give you a chance to see for yourself.

My biased opinion?

It comes from my own experience with A Witch’s Memory.

This is about to be a very long story, fair warning, but it’s my entire thought process over 7-8 years of working on and off with the same project. A big part of the reason why I’m going in depth about the experience is because I keep going back to what you said:

“I think it may be because during the years I improved my writing, and now I'm sure I'd be able to do better. What would you do?”

The same thing happened to be. I started the series when I was much younger, but in the 7.5 years since then I’ve changed a lot as both a person (not adult/not teenager) and as a writer (who’s had several projects since then). I’m gonna walk you through 7.5 years of personal development and how it affected the project.

I joke that A Witch’s Memory has three universes, and those universes are all different rewrites. I first started the series I was seventeen. I finished the rough drafts of three books in the series and got down to full on editing the first book after I graduated high school. Within a year I had a finished novel that wasn’t necessarily polished (not by my standards today) but at the time I was ready to move forward and publish. I sent query letters out to lit agents but didn’t get any bites back. I didn’t get to work at it for long due to health issues, my whole body kind of just crashed so for six months I was too sick to do much of anything, let alone stress myself out over query letters. I started community college the next semester and got more involved in school than in writing.

17 when I started, 18 when I started editing, 19 when I queried and got sick, almost turning 20 when I started college.

I put the book on hold for another year and focused on school. During that time I had a lot of personal development as a person. I got more experience being myself, being an adult who can make decisions for themself.

And I realized that at age 19 I’d developed a lot of insecurities about my book.

In my case, it was the world building. I love my characters, and at their heart they’re still the same, albeit a bit more realistic. I re-examined what about the world building I didn’t like.

It felt too much like Twilight to start, with the way vampires and werewolves were supposed to hate each other, and witches and fairies hated each other, because that just made sense to a 17 year old who had never read paranormal before Twilight changed the direction of the genre.

I didn’t like magic being a secret that no human could know about, so I changed that. I didn’t like my character’s backstories too much, so I tweaked that too. For the best.

At age 20/21 (it was right around my birthday) I rewrote the entire first book. After finishing the rough draft I looked at editing it, looked at starting the rough draft of the second book, and I realized I didn’t like this version either.

So I put it on hold for anther two years. I worked on two different projects, experimented with writing style, got to know myself as a person better.

At 23 I reexamined what I didn’t like about “Universe 2″ and I realized-

I wasn’t comfortable with the way the book was written now. Too many main characters meant to many pov changes and too many personal plot lines to plan. I could see from the beginning how much I favored Anna and Ulric and Felix over my other main characters, so I cut my cast of six main characters down to three, focusing on my favorites. I also saw that the setting wasn’t working for me and it would be a lot less stress for me to chance the setting to somewhere I was more familiar with, setting it mostly in America instead of the U.K.

And I decided to stop worrying about what my past beta readers would think if the book didn’t look the same in “Universe 3″ and to just run with my heart.

(For any wondering, the beta reader in question is my mum, who has been the biggest supporter of my writing since I was 14 and believed I would be published even when I was ready to give up writing and work at a different career. She’s very attached to “Universe 1″ but it’s not where I want to go, and I know she’ll love this new direction when she reads it)

I started the rough draft for Universe 3 in January of 2019 (almost a year ago to the day I’m writing this). I did it on a whim. I had a dream of Anna and Ulric flying to safety from a villain on a broomstick and I asked myself why witches never had broomsticks in my old world, and I was like “why not, let’s add it”

And I just messed with world building. I aimed it for a more whimsical feel than my older angsty versions. I’m gonna blame all the Studio Ghibli movies I saw that year. Some of my local theatres have been doing special weekends where they show the movies, and I’ve gone to see four in the last year or so. I saw Kiki’s Delivery Service a few months earlier with my best friend (A) and then a month after starting the new draft I saw Howls Moving Castle and Spirited Away (same week, I think, all in theatre) and then as I was finishing the rough draft I saw Whispers of the Heart for the first time.

(this was the moment I realized that specific movie would help A LOT on this decision making process, so I included it above)

Anyway, I just gave myself permission to go in a completely different direction with my book.

I should note, that at 23 I had been visually impaired/blind for some 3 years, although it wasn’t medically official until I was 22. I’d also fallen in love for the first time and broken my own heart. I’d also spent the last two years struggling with gender and sexual identity and really starting to understand that part of myself.

So in general, the whole experience with those last two years of my life really changed the direction I took the book.

I focused more on internal struggle as well as the outside “main bad guy” I’d always been planning to work with. It

I kept the heart of my characters the same. Anna is still the kindest person you’ll ever meet, as well as sarcastic and brilliant and studious. Ulric is an anxious mess who is crazy loyal to his friends and who wants to gain his own independence. Felix is still a brat, but a loving one with the dryest sarcasm and a penchant for mischief.

Anna’s more cautious than her original incarnation. Ulric wasn’t disabled in previous versions (but at 23 I was disabled and I wanted to write a blind character, but I didn’t want blindness to be their only trait, so I took my most developed character and made him blind). Some of the characters are POC instead of white, I let myself have multiple LGBTQ characters (because 17 year old me thought the token queer was the norm because I only had one queer friend before that and we weren’t that close) and I changed some origin stories. It’s much better for that.

Growing up taught me how to put more life in my books, how to write more realistically less melodramatically, and what it feels like to have friends. Seventeen year old me didn’t have many friends in life, but 24 year old me has some wonderful friends.

Summary in Short?? (can I even do that?)

This advice post is getting long and I’m feeling bad, so okay, here I am: I’m almost 25 (in March). 17 and 23 year old me were very different people with different priorities and different levels of experience. And if I had to choose which book I would go with?

I’d stay with Universe 3 (and Universe 1 will just be a thing my mum and I know and keep to ourselves, mostly)

I’m nearly done with the 1st edit. I still have days of self doubt, but they’re nothing like what I had years ago. I’m closer to publishing than I was before, mostly because I have a solid plan now and I’ll be self-publishing, allowing me to publish on my own.

In my case, rewriting was the best decision I could have made. I’m not everyone else though, nor am I you. You know yourself and your story better than anyone, and I know you are the most qualified person to make that decision. I have confidence in your ability.

#writing community #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips #anon #ask #Mimzy answers an ask #dear god I hope this helped #Anonymous

9 notes · View notes

serenzippity · 5 years

Text

Viva

Words: 3796 Member: Eventual Hyungwon/OC, mentions of Wonho/OC, OC/ OC Genre: Angst Warning(s): Language, domestic violence, discrimination, dark themes

Chapter One

August 15th, 2019 Starship Entertainment Seoul, South Korea

Every step that I took sent a pang of dread up and down my spine where it nestled in my brain and reminded me how much I didn’t want to be here. Maybe it was the pinch of my heels or the fact that it was 11 in the morning and I still hadn’t had my morning coffee. Maybe it was the fact that I was dreading dealing with my boss, a man of admirable skills but very old-fashioned ideals. But in the end, as I stared at the door to the meeting room I decided that it was because I didn’t want to deal with the topic at hand.

There was another damned dating scandal and the whole building was buzzing because of it.

Rolling my eyes, I did everything I could to steel myself at the knowledge I would be sitting through another round of ‘who is wrong because I’m never wrong’ with the company’s legal team. It was a chore itself just to open the door and take my spot near the head of the table. Soon the room was filled to the brim with men that all had sour looks on their faces.

Doing a quick tally, I counted practically the entire Starship Legal Team ranging from the corporate stooges to the entire Monsta X team, to even a few members of the other artist’s teams. Almost everyone was here because the scandal, despite not being public knowledge yet, was extremely high-profile. It wasn’t often that an idol decided to shack up with an international pop star.

The meeting began with honorifics and a brief on the situation at hand. The senior partner on the team, Mr. Park, spat out all the details as if they personally offended him and his family. Lee Hoseok, also known as Wonho, was currently in a long-distance relationship with singer Reagan Brooks after he met her on the Jingle Ball circuit. They were friends first and foremost, doing public events together when she came to Korea in March and somehow, they were able to keep the relationship quiet until a nosy intern came crying to the company. Shidae called for an inquiry into his contract by the legal team, thus culminating into the cesspool of old-school testosterone that was brewing in the conference room.

“After overlooking his contract,” droned Mr. Park, “It can be argued that Hoseok-goon did not formally violate his dating agreement. However, I’d like to recommend sanctions against him and a formal remand to end the relationship.” I cringed at a mix of the condescending honorific as well as the collective murmur of agreement from the other men in the room.

“This relationship is unacceptable for an idol in his standing, and it should never have begun in the first place,” cried one of the members of the WJSN legal team. If I didn’t have a sour taste in my mouth before, I did now.

‘Those poor girls,’ I thought as he continued to argue in favor of sanctions.

“All in favor?”

Every person in the room, save for me, raised a hand. This did not go unnoticed by Mr. Park, and the glare that he sent my way was intense. He did not like me in the slightest, often citing my connections as the only reason as to how I got this job. He was against me from the beginning— be it because of my last name or my sex— and there was always a tension between us.

“Mrs. Hamlin?” he seethed, eyes flitting up and down with distaste.

“Well, Mr. Park,” I said as I cleared my throat, ready to give my take on it despite the multiple pairs of angry eyes looking at me. “Despite the call for sanctions against Lee Hoseok, we legally cannot file them against him.”

“And why not?” He looked at me like I spat in his face, but after a year of his abuse, I was far from scared of his perpetually angry look.

“His contract states that he isn’t allowed to date until three years after the band’s debut date or until they have two wins, whichever comes first,” I tell him pointedly, looking down at my copy of the contract where I highlighted and marked prevalent points in it. “It has been four years since their debut and multiple wins, therefor he fulfilled that aspect of the contract.”

“We understand that—”

“Furthermore,” I said, forgetting hierarchy and not letting him finish, “Beyond the parameters of the dating restriction, his contract does not outline what will happen to him or the band should he choose to date after the prerequisites have been met. The contract simply moves on to his allowances and expenditures in the dorm. Legally,” putting a lot of emphasis on the word, “we cannot change or amend his contract to fit your moral ideals.”

The last sentence caused an uproar. It was like a bomb went off in the room as many of the lawyers cried out in anger. I understood that it wasn’t the best choice of words, but the law is the law. Despite being educated in America, Contract Law in Korea was virtually the same. Contracts cannot be amended at a whim and this was a case example of adherence over adaption.

“Mr. Park,” I hissed over the uproar, “You know that we cannot amend his contract without having a summit, drafting a new one, and forcing him and all the other members to renew their contracts prematurely. It would cost a lot of time and money to do so.”

The anger in his eyes told me that he was pissed off, but the slouch in his shoulders told me that he knew I was correct. “Enough,” he shouted over the voices of the other lawyers. They silenced instantly, but there was still a palpable tension in the room. “What do you suggest then Mrs. Hamlin.”

Clearing my throat, I flipped to the last page of my brief. I had outlined a plan of attack that would maintain the Starship ideals but keep from breaching his contract. “I suggest that we work with Ms. Brooks’ team. We keep the media out of it and work collectively to keep the whole thing quiet. They can meet on their own dimes, but the terms will be set by both managements. Everything must be quiet, discrete, and maintain a zero-tolerance for social media.”

Mr. Park leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face as he stewed over my plan of attack. I knew I was right, and he knew I was right even though he didn’t want to admit it. “Alright,” he said with a groan, “We will work with the American team to connect with Ms. Brooks’ management. But in the meantime, you,” he said pointing to me, “will be the one to tell him and Hongsik to stay home. No unexplained trips or outings with her until this is settled.”

“But—”

“That is all. I want the Monsta X team notified today.” With that, he stood up and began to gather the papers scattered in front of him. I felt the fury within me begin to bubble, but I bit my tongue because I knew there was no getting out of what Mr. Park said. The command held the weight of a ton of bricks, and I felt the beginnings of a headache start to pound behind my eyes.

Gathering my things, I practically ran out of the room, ignoring all the nasty looks of my coworkers and team members. My heels clicked as I made my way into my office, and I could only guess that I had a sour look on my face because Seyoung was standing by my desk with a cup of coffee and a bottle of painkillers in hand.

“You’re an angel,” I groaned taking both eagerly. I popped a few and washed them down with the coffee before kicking my heels off and leaning back in my chair with an overexaggerated groan. “Can you find me an intern please?” Grabbing a notepad, I began to work on the task that was draining all my energy.

“Be right back,” he said before dutifully filing out of the room and returning a few moments later with a bright-eyed young woman.

“Take this memo to Hongsik on the fourth floor. Tell him that it is imperative that he, his staff, and the members arrive promptly.” I handed her a folder with the handwritten note. She nodded eagerly and pranced out of my office like a chipper doe. Normally I’d be amused by her enthusiasm, but the pounding behind my eyes was growing stronger and stronger.

“Rough morning so far?” Seyoung asked as he leaned against the doorway.

“You have no idea.” I slipped on a comfortable pair of flats and chugged on my coffee as I thought about a plan of attack for the meeting I was dreading. “I’m just good at my job and that means that I get the bitch work. It’s fine.”

“Well if it will help, do you want me to get you more coffee and some refreshments for the meeting I’m guessing you’re going to be hosting?”

I only gave him a pathetic pout and nod, finishing off the hot, bitter lifeblood in the cup. I tossed it and began to outline a brief for the meeting. I was meticulous when it came to the do’s and do not’s on the list that it was almost painful with the amount of effort I was putting in. Here I was, a partner under Starship, doing the work of an associate. I was thankful for my position and the opportunities I had been afforded the last year, but the blatant prejudice against me was really beginning to wear me down.

Granted, I came into the position with marks against me. I’d only been out of law school for a year before I was “offered” the partner position at Starship. It was a mix of nepotism, bribery, and threats that made me physically ill when I thought about them. However, for the last two years, I had become an expert at burying the darkest aspects of my life. It was like taking a layer of clothing off and throwing it into a bin. Shedding those parts of me became second nature. From the circumstances of my job to my marriage, everything worked against me in an effort to make me crumble. But I worked too damn hard to get to where I was.

Running my hands through my dark hair, I ticked down the minutes with busy work. Making sure everything was set for the meeting, I put my heels back on and began to pour cups of water from a pitcher that Seyoung graciously brought me. Everything was perfect for the awkward, and hopefully short, conversation that I would have to have with the group and their team.

The meeting was set to start at 3 PM sharp, but by 3:05 I was clicking my pen with nerves. By 3:15 the nerves began to die down and unadulterated annoyance began to take their place. By 3:35 I was pacing in my uncomfortable heels as I worked to calm my stewing mind. It didn’t help, rather the pacing just made me angrier.

“Seyoung!” My assistant scrambled through the door, surprised at my sharp tone. His wide eyes were fixated on my hands which were currently clenched so hard that my nails were cutting little crescent moons into my palms. “Find the schedule for Monsta X. If they are in the building I want to know where they are.”

With a nod, he dutifully returned to his desk and within seconds I had the exact location of the sources of my anger. Taking the elevator down to the third-floor practice rooms I stomped my way through the Starship building, scaring associates and interns alike with my angry eyes and gently bleeding palms.

I could hear the music coming from the biggest room the moment I stepped off the elevator. The deep vocals and house beats vibrated through the halls, beckoning me on my way as I rehearsed a scolding in my mind. By the time I reached the door the music was blaring, and I just wanted the thumping to stop. It aggravated the pounding that had returned to behind my eyes, and it only made me that much angrier.

Opening the door, I walked in to see the seven idols rehearsing their choreography with their team standing around watching them like hawks. No one even seemed to notice me come in and somehow that only added to my frustration.

“Pardon!” I yelled, my native language coming out though my reddening vision as I honed in on their manager. No one heard me, which prompted me to stomp over to the in-house sound system and pull the aux chord out of the speaker. A shrill pitch rang out, startling everyone and causing them to finally notice my appearance. The Monsta X members were in mid-position, some falling as the music cut out and they were awkwardly pulled out of their concentration. The team was scrambling to find out what cut the music, only to give me shocked looks at the anger on my face and the chord dangling from my fingers.

“Mrs. Hamlin what—” their manager, Hongsik, asked stepping forward. But I wasn’t in the mood to hear what he had to say. I quickly cut him off, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him with rage.

“Ta gueule,” I shouted in French, quickly switching back to Korean. “You were supposed to be in my office forty-five minutes ago!”

“For what?” Hongsik looked at me with wide eyes at my harsh demeanor. He and I had met in passing multiple times and he was a pleasant man who I had always gotten along with, but right now that established acquaintanceship was out the window.

“I sent a messenger down here to tell you and your team to be in my office at 3 PM sharp.” I hissed the last word venomously, glaring at the older man fearlessly. “We have come to a decision about Hoseok’s relationship.” The blonde-haired boy in question looked down at his feet in shame at the mention of his name.

I gave the idol a once over, before looking at the rest of the Monsta X team with fury in my eyes. I dropped the chord on the floor and moved to walk out the door. “My office, now.” My voice was a dark whisper, offering no room for protest. I turned the handle to the door and slammed it, not looking back to see if anyone was following.

-x-

The meeting itself went well once the team and Hoseok finally made their way in. All of them were understanding of the terms, and surprisingly the idol was very complacent. Despite the relatively acrimonious first impression, Hoseok seemed like a nice guy who had genuine concerns for both the happiness of his fans and his girlfriend.

It only took an hour before I dismissed them, handing over my card to Hoseok just in case some of the other partners tried to change the terms of his contract again. He seemed appreciative, bowing deeply and giving me a beautiful dimpled smile that would have made any other woman swoon.

The rest of the day went on as usual, with the typical snide remarks from my colleagues and the copious amounts of busywork. I left the building at my average time with a wave to Seyoung before going outside and sliding into the car that my husband sent for me. The ride with his driver was silent, something that I had grown accustomed to after two years of marriage. It only took approximately five minutes to arrive at the lavish apartment complex, but he always insisted that I take the car rather than walk.

My feet ached painfully by the time I took the elevator to the top floor of the building and stepped out into the spacious penthouse. Every bone was screaming for release from the Louboutin pumps, and I finally gave them a respite as I walked through the threshold.

Damien was sprawled on the couch, intently starting at a news broadcast playing over his massive TV. Nothing was said, and he didn’t even acknowledge my presence as I made my way over to him and pressed a chaste kiss to his head.

“Hi baby,” I cooed against his soft dark hair, touching his cheek gently. He only grunted in response, and I took that as permission to leave him alone for the time being. I padded over into the master bedroom, quickly stripping out of my suffocating tights and pencil skirt in favor of a pair of leggings and a faded Georgetown t-shirt.

After a quick wash up, I made my way out to begin preparing dinner. Every move I made was quick and silent, the only noise in our expansive house was the droning of the TV and the sizzle of the chicken breasts in the pan. By the time dinner was ready, Damien had made himself comfortable at the dining table with his phone in hand. Like a good little wife, I plated everything and set it down in front of him with a glass of his favorite wine. Placing another kiss to his head, I got my own dinner ready and joined him at the table. The monotonous evening was something I was used to, the silence a lovely companion in comparison to the times when one or both of our tempers got the best of us.

Damien was clicking away on his phone in between bites of food. There would be no show of thanks or any words of appreciation, but I’d more than likely find some expensive piece of jewelry or perfume sitting on my vanity by the end of the week.

The rest of the evening was silent as the grave, save for the clicking of Damien’s iPhone and my fingers hitting the keys on my laptop. We both worked after dinner for a few hours, practically ignoring each other. I didn’t show it outwardly, but every second of silence felt like a knife was being pushed deeper and deeper into my chest. At one point in time, we were so passionately and intensely in love, neck-deep in a honeymoon phase that seemed endless. We would worship each other and whisper affirmations of love until the sun came up during a time where I was so blissfully happy that I didn’t see the red flags.

I don’t know when it all changed, but somehow everything fell through my fingers like grains of sand.

Eventually, Damien and I retired into our bedroom. He was laying on the bed, phone still in hand with his body shining in the dim lamplight. I was finishing up my routine at the vanity, watching him from the corner of my eye. He was so beautiful as he relaxed at the end of the day, and I felt like I could potentially pretend we were how we used to be.

“Damien,” I cooed as I ran a brush through my hair. “Your birthday is in two days and I was planning on making reservations at—.”

“I’m leaving for London in two days. Raincheck.” He grumbled, not even giving me an opportunity to finish my thought.

I set the brush down hard, shaking my vanity but barely phasing my lounging husband. “You just got back from Singapore and now you are leaving again?” My frustration that accumulated throughout the entirety of the day came raging back in a tidal wave of emotions. I watched him through the mirror, angry at how he didn’t even look up from his phone at the obvious distress in my voice.

“Did you have another way for me to spend my day?” He was completely monotone, never looking up from the illuminated screen.

“Yes actually,” I said, my voice coming out as a broken cry. “I wanted to take you to this restaurant. Seyoung said it was wonderful and—.”

For the second time that night he interrupted me. However, this time around his attention was no longer focused on the device in his hand. Rather he was completely honed in on me, eyes alight with familiar fury. “Seyoung?” he hissed cynically, quickly switching from nonchalant to suspicious within a second’s notice.

It was one of his major flaws: he was insanely jealous. That dark part of him used to turn me on in a way that was unique to us, but after the wedding, the envy within him took a much more sinister turn. There were some things that makeup couldn’t completely cover-up.

I regretted saying Seyoung’s name instantly. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, awaiting the cold touch of his hands on my body. I held in my jumping heart when I felt soft, yet firm fingers wrap around the column of my throat. They squeezed gently, forcing my head up as he hovered over me with a menacing snarl on his rugged face. “You and your assistant made plans together? Did you get cozy with him while discussing my birthday dinner?” Every word made him squeeze harder until my breathing was completely cut off.

Gasping as the sensation, I felt tears begin to gather in the corner of my eyes. The lack of oxygen mixed with pure fear had me cowering under his hands. His other hand came around and began to pop open the buttons of my sleep shirt. I began to see black spots in the corner of my eyes as the absence of air began to overtake my body. My hands tried to claw his away, but he just gave me an evil smirk at my struggle.

When he finally let go of my neck I fell forward onto my vanity, knocking products off the table in my effort to soothe my burning lungs. I didn’t have a single opportunity for respite before his hands came down to grasp my waist in a vice grip. He pulled me up roughly and pushed me forward onto the vanity. The edge of the table cut into my hips as he leaned into my body with bruising hands that groped and grabbed anywhere they could find purchase.

Damien bit the skin at the juncture of my neck, causing me to cry out in pain as the tears finally fell over my lashes. “I don’t like other men touching my things,” he whispered harshly into my neck before taking the lapels of my shirt and completely ripping it in half and bending me over the vanity.

A/N: I UPLOADED THE WRONG VERSION I’M SO SORRY! Here is the prologue of Viva! Next chapter will feature Hyungwon. Let me know what you think! Gif is not mine.

#monsta x #hyungwon #Monsta X fanfiction #monsta x fanfic #hyungwon fanfic #hyungwon fanfiction #Monsta X hyungwon #monsta x scenarios #mx

24 notes · View notes

yeahyeahbeebisii · 4 years

Text

Impostor Syndrome Draft: The Replacement

This is a rough draft for the story I’m writing. James, a member of an extraordinarily popular rock group has been killed in a car crash, and their management has a plan to avoid the uproar it would cause.

It wasn’t a remarkable building in any way. Plain brick, barely more than a house, but the weight of it imposed on me greatly. I had only seen it in magazine pictures, and looking at it in its full size and color was more impressive than I could convey. I knocked on the door, buzzing with excitement. A moment passed, and as I waited, my mind drifted back to the odd feeling I’d had when that man Nigel approached me. My suspicion that something may have been wrong turned to certainty when Nigel himself opened the door. He looked slightly disheveled, and his brow was clearly beaded with sweat.

“You’re late.” He said as soon as he appeared.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor, I’m sorry, the bus-”

“Nevermind.” He cut me off with a forced smile. “You’re just fine, my boy. Please-” He gestured me inside. It was a small foyer with coat hooks directly opposite the entrance, and doors leading left and right on either side. Now a bit uneasy, I cautiously hung up my coat.

“Step in here for a moment, please.” He said, ushering me through the right door and shutting it behind us. It looked to be a recording room. I had never been in one before, and gazed around curiously.

“What’s your full name, lad?” Nigel asked, pulling out a small notepad from his pocket.

“Oh, uh, William.” I replied, trying to focus again. “William Joseph Watts.” He scribbled it down. I couldn’t help but peek over at the notepad. There was a long list of names written on it, mine now joining them.

“Wonderful, now, would you mind singing a few bars of something for me? Anything you’d like.”

I was confused. I thought I’d only come to do a photoshoot. Why did I have to sing? But being in The Wildes’ studio, I began to sing their song Your Eyes. Almost immediately Nigel beamed, and by the end he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Phenomenal.” He said. “Absolutely phenomenal. Would you mind coming with me?”

He took me from the right room and into the left, which was obviously a lounge or break room, and sitting there, right in front of me, were Ricky Greene and Jeremy Wright. There was also a third man I didn’t recognise, leaning against the opposite wall. They turned to us as we entered.

“Oh there he is.” Said Ricky sternly. “Calls us in today of all days then leaves us here for hours.”

“Nigel what have you been doing running about all morning?” Jeremy asked. They both sounded irritated, Jeremy almost sounded sad. My bewilderment was growing by the second, but was now somewhat outweighed by my shock at two of my favorite musicians sitting in front of me.

“I’ll tell you in a moment.” Nigel said, sounding almost nervous. “Eh, where’s Simon?”

“Out back.” the third man said flatly.

“Who’s this?” Ricky asked, nodding to me. My heart jumped a bit, having been acknowledged. I felt a bit embarrassed by how easily I was moved by seeing famous people, but it wasn’t every day you got to meet international pop stars.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss with you boys.” Nigel put a hand on my shoulder. I noticed he was sweating a bit harder now. “Would you bring Simon in, please?”

Jeremy got off the couch and went to the sliding french door on the opposite side of the room. He poked his head out, and a moment later, Simon Morris walked in, a cigarette dangling apathetically between his fingers. I smiled unintentionally at the growing gathering, but Simon clearly didn’t share my enthusiasm.

“It’s about time.” He snapped at Nigel and flopped down on a chair. Then his eyes fell on me. “Who’s this?”

“Good, alright, I’ll explain.” Nigel said. “Now that we’re all gathered-”

But as a thought struck me, I interrupted him.

“Where’s James?”

The looks I got in response made up for the gaping silence. They ranged from fury to panic, and now I knew for sure something was horribly wrong.

“Did something happen?” Still silence. Nigel cleared his throat.

“Boys, this is Will Watts, Will, this is Jeremy, Simon, and Ricky. They’re obviously a band. That’s Edward Scott, he’s our producer. Right now we have a problem.” If looks could kill, Nigel would have been dead three times over by the way the band was glaring at him. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak, his mouth flapping a bit, but unable to continue.

“We’ve lost a member.” Edward finished softly, saving Nigel from his own silence.

“What?” I breathed. “James left?”

“Not exactly.” Nigel said, gradually getting quieter.

“James is dead.” Simon snapped, obviously angry at the ambiguity of it. “There was a car crash last week. He’s dead, he’s dead, just fucking say it Nigel.”

“Mind your tone.” Nigel shot back as forcefully as his anxiety would allow, but I was barely listening. I couldn’t say anything. My mouth just hung open.

“Why haven’t I heard about this?” I asked finally. “Why hasn’t anyone heard about this? People will be heartbroken!”

“That’s part of the problem we’re trying to avoid.” Nigel said. “No one is allowed to know.”

“Yet.” Ricky added.

“Er, no.” Nigel stumbled, "No one is going to know."

"They're going to notice if one of our lead singers is gone." Simon said sharply.

"That's where Will comes in." Nigel gestured to me, and suddenly I felt extremely exposed. I knew as little about what he was talking about as the band did, but now they all glared daggers at me as the implication of what Nigel was saying began to click.

"Nigel," Jeremy spoke up, seeming to want to cut off anyone else's potential anger. "Are you suggesting we use this man to hide a James' death from the public?"

Nigel's unease was palpable, his face white, but he gave no answer. Jeremy turned to Edward instead, who took a long sigh.

"That is the idea." He said. I could feel the color quickly leaving my face. He couldn’t possibly be serious.

Simon slowly stood up from his chair, locking eyes with Nigel. He gradually and deliberately made his way to him until their noses were practically touching.

"Nigel," he whispered. "You're absolutely, fucking, MENTAL!" He screamed the last word, grabbing his manager by the lapel.

"Get your hands off me!" Nigel said, pushing Simon away. He seemed to have recovered some sense of confidence. "I know this isn't ideal. But Gold Bar has decided it’s the best option right now.”

“The fuck you have!” Simon shouted. “We didn’t get any say in this?”

“It’s not your decision.” Nigel yelled back. Then he took a breath and seemed to reevaluate. “Look, right now the world is unsteady. Like it or not, you’re icons, and that means your impact is important. You’re a refuge for people who have too much to deal with as it is. Pop culture is an escape, and if that’s disrupted it could make things worse than they already are.”

“Oh shut up.” Simon groaned loudly. “You’re a company, we’re your assets. Don’t make it sound like world peace, you cunt.” None of the others interjected, and it didn’t look like they disagreed at all, not even his producer.

“You can think what you like, this is non-negotiable.” Nigel replied. He seemed to have given up on convincing them. Simon turned to Edward instead, who didn’t look back at him.

“You knew about this?” He asked. There was a softer edge to his voice that wasn’t present with Nigel. It sounded more like betrayal than anger.

“I was told,” Edward replied, gently, “just like you.”

“When?” Simon’s voice cracked as he said it.

“A couple days after the crash. It wasn’t my decision either.”

Simon just shook his head in utter disgust and disbelief. Silence fell again.

“I suppose... you’re going to be training him to play, yeah?” Ricky asked quietly.

“No,” Simon interrupted before Nigel could respond. “You’re not actually considering this a possibility.” It wasn’t a question, it was almost an order.

“What choice do we have?” Jeremy muttered quietly. He hadn’t stopped staring at the floor for several minutes. “You heard the man”

“We can quit!” Simon said desperately. “Tell everyone what they’re trying to do to us!” He pointed venomously at Nigel.

“Maybe he’s right though.” Said Jeremy. “Maybe it’s best we try to get back to normal.”

“It’s not normal!” Simon screamed. His voice reverberated around the small room. “My best friend just died! We’re not going to be normal again, there’s nothing ‘normal’ about any of this!”

“You think you’re the only one who’s hurt?” Jeremy said sternly, standing up. He was a good few inches taller than Simon and looked angrily down on him.

“I seem to be!” he replied loudly. “If you’re just going to give up like this I can’t see-”

“Don’t tell me how I feel!” Jeremy yelled. “You have no idea how this impacted me!”

Everyone fell silent for a long time. No one wanted to be the first to speak.

Nigel cleared his throat hesitantly. “That’s all I needed from you today. Will,” he turned to me, “I just need one more moment with you, I’ll see you out.”

I followed him out the door silently. I was still in shock. Before I shut the door behind me I took a glance back at the rockstars I had just met, likely on the worst terms possible. They all looked back furiously. I averted my eyes quickly and shut the door.

On the doorstep, Nigel couldn’t look me in the eye. I desperately wished he would. I needed some certainty, something I could grasp, even just a look that wasn’t embrewed with rage.

“I’m sorry about that.” He said, looking at the doormat, the street, his hands, and everywhere but my face. I wanted to ask how he would have wanted them to react to such a statement, but I didn’t. “They’ll come around. But you’ll consider the offer, won’t you?”

What could I even say to that? “Are you seriously asking this from me?” I held my own hands to stop them from shaking. “To take over someone else’s life?”

“If you don’t accept we’ll just find someone else. I’m sure there’s people dying for this chance.- Pardon my wording.” He said. Finally he made eye contact. “It’s your chance to famous. Be loved, respected across nations. You wouldn’t even have to work at it first. And really, your voice is an impeccable match.” The way he dangled it in front of me you’d think it was nothing. But then I thought about my life back home. What did I really have to go back to? What would I do when I returned? Not only with the next few days, but the next months and years. I shook my head slightly at even considering it. It was absolutely insane, not even counting the disrespect to the dead. But even standing there in front of the studio, the more I thought about it, the more it rolled around feeling more normal in my mind, the more tempting it seemed.

“Will you let me think about it?” I asked.

“Of course.” Nigel said. He put a hand on my shoulder again. “You have my number, call me when you make your decision.”

Then he turned, descended the steps, and made his way to a white car parked on the street. I just stood there, stunned and finally alone. I had to focus on every step I took just to get down the porch steps. It took me another few seconds to remember which way I had to go. I began trying to navigate my way back to the bus stop while trying to juggle everything that had been said to me. But before I could get very far, I heard a voice call my name from behind me. I turned just in time to see Edward Scott pull the door shut as he stepped out into the cold November air.

"Do you mind if I walk with you?" He asked politely. In truth, I did. I was feeling distinctly overwhelmed as it was, and didn't know if I could handle any more poking and prodding at my judgement.

But "No, I don't mind." was what I said.

"That's kind of you." He said, pulling on a pair of knitted gloves. "I'm sure you're fairly overwhelmed."

"A bit." I said, trying not to sound sharp.

"I'm sorry Nigel didn't tell you what you were walking into. I saw your face in there, you looked terrified." His tired hazel eyes were very sincere. I didn't know if this was simply how he normally looked, but it was a welcome change from Nigel's panicked glancing.

"I was." I said sheepishly. "I… am."

"Will, I want to be honest with you." His tone shifted from sympathy to sternness. "This could be many people's dream come true. But it could be many people's nightmare. You don't have to do this if you don't want to." He sighed. "I can't guarantee how the boys will react if you choose to. And frankly, I won't make apologies for them. They just lost a close friend. For Simon, his closest. You'd have to have surgery, you'd have to learn how to play guitar and bass-" he cut himself off rather quickly and asked "do you play guitar?"

I shook my head.

“I play piano a little but that’s it.”

“Hm.” Edward nodded, extracting a cigarette box from his coat and pulling one out. He offered one to me, but I declined. “I just want you to consider all sides of it.” he said.

“I appreciate that.” His honesty was refreshing, but it didn’t help put my mind at ease. My mind almost drew a blank, this was so outside anything I’d ever expected from my life I didn’t know what to feel. “Nigel’s really set on this plan, isn’t he?” I asked.

“It sounds like it.” Edward replied. “I should have fought him harder, but their minds are made up now.”

I barely listened. My face must have been pretty blank, because when Edward looked back at me, he sighed lightly and said, “I should let you go.”

I realized how distant I had been and stopped to look back.

“I’m sorry.” I said, trying to refocus.

“Don’t be.” He stuck out his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Will.”

#tw death #tw swearing #tw car accident #tw car wreck #tw smoking #i think that's all #it's LONG sorry

1 note · View note

sanguinarysanguinity · 5 years

Text

Fic-Writer / Vid-Maker Meme

Tagged by @educatedinyellow and @gailbsanders, thank you!

Author/Vidder Name: sanguinity

Fandoms You Write For: Lately it’s mostly book!verse Hornblower and ACD!Holmes (although the ACD!Holmes is largely behind the scenes with a long-form WIP that I’ve been focusing on). I also write for assorted small Holmesian fandoms as the whim or prompts take me, and I used to write fairly prolifically for Elementary, before that show wore me into the ground with how persistently they don’t care about Joan Watson. I’ve written a fair bit of Strange Empire, some Doctor Who / Torchwood, and quite a few one-offs in random fandoms, from the Oz books to Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles.

Fandoms I Vid For: Mostly one-offs or small batches that overlap with the fandoms I write for: Holmesian multiverse, Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles, plus a number of rarer Festivids-qualifying fandoms like The Middleman or Noah’s Arc.

Where You Post Fic: Most of it is on AO3, excepting some three-sentence and five-sentence fics that I’ve never collected.

Where You Post Vids: Variously Vimeo, YouTube, and DailyMotion, depending on who threw a fit about what copyrighted music the week I posted it, but all my vids are listed at AO3.

Most Popular One-Shot: “The Sincerity of Dust,” a BBC Sherlock Mystrade flash-fic I banged out one morning and which then went on to eat Cleveland. It has 1400 kudos and is working on 14,000 hits. Its nearest rival is “Score: Q to 12,″ an Elementary flash-fic featuring Sherlock and Joan playing Calvinscrabble, which performed modestly on AO3 but cleaned up on tumblr to the tune of 1700 notes.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: “Holocene Park,” an Elementary case fic featuring dinosaurs under the streets of New York City. If I’m remembered in the Elementary fandom for anything, it’s probably for this or Calvinscrabble.

Most Popular Vid: “Something Good (Will Come From That),” my Holmes/Watson multiverse vid. It has 10K plays, the AO3 page has 2.5K hits, and the tumblr page has almost 800 notes. It escaped my corner of pseudonym-based AO3-centric fandom and has made the rounds of the Sherlockian scions on Facebook, as well as being rec’d on non-fannish websites in French, German, and Japanese. For a little while there it was making me anxious with how popular it got -- at the height of its popularity, I was worrying my mom was going to email it to me. After it hit it big I almost completely stopped making things for a while, because I was pretty sure that nothing else I made would be even half that good ever again. Happily, that turned out to be a stupid reason to not make things, and so I started making things again.

Favorite Story You Wrote/Vid You Made: Yeah, sorry, no, my brain burns out on “favorite” questions, especially ones that have no criteria. I’ll just refer you to my Fic/Vid Speed-Dating Score Card, which can be construed as a list of my favorite works on various axes, and is still fairly accurate despite being a year old. (Scariest nowadays is probably “Tea for Two,” a Moriarty-centric story from this last round of Holmestice.)

Story You Were Nervous to Post: “Any Service Required,” which is dark Bush/Hornblower porn. I always feel hideously exposed when publishing porn -- I’m nervous about posting it even in the best of cases. But what with this being dark-fic, I was half-expecting the self-appointed morals police who get prescriptive about “healthy” relationships to show up and make a stink. Or along similar lines, I was fearing that followers who are used to a certain kind of thing from me will look at this one, think it base trash, and lose respect for me over it. I’m happy to say that nothing like that has happened so far, and while readership has been light, I’m fine with that: I’d rather a story have a small readership who is genuinely into it than a large readership who isn’t, and I’d like to believe that this story’s small readership is mostly due to people taking a look at the tags and making good decisions about the kind of thing they enjoy reading.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: BY ANY MEANS I CAN MAKE WORK. My preference is to grab a meaningful phrase from the text, but I’ll also use quotes and popular phrases, sometimes straight-up and sometimes with a twist, if it seems a decent fit for the story. Ideally, a title will speak to some deeper truth about the story, but when push comes to shove, I’ll settle for a title that is short, clean, and memorable: basically, anything that I and others can remember without having to look it up all the damn time. (This is my main problem with people using lines of poetry or song lyrics as titles: they tend to register in my brain as generic word salad, and in many cases I couldn’t say without looking it up what the title actually was, let alone what it had to do with the story.)

Do You Outline: For long or complex stories, sure, yes. If there are many scenes or multiple chapters, I tend to jot down a few lines listing out the succession of scenes or chapters; for “The Next World,” whose main body is a long and rambly conversation, I had an outline that listed out every twist and turn of that convo. The outline for “Langstroth on Bees” (WIP, currently 58K) is a monster of a thing, listing out the internal timeline (five years of current action plus another ten of backstory), various promises I’ve made that I need to deliver on, assorted events that I want to remember to include, and rough ideas about where chapter breaks should maybe fall. Given that I’ve been working on that story for five years now, often with breaks from it of nearly a year, that outline has saved my ass. I guarantee you that without it, I would have picked up this story at some point, tried to remember where I was going with it, come up with nothing much, and shelved it permanently. If anything, I really should outline more often -- I have a few long-standing drafts in my WIP folder that I just... don’t remember where I was going with that. I remember that I did have a destination in mind, yes, but what exactly? WHO KNOWS. Btw, my outlines are living documents -- I revise them often, as my understanding of the story develops. In fact, revising the outline is one of many tools for understanding where a story is going and what is still needed to bring it together.

How many of your fanworks are…

Complete: 92 stories or story collections (I have a few AO3 “stories” that are actually collected ficlets from tumblr or Sherlock60), and 26 vids and vidlets,

In-Progress: Nothing published to AO3 -- it makes me crazy to have a partially-published WIP. My drafts folder has 36 partially completed stories in it, and there are probably a half-dozen vids that I started but haven’t finished.

Coming Soon: Four? For various values of “coming soon.” I have two Hornblower stories that are mostly done (one for the Tegmore verse and another for the Kraken verse), and I’ve been working steadily on “Langstroth on Bees” in the hopes that I’ll finish it this year. And I’m signed up for Remix Revival -- whatever I do for that will probably be the very-most-next thing.

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes! Although I have only a 1/3 to 1/2 completion rate on prompts -- I do hope that no one minds that too terribly! But I’ll actively solicit prompts from time to time -- to celebrate something, or if I’m having a shit day and want to turn it around -- and some of my best stuff has come from prompts people have given me. I never ever guarantee filling them (see my above mentioned completion rate), but if someone wants to prompt me something, my ask box is open. Even if the prompt never gets filled, I still get a warm flutter of “They want to play with me!” from it.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: “Langstroth on Bees,” a 58K-and-counting Holmes/Watson retirement fic that I’ve been working for five years. I added a solid 13K to it this month, and have maybe 20K left to go -- I’m hope-hope-hoping to have it done this year. But I’ve gotten far enough into it that “Langstroth” has finally begun overlapping the territory covered in “From Allegany,” and by the end of this chapter I’ll have passed it entirely. Then I’ll be in unwritten territory, wheee! (Speaking of titles, I never really intended to call this thing “Langstroth on Bees” -- that’s just a working title for my drafts folder. But enough of you now know it by that name that I think I’m going to have to stick with it? So I’m desperately trying to figure out how to justify it. ONE OF MANY THINGS TO DO IN THIS DRAFT.)

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: @beanarie @quipxotic @phoenixfalls @xserpx @amindamazed And of course anyone else who wants to play!

#my writing #long post #langstroth on bees

9 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 5 years

Text

Blech. I’ve pretty much officially finished writing, editing and revising this standalone epic fantasy novel I started years and years ago and only just recently got around to finishing. Which is good, for sure, but also....blech. LOL. Because now I have no more excuses for putting off making a decision about the cover.

Like I always intended to self-pub this particular novel for personal reasons, and I can make my own covers just fine. I’ve done epic fantasy covers before for other clients that turned out well, even working with stock art and photomanipulation, its totally possible to make something that hits all the genre expectations and sells the right tone and feel to readers who come across it. BUT I’ve always loved the illustrated covers of a lot of fantasy novels I grew up with, and always kinda wanted something similar for this particular work, even though I have other fantasy projects I wouldn’t care as much about that one way or the other.

And so years ago when I first started the book and was only about a third of the way in, but still had a solid sense of the world and story and where it was all going, I happened to stumble across a fantasy artist whose work was like...exactly the right tone and aesthetic I’d always been picturing for that novel’s setting and vibe. And he was a freelancer, and open to commissions at the time, and you never know with freelancers if they’ll still be taking commissions a year or two down the line or if they’ve gone to work for like, a video game company or studio or something like that by that point, so even though the book was nowhere near done I hopped on that and commissioned an illustration from him to be used for the cover at some future point when I was ready for it. I just needed the illustration, I was fine doing typography and all that myself when the time came.

And I mean, I’ve literally been on the other side of the author/artist interaction tons of times, lol, so like, I know from my own experiences where its helpful to give an artist or a designer room to breathe and exercise their own creativity, make use of their own particular skillset and interpret the story elements you tell them are most important to see conveyed in the final cover, in like...their own way, like what feels best to them, what they’re most inspired to do with the foundational info you give them to build off of.

Like I mean, visual design is its own skillset, and often completely separate from the kind of visualization most authors do of their own work while writing it....and with self-pubbed authors especially, as artists or designers you often run into authors who get really hung up on relatively minor details that they feel really need to be on the cover in some capacity and in really specific ways. Which is often to the detriment of the cover in the long run because like....what looks right in your head as a writer, totally familiar with your own world and story and its every minutiae and the implications and context of every single element....is not always going to come across the same way to readers who happen across your cover while browsing. Because they literally have ZERO context for what they’re looking at, and thus it really needs to stand on its own two feet and sell itself, not....loop back around to some hidden significance that will really only resonate with readers who end up buying the book and only once they reach this one scene in chapter 27 or whatever, you know?

So I really didn’t want to do that with this artist. I was only commissioning him because I loved what I’d seen of his work and the style he seemed to default to naturally was the perfect fit for what I wanted, IMO, so I was more than willing to let him take the broader strokes of the setting/themes/storyline in whatever direction inspired him most, as long as he hit within the general framework I provided him.

BUT, that said, for all that I tried to give him as much creative freedom to work with as possible, there are of course always a FEW things that as the commissioning party, are really important to see in the final product, and so yeah, I did have a couple of areas/elements that I did stress were really important to strike the right tone with, or it could make or break the whole illustration.

Specifically, I was concerned that he hit the right feel with the main character. My protag for this novel is a woman, and the one area his portfolio samples didn’t have a ton of variety with and thus had me slightly worried about what visual tropes he might default to...was female characters. He had tons of gorgeous settings, fantasy creatures, architecture, knights and sorcerers and monsters, but not a ton of women in the samples I saw. He did have some, for sure, and like there was nothing super concerning about the way he’d drawn/painted them....there were some priestesses, sorceresses, that kinda thing, and their anatomy and wardrobes weren’t like....glaringly cheesecake-y or anything like a lot of fantasy artists’ portfolios....so I knew he COULD get the character right, the way I hoped he would, I just wasn’t SURE. Like, I wasn’t concerned about specific details, beyond like....not outrageously contradicting the character description and scenes I gave him to work off of, I wasn’t worried about nitpicking minutiae. But my protag is a warrior-magic user archetype, and warrior women is like, the one female archetype he didn’t have any samples of, and I was more concerned about him defaulting to like....the old fantasy standby’s of ridiculously impossible and unnatural poses for warrior women, not to mention totally impractical armor, that sort of thing.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but this was the ONE thing I stressed, lol. I didn’t really care about the finer details of her armor like in terms of decoration or filigree or even color schemes, I honestly could just adjust my own descriptions in the book to match what he came up with if need be. Stuff like that, so not a big deal to me. ALL I was concerned about was like....she not fall into those trope traps that ensnare so many women on fantasy covers, like....just make her look like she’s a fucking warrior who knows what the hell she’s doing, and I’ll be fine with everything else, you know? I even sent him some covers of published fantasy novels to use as comparison comps, like ‘this is the kind of feel or vibe I’d ideally like to see her capture, something like these women in these covers here’ as well as ‘this is what I really really DON”T want to see, like, I shouldn’t have a better sense of how good a contortionist she is than whether or not I believe she can swing a sword.’

Soooooo.....what happened?

Did he prioritize as I’d really really hoped he would and strongly expressed my desire for him to, and take care to at least avoid the more obvious problems, even if the end result was’t 100% what I was hoping for? Nooooooope. She might as well be mid-yoga pose. Sigh. Like, the guy has a damn near perfect grasp of anatomy and proportions on every other human figure I saw in the many samples I looked through before commissioning him, but somehow, despite this being of utmost importance to me and the ONLY thing about the entire project I stressed about and made sure to emphasize, lol, he ended up painting her in this weird bent at the waist position that throws her lower body proportions off entirely and like, her hip is angled or arched in this weird way that’s incredibly distracting and off, and like also, of course her armor is....pointless, in all the specific ways that happened to be the ONLY details about her armor I was concerned with. Y’know. Like. Its effectiveness. As armor.

And the absolutely obnoxious thing about it all, is that everything else about the illustration? Absolutely gorgeous. Everything I’d hoped for, even as I deliberately tried not to build up too specific an image in my mind ahead of time. Hell, BETTER than anything I’d have come up with on my own, and totally validating my impulse to have someone with different skillsets than my own do this instead of just making a cover out of stock art the way I usually do with my other projects. He absolutely captured the specific MOOD I was aiming for with the setting and general atmosphere, like, the very reason I’d been drawn to his style in the first place, he totally nailed that. Couldn’t have asked for a better fit to the general ambiance of the piece. The colors were just the right shade of otherworldly, a great mix of light and darkness that sold the gloom of the surrounding environs without drowning in dark palettes that make it hard to pick out individual details and differentiate between figures. So on and so on.

EVERY SINGLE OTHER THING ABOUT THE DAMN ILLUSTRATION IS PERFECT LOL.

Except for the only fucking part I was worried about in the first place, lmaaaaaaaaaao whyyyyyyy.

And I mean, because his style was a combo of illustration and painting, there was never gonna be a ton of room for revisions or tweaks to the final piece, I knew and understood that going in. He showed me what he had when he was done with the initial pencilwork, before he painted over it, but with the understanding that it could still change from that point, if he needed to shift things around because of the way the colors and lighting and shadows were all coming out once painted. And the pencil work lacked the finer details that he added into his painting in the final stages, so like, I did see a rough draft before he started painting, and could ask for tweaks or adjustments at that point...except at that point, I didn’t NEED to! LOL. In the rougher sketch, her general position was just shifted enough from what it ended up being that like, it wasn’t my ideal pose for her but nothing I’d say I actually had a problem with, like her upper body was elevated just enough and at just the right angle compared to what he ended up with that at that point, there was no unnatural hip thrust or any of that stuff, and there was only a rough sense of what would come to be the final armor. So I mean, TECHNICALLY I had an opportunity to pump the brakes and be like whoa wait dude, this isn’t what we discussed, can I get you to go back to the drawing board just in this one specific area right here and maybe even just take another look at those comps I sent you, see what I mean about what I’m trying to avoid and how that’s kinda sneaking in here anyway....except, I didn’t think I had to say anything at that point lol, because it all looked on track??

I mean, its not like I think he deliberately misled me with that initial draft or anything, nothing as dramatic as that. I’m fairly certain that like most artists and designers will tell you, in the process of like, the actual drawing/painting/designing, you have to make adjustments as you go to account for the little unforseen speedbumps where you were juuuuuust off enough in your prediction of how this would look when working in your ultimate medium, that you have to like...keep nudging your initial outline little by little as you go to account for the slight shift in direction...with gradually that adding up to a fairly significant departure in the end. Ultimately, I think we ended up with what we ended up with because he was good with focusing on my specific concerns when drafting in pencil and just mapping out a general intent, but the closer he got to finishing up his piece, the less and less focused he was on the stuff I prioritized rather than his own innate prioritizations and so he just kinda figured ‘is it really gonna be THAT big a deal?’ instead of sacrificing a direction or angle that played into what he thought was a more important design element. Stuff like that. Like, you know me, I’m def not saying that makes it A-Ok in my book, lol, I just mean to say I honestly don’t think it was...a willful, conscious effort on his part to leave me with something as far removed from what I was hoping for as what I got.

So again I say blech. Its just super frustrating and obnoxious and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with it for like, months now. Because again, EVERYTHING ELSE is perfect and gorgeous and like, yes, good, this is what I wanted, what I was hoping for. Like, I literally could not come up with a design using my own go-to mediums that would come anywhere close to capturing the general feel and tone and mood of the story and its setting better than the overall vibe of his piece.

Its just the protag, front and center, is absolutely driving me fucking nuts. And I keep going back and forth endlessly because I’m like is it really THAT bad and noticeable or am I hyper-fixating because I specifically tried to avoid this end result and ended up with at least a version of it anyway? And then I’m like psst, remember how much fucking money you spent on this, like yeah thats long gone and doesn’t change your current situation one way or another so it doesn’t really matter except oh yeah its totally gonna fucking haunt you if you don’t use this lol and all that money was spent for nothing lmfao you dumbass. And then I’m like, just to weigh my options, what would I design for this cover myself, if I ended up scrapping this and making my own from scratch, do I at least have anything in mind that’s for sure not any worse than my dissatisfaction with this? Except lol I literally can not seem to come up with ANYTHING, like, total blank, because again there’s just enough that I LIKE about the piece that its like, now that I’ve seen THOSE aspects of it, I’m not gonna be content with any cover that doesn’t contain them and I just literally have no way of replicating those effects via my own design medium.

Ugh. So its really annoying, and I keep going around and around and around in circles and making no progress on what to do about it and like...ugh. I hate being so anal about shit like this, especially when I am usually pretty good about dodging the hyper-fixation tendencies on this front specifically.....but I just got whammied but good by the way all of this unfolded and came together and now I feel stuck and lmao I’m really not fond of the fact that I’m really fucking proud of this book and how it came out in terms of the writing and story but like, covers ARE actually a pretty big deal as they’re literally a reader’s first impression, and I feel like no matter which route I go, a big part of me is gonna be doomed to be like NO YOU FUCKING IDIOT THAT WAS THE WRONG CHOICE, UGH WTF DUDE, TURN AROUND, UNDO, UNDO, U’LL REGRET THIIIIIIIS.

ANYWAY! That’s my much ado about nothing. I was kinda hoping that hashing it all out in a post and working my way through it as I wrote it all down would like....magically reveal the Right Decision to me and everything would click and be so obvious by the time I got to this point in the post, but alas.

Fix-It Machine broke. This accomplished nothing. UGH. RUDE.

9 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Burn the Stars (1/1)

Summary: Trevor meets Alfredo when he’s having one of those pesky out of mech experiences. (The kind preceded by being dropped into a combat zone as support for a Federation Militia squad who is just incompetent enough to lead them into ambush.)

Notes: This video gave me Ideas. I also borrowed elements from Titanfall 2 in this because I love that universe a lot. /o\

(Read on AO3)

Trevor meets Alfredo when he’s having one of those pesky out of mech experiences.

The kind preceded by being dropped into a combat zone as support for a Federation Militia squad who is just incompetent enough to lead them into ambush.

========

While Trevor does love a good I told you so, protecting the squishy humans under his protection comes first. He covers the squad as they retreat into the underbrush and engages in good old-fashioned fisticuffs with the other pilot who has the gall to cheat by using missiles. (Uncouth.)

The Consortium's mech he goes up against is all shiny and new, most likely just off the supply ship that arrived a few days ago.

And that’s another I told you so right there, since the Militia commander in charge on this planet hasn’t been taking their warnings seriously. Seems to think a bunch of low-life mercenaries know fuck all about war. (Ironic, really, when you think about it.)

“Well now,” Trevor says, information about the mech he’s facing flashing up on a screen for him thanks to the onboard AI. Vanquisher-class combat mech, its key weak points highlighted in red. There’s...not a lot red to speak of really, which is far from ideal. “This ought to be fun.”

========

Trevor wins, on a technicality.

The Consortium mech goes down, but his own is so badly damaged he has to abandon it. Pulls the AI datacore, and tucks it away all nice and safe in a handy pocket in his pilot suit. Waits until he’s at a safe distance before setting the self-destruct to make sure its chassis doesn’t fall into enemy hands.

From there -

Well.

They were dropped far behind enemy lines and Trevor’s armed with a pistol and a survival knife.

Also, he’s bleeding. (Just a little, because believe it or not, mech battles are brutal things.)

Still, he’s got all his limbs and while they’re a bit battered and bruised, they work well enough to get him started o his way back to base.

If he’s lucky, he’ll run into the militia squad. If not -

Well.

========

Trevor is not lucky.

Not lucky at all.

========

No, Trevor runs into a Consortium patrol instead.

Couple of ground troops perched on the shoulders of a Strider-class mech.

Lightly armored, it’s mostly used by civilian law enforcement agencies since they’re perfect for navigating city streets. The Consortium’s adapted them to support patrols on heavily forested planets like this one.

Nimble little things, really.

Terrifying when one’s coming after you, and you become so very aware of how soft and squishy you are in comparison.

Back to a cliff and the Strider looming over you with all it’s shiny weapons primed to fire, when you suddenly remember you never quite got our affairs in order. (Whoever will take care of your precious collection of leftover condiment packets from all those scrumptious MREs now?)

Trevor’s hands are in the air. He’s considering taking his chances with the drop behind him when his earpiece crackles and a voice he doesn’t know reels off a set of numbers.

Coordinates.

He has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that, when a gunshot rings out – and the Strider’s canopy spider-webs around a neat little hole just about the height where its pilot’s head should be.

There’s a moment where the Consortium troops don’t seem to know what just happened, looking around for the source of the gunshot. Haven’t realized the mech pilot is dead, that their major advantage has been taken out of the equation.

And then the sniper fires again, taking out the patrol commander and scattering the others giving Trevor the chance to escape into the forest.

========

The coordinates takes Trevor to a nice little cave where by a gently babbling brook where a group of mercenaries hold him at gunpoint until the sniper makes an appearance.

The mercenaries lose interest in Trevor when the sniper ambles over with a wide grin on his face as Trevor gives him a betrayed look.

“Yeah,” he says, looking Trevor over. “I probably should have given them a head’s up about you.”

It would have been nice, yes, but -

“I mean,” Trevor says. “You did save my life. It would make me seem ungrateful if I held that against you.”

========

Alfredo’s friends are more hospitable when they recognize the patch on Trevor’s shoulder, realize what he was doing out there. (Which squad he must have been with, what with chatter about it being all over their comms.)

“Your squad made it back to base safely,” Alfredo tells him, a little too casual and nonchalant. “No casualties.”

Booked it straight back to base, didn’t bother looking back, which is part and parcel with this whole war thing.

Stings a little bit more sometimes, though, when you’ve got your militia soldiers on one side of things and mercenaries like them on the other.

People fighting for their homes, their loved ones, all nice and noble. Honorable sorts, not like those dirty mercenaries. Cutthroat bastards with no loyalties to speak of to hear some people talk.

Come in with their guns and mechs. Their fancy little ships, and help the militia with their war out here. Thrown into the thick of things and expected to give their all, and treated like they have no stake in the outcome.

Like most of them are from colony worlds the Consortium has a stranglehold on, like their families aren’t involved. Like they don’t give a damn if the resistance falls, how many friends they lose, because at the end of the day they’re just chasing a paycheck.

“That’s good,” Trevor says, light and carefree. “I’d be annoyed if they hadn’t.”

Alfredo hums, and Trevor nudges him with his elbow as he pulls out his lucky coin and rolls it across his knuckles.

“Want to see a neat trick?”

========

Alfredo’s group gets pulled out a week later, and Trevor goes with them. Hitches a ride here and there until he gets back to his base and Geoff yells at him for being a goddamned idiot for ten minute straight. (Trevor times it.)

He’s put on medical leave – something about injuries and parasites and tap dancing all over Geoff’s last nerve.

Gets drafted to deal with Geoff’s paperwork that piled up in Trevor’s absence because Geoff was too busy trying to get answers out of the militia about his whereabouts. (Very secret, hush-hush, mission that needed a mech to them take out a weapons depot before they walked right into an ambush.)

“Trevor,” Gavin says, sidling up to him with this gleam in his eye that means trouble. “What do you thing would happen if we - “

And Trevor, who’s been eye-deep in paperwork and red tape for days now, turns to him and grabs him by the shoulders.

“I have no idea, Gavin,” he says, very much aware he sounds a bit unhinged. “But whatever it is, let’s do it.”

Gavin blinks, clearly expecting more of a fight to get Trevor to agree.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

There is absolutely no doubt in Trevor’s mind that whatever Gavin is up to is a terrible idea.

The worst.

And yet -

“Yes!” Trevor is going to lose his mind if he has to deal with the mind-numbing tedium any longer. “Yes I am.”

“Okay then,” Gavin says, and pulls out a datapad. “We’re going to need - “

========

There’s a fire.

A tiny, one really.

Certainly not something that necessitates another bout of yelling from Geoff, but he provides it anyway because he’s a generous soul when it comes down to it.

========

Trevor gets a shiny new mech off the assembly line, and decides it looks like a Billy.

“’Billy’,” Ryan says, like he’s not sure he heard Trevor correctly, which is fair as the hangar’s always noisy the day before a mission. “You’re going to name him Billy.”

Trevor grins, sitting pretty in the cockpit of a forty-something ton Titan-class mech. Missile pods on its shoulders and sweet chainguns mounted on its forearms.

It’s not really a done thing to go around naming a mech chassis when they’ve got AI partners, but Trevor thinks it’s a little rude not to.

“Billy the Murder Robot, yeah.”

The basic AI from his previous mech has been loaded up and it’s getting a feel for the new chassis.

Running diagnostics and poking around like the new tenant it is. Smoothing all the rough edges in the coding and unnecessary redundancies. Making room pretty little bits of code and protocols the engineers back home still haven’t caught on to. (Don’t realize how vital they are no matter how many times Trevor sends a data packet back detailing the reasons why they’re so important.)

A window pops up on the screens in front of Trevor with an ASCII thumbs up.

“See? Hector approves.”

Ryan sighs, but there’s a faint smile on his face as he moves back to the catwalk and to watch Trevor finish running initial checks on Billy with Hector’s help.

========

Geoff worries, Trevor knows.

In charge of a bunch of assholes he sends into combat and wondering when one of them won’t make it back.

A hell of a position to be in, but there’s no one else any of them would trust with it.

“Geoff - “

“Look, asshole,” Geoff says, rubbing his temples and looking a hell of a lot like he'd wants to kick Trevor out of his office on his ass. “The last time I sent you on a mission, you blew your mech up. You think those things grow on trees?”

Well that’s just ridiculous.

Everyone knows that when a mommy mech loves a daddy mech very much -

“Trevor.”

Trevor looks at Geoff, who is using his Serious Voice.

“Geoff.”

Trevor is an asshole.

Geoff scowls at him, because he is very much aware of that.

“I’m cleared for duty,” Trevor says, and does a little spin to demonstrate how uninjured he is. “And you can’t keep sidelining me when you need everyone out there.”

“I know that!” Geoff snaps, but it’s less anger at Trevor and more at the entire situation, this ugly little war.

Trevor waits, because this is Geoff, and after a few moments, he sighs.

“Talk to Ryan, he’s leading the next mission.”

========

It’s a retreat, plain and simple, and Trevor and the others have been called in to back up the Militia’s forces. Protect the dropships as they ferry troops back to the forward base and various outposts.

It’s loud and chaotic, Billy’s filters and scrubbers working overtime to pump clean air into the cockpit, Trevor can still smell the smoke, taste it.

Hector sends up a warning trill before a new voice comes over the cockpit speakers.

It’s Alfredo, and he’s in trouble. Squad pinned down and there’s not much a heavy sniper can do up against the armor plating on a Harbinger-class heavy, but there he is anyway.

Trevor reaches up to tap the pair of fuzzy dice Lindsay gave him for luck, and goes to help. (He’s got a debt to repay after all.)

========

“You know,” Trevor says, when everyone is back at base. “It takes a tank to bring a Harbinger down.”

Or a Titan-class combat mech, not to toot his own horn.

Alfredo gives him a look.

“Hey, you just stick with your mech, and I’ll stick with my sniper,” he says, but there’s laughter in his voice and an easy smile on his face he does.

And to be fair, he has a point.

In a fight everyone’s focus is on the mechs in play. Tend to forget about the squishy human running around with their heavy sniper. Powerful enough to punch through the plasteel canopy of most mechs, and a small enough to go unnoticed in the thick of battle. Slip behind enemy lines unnoticed to take care of enemy commanders and high-value targets.

The base is still in a bit of an uproar, mechanics running around barking order as they race to get damaged mechs back up to fighting speed. Militia soldiers waiting to be ferried back to their own bases, and the odd displaced mercenary like Alfredo just loitering about.

“Alright,” Trevor says, and pulls out that lucky coin of his again, because they’ve got time to kill and everyone loves a good magic trick.

#alfreyco #burn the stars #mech au #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

28 notes · View notes

mosylufanfic · 7 years

Text

The Weight of the World

I noticed that Iris didn't seem to be at CCPN at all in the premiere (unless I missed a throwaway line, in which case this is pure AU), so this popped into my head, of course. I really hope we see her there again because she's great at it, and I also loved that she had the ability to view things from a different perspective than Star Labs. We'll see, I guess. Anyway. Angst.

The Weight of the World

"This isn't a disciplinary meeting, Iris," Scott said.

She stared at him across the table. CCPN's human resources rep, sat between them, looking bland and nonjudgmental. She'd introduced herself as Cassidy, a weirdly perky name under the circumstances.

"Okay," Iris said.

"I'm concerned," Scott said. "About you. You've been missing a lot of deadlines, and what you've have turned in lately has been - " He paused. The slash slash slash of his red pen over all her most recent stories echoed in her ears. "Not up to your usual standards."

She looked at her hands in her lap. Her nail polish was chipped to hell.

"You've been taking a lot of sick days. Coming in late, going home early, disappearing in the middle of the day, and nobody can reach you."

"Yes," Iris said. “I mean. No.” What did she mean?

"I get that you probably miss your fiance pretty badly." To Cassidy, Scott explained, "He's on sabbatical." His eyes slid around to Iris. "In the . . . Czech Republic."

Had that been a note of skepticism in his voice? Iris's eyes narrowed.

It was a dumb story but she'd gone along with it, for her dad's sake. Even though it made everything that much worse when somebody asked her at the coffee station how Barry was doing in Europe, if she'd heard from him lately or if he'd sent her any cute souvenirs.

Not from where he is, Iris thought, and looked back down at her hands. God. Her thumb was especially bad. She'd never let it get this bad before.

She couldn't bring herself to care.

"The thing is," Scott said, "I'm worried. You don't seem like yourself. Not since - " he paused, brow furrowing. "Oh, I'd say, January or so. Is there something else going on in your life?"

Was there something else going on in her life?

She'd spent five months thinking she was going to die, and then two more in so far over her head she felt like she was constantly drowning. Barry was gone into the Speed Force to keep it from breaking open like the multiverse's worst egg. She was trying to hold the city together, doing with two cocky, still-learning superheroes what had required a fleet of people and a skilled hero before.

Was there something else going on.

Scott said, "Iris, are you - "

Cassidy said quickly, "What he means to say, Ms. West - "

West-Allen. My name is Iris West-Allen.

"- is that if you have a health issue, or a family issue - which you are under no legal obligation to disclose - CCPN can make accommodations. Again, this is entirely your choice about what or how much you want to tell us."

"I - " Iris said.

"Is there something going on?" Scott asked.

"I . . . I lost . . . somebody," she said slowly. "A couple of months ago."

"The guy who died in May?" Scott asked.

Iris's heart did a sort of lurch and twist and belly flop - died, he didn't die, he's just not in this dimension anymore - before she realized he meant HR. Right, Scott had approved her time off for the funeral. Fine, let him think that.

"Yes. And . . . and it's gotten to me more than I thought it would."

True, it had shaken her badly, seeing HR die in her place, murdered by someone with the face of the man she loved, sent there by someone else with the face of a friend.

But it was wholly overshadowed by losing Barry. Her best friend, her love, the other half of herself. Gone, and she couldn't even be angry because he'd done it to save everybody.

(No, she could be angry. She could be angry a lot.)

Cassidy opened a folder, revealing official-looking paperwork. "Unfortunately our policies don't cover bereavement leave for non-family members. I'm sorry. However, if you were to get a diagnosis of clinical depression or PTSD stemming from the event, we could still put in for FMLA. It safeguards you against - "

"I know what FMLA does," Iris said. "It's not going to be enough."

Her words landed with a splat in the middle of the table.

Because honestly? Yes. She probably could get a diagnosis for either or both those things, if she actually found a doctor that she could be one hundred percent honest with, but it didn't matter. A few days off here and there, or even an extended leave of absence, wasn't going to be enough.

She'd burned through a lot of sick and vacation already, since May. At best, she could take a couple of weeks of paid leave, and then maybe a few more unpaid. FMLA status just meant they couldn't fire her for excessive absences, not that she magically got more time on the books.

And after that leave time was up, Barry would still be gone, and she would still be fighting.

She'd thought she'd could keep going just like she was. Keep running, keep living her life. But her shoulders strained under the weight of the whole city, millions of people's safety, and holding it up alongside going to CCPN and pretending everything was still okay -

She felt like she was being crushed further into the ground with every passing day.

Sometimes she hated Caitlin for taking off to find herself, or whatever the hell the other woman was doing while being so flagrantly not here. Sometimes she hated Caitlin for leaving first, because it meant that Iris didn’t have that option.

"Iris," Scott said. "Don't - "

"I quit," she said.

" - do anything hasty," he finished.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just can't do this job anymore."

Cassidy closed the folder. "Okay," she said, and opened another one. "So. We'll need a written letter of resignation, ideally with two weeks' notice."

"How much leave do I have left?" Iris asked.

"Okay," Scott said. "Wait. I know it feels like - "

Cassidy consulted something. "You have sixteen hours sick time, and seventy-five hours of vacation. That works out to a little over two weeks, combined."

"Can I take those starting now and submit my resignation for the end of that time?"

Cassidy's eyes softened for the first time, looking more human and less like a corporate machine. "Yeah. I think under the circumstances, we can make an exception." She made a note to herself. "You'll also need to remove all personal property from your desk, any personal files from your computer, and turn in your badge and any building or office keys to me before you leave today."

"Wait," Scott said. "Wait, wait. Iris. You're having a tough time. I can see it. I've been seeing it since January. But don't do anything you'll regret, okay? You're an excellent reporter. Don't just throw that out. Why don't you take the two weeks, and then make up your mind?"

"Scott - " Iris said.

"We'll take your resignation, but we just won't file it or something." He raised his brows at Cassidy. "Right? We can do that. We'll hold it until you let us know in a couple of weeks. What about that?"

"Nothing's going to change."

"I get that it feels like that now," he wheedled, "but you'd be surprised how some time away can clear your - "

"Scott," Iris said, looking him dead in the eye. "Nothing's going to change."

Scott, who'd heard that note of firmness in her voice before, sagged with defeat.

Iris got to her feet. "Okay," she said, mostly to Cassidy. "Letter, removal of personal property, badge and keys. Right?"

"That's everything I need," Cassidy said.

“Okay. Scott?”

He looked up at her, his eyes sad. In a heavy voice, he said, “I'll need all your notes on current stories and any rough drafts so i can assign them out to other reporters."

Iris nodded and looked at the clock. It was barely one. She was supposed to take her lunch. She decided not to. She had a lot to do this afternoon and she wasn't hungry anyway.

She was never hungry anymore.

"I hope things improve for you, Ms. West," Cassidy said, shuffling her folders together and getting up.

"Thanks," Iris said. West-Allen, God!

But that wasn't her name. That wasn't ever going to be her name.

Scott stood. "I'm really sorry," he said. "This wasn't the way I was hoping this would go."

"I know," Iris said.

"Even at half-power, you're a better reporter than people who've been doing this for decades," Scott said. "We'll hire you back anytime."

Cassidy made a strangled noise, visions of lawsuits no doubt dancing in her head. Iris could have told her not to worry. She didn't see herself coming back, much less kicking up a fuss if she didn't get the promised job.

She was grateful for the walls of her cubicle, which hid the activity of pulling out drawers and putting things into a storage box to take home. She pulled several folders out, flipping through them, printing out preliminary notes and rough drafts from her computer. She would give these to Scott. He probably wouldn't be surprised that none of them were as far along as they should be.

A few times, when other reporters spotted what she was doing, she had to stop and explain, and endure their exclamations and wheedling. Like Scott, they seemed to think that she really just needed a vacation to regain her edge, her drive, her verve.

But her life since January had ground edge, drive, verve down like a belt sander. No vacation was going to restore her. Only one thing could do that.

They went away and whispered to the other reporters, and she could feel the news spreading, like dye in water. A few more people came over and expressed regret or surprise, giving her their phone numbers or personal emails. She took them although she had no intention of getting in touch.

It should have reassured her that she hadn't burned all her bridges with her flakiness lately, but it felt even worse. More people she was disappointing.

Some people were less kind. They said the same things as the others, but there was a sub-layer of malice and insincerity. Some didn't say anything to her at all. The top of the heap wasn't always the best place to be.

Iris found that she was fine with both.

She found her "weird file," where she saved any mention of anything strange or off-kilter just in case it played out later. Although it was intended for CCPN stories, she felt no qualms over sending it to her personal stick drive. She also saved as many contacts as she could. She was losing access to a lot of murmurs and mutters and overheard conversations that got delivered to Star Labs as well as being written up for CCPN's pages. She was going to have to keep up somehow.

When the clock hit four-thirty, her desk was neat and bare, all the folders dropped off in Scott's empty office. She typed up an email to Scott and Cassidy, a formal resignation in two or three lines that cited "personal reasons" without going into further detail. She tapped out another quick email to the whole newsroom - "personal reasons" again - and adding a thank-you for the work she'd done with them. It felt stiff and rote, overly formal without any warmth or sincerity behind it. But she couldn't work out how to do it better.

As she hit send on the email, restarted her computer for the last time, and picked up her box of personal effects, she felt part of the weight easing off her shoulders. For a moment, she wondered if she'd done the right thing.

But no. The Iris West who'd been happy, fulfilled, and productive here wasn't her anymore. That was an old life, one with Barry in it, one without the crushing weight of running Star Labs and keeping Central City safe. She didn't belong here anymore.

Maybe one day, she could again.

Maybe one day she might be happy again.

Maybe one day.

FINIS

#Iris West #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #angst #4x01 reaction #(although really it takes place during the hiatus)#the flash

14 notes · View notes

lovefuturisticmgtow · 5 years

Text

Louis Venters’s Book About the History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina

Louis Venters is a historian and historic preservationist with a specific curiosity in the histories of race, faith, and social change in the United States. He has simply launched a new ebook titled A History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina and it options some unimaginable pictures.

I first met Louis in West Africa once I was a junior youth — many more years ago than I’d care to confess! My household was pioneering in Benin and he was finishing a yr of service in Togo and Benin. I discovered some priceless lessons from Louis about talking honestly, lovingly and at occasions courageously, about being a Baha’i. I feel really honoured that our paths have crossed once more, and I am grateful for the opportunity to study from his experiences as soon as more. Right here’s what he shared about his new guide:

Baha’i Blog: Are you able to tell us a bit of about yourself?

I was born and raised in South Carolina, and I turned a Baha’i in the late 1980s once I was a junior youth. Actually I first heard about the Faith on Radio Baha’i WLGI, the station that broadcasts from the Louis G. Gregory Baha’i Institute, so in that sense I’m a product of the large-scale progress that made South Carolina such an necessary half of the American Baha’i group in the 1970s and 1980s. I train African and African diaspora historical past, U.S. historical past, and public historical past at Francis Marion College, a small public establishment in Florence, South Carolina. I also do some public historical past work, particularly by means of Preservation South Carolina and the state’s African American Heritage Fee. One of the public history tasks I’m proudest of is the Inexperienced Book of South Carolina, a new cellular travel information to African American heritage websites throughout the state. Once I’m not being a historian, most of the time it’s my spouse and me making an attempt to maintain up with our two little boys and serve in our cluster. In any other case, I’m both at the fitness center lifting weights or outdoors operating or working in our backyard.

Baha’i Weblog: What inspired you to put this guide collectively?

It wasn’t truly my concept in any respect. In 2014 I was making an attempt to get my first e-book, No Jim Crow Church: The Origins of South Carolina’s Baha’i Group, to publication with the College Press of Florida once I heard that a trade writer, the History Press, was in search of a Baha’i to write down an introduction to the Faith in South Carolina. It was about the time that this map, displaying the Baha’i Faith as the second-largest faith (after Christianity) in South Carolina, was making the rounds on social media, and getting some fascinating protection regionally and nationally, and I feel they’d observed. I talked to the editor, and he made me a deal I couldn’t cross up: a relatively brief manuscript with 70-80 illustrations. To put this in perspective, there are twelve photographs plus a map in No Jim Crow Church, fairly regular for a tutorial text. However I had discovered so many superb pictures that I hadn’t been capable of embrace, so what they needed for this e-book seemed good! Additionally, an introduction to the first century or so of the Faith in South Carolina would take the story properly previous 1968, where No Jim Crow Church leaves off, into the early 21st century. In that sense it might be a “rough draft” of the full-length educational research I had deliberate as a sequel to No Jim Crow Church. So altogether it appeared like the proper venture at the right time.

Baha’i Weblog: What was the course of wish to put this work together?

Writer Louis Venters

Long and painstaking—and really satisfying! Locating and assembling all the pictures took a very long time, and I had so much of assist. I made a couple of visits to the U.S. National Baha’i Archives in Wilmette and located some real gems there, and the employees of The American Baha’i offered a number of pictures from their assortment. There are a number of from the big collection of photographs at the Louis Gregory Institute. A couple of essential photographs came from individuals’ private collections, for which I’m notably grateful. Actually I started a Facebook group, the South Carolina Baha’i History Challenge, in part to solicit photographs from people who might have lived in or traveled to South Carolina but who at the moment are scattered throughout the nation and round the world. I enlisted a graphic design professor from my college to supply the maps, and it was so fantastic that his talent enabled what I might see in my head to take type so clearly on the web page. Rather a lot of the research for the text was already achieved, so it was a matter of making an attempt to craft a coherent narrative that was temporary enough but in addition captured some of the nuances and above all the spirit of the South Carolina group.

One challenge was that my press needed to log off on the photographs before the manuscript was completed. That meant I wanted to have the ability to see rather a lot of the story in my head in order to be able to decide the photographs that worked greatest. In the end I feel we ended up with a reasonably great set of photographs, and that they actually illuminate the narrative in some fairly shifting methods.

Baha’i Blog: What’s something that you simply discovered throughout the process of putting this e-book together?

Nicely I can inform you one thing I discovered about myself. This felt like as very similar to an artwork challenge because it did a guide challenge, and I beloved it! I used to do much more visual art once I was youthful, but actually since school so much of my power has been directed towards writing—and educational writing at that!—and I haven’t had a lot outlet for my visible creativity. In the previous couple of years I’ve actually loved designing my website and blog and a few of the much less formal writing I’ve been capable of do there, and this venture, too, jogged my memory how a lot I really like exercising my visual aspect.

Baha’i Blog: Are you able to inform us a bit about the pictures featured in the guide?

Oh, wow, the place do I start? Properly for one factor let me say that that is one e-book the place the writer gained’t be upset if all you do is take a look at the footage! Locating them and choosing them was actually a labor of love, and I feel they do more to tell the story to the coronary heart than the text alone ever might.

One of the things I feel is especially vital about the pictures is what they convey about the heat of interracial fellowship in the South Carolina group, even early in the 20th century when the pervasiveness of Jim Crow segregation and violence made it notably troublesome. It’s truly not that uncommon to see photographs from the South in that period of combined teams of black and white individuals collectively, even in close bodily proximity. But what’s putting is that even if the white individuals are smiling, often the black individuals aren’t. You’ll be able to see the discomfort, or a minimum of guardedness, of individuals who are clearly not in situations of energy or safety or ease.

These South Carolina Baha’i pictures present a compelling counterpoint. Now I’m not making an attempt to say in this e-book that the South Carolina group was some sort of interracial paradise, or that each one the white Baha’is had magically overcome their prejudices and the black Baha’isn’t had a purpose to be suspicious or resentful. This was a tough street, and I feel no matter successes we’ve had in building interracial fellowship need to be truthfully measured towards both the state of race relations in the society at giant and the excessive expectations that Abdu’l-Baha and Shoghi Effendi had for us. What I do assume these pictures show is a sort of heat and mutual respect between black and white South Carolina Baha’is that basically deserves consideration. We need to assume deeply about the diploma to which African People have been capable of shape the Baha’i movement here from its earliest days into the variety of area the place they felt a way of possession and belonging and even delight of place—and what the implications could also be for the improvement of the Faith around the country right now. In fact that is something I talk about in the textual content, and all of it deserves an ideal deal extra research and research and dialogue. However I feel the visible testimony of these photographs is fairly putting, and I’m desperate to see what others assume.

One factor that basically makes me completely satisfied about these pictures is what number of of them have by no means before been revealed—and that goes for some from the Nationwide Baha’i Archives, all the ones from the Louis Gregory Institute, and of course all the ones from individuals’ treasure troves. Some of the others have been revealed so way back, in The American Baha’i or Baha’i Information, that whole generations have in all probability by no means seen them. And there are even some totally different takes on familiar faces, especially the portrait of the Master on the cover of the Disaster, the NAACP’s magazine, in 1912, or the first picture most North American believers ever noticed of the Guardian, on the cowl of Star of the West in early 1922. And there are several photographs of Palms of the Trigger who visited South Carolina—Enoch Olinga, Rahmatu’llah Muhajir, William Sears—which are fairly uncommon and particular.

I ought to say, too, that there are a number of really great pictures that didn’t make the editor’s reduce because of issues with reproducing them. This was a specific problem for previous periodicals where the unique prints are lost and all we needed to work with was the pale paper. There was a photo of Amatu’l-Baha Ruhiyyih Khanum talking at an early youth convention that I assumed so captured her spirit, but the scan from the American Baha’i was too grainy so we had to make use of a extra acquainted portrait. One other I can assume of was from an previous South Carolina state publication displaying four members of the Native Religious Assembly of Sumter in the early 1970s that conveyed so much intimacy and pleasure. Or a shot of youth in Kingstree learning Ruhi Institute materials earlier than they have been even revealed as books, again in 1985 once they have been first being area tested in South Carolina. I hope I’ll get a chance to share those some other means in the future.

Baha’i Blog: What do you hope individuals will take away from this ebook?

I’ve two fundamental audiences in mind. First is the common public, each those that could also be considerably conversant in the Faith already and need to know extra about its historical past in the U.S., and in addition those that won’t have been aware of the Faith however have an interest in race relations or religion or local historical past. South Carolina is such a proud state that some individuals will buy virtually something that has the state’s identify on it—and I really hope they do in this case! For this broad viewers I hope the guide will deliver each larger consciousness of the Faith and something of its historical and modern relevance. And I hope that framing this as a historic case research in how a population can start to apply the Baha’i teachings individually and collectively, in the state where up to now the Faith has experienced its most substantial response per capita in North America, will make it more than only a curiosity.

I feel that the stories we tell about who we’re, about our historical past, really matter. Clearly in the United States at the moment questions on who belongs and who doesn’t, about how we view the nation’s previous, about the variety of visions we now have of the future and of our place in the world are becoming increasingly pressing. And although it’s far from good, I feel the experience of the American Baha’i group for more than a century is critical and needs to be an element of these conversations.

The opposite viewers I’ve, of course, is Baha’is themselves. One of the issues we’re continuously challenged to do as Baha’is is to refine our excited about who we are and what we’re doing, and positively to refine the approach we speak about these issues with others. I hope that this guide will help remind Baha’is of the long arc of the Faith in the United States and help us speak with the many other people who find themselves also concerned about the path of the nation—notably as we’re refocusing on how to draw much more individuals of shade and immigrants into the group constructing work that we’re pursuing.

One other factor that makes this e-book well timed is that regardless that South Carolina has performed such an necessary part in shaping the American Baha’i group’s id and expectations, there nonetheless seems to be lots of confusion about what occurred in the 1970s and 1980s, when about 20,000 individuals, most of them rural African People, turned Baha’is here. With the present framework for large-scale progress that the Universal House of Justice has given us, Baha’is in clusters across the nation are learning easy methods to attain out to larger numbers—and finding themselves with some of the similar opportunities and challenges as the South Carolina buddies did many years in the past. It appears that evidently we’re all lastly creating the similar vocabulary and an analogous body of experience to have the ability to assume extra effectively about enlargement and consolidation of the Faith and the best way to apply the teachings in a spread of native circumstances, and I hope this ebook will assist us develop a clearer national narrative of who the Baha’is are and what the Faith means in the United States. To actually have the ability to serve our nation effectively I feel we have to study more about the way to ground our studying of actuality in history, and in the Baha’i group’s expertise over many many years. Creating an understanding of our efforts to build interracial fellowship, and intently related to that, the remarkably constant response of black southerners to the Faith for therefore lengthy, appears essential to our personal understanding of ourselves and the message we share with others. These are very important conversations for us to have, and I feel this is the proper time to have them.

Baha’i Blog: Thanks a lot, Louis! We actually recognize you sharing this with us!

You should purchase a replica of A History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina right here on Amazon. You can even encourage your native library or bookstore to accumulate or carry copies of the e-book. Louis is out there to talk to local communities, universities, organizations, and more. For more info, please contact him at this handle: louisventers[at]gmail[dot]com

The post Louis Venters’s Book About the History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina appeared first on Android Blog.

#Blog #Books #Interviews

0 notes

aroberuka · 7 years

Note

Evens for writers ask meme?

2. Where is yourfavourite place to write?

Either the kitchen table, which is the perfect height for my laptop & the only place in the house that gets sunlight in the morning, or my bed tbh.

4. Do you have anywriting habits/rituals?

Not writing habits so to speak but I do have a getting ready to write ritual that mostly consists of dragging myself out of bed and going for a walk.

6. Favourite characteryou’ve written?

Mouse!Surana, hands down. I kinda just made her on the spot for that one oneshot and as a result she ended up radically different from my usual OCs (they’re not usually this… driven xD), which made her such a blast to write.

8. Do you have anywriting buddies or critique partners?

@coppercaravan has been both for a little bit over a year and they’re such a pleasure to work with tbh.

10. Pick an author (orwriting friend) to co-write a book with

1) @coppercaravan we should stick our OCs together and see what happens, y/y?

2) That being said it’s super easy to get me to write with you literally all you have to do is drop into my inbox like “hey we should write a thing” and be very patient with my spoonie ass.

12. Which story ofyours do you like best? why?

Honestly it’s the quasiplatonic solavellan fic. I love Tathas, I put a lot of work and also a lot of me into it, I have a lot of thoughts about what’s coming next and I really wish I could finish it already esp since it wouldn’t be that long (like. 8-10 chapters tops, not counting a potential Trespasser sequel) but I haven’t been able to get in a DAI mood for forever x_x

14. What does it takefor you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?)

Ideally I’d need the stars to align perfectly on a week with two Mondays, but more realistically what I need is:

-a playlist, or at least a couple artists that’ll put me in the right mood

-character sheets with some basic info + relationship charts + their stake in the plot

-a rough chapter by chapter plan that will inevitably fly out the window by the time I finish chapter 1.

16. Cover love/dreamcovers?

Not really, no.

18. Tell us about thatone book you’ll never let anyone read

So back in January there was that self-insert month thing, and I figured why the hell not, but b/c I’m apparently unable to write self-indulgent fluff and also I was in a Mood it turned into a writing as therapy thing and now I don’t know what to do with it b/c on the one hand I do want to write it & I think it would help me deal with some stuff but on the other idk that I would ever be able to let anyone read it, let alone post it online.

20. Any advice foryoung writers/advice you wish someone would have given you early on?

Length is overrated, short chapters are fine and the only good piece of writing advice is that there is no such thing as universal writing advice.

22. Tell us about thebooks on your “to write” list

… I’m not gonna give you a full list b/c it would be ridiculous but the ones that are on my brain atm are:

-- Présages aka The Novel aka that one story about ghosts that turned into a story about the importance of healthy communication & a good support system.

-- A novella about an aromantic protag that was supposed to be a subplot of the previous but is now its own thing so I can give it the attention it deserves.

-- A fantasy novel that started with me listening to too much critical role and is basically a thinly disguised metaphor for fighting against depression.

(All of them are depression books tbh and I’m not even a little bit sorry.)

And then there’s the fics:

-- A post Akuze longshot feat. Leo, grief and politics.

-- A Leverage/HP crossover feat. pre-canon Eliot, wizards and poor attempts at dragon smuggling.

-- A CCS/Naruto crossover that I’ll probably never write tbh b/c the sheer size of it is terrifying to me, but I like to dust it off every other month anyway b/c I put a lot of thought into it.

24. Do you remember themoment you decided to become a writer/author?

I don’t remember the moment I started to write – that was a long long time ago – but the moment I decided to become a writer I’m pretty sure was when I read The Princess Bride, b/c I very distinctly remember closing the book and going “I wish I’d written that”.

26. What’s the mostresearch you’ve ever put into a book?

It’s kinda hard to tell tbh b/c my research, like everything else, tends to be scattered in short bursts over months/years, but my most recent research-heavy project has been the Leverage/HP crossover, which has led me to a lot of reading on poaching/smuggling as I tried to figure out how one would go about smuggling a dragon.

Turns out there’s no actual book on dragon smuggling but I ended up learning a lot about butterfly smuggling, which as it turns out is

1)a thing

2)very serious business.

28. How do you stayfocused on your own work and how do you deal with comparison?

I don’t. I don’t stay focused on anything, ever. I also deal very poorly with comparison even tho the only one doing the comparing is my own self.

30. Do you like to readbooks similar to your project while you’re drafting or do you stick to non-fiction/un-similar works?

I do! I find it very helpful esp. when I’m writing in a genre/style I’m not used to. I try to avoid it with fanfiction tho so as to avoid accidentally absorbing other people’s headcanons into my own work.

32. On average how muchdo you write in a day? do you have trouble staying focused/gettingthe word count in?

Tbh I usually count in ‘pages’ (quote/unquote b/c I’m using my own format which is considerably shorter than what you probably think of when you hear ‘page’), and I’m trying to get myself to two pages a day for The Novel but I’m considerably slower when I’m not writing in French b/c language is hard.

34. Unpopular writingthoughts/opinions?

-- Character death is overrated.

-- The idea that conflict is necessary to tell a good story is highly subjective and even if it wasn’t a good conflict shouldn’t just boil down to ‘characters being horrible (or downright abusive) to each other’/‘characters being forced to commit or witness atrocities’ over and over again.

-- Romance is boring and so is smut.

-- Young/aspiring writers need positive feedback way, way more than criticism, constructive or not; constructive criticism overall is overrated (which isn’t to say that it’s never useful but like it’s not The One True Way For A Writer To Improve that a lot of ppl try to sell it as).

36. Post a snippet

She’s always been lucky is the thing.

Lucky to find the Reds when she needed them, lucky to lose them when she no longer did, lucky to get caught by the right people at the right time, lucky to be offered military service instead of prison, lucky that Anderson had seen something in her no-one else ever had.

Lucky to survive doesn’t feel so special.

38. How do you nailvoice in your books?

Honestly that is one thing that comes p much naturally to me? Like whenever I write in a character’s voice I can usually ‘hear’ what I’m writing so to speak, which makes things considerably easier tbh.

40. Do you look up toany of your writer buddies?

What kind of question is that I look up to all of y'all??? I’m not even kidding here y’all are amazing and talented and I’m so thrilled I got to meet all of you?

42. How many drafts doyou usually write before you feel satisfied?

I’d say 2-3 though it’s kinda hard to tell b/c I don’t strictly speaking work in full drafts, I tend to go back and forth between paragraphs instead.

44. Why (and when) didyou decide to become a writer?

I must have been like 16 or something. Hell if I remember why except I love stories and it seemed like a good idea at the time?

46. Past or presenttense?

I actually prefer past tense despite my current inability to write it (idk why all my fic end up being present tense but I suspect English).

48. Do you prefer towrite skimpy drafts and flesh them out later, or write too much and cut it back?

I mean most of my fics are already under 500 words long can you imagine if I actually cut stuff from them? :p

50. Do you share yourrough drafts or do you wait until everything is all polished?

I tend to wait until everything is polished but also, again, it’s super easy to get me to share rough drafts or even outlines with you b/c I am weak and crave validation.

52. Who do you writefor?

Me. Always.

Like listen the fact is actually talking openly & honestly about personal stuff even to people who have been there for me in the past is literally the hardest thing for me to do and I got so damn good at avoiding it I don’t even have to think before I do it anymore, and sometimes it feels like writing is the only way I can actually properly communicate anymore. So yeah I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about ppl loving what I write but it will always be first and foremost something I do for myself.

54. Favourite firstline/opening you’ve written?

already answered here

#ghouliissh #marti #marti why i thought we were friends #i didn't even reread this i'm just kinda assuming i didn't leave any answer unfinished

2 notes · View notes

pinkanchorlovestuff-blog · 5 years

Text

Louis Venters’s Book About the History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina

Baha’i Blog: Are you able to tell us a bit of about yourself?

Baha’i Weblog: What inspired you to put this guide collectively?

Baha’i Weblog: What was the course of wish to put this work together?

Writer Louis Venters

Baha’i Blog: What’s something that you simply discovered throughout the process of putting this e-book together?

Baha’i Blog: Are you able to inform us a bit about the pictures featured in the guide?

Baha’i Blog: What do you hope individuals will take away from this ebook?

Baha’i Blog: Thanks a lot, Louis! We actually recognize you sharing this with us!

The post Louis Venters’s Book About the History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina appeared first on Android Blog.

#Blog #Books #Interviews

0 notes

psychedelic-killer · 5 years

Text

Louis Venters’s Book About the History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina

Baha’i Blog: Are you able to tell us a bit of about yourself?

Baha’i Weblog: What inspired you to put this guide collectively?

Baha’i Weblog: What was the course of wish to put this work together?

Writer Louis Venters

Baha’i Blog: What’s something that you simply discovered throughout the process of putting this e-book together?

Baha’i Blog: Are you able to inform us a bit about the pictures featured in the guide?

Baha’i Blog: What do you hope individuals will take away from this ebook?

Baha’i Blog: Thanks a lot, Louis! We actually recognize you sharing this with us!

The post Louis Venters’s Book About the History of the Baha’i Faith in South Carolina appeared first on Android Blog.

#Blog #Books #Interviews

0 notes