Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism
1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue
2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection
3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback
4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing
5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of
6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there
7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own
8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it
9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least
10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go
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Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 13
chapter 24:
1. sirius 🫱🏻🫲🏼 james being codependent af
2. ooo reg you’re so close babes. think about that just a little more. he realizes he cares about how james treats him and feels about him. reg just almost gets it
3. “He thinks the arena makes everyone a bad person while they're here. The only exception to the rule is James. He's the only person who could drag himself through all of this filth and cruelty and still hold onto his shine.”
4. ☺️ this “without hesitation” line is gonna bite us in the ass, isn’t it?
5. they’re talking about what their life without tragedy would have looked like. and damn. i’m not okay. their life would have been so beautiful
6. “"In that life, I do," Regulus whispers. "I let you do whatever you want, and when you want to dance, we dance."”
i’m NASTY sobbing over this line. like, snot coming out of my nose sobbing
7. “Regulus said James was his first love, didn't he? James would give anything to be his last.” 😀😀😀 holy shit that hurts
8. that nightmare was VILE
9. god, reg was practically sobbing to hold james’ hand. why is the world cruel to them??
10. 😐 i am unamused. another fucking spider
11. “"Have a go at me. Don't thank me or anything. It's always you're so stupid, James; it's never you looked so sexy and heroic while saving everyone from the murderous spider, James."” PFFFFFTTTT
12. it hurts to read it, but i also have always known that if reg wasn’t called into the hunger games, james would have died for someone else. like he said, either peter or vanity
13. god, peter’s story line and character fucking hurts. his family was mathias, irene, vanity, james, and even reg. this hurts like hell
14. NOOO PETER!!!!!
15. THEY MADE IT!!! THEY SURVIVED! THE GAMES ARE OVER!! THANK GOD!!
16. 😀😧 the rule change is REVOKED??? IM ABOUT TO LOSE MY FUCKING SHIT!! IF I WAS IN THIS UNIVERSE, ID PERSONALLY BE THROWING HANDS WITH SLUGHORN!! I BET SIRIUS HAS TO BE PHYSICALLY RESTRAINED!!
17. “"You're hesitating, love," James says softly.”
SCREEEEEEEEEEECHH
18. “"Axus got me on their way into the water. At least it was your dagger, I suppose," James says with a weary chuckle, his throat bobbing on a harsh swallow. His mouth quirks up a bit at the corner, gentle and lovely. "Maybe this makes me insane, but if I'm honest, I wish it had been you."”
oh no, make no mistake james. this very much does make you insane
19. and james is compared to the fucking sun going down again. i- i’m not okay
20. i need therapy for my trust issues. i trusted my ex best freind who outed me. i trusted my old roommate who i recently found out had a notes app list of everything she didn’t like about me this year. and most importantly, i trusted zar. i trusted that this fic wouldn’t do this to me.
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I just want to see him again.
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“Janiris. It’s an asari holiday.” […] “It is mainly marked by a feast and the making of flower crowns and necklaces. Then exchanged between friends and lovers.”
The Untamed Effect, Chapter 6 by @thievinghippo
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ArtFight Revenge on Nurie of her super cool shark Alan!
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NOTE: I have so much to say about the Poetry Gala Event because I enjoyed it so much. It's going to be lengthy but feel free to read me rambling haha.
I don't mean to be dramatic but... Chongyun enthusiasts, WE WON! I'm so happy that he was able to show up so much in this event! Like he actually got lines and so much screentime!! I know he always appears in Lantern Rite, but this just hits different. Did you see how fast he was talking and the way he did his little jump after having those chili peppers? XD Also the way he was giving Xingqiu some sass at the at the end of the story? Show him, Chongyun!
And I never thought I would be able to see two of my favorite characters in the same frame! This is going to keep me fed until the next Lantern Rite haha.
On a similar note, this event was just as good as last year's goofy Lantern Rite! I will never stop talking about how much I love it when characters from different nations are able to meet each other, like the whole Xingqiu/Mika/Noelle interaction was really sweet! (But the way Xingqiu told them to just not get caught when sneaking away from home XD He's such a bad influence haha)
AND THIS. The way Zhongli and Venti were looking at the children, it really solidifies the fact they they're retired. Don't mind me crying over here 🥺
I didn't expect the event to dive a bit into Diona's lore, so that was really cool!! Also really glad that learning about Oceanids and their power kind of helped Chongyun come to terms with his yang energy. (I shall now wait patiently for some lore drop on Chongyun.)
The whole story was just so nice. And the MUSIC for Callirhoe's story was the final cherry on top 👌
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they're so GROSSSSSS (<- desperately wants what they have)
alt color under the cut:
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what the freak
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i would take their poison
Sketch + Line Art for those Clicking Under the Cut(tm) (archival purposes honestly)
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oh god. oh god. oh.. oh gosh. I didn't expect this so soon. I didn't expect this today, I've been busy with life related things so the HYV calendar is really unbeknownst to me, is this update really next week already?? where can I rant about this- whERe can I rant about this-
oh. I made a blog for that exact purpose ! OKAY—!
fuck. fuck me, dude holy-
FUCK.
the slightly worried look on Arle's face as Snezhevna is reaching out her hand, only for her face to seemingly revert back to cold and neutral once the camera actually focuses in on her. Her tone is cold but her words are reassuring,,,,,,,,
ALSO GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. HOW GENTLY SHE HOLDS HER HAND.
the d o o r. the DOOR. THE FUCKING DOOR, CHAT. the slow opening at first, and once you can make out that it's certainly Arle's silhouette she shoves it fully open - both doors, both hands. incredibly attractive—. the FEAR in that man's eyes.
The crossed hands. We can't see her face but you know what expression she's making (it's not really an expression. it's neutral but you can feel it). THE FUCKING F E A R ON THAT MAN'S FACE.
Oh- she literally just grabbed him by the throat. Just like that- ! There's the expression. Oh, you feel it, alright. If you go frame by frame, you'll notice her eyes narrow in the slightest right before ->
POV: you're getting chocked out by Arlecchino, and that's actually the least of your worries. (my god she is beautiful).
I did not expect him to simply be thrown down to the ground and I ... d i d not expect her to step on his FACE. [insert gay masochistic joke here. you know the one]. Did not expect her to smile (this is the ONLY scene wherein we see her smile even slightly... huh...) *And the reason I say "I did not expect her to smile", is because with the momentum we were getting I thought she was straight up going to crush his throat, or stab him (hand, weapon or otherwise). It looked like she was digging the forefoot of her shoe into the guys head and not the... .. y'know deadly fucking heel, so that.. confused me. (and the sound when she supposedly stomped his head in did NOT sound all that impactful) but ANYWAYS I digress-
I'm of course assuming more happened after the cut to black because . madam where did you get that bloodstain on you—
BLOODSTAIN ON HER FACE!?!?!? (more on this in a second)
Freminet??? Freminet feature ! (not Lyney or Lynette.. interesting). :(((( the poor boy sounds so,, desensitized. His father
holy shit quick intermission. After the mental chronological fuckfest that was "The Song Burning in the Embers" I don't think I can look at Arle and the HotH the same anymore because she's.. she's like not even 10 years older than them (?) it's insane this doesn't make any sense- ANYWAYS.
HIS FATHER comes back with what we later see to be real blood on her face. Tells him "I've acquired new funds". We know what that means... HE knows what that means!!, and the way WE - THE AUDIENCE - know that Freminet knows what it means is because the boy replies "Oh.. Okay.."
LIKE-! chat omg this is truly just routine for them,,,, Like out of the 3 siblings, Freminet always gave off the biggest child assassin vibe, but wow. To see that routine and desensitized nature of the HotH's line of work just,, splayed out in a Character Trailer is . wow. and the look in his eyes as he says it is- wow.
YEAH UHH BLOODSTAIN ON HER FACE??/ The lighting in this scene now is evidently less saturated. And it's just- oh my FUCKING GOD it does so many things:
the blood on Arle's face looks... dry. it doesn't look as fresh as you may expect which could mean many things. It could mean she spent,,, hella long in there with that guy doing what needed to be done. It could mean she took care to something else immediately after dealing with the guy (perhaps smth related to the children Snezhevna wanted to save). But regardless it means she didn't put in the effort to clean her face and hide what happened. OBVIOUSLY !!! that is so . obviously her style but to S E E IT IN MY GENSHIN IMPACT CHARACTER TRAILER it's- oh my god
it serves to highlight the really, truly, bleak nature of the scene now that we know plain and simple Arlecchino just killed a man. There's no subtext, there's no reading between the lines. The only thing that didn't happen is that we didn't see contact nor see a body. But, no sugarcoating, Arlecchino killed a man. No one is hiding it. You are not surprised. No one should be but damn.
and ofc it acts as a representation of Snezhevna dying...
because it seems like the saturation is back once the camera switches to looking at Snezhevna laying in bed.
And is it me, or does it look like Arle's allowing herself to actually display a tinge of worry in her expression this time? And also, EVER so slightly in her tone as well. You can feel it, it's gentler.
"Once I'm better I'll start my next mission.."
THIS. THIS!! IN SO MANY WAYS THIS!
OKAY. so bear with me. I haven't actually read any of the sibling's character stories yet, so there could be a LOT of info I'm missing but:
There's still a pretty thought-provoking conversation going on (in MY mind, at least) about just how intensely these children are being trailed to be soldiers for the Fatui. They're obviously in an environment that indoctrinates them into being soldiers of SOME kind, but I still don't know what kind of soldier that's supposed to be. Are they all ALWAYS extensions of the Fatui? Or are they more-so extensions of Arlecchino specifically..? Snezhevna was obviously trying to help those children she came across, and I'm assuming that happened on her latest mission, so was the mission for a charitable cause?? What was her next mission supposed to be?? Same line of work? Saving people? Or would it switch up and was she going to be sent to "take care of" (kill .) someone???
So I don't know whether to interpret that line as a hint of them being overworked and 1) feeling like they need to continue their work out of pure fear that they'll be deemed ineffective and useless... or 2) feeling like they need to continue their work out of a sense of loyalty and duty to the place that took them in and raised them. Or both..
and ofc the funeral scene. I can't say much more than what's already shown right on the screen.
and am I bugging? Or is the location of the grave....
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I support the "Batman was unfairly biased to Stephanie for XYZ reasons" crowd so strongly bc DC claims that Bruce is a master planner who is able to understand anyone's psychology but he didn't realize that literally every single one of Steph's problems as a teenager would've been solved by her joining a shitty punk band. If he couldn't figure that much out then he didn't understand her for a minute
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TBH as a writer appreciating the set-up of a character I ADORE Vivienne but her lack of proper character arc & the inability to argue with her more is as infuriating as with most of your companions in DAI, if not more when you play a Mage because you CAN’T grab her by the shoulders and shake her and say Ma’am if you’d had worse luck and wound up literally anywhere other than the Circle you did wind up at you would be a fundamentally different person please for Maker’s sake admit out loud that you only like the Circles because you managed to etch yourself some limited social power out of the broken and corrupt system you might not otherwise have been able to get for yourself and therefore you have not suffered the true effects of it!!!!
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Return of the King (Pumpkin Bread)...
Question: Who do you ask?
Response: Ask Lex. You're both witch apprentices.
Check notes for previous instalments
Lex has surely seen the apprentice side of this before so you decide they would be the best person to ask. You guess the direction to the coast witch's house and start walking, hoping someone's home.
You guessed wrong and enter main street much closer to the maritime museum than you should, but it works out just as well because Lex is sitting on the platform, letting their legs dangle between the rails.
'Hey, you free for a question?' You step on to the platform.
Lex looks over their shoulder then turns back around and nods. You sit next to them and let your legs dangle as well. Even though you know the platform's secure, seeing the waves crashing over rocks below makes your stomach churn.
'So I was out with some - friends? - not friends, I guess, we just met but I told one of them that I loved him and -'
'Happy for you and all, but what's your point?'
'What's the witch meet?'
Lex groans and presses their forehead against the railing. 'Figures yours wouldn't tell you. C'mon, I'm gonna need Pumpkin Bread for this one.' They get up and mutter, 'This is really cutting into my staring out into sea time.'
They lead the way to their house and point out a chair for you to sit on. Once you're seated they pinch the bridge of their nose.
'You want tea? Um, coffee? Biscuits?' They look like they're going through a mental checklist.
'I'm not judging you for your hosting abilities, you know.'
'I'm getting water. And Pumpkin Bread.'
They disappear into the kitchen for a minute and return holding a cup of water in one hand and cradling Pumpkin Bread in their other arm.
You take the water and scratch Pumpkin Bread behind the ears. Lex doesn't talk until they're sprawled on a chair opposite you and have Pumpkin Bread curled up on their lap.
They stare at the ceiling. 'So twice a year witches gather together - usually at least two of each discipline, but the outcrop witch - whatever, you don't need to know about that - and this time it's Wreck Reef's turn to host. It's a great time to make friends, swap knowledge, foster connections or whatever. The other coast witch apprentices are pretty cool, at least.'
'You don't sound thrilled.'
'We'll be at the social equivalent of the kids' table,' they say bitterly.
You groan. 'You're kidding. I graduated off that table years ago.'
'I've been at that damn table for years. Anyway. It's a lot of networking. They bury their face in Pumpkin Bread's fur and their next words come out muffled. 'I can think of a hundred other things I'd rather do before socialising.'
'You did ask me why I was talking to you when we first met.' Ringle feels so long ago.
'Hey, your big opener was telling me what was on your plate,' they say drily.
'Well, I thought it was funny.' You drink your water and poke at a loose thread on the chair.
Lex sighs and scratches Pumpkin Bread under his chin. His eyes close. 'Looks like you made friends here faster than I did though, so maybe stupid openers work.'
'They're pretty cool. I could ask about bringing you to a game.'
'Sounds fun.' They settle into silence.
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imagine the shade was like a hat
(a silly one for sure- here I wanted to draw them with more detailed limbs. mainly inspired by a point on this post but also by some other forehead jokes i vaguely remember.)
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19 for the worldbuilding prompts + Torr?
the profound quiet of a small settlement at night
North Eastmarch is freezing cold all over, but it wears different outside the city than within.
Torr would never call Windhelm warm – not even in summer months, no matter how used to it they are – but what little heat it has it clings to with great determination. The walls huddle together, trapping the air so that it’s either still and muggy or a howling wind, like each close-knit house is breathing in tandem. The heat of the people run up and down its streets, blood through its knotted stone veins. The city is alive, an ecosystem unto itself; its snow, dark with footprints, runs sludgy down the roads; a fireplace is always burning somewhere.
Outside of the walls, surrounded by nothing but empty air and snow-laden trees, a slow-moving stream running with barely a burble – it feels dead, in contrast. Silent. Branches reach needle-sharp across the blue-black sky, the ground is gleaming white and undisturbed by anyone else’s footprints, and the nearest fire is the barely visible gleam of the Kynesgrove mining camp, up the hill and through the sporadic spindles of the trees. The breeze ghosts past Torr’s neck and whips the mud-stained snow into a flurry.
In the city, Torr’s comfortable sleeping almost anywhere – as comfortable as they ever get, anyway. Some of the buildings have great gaps under the porch where the snow can’t reach and no-one ever finds them; there’s places in the nooks of the walls, and sheds built into the side of the house that people don’t lock, and Torr knows a few people besides who don’t mind him kipping on their floor every now and again, as long as he doesn’t ask too often. The outside isn’t like that. There’s not many places to go. He’s lurking around Kynesgrove tonight – on his way back from a quick venture out to get some things done that pay better than running errands around the markets – and there aren’t many options. The inn, which he can’t afford – the mine, which would be warm but is very guarded – the miner’s encampment or someone’s house, both of which would most likely result in being chased off. Besides, there’s a performative element to meeting people, especially adults, in strange places, and Torr’s not in the mood to play to strangers. So much of his being is caught up in Windhelm’s grimy alleys, tangled in the hair and fingers of its discarded children; he doesn’t know how to be himself away from it all.
But they don’t have to, seeing as there’s the rickety old sawmill on the edge of a stream feeding into the harbour. It’s not bad, as shelter goes; no walls, so the wind rubs its fingers wraithlike down Torr’s cheeks and tangles them in his hair, but at least there’s a roof. It looks newly thatched, too, the floorboards free of rot, the water-wheel still chugging creakily along. There’s no wood to cut here, all the nearby surrounding trees too scraggy to be worth the bother. The only big ones are part of the grove up on the hill. There’s no point in keeping the mill running, but Torr is glad it is; he watches the distant firelight flickering through the scrub, and listens to the splashing of the wheel. It’s proof that people and the things they make do still exist – if not necessarily here.
It really feels dead, out in the cold, with the leafless trees and the wind that doesn’t even whisper. It always does. It’s a bit discomfiting, which is maybe why Torr doesn’t go on out-of-city endeavours as often as perhaps he could; but really, there’s not work out here enough to make it worth it. There’s always problems with bandits on the road, but Torr’s not a good enough fighter for bounty work; there’s collecting plants and things to sell Nurelion, but that’s easy enough to do on a day trip. (And, really, it’s more for Torr’s own enjoyment, besides. They never even venture far south enough to get to the sulphur pools, which is where the more interesting things grow.)
This trip, though, is an outlier. Unusually efficient. Just a quick job for Niranye, scouting a merchant’s cart on the road – almost definitely for something shady, but that’s not Torr’s business, and it was too much money too easy to turn down. And then – just earlier today, foraging out in the wilderness as best as Torr (a distinctly urban animal) knows how – they’d come across a giant’s corpse, stiff and white as the snow it lay in. Torr’s no master alchemist but they know the value of a cadaver when it comes to brewing alloys and admixtures, so they set to with their blunt-edged dagger and now they’ve got a sack full of what may as well be gold. (Long as it doesn’t start to rot before they can get Nurelion to preserve it, anyway.)
Torr’s going to be rolling in it when they get back to Windhelm. They could use that money for nearly anything – pay off a few things they borrowed, new warm things now that winter’s coming back strong, bedrolls, waterskins. Endless options – which, strangely, is more exciting than it is burdensome.
It’s all the sort of decision that would ordinarily feel life-or-death urgent but right now feels – not small. Not insignificant, not at all, but distant. A choice to be made at another time, by another person.
(Torr’s whole being belongs to Windhelm’s back streets. They’re someone else, away from it all.)
That’s the other thing about leaving the city, spending time in the discomfiting slow-paced ghost-world outside. It’s quiet. Torr sits surrounded by the wind in the trees, the lazy murmur of the stream, the creak of the water-wheel, and nothing else.
He’s been called a worrywart (mostly by Griss in a strop) but to tell the truth he doesn’t think that’s true. Torr doesn’t fuss for the sake of fussing, he just doesn’t like to leave things undone; can’t stop until he finds a solution. Out here, alone, in the empty cold, there are no solutions to find – same old problems back home, he knows, but no steps he can take at this time to right them. That’s never true while he’s in the city, so he can never stop thinking about it, every choice and action accompanied by a buzzing background chorus of everything else he really should be doing – that really should have been done by now – that should never have been left undone this long, what was he thinking? Everything is urgent when it’s doable. But here and now, there’s nothing to do.
So Torr sits hunched on the board floor of the ramshackle watermill, huddled among their heaps of bags and blankets, and thinks of nothing at all.
Not strictly true. They think of supper – haven’t eaten since an apple this morning, except for some snowberries they found around noon, and it’s been a long day. They nabbed some turnips from the garden of the Kynesgrove inn on their way to the mill. They’re fresh, if nothing else – also covered in dirt, so Torr rises reluctantly from their pile of stuff to crouch on the banks of the stream and dip the vegetables in to clean them off. It aches like hell, the frozen water turning their joints to ice – they almost drop the turnip they’re washing, so they scrub it as best they can with the frigid pad of their thumb and whip their hands out of the water soon as they’re able. They stick their fingers in their mouth to warm them back up.
Even after all that time spent warming up their hands, arraying all their belongings back around themself to conserve body heat, the turnips are still cold enough to hurt Torr’s teeth when he bites in. He eats them anyway, relishing a little in the unearthly silence and the aching of his lips and palms. They taste delicious.
With nothing else to do after, the gnawing of his stomach sated, he wraps himself in his shawl and stares up the hill at the camp’s fire until it goes out. The stars wink into brighter being. The wind whistles through the whip-thin branches of the trees. The water-wheel creaks.
Torr sleeps, but he feels like he hears it all – a silent observer, an echo, a beginning – until morning.
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Your art is so gorgeous i wish i was good with color palettes like that *cries in forest cat corner
Pfff! The way I pick color is super easy and lazy, you can learn to do it too anon I promise.
Just don't "max out" the color you're picking. Like, if you're picking red, don't go ALLL the way to the bright corner. Go a little midway over the palette and pick a color there to start with.
Also, when you're shading, don't shade with a darker version of the main color. That's just another version of 'shading with black.' Try going around the color wheel to shade instead-- for example, if you're going to shade yellow, use orange. If you're going to shade orange, use purple.
And coloring the lineart is ridiculously overpowered. You can watch a sketch go from 0 to 100 by adjusting the color of the lines.
Just play around with it! Have fun! My art suddenly got a lot more fun and bright when I stopped being sooo concerned about perfect colors and clean lines. Use lots of layers and try lots of stuff, and don't spend too long fixing one thing that bothers you. Move onto the parts that spark joy.
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