#bc it feels like i'm keeping up the writing momentum even when i move onto other fics

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Please, do you have any tips for getting the motivation to write? Not like, getting inspiration or figuring out how to write. I have so many ideas I have for both personal ideas and fanfics, but when I sit down to write, I get about one paragraph in, many two, then I just lose the motivation to keep on typing and figuring out how to structure my words. It's so frustrating and makes me wanna cry. Do you have anything you do to help you just sit down and write/type? It would be really appreciated! I don't want to be just called "lazy" anymore.

First off i'm so sorry that it took me so long to answer life kinda came up and grabbed me, also i can and will fight everyone who is calling you lazy because that's not okay, make them turn on their locations i just wanna talk

everything else under the cut bc this got long

Second! I think for me the biggest thing to just get me started is a first draft doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to exist. I just gotta spill words onto a page and then I can go back and like actually no i want this to read like this and this to read like this. Also why I'm an advocate for drafting in comic sans 'cause ain't nothing gonna look polished and finished in that font which means you can fuck up as much as you want just to get it down.

Third, and I don't know if this will work for everyone, I don't always write in prose the entire time--that is, sentences, punctuation, all that. One thing that I'm a big fan of doing is bullet fics where I'll just bullet point what I want to happy and not pay attention to tone consistency or any of that. Then I can break down parts that are being really loud in my head and do them with proper everything like how I'd write them out for a fic or a chapter but I can keep the momentum going of 'and then this shit happens 'cause they're both idiots' and just get everything out. I've had a lot of projects where they're about 20% actual written prose and 80% 'so this and then this and then this is what they're thinking' in bullet form. You can always go back and edit it later, just get it down and out of your head. I find sometimes re-reading the bullets can bring the daydream/story idea back to the forefront of my brain and then it's easier to keep writing as opposed to leaving it all up there where it's liable to disappear completely.

Kind of jumping off from that, there's a phrase someone told me once about not letting your pen rest on the page because you'll just get a big well of ink. Keep it moving and you'll figure it out. If i'm struggling to figure out how to phrase something or write something, I'll write the clunkiest version of it [or just put what happens in square brackets like this] and move on to come back to later. i find if i fixate too hard on the hump of what's giving me trouble in that moment i'll lose the rest of the story.

Then there are a few things that are more, like, personal ambiance things? I'll find a song or a soundscape to listen to that makes my brain vibrate at the right frequency to immerse myself in the tone of whatever I want to write and listen to it on repeat even if i'm not actively writing. For some longer pieces i'll take pacing breaks where i literally just get up and walk around listening to whatever it is while i make my brain spin about it without the pressure of putting it to words. If a few specific quotes or passages pop into my brain i might take the time to scribble them down but it's mostly about making sure i'm immersed enough in the world i'm trying to write so i don't have to concentrate so hard on making sure the technical parts of my writing matches with what's in my head.

I suppose something I will ask (and honestly maybe should have asked earlier) is what parts of writing make it feel 'complete' to you and where do you find it the hardest to pick up once you've left it for a bit? If it's the pressure to get everything down just so you can point to it and say 'see here's what's happening, here are the arcs, here's where the story goes,' then the bullet technique might be more helpful. If it's the art of figuring out how you want to phrase things and how you want your words to go, I'd suggest trying the square brackets technique so you can focus on the parts that feel really strong or that you really want to sink your teeth into without interrupting the flow of the words. It's totally okay to write things out of order (i still have to convince my brain of this sometimes too) and removing some of the pressure to make everything perfect (or even prose) first time around when you just need to write can be super helpful

I hope this was helpful and kind of what you wanted!!!!! If there are any other questions you have--or if you want more of these sorts of suggestions if they weren't very helpful--please lemme know

#dragonbabbles #i do have opinions on the matter

[bomnun]

idk if were still hating on s0yeon but if i may add my own two cents

maybe its because i have somewhat high standards when it comes to idol produced music (being a uni walwal and lego will do that to u ig) but soyeon is just.. mediocre? when it comes to producing her own music. she comes out with a few bangers and parts of the songs are really good, but shes not able to consitantly keep up that energy. like, she has potential, but i feel like shes unable to really channel it in a productive way without guidance

imo i feel like cube saw the trend and success of self produced idols, especially seeing how pentagon, btob, hyuna, and clc were succeeding with making their own music, they decided to market s0yeon as the next big idol producer, but she wasn't able to live up to the hype. fans will defend her to kingdom come but wont recognize that she needs to learn more or put more time and energy into making music than she currently is.

(also, im pretty lenient when it comes to idol rappers, since many of them dont really have an interest in hiphop and are just rappers bc the company wants them to be, but miss ethnic hip is just.. her rap isnt even fun or enjoyable to listen to it sounds so forced it makes me wonder what was going on in the studio ehkssgja)

oh you're very welcome to keep the discussion going ahjkdss

lmao i like those groups too so i get you, and after just ... listening to more music it's so obvious exactly what she's made, and it feels like she always falls back onto the same formula... slow intro usually by her or minnie, verses that sound oddly similar throughout songs by minnie/miyeon/yuqi, her rap completely ruining the flow of the song she herself made, and and often the same melody. to the point where it doesn't feel like a conscious decision, but like it's the method she has of writing songs. her doing most of the arrangements on her own is p impressive, and sometimes it feels like she's more skilled at that. compared to a lot of (k)pop they can be pretty simple, and sometimes it's impactful and feels very intentional and right (hann, hwaa almost, latata, c1c no) and sometimes it feels extremely empty and unpolished (oh my god, lion, uh-oh, tomboy ...) and overall i don't think she knows how to finish off a song a lot; a lot of the songs she makes just end, even if they've been more dynamic and less static overall the climax just isn't there. the only thing that gets switched up is the instrumentation ~inspired~ by whichever culture she's "borrowing" from next.

i agree w you that they def saw people being drawn to that, and, hey, it's cheaper than outsourcing and buying shitty demos from people who- pitigi bitubi we WILL avenge you

going to say smth that feels mean and very subjective but i do think cube wanted her to be a fusion of hyuna and hui dsfksdfjh but she doesn't live up to either of them, and, yeah marketed her as the creative mastermind, cool female rapper, strong leader they noticed people would latch on to.

i'm with you on idol rappers. i do not know a lot about what's considered good rap at all or what makes rap good, so it's not something i'm going to speak on. i feel like a lot of kpop rap is just There to make songs more dynamic and get some more momentum and move forward, in a quick way that requires less thinking about the composition, bc if there by default is going to be a rap break after the first chorus that transition between first chorus and rap break doesn't require as much careful thought nor any new, original ideas. some of that still sounds fun though, and if it feels like a natural part of the song idm it. not comparable to Rap rap, and not to be seen as such... fans should stop with that and a lot of unneccessary rap should be cut, but it feels like a lot of rappers... they're either shoved into that position bc the group Needs A Rapper! or theyre someone who enjoys appropriating hip hop culture 💀 to be edgy. s*yeon for example being the latter!

and i do especially wonder what the team around her and the other group thought of her "ping pong" rap...did they think it was good too lmao

#ask #anonymous #long post

[dothewrite]

hey, hope you're doing well. but um, i'm not at the moment and i kinda need some comfort haha. so this one's kinda personal, but can you please write a scenario where s/o's confronting her dad about never wanting to see him again bc he's never been there and the entire time kuroo's been waiting outside (bc she insists on doing it alone) and when things start to take a turn for the worst, she storms out and stays with him for the night?

I got to work writing this immediately after I saw your request, and even though I’m a little over my posting time I hope this helps you at least a little. The dynamics of the characters itself might not be what you relate to, but, I hope you find some kind of comfort tonight.

You’re going to be okay.

“You’re home.”

“Of course, honey,” he laughs without looking, “it’s my house.”

You can feel the closed front door like an anchor behind you, dragging your spirit lower and lower by the ankle, leaving ugly, purple marks all over your legs like mauled meat. There’s no going back, it tells you, and there’s no escape. It’s do or die, because if you don’t do, it’s only going to kill you bit by bit on the inside.

Who knew that something you wanted to say so badly, would be the most difficult to actually leave your lips?

“It’s really late,” you quietly say, “it’s almost one in the morning.”

He finally turns at your words, those almond-shaped, green eyes you see every morning in your own face reflected back at you. It looks like a desert behind them. “Asking me why I’m not in bed yet? Aren’t you quite the adult now?”

The heat is burning you alive, and the dryness is parching your throat. You swallow, in vain, and the air scrapes your throat raw on its way down.

“You’re supposed to be the one asking me why I’m home so late.”

The smile fades from his face, and suddenly the spatula he’s wielding looks more like a weapon, frozen in his single-handed grasp and you realize you can’t take a step back. Your spine is already pressed as close as it can get against the heavy mahogany door, and your palms flat against it. Your father chooses not to move forwards. His knees are tense, bent, and it reminds you of being hunted down.

“Look,” he says to you, “what has your mother been saying about me again? Don’t you teach me how to be a father when you’re the one wandering in so late at night.”

You’re not the one who’s supposed to teach him anything. If it’s possible to rain inside a mind, it’s a downpour for you, hollowing out a space in your head just so it can pool and you can drown in it. You’re just a kid, you feel reality dig sharply into your side. This man has not taught you anything in his life, except for how it’s like to live without a father.

You inhale sharply through your nose, and it stings. “I’m leaving,” you tell him.

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where I’m wanted.”

“How can you say that?” He asks, slowly, dully. You had perhaps imagined he’d rush towards you, in a slight frenzy or at least mild worry when you said something like that to him. Your father simply stands there. There’s almost disinterest colouring his voice, and you watch his fingers tap irritably against the spatula. “I’m legally bound to keep you here while you’re still underage.”

“You did that to spite mom.” You raise your eyes to look right into his. They’re unchanging, as always. “You got custody because you could.”

“Is that what she told you?”

You shake your head. “It’s what you tell me, each time I come home.”

He says nothing, and you say nothing. The opposite of love is indifference, and you’ve become intimately acquainted with the inside and outs of that phrase over the course of a barren childhood. Years of going elsewhere, to your mother, to your friends, to your best friend who’s waiting outside for you, because you asked him to. You couldn’t imagine your father doing something like that for you. You couldn’t even imagine your father cooking you breakfast, with that ugly, wooden spatula of his.

“I’m not going to let you go off by yourself,” he waves his hand sternly at you, “you’re going to get me into a lot of trouble.”

“Haven’t I already?” You see his mouth fall open in slight shock- shock that you might have actually called authorities for some inexplicable reason, “I’m in the way. You prefer me out late because it means you can fuck that woman you’ve always been so into. You even butter up to her kid. I’ve just been trouble to begin with.”

“How dare you-”

“Fuck you,” you say. Inflectionless and emotionless, you are completely drained- of affection, of fear, of anything, because in this moment, you barely exist. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving, so don’t you look for me. I never want to see your face again.”

It incenses him. You can see the rage on his face, and rage is more sincere than anything he’s ever shown you, and he advances, step by step. His arms are reaching out towards you, narrowing the gap between man and beast, and you stifle the sudden urge to scream.

Those hands latch onto your shoulders, icy and piercing, and you’re being shaken with every word that he says. Your head hurts, he thumps it against the door and you wish you didn’t exist. “I fed you, I gave you a place to sleep, who do you think gives you a roof on your head? When your mother can’t even afford the floor she sleeps on- who do you think keeps you alive??”

The door suddenly opens behind you, a vague memory that you didn’t lock it shoots through your mind, but as you topple backwards with all the wrath of a fully grown man pushing you to the ground, a pair of arms catch you firmly around your waist. You’re pushed back upwards with a forceful heave, and your father is thrown backwards with the sudden momentum.

Planting a foot firmly into the damp ground behind you, you wrench off his grip on your shoulders. Your chest is heaving with exertion, adrenaline and all the courage that’s been forced into you by the situation, but your father is barely fazed. He stands there, silent, the only thing that shows his struggle is a stray strand of black hair that falls from his coif and it’s the only thing that makes him look remotely human to you.

Not that you’d know. You don’t see him nearly enough to see him anything other than ‘fixed’.

You don’t say anything more. There’s nothing left for you to tell him, all the words you had planned have found their way out one way or another in that short exchange and now you’re just… you. Done. Finished. Once again, you don’t understand the look in your father’s eyes. Your eyes.

Taking the hand that’s hanging next to you, you give it a soft squeeze (your father doesn’t even glance up at the man beside you) and just like that, you walk away. One foot in front of the other.

You’re not stopped.

“Hey,” Kuroo finally says when you two hit the first traffic light. His fingers are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, flexing at regular intervals as if to remind himself to stay relaxed. “How do you feel now?”

“Tired,” you don’t hesitate to reply. The car smoothly rumbles forwards and you stare steadfastly at the dashboard in front of him.

“We’re almost there,” he murmurs.

He parks, with quiet efficiency, and although the way to his flat is by no means new to you, it’s as silent as the car ride. The elevator lets out a ‘ding’ when it hits the seventeenth floor, and you wait, with your hands folded in front of you, as Kuroo reaches for his keys in his back pocket.

“You’re going to drop them one day if you keep them there.” You slide off your shoes with your heel and Kuroo shrugs while doing the same.

“Haven’t dropped them yet,” he replies.

Your socks pad against the waxed, wooden floor and he hands you a small cup of tea when you make yourself comfortable in his couch. He sits next to you, elbows resting on the other armrest and the two of you sit in peace. The digital fireplace flickers and licks at the dimness of the room, and you take a sip of your tea. Darjeeling.

“Live here,” the silence is broken, and Kuroo is watching you intently. He offers you escape like it’s nothing to him.

“You already offered the couch for me tonight,” you reply slowly.

He shakes his head and stretches an arm out in a way that makes you think of a panther. He’s still leaning away from you, but somehow, with all his limbs stretched out and dangling comfortably at various angles, you feel like he’s offering you comfort in a roundabout kind of way. It warm your face, and you move to hide it behind your hands.

“Bokuto’s moving out,” he tells you, “so there’ll be a free room. I haven’t thought of looking for people to replace him, so…” The corners of his mouth curl up a little, warm. “Live here.”

“I don’t have the money.”

Kuroo blinks. “I do.” You’re opening your mouth to tell him- “It’s not charity, okay,” he interrupts swiftly, “you can take extra shifts at the bookstore, and maybe I can bug Oikawa some more about getting us jobs at the cafe. You can pay it back.” He finally reaches out, a solid hand against your shoulder and you let yourself breathe out. Relaxing into his hold, you shift slightly closer.

“It’s going to take a long time, paying for this place with a bookstore and coffee job.”

“I got you.”

It’s slightly cracked, weak, but it’s a laugh nonetheless that comes out from your throat. “Alright, sugar daddy.”

His laugh is entirely different from yours- lazy and rich, he laughs like it’s a song he’s been aching to sing, despite being completely tone-deaf, and it makes you grin from ear to ear. He grabs you further and pulls you more against him.

“You’re so full of shit,” he grins at you.

Your shrug is faint, half-hearted, but he bumps against you anyway. The tension of tonight, your plan, is unraveled, and even though you feel like you could sleep for the next year, and at the same time not sleep for a week because of how tense you are, you at the very least, feel safe. Feel wanted. You nudge at the lax body beside you, and Kuroo just nudges you right back.

The words will come later. There will be nights where you question, where you doubt and where you probably will fight, but you’re out, and it’s done. Nights with bad movies and quiet conversations will come too, and along with that will be the time to talk about everything you might be still plagued with.

It will all come, in time. For tonight, you fall asleep like this, simply, against Kuroo’s sprawled body on the couch.

#kuroo tetsurou #sfw #female original character #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! #angst #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #i writes the haikyuu