Whitley:Life is hard and cold.
Ruby:That’s no excuse to give up hope.
Whitley:I won’t. Mama didn’t raise a quitter. Then again…she didn’t raise a winner either. To be honest, I don’t know WHO she raised.
Ruby:….
Whitley:…
Whitley:I don’t recognize myself most days.
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Fast sketches from the beginning of the war
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This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?
At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.
I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.
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Writer ask! 3., 6., 8., 13., 21., 22., 29. & 39.
3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?
I don't have much of a ritual tbh. I think the only cursed part of it is the amount of tea I drink when I really get into writing (it's the same with painting tbh). When the tea cup is empty it's time to take a break long enough to brew another. (I miss my ceramic tea pot :( )
6. What is your darkest fear about writing?
I guess just losing it. Like one day I notice that I haven't had an idea for a long time, and they just never come back...
8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?
Probably only action. My first NaNo was heavily about the MC's isolation, and though there were dialogue bits I'm pretty sure I could remove them and just make it even more isolated. (I have written at least one short story without any dialogue)
13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?
Children are difficult. I have no children in my life, and I have found that attempting to tap into my childhood has not really given me great insight. :P
Strangely specific but I've always found writing about winter, wintery scenes, cold's effect on bodies p easy. Comes with the northern location I guess.
21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?
If I had to (though I can't imagine why I would have to), I suppose I could (would take some adjusting), but I would not want to. It's such an important outlet, and it's fun.
22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?
I've been getting into writing out my plots, usually in excel, sometimes just straight to the document. Other than that, I'm not very organized. I'm hoping to visit a local museum for ideas for my horror story (maybe one day when I have the time) so that may require a notebook, which is fun. I have so many notebooks.
29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?
Non-fiction books a lot, paintings, random things I've grabbed hold onto from podcasts and other places that I've gathered next to my desk. If my inspiration for a certain project runs dry I'll leave it be for a time, or indeed leave writing be for a bit. It's not a big deal (unless there's a deadline :P then I just tinker with another part of the story).
39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?
I do quit projects a lot of the time, and that's fine. Sometimes I pick them up, sometimes writing them has just been like doodling. If I really want/need to finish a project, I remind myself that it feels damn nice to finish stuff, even if they're not perfect.
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i had been used for my body before, i didn't mind it. i had a good trick about it - i didn't have to be there, not in my skin. i could wear the mirror, wear the puppet. you would see your perfect girl, a little monster i had concocted. she would glisten, distilled out of my own blood and venom. it meant i would be using you instead - you think you are taking from me? darling, i think this is a fucking joke, a role i am playing. you can't hurt me, i'm not present for the event. this is just a body, like a book is only words.
and then you came into my life, easy and honest. reaching for my hand in the crowded holiday market. passing me a water before i realize i'm thirsty. checking on me once, twice - the first time i said i'm okay, you knew i was lying. i keep thinking about the shape of your blue eyes and the wild of your hair the last time i saw you. how you got out of my car and when you looked back, i was looking back too. your quiet breathing in a hotel room.
you kissed me like you meant it, is the thing.
i don't know how to be a person yet, not fully. i don't know how to let you kiss me and touch bone. i tell my friends i hate this so much i want to throw up. your name slips into my head - i am no longer really ever alone. a little frazzled heartrate keeps splattering against my collarbone. my therapist asked yesterday - why are you afraid? what is the cost of vulnerability?
a terrifying thought: when i'm with you, it feels like finally coming home.
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