#length:70-80k

[katierosefun]

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore? & 31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

thank you for the ask!! | from these asks

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

hm . . . i think i still mostly like the same tropes that i used to, but i suppose some fics that i'm not quite as gravitated to as i used to be are probably . . . physical injury stuff? idk, i think i used to write more of that stuff when i was writing more actively for star wars fandom, maybe because there are more opportunities to be physically injured? but these days, it either doesn't pull me as much as it used to, or maybe i'm just more compelled by other beats/tropes these days!

31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

ooh so for one-shots, i tend to feel most satisfied with myself at 3k words, and for long-shots, i tend to feel most satisfied with 10k words . . . and with multi-chapter fics, my personal satisfaction point is at like 70-80k words, although the ones that i love most are at like. 100k words lol

#answered

[wander-wren]

Wren’s WIP Masterlist

all my current wips! any projects that aren’t finished that i want to finish, someday, not necessarily what i’m working on right now. all oneshots unless stated otherwise, and longfics have an estimated length given. if i decide to fully abandon a fic (which rarely happens), i’ll take it off the list. feel free to ask me about anything here, it might motivate me to finish or give me a new idea!!

other posts have my completed fics and random concepts.

Priority WIPs

these are wips i’ve worked on in the past month and/or unfinished fics currently posted to ao3. listed in rough order of priority-within-priority.

dusk to dawn- sequel to swiftpaw’s chance, rewrite of the new prophecy focusing on whitewing and nightcloud, then squirrelflight and tawnypelt as well, with others thrown in for spice. 70 chapters, 200kish.

falling feathers (i’ll follow you home)- bnha D/s au, dabihawks, your standard hawks double agent fic but with all the angst of the au. secret relationships, miscommunication, enemies to ??? to ????? to ???????? to lovers?? very VERY long, 500k+.

running- wtnv fic inspired by this fic. after being attacked in his home, carlos flees, taking a near-suicide job in night vale. what he finds is very different from the strange, hostile town he expected, and he falls in love, makes friends, nearly dies a few times, but eventually…heals. longfic, maybe 80k?

whumptober prompts- i fizzled out around day 13, but i do want to complete them eventually, even if it takes a long time

to take up swords and strike the sea- pirate!inej fic post-ck. not kanej, not kaz friendly but not kaz unfriendly. inej gets a gf. both of them are trans but that’s just a bg element. 3 parts, 35kish.

Other WIPS

sorted alphabetically by fandom, then again by rough priority within fandom. priority is completely determined by vibes and i’m hardly going to shuffle the order around regularly, so even if something is on the bottom of a long list, don’t be afraid to ask about it!

Arcane

turning out of time- t4t jinxekko, post-canon in a magical world where everything is peace and happiness on both sides. they throw an anniversary party and discover fireworks are not a great idea for not-quite-girls who used to make bombs and now have ptsd.

BNHA

sleepless- just before the hero license exams, izuku throws himself into training, determined to catch up to his classmates and never fail anyone ever again. he also stops sleeping. bakugo, clumsily, helps, and cue romance.

burn ourselves to ashes (use the rubble for the parts)- todoroki, bakugo, and deku are supposed to just be making a grocery store run. then there’s a villain attack, a collapsed building, a bleeding-out deku, and…a need for someone to cauterize a wound. todoroki has Feelings about this.

pull my feathers one by one (put ‘em in your pocket when i’m gone)- dabihawks miscommunication/getting together fic ft all of hawks’s bird traits & HPSC bashing

The Old Guard

believe you hold the answers (but your feathers are all frayed)- nile convinces booker to break his exile, sure that once the others see him they’ll realize their mistake and let him come home. joe goes ballistic.

don’t care to beg your pardon (let’s live until we die)- mortal joenicky college au where joe volunteers to be a car crash victim in nicky’s paramedic training and promptly falls in love with his competence and beauty and nicky-ness. cue romance. might kick off a oneshot series in this vein?

it’s your wound, my sutures- fairly on-the-nose title, healing works a little too well and joe ends up with a bullet buried in his shoulder. nicky and andy perform impromptu diy surgery.

The Raven Cycle

lost in what you think of me (let me be the void you fill)- i take freaky friday, give it to pynch, and rub my trans feelings all over it bc they’re both trans in different ways in this one.

one forward, one back (lost in labyrinthine spirals)- sequel to “this black thing inside of me,” in the emetophobic!adam universe. a story about recovery’s ups and downs and weird triggers. i’m still projecting/venting.

call the ravens, call the swifts- wing au getting together, where adam’s wing gets injured, ronan helps, and they have a lot of good and bad feelings.

Six of Crows

taxidermy fingerprints, taxonomize our differences- wylan comes out to the crows as nonbinary. kaz is Very interested by this. everyone talks. kaz comes out to the crows as nonbinary.

Warrior Cats

the world ends eventually (so come with me)- blossomivy fic where the two decide to abandon the clans before the great battle. they don’t quite get away in time an have to fight their way out, but it’s worth it, to be together and happy.

Welcome to Night Vale

punishment by proxy- instead of taking cecil for reeducation, the secret police decide carlos will be a much more effective deterrent. cecil picks up the pieces.

intersecting realities- takes place during that arc where the universe almost collapsed, i’m not entirely sure where past me was going with it but it seems like cecilos are wrestling with reality and which universe to live in??

#fanfiction #wips #arcane #warrior cats #bnha #the raven cycle #six of crows #welcome to night vale #the old guard #while i was searching notes and old discord convos ans google docs #i actually found at least two finished fics that i never posted lol #so i can. do that sometime

[soulhusbands]

"I can promise you, Jensen, that I will do everything in my power to keep you from believing me a monster. But I will tell you, I won’t be so nice next time when your life is in danger.”

Jensen barely flinched when Jared rubbed the tips of his fingers over invisible wounds on Jensen's neck.

“You may not think much of me, but I think the world of you.”

Sherwood by giftedstudent

Jared/Jensen

Explicit

Historical Au

Nobleman!Jensen, Thief!Jared

73k

[more on pinboard]

#j2 rec #jared x jensen #jared/jensen #pairing:jared/jensen #type:rpf_j2_au #genre:comedy #genre:drama|angst #genre:romance|fluff #genre:slowburn #setting:au_fantasy|historical #rated:explicit #kink:handjobs #cw:graphicviolence #archive:livejournal #length:70-80k #challenge:spn j2 bigbang #author:g #author:giftedstudent #attribute:ja_nobleman!jensen #attribute:jp_thief!jared

[blindbeta]

My (Updated) Rates

I provide sensitivity reading for blind characters. -Questions/Asks - FREE! Send an ask or a message

-Partial read/Full read - varies; my rates are below -I can do partial reads for stories where the blind character is not the main character -I read for fanfiction and original work

-I can help with image descriptions for art or comic pages. Just PM me.

You can donate to a nonprofit below or choose a social media/sharing option. This allows those who are unable to donate a chance to help the blind community by spreading awareness on social media platforms. Please read more here.

These are updated rates and places to donate to. It is current as of June 2022.

My Rates: 
Less than 1k - $10 
More than 1k to 5k - $15 
More than 5k to 10k - $20 
More than 10k to 20k - $30 
More than 20k to 30k - $35 
More than 30k to 40k - $40 
More than 40k to 50k - $50 
More than 50k to 60k - $60 
More than 60k to 70k - $70

More than 70k to 80k - $80

More than 80k to 90k - $90

More than 90k to 100k - $100

More than 100k - $110

There is still no maximum length and, as always, I am willing to lower prices for those dealing with high exchange rates and poverty, and for students. I can also take installments/payment plans.

Places to Donate:

I wanted to add a few more options to my list of places to donate to. My rationale for these are that they directly help blind people OR help vulnerable populations, all of which have blind people in them, and some aspects of their lives makes things easier for them.

HELPING BLIND PEOPLE:

All of these provide programs, trainings, accessibility services, etc. to blind people. Some of them do not allow donations out of their country of origin - therefore, I will accept a donation to your local equivalent after clearing it with me. I would prefer you try to donate to an existing option first.

-American Foundation For the Blind

https://afb.org/home

-Royal National Institute For Blind People

https://www.rnib.org.uk

-Vision Australia

https://www.visionaustralia.org

Indonesian Foundation For the Blind:

https://pertuni.or.id/donasi/

Plus information here if you want to donate by phone

- Guide Dogs of America

https://www.guidedogsofamerica.org/

HELPING MARGINALIZED COMMUNITIES:

No rhyme or reasons to these. I simply like them. I do take suggestions, but again my goal is to get donations to these organizations first. I will add more as these get donations. Remember that blind people exist in every community and are especially marginalized, and you don’t need to donate to causes devoted to blindness to help.

-Rainbow Railroad

https://www.rainbowrailroad.org

-The Okra Project

https://www.theokraproject.com

-Pueblo Relief Fund

https://pueblorelieffund.org/home

-SWOP Behind Bars: https://swopbehindbars.giv.sh/b206

-Red Canary Song: https://www.redcanarysong.net/

-The European Roma Rights Centre: http://www.errc.org/get-involved/donate

Move to Higher Ground: https://mthg.org/

Razom For Ukraine: https://razomforukraine.org/razom-emergency-response/

Your local abortion fund or food bank

#sensitivity reader #writing blind characters #blind characters #writing reference

[power-chords]

Have you ever participated in NaNoWriMo?

God, no! I am of the Thomas Harris disposition and fecundity when it comes to fiction writing. The activity feels like bashing my brains out against a tile floor (his metaphor), and I’m beating myself up at a snail’s pace. Were that I only the Stephen King type — I think he churns out something like 2k daily, bare minimum. I hit 1500 in an afternoon if I am extraordinarily lucky, and it takes me a grueling four or five hours.

With the project I am currently working on, which will probably hit a novel-length 70 or 80k by the time it’s through, I have given myself until the end of the year as a realistic deadline. It took me four months to reach the 36k mark, but that was without three hours of each work day being devoured by my commute, which is due to resume very shortly.

I do try to spend a little bit of time in the story each day, because that helps me maintain creative momentum. But I am no longer aiming for a minimum daily or weekly word count, which is kind of necessary for NaNoWriMo. I just set aside a time block in which I devote myself to sitting down in front of Scrivener. Whatever happens happens. I control the inputs but not the outputs.

If in some utopian parallel universe I could take a year-long sabbatical off work, I would do NaNoWriYear. Or, just the month of November, NaShoStoWriMo (National Short Story Writing Month?). I do intend to write a short story in 2023, I feel like that’s important for me to attempt, just to prove to myself I can do it. But I’m not sure if it would ever see the light of day after.

Sorry, I went to answer your question and wound up venting my guts! TL;DR NaNoWriMo is hilariously infeasible for somebody like me.

[jeannereames]

Are you sad when you finish a novel? Or do you look forward to writing the next one?

A truth shared among writers, both at cons and just among ourselves privately (and occasionally in blogs), is “post-novel depression,” not unlike post-partum depression.

Readers can feel something similar when they get to the end of a good book or (especially) a good series. But take that and set it to the 10th power for authors.

Talking to a number of SFF writer friends, on average, it takes about 18 months to 2 years to write a moderate-length novel, from initial research to an edited version ready to send to a publisher. An attack novel (= a novel that bites you in the ass and won’t let go) can go down much faster, but it still takes months. Yes, a 70-80K Romance won’t require the time a 150K fantasy novel does, or a 250K space opera (a friend’s book draft I read in June). Beginning authors usually take longer (more drafts) than an experienced author, but 18 months represents a functional average. If it’s a series of 3+ books, that’s at least 4-5 years of your life invested in a project. Longer books or a longer series can double that.

So as much as readers may love a novel or series, nobody loves it more than the author. 😊 We live with these (fictional) people for long chunks of time, get to know them intimately. Ergo, leaving them behind can be quite tough. All the more so if we also built the world they occupy, as with my current WIP (work in progress), the Master of Battles series. I think novels with a lot of world-building dig deeper into the psyche of their creator.

Many authors just deal with it and move on. As my friend Kate Elliott just wrote via her Patreon, “[M]any writers (not all) journey through life trailing an entire mutating and growing/shrinking list of story ideas, some of which will someday bear fruit and others of which will wither on the vine and never see the light of day, to mix metaphors. Sit me down with a couple of experienced writers and give us an hour and we can come up with a dozen (or more!) story outlines.”

Yet I see two ways authors (and aspiring authors) try to avoid the pain of post-novel depression. The first is simply not to finish. There can be a lot of reasons for that from failure to have a clear map of where they’re going, to a lack of discipline, to fear of releasing it to an uncontrolled audience (the public). Yet I think another contributing factor is subconsciously avoiding letting go. Non-fiction authors, including academics, can have similar difficulties. I have colleagues from whose computers we must pry the article, or they’ll keep editing until the cows come home.

The other way I see post-novel depression is in the “endless series.” Again, a long series can have multiple causes. Particularly in epic fantasy and space opera, it may just take a while to tell the story (ergo, the whole “epic” bit). Yet it can also occur when authors find it hard to leave behind the world they created, which makes sense when one considers how much effort we invest in that process. The deeper the world-building, the more effort involved. Enamored readers may also encourage the author to continue writing in that world.

There’s nothing wrong in this. Especially fantasy is full of series made up of multiple books (sometimes into double-digits) that all take place in a single world, sometimes even across wide spans in time (how many books were in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Darkover series?).

So continuing in the same world is one way for writers to shed a little of the pain of ending a book. And it’s certainly more productive than just never finishing it.

But for a lot of authors, as Kate said, we have more story ideas than time to write them all. So while, yes, it can be hard to let go, for a lot of us, we’re excited to start the next story. In fact, moving on to the next story can make difficult the marketing of the one we just finished.

Depending on the publisher, from the time an author submits their final draft, as much as a year can go by before it sees print. This depends on all sorts of things from how much developmental edit is needed (then line- and copyedits), to where the publisher wants that book to fall in their schedule of releases. So no, we don’t turn it in, and it’s out the next month, or even the month after that (self-publishing is a different animal).

Ergo, one can be pretty far into work on the next novel even as a prior one is hitting the shelves (virtual or otherwise). Again, it depends on how each author works, but especially once one is further along the publishing path, one may be marketing one book, working on edits for another, and writing the initial draft of a third, creating a weird sense of divided attention. But that also makes it a little easier to let go of earlier projects, too. Also, the more books one produces, the easier it becomes, I think, to say goodbye. There’s something new around the corner.

Yet there will always be sadness when closing a storyline, whether to one novel or across several—even if one plans to write further in the same world. It’s unsurprising to feel that way, and the more time one has spent on a project, the deeper the sadness.

(P.S., if you're interested in writing advice from someone who's been doing it a lot longer than I have, I'd recommend joining Kate's Patreon. She posts at least one article on writing each month.)

#writing advice #the writing life #writing life #post-novel depression #Kate Elliott #saying goodbye to your story #asks #publishing a novel

[pacific-rimbaud]

Novel length dramione from you? Sign me UP!!!! Any teasers?

I actually have a novel-length Dramione WIP called Love and Other Historical Accidents (it's currently at 8 of 12 chapters and 78k words). It's updated recklessly and has an extremely small, extremely enthusiastic, extremely patient readership that I'm sure is looking at me right now like. WHERE. The f@#k. Is the chapter. 😑

In order from most to least likely to happen, my Dramione future looks like:

Love and Other Historical Accidents: Four more chapters and a movie! 🙌 I mean epilogue. 100% likely.

Dramione Christmas 10k one-shot: 100% likely.

One and Done AU Dramione wedding fic: I love this AU and really enjoy writing in it, and it is canon for the AU (lol) that these two get married shortly after The Secretary. It would be 45k-60k so: traditional novel length, not fanfic epic. Pansy and Ginny are bridesmaids! Theo is a groomsman! Percy dances at a wedding! Jonathan Gable! Photographer Tracey! Blaise Zabini! Lavender Brown! [RECORD SCRATCH] What more could I want in life? Only _________!Draco in the ____ AU Christmas fic, that's what. It feels like something I'd be compelled to do in January. 60% likely.

Dramione 70-80k multi-chap: Writing this really depends on whether it grabs me and won't let go. It would be different for me: less comedy, more angst, less external conflict/plot nonsense, and it's very possible the story would be a tough sell. I will say that it's an 8th year story told in flashbacks parallel to a story 5ish years later. Post-war, adults in their early to mid-20s, romance, Real Life Stuff, regrets, misunderstandings, broken hearts, eventual HEA. 30% likely.

Thanks so much for the ask! 💜

#you asked i answered #I love them very much #truly

[bisluthq]

I’m not surprised because most his followers are Swifties. Jack hasn’t even hit 100K. Josh O’Connor is at 500K post like awards for The Crown.

amy adams doesn't even have 800k 💀

I mean the thing is they’re not influencers, they’re serious actors?? And they’re all quite to very private?? I think Swifties just… are used to following famous musicians or I guess maybe some teen actor types like KJ or Sophie Turner who do all do like influencer shit and make a LOT of content. But like the people who are interested in KJ aren’t the same people who are interested in Amy Adams for the most part. Some teams focus on socials as a way to build platforms - of serious actors I can think of like Jessica Chastain? - but a lot don’t prioritize that and an organic acting following would be under 1M and at Joe’s level of fame/acclaim/length of career imo it should be under 100K. Again, I think he has about 70-80K people following him for him and the rest are Swifties who would follow any Mr Taylor Swift.

#nat talks celebs idk

[opbigbang]

Title: Control Name:  Zoewinter1 and @captainsway Character focus/Pairing(s): SaboAce Rating: PG-13 Word count: 77,000 words Warnings: Mentioned underage relationship in Chapter 9, mentioned abuse of sex workers in chapter 9, graphic violence, human experimentation in chapters 1 and 2, forced isolation in chapters 1 and 2, lots of swearing cuz author has a potty mouth Summary: Luffy had never known love, or comfort, for as long as he could remember. Alone and terrified within the bowels of the Kaigun labs, eleven year old Luffy had resigned himself to a life of experimentation and torture, when an opportunity by the name of Ace grants him freedom. With Ace and Sabo, Luffy learns there is so much more to life, and to this world, then what the government wants you to know. 

Story: Fanfiction.net | AO3 Artwork

#opbigbang #opfanfic #opfanart #one piece #fanwork: fanart #fanwork: fanfic #length: 70 to 80k #rating: pg13 #pairing: ace/sabo #queue

[literaticat]

Ugh, sorry but #wordcount question - I have a romance that was complete at 132k. By guidelines that's too long, but it was so perfectly interwoven with the threads of plot and character that I have now spent nearly a year ripping my hair out trying to shorten it. Because I am "breaking" it. I just would like some eyes on it and I feel like agents will look at the word count and go, Nope. Too long. And won't even give it a chance. Am I wrong in this assumption?

You can go to the Kobo website and look up the word count of all your favorite romance novels, the books you think will have the same sort of audience as your book, and aim for about that length. Probably they are mostly between 80k-110k words. I really don’t think 135k is THAT far outside the norm - I mean make it as tight as you can obvs but don’t make yourself sick about it. The only exception to this I think is if you are writing to a brief - like, writing for a particular category/line that specifically requires books to be 70-75k or whatever it is -- but you’d know if that was the case. 

That being said: I don’t rep grownup books, maybe I’m wrong. So I enlisted the help of my brilliant and knowledgable friend, agent extraordinaire Holly Root, who reps some of my favorite books ever!

HROOT: “My advice on this is honestly not orthodox BUT if you have really, really done absolutely everything you can to make it incredibly well-paced and fast and it's still just a big ol' book, just delete the word count from your query. (Chaotic Good, reporting for duty!)”

JL: SCANDAL! Haha no, I was actually going to say the exact same thing, but I was afraid I’d get drummed out of the Agent Club, so I’m relieved you said so! I never notice how many words something is unless it is so out of bounds that it’s truly absurd - and here’s a truth bomb -- when authors put their word count on the top of their manuscript, I delete it before I sub it to editors, and never ever mention word count in my pitches to editors. Nobody has ever questioned that, nobody cares.

HROOT: “Agents & editors are largely reading on screens, and I know I am notorious for having zero idea how many words anything is ever, only how fast I read it. If it's not as tight as you thought, people will pass because the pacing's off and then you'll know. But they won't refuse to request it just because of word count, leaving you wondering.” 

JL: YES - agree completely. I can tear through a 500 page book if it is tightly paced and every word really needs to be there - whereas something as short as a novella can feel like a nightmare slog if the pacing is off.

HROOT: “Certain subgenres within romance certainly lend themselves to this more than others; if there's fantasy worldbuilding or it spans multiple generations or is generally epic in some regard, you're probably more likely to meet reader expectations, but if it's the kind of world and voice people just want to sink in to, there's a way to spin the longer than expected word count as a positive if the read delivers.”

THANK YOU HOLLY! And now can we put word count questions to bed forever? xo

#I hate questions about word count

[worldcakecakecake]

The Red Mask

In 18th century Valencia, Spain, thrives the legend of the Red Mask, a character with stories of bravery and heroism that have enchanted Lovino Valenti since he was a young child. On a new business deal, his family moves from Naples and Lovino finds himself wishing for adventure and action away from his duties in this new Spanish city. He is given that chance when he joins a group of masked heroes that fall under the command of the famed Red Mask. He grows a close and fiery relationship with the masked man of his tales and dreams, and without knowing his identity, he lets himself be swayed by his seduction, trust and daringness, to passions surely forbidden when he doesn’t even know his actual name or who he really is.

Wow, what a surprise, posting a new story…and it’s not gerita! (There will be gerita though, of course!) Yes! Hello! This is my true entrance into the spamano world! A pairing that is easily one of my favorites in the fandom. I always write about it to the side of my stories, but now they get the chance to shine in their own. This story in my mind has been quite exciting and I can’t wait to for you to join me in this new adventure as I write and put it up. Part of it was actually writing in Spain and my experience there helped to fuel it. Despite it being set so in the past, let me say that once again, the research I did was little and many things can be very inaccurate. If it offends or annoys you, I am extremely sorry. I am willing to listen and change, so please message if I can fix something to better represent the times.

This story will be slightly different in the aspect that there will be some more darker themes. Hopefully they won’t be too intense. I still like to keep things light and bright. I will give the appropriate warnings in the notes before each chapter.

Speaking of warnings, this story has a draft page where pretty much two or three more chapters are done. I have this rule that once this document reaches 20k words, I start posting. Once it’s all posted, the story will have to go on a hiatus until I fill it up to 20k again. In the past, stories done in this form, I would have an exact schedule as to when I would post, but since I am extremely busy and sometimes just editing might take me several weeks, I cannot assure a specific time to post. I will simply post once I finish editing the next coming chapters. I apologize already for the time it will take. But be assured! I will post! I will write and edit when I can and the chapters will come EVENTUALLY!

As for the length of this story…I’m estimating perhaps 70-80k, but we’ll see as the story goes along. Yes, it will be deliciously long.

 As for the beginning, I will be posting prologues that detail the backstory of how ‘The Red Mask’ started, so no, sadly, no delicious spamano interaction…for now ;) 

 Warning that there is mention of rape in this chapter.

                                                                Prolouge I

No games, no toys, no dim candle light, no stories, no warm embrace, no soothing lulling voice taking him to sleep. He couldn’t let himself that old luxury when he had to watch, to see hidden between the dark shadows of the mansion already succumbed into the late night. Not a stirring, not a presence, the only one being the exchange in the room the little boy was currently watching from afar. The door was only slightly ajar, bringing a small streak of light to the hall, reminding of the actions, of business still needed to be done. From this distance, the boy could hear but only small mummers, unclear, lost, a brightening that he dared to reach by taking easy steps forward, down the stairs, down the halls, until it could be easy enough for his small hands to create a disrupting shadow into the singular ray of light. He leaned whatever he could to spot clear the figure of a woman, one with his same dark brown curls, the same shine of his green eyes, even the shape of his nose and mouth. She stood proudly before the male she was talking to, nothing wrong with her servant uniform, the proud red sash wrapped around her neck proudly, bearing her expression of obedience and loyalty to the words of this man.

 “-the windows, the doors, watered the flowers of the entrance,” he tested.

 “Yes sir,” she nodded.

 “The laundry, the chickens, the baths, the pathways, the grass,” he kept on.

 “Completed.” Nothing in her figure showed the opposite, her uniform doing well to hide the bruises, the dirt, the labor.  

 “Very well then, and are you aware of your duties for tomorrow?”

 The little boy could feel the strain for his mother.

 “The tapestries, reorganize the vases, fix the pillars, care for the flowers of the garden, prepare the letters for the next ball and waiting at dinner for your important visit,” she assured, she knew, she was already preparing herself for the pain, strains and tiring energy that would leave her faint once she reached back to her bed…if she ever did.

 “Perfect. You never disappointment me, Ms. Carriedo.” The movement of a chair, steps, closing in, a sign that was enough to bring the little boy to dread, trying hard to hide his groan and the new coming tears.

 A hand closing in, on the buttoning of her uniform, a closeness to the red sash on her neck. A harsh grasp, hers, on his wrist, holding anymore touches to the prized fabric.

 “Don’t touch it,” she warned harshly, always strength to be disobedient when it came to it, despite the glares, despite the slap, the kick, her fall, her hands coming to protect it in the palm of her hands.

 “I’ll touch whatever I wish to. Have you forgotten that I own you, that you’re purpose here is for my pleasing?” He kneeled to her, testing her yet again, trying to grasp that red handkerchief and yet she kept it close, tight, no color to show him, no softness, no walls to the castle this item brought her. She enclosed herself around it how she could, even if she had to look away, if she had to anger him, if it brought her other kicks and even spits.

 “Very well, once again I have to remind you.” A throw, a push, a pull, an unbuckling, the little boy couldn’t take it any longer, not caring if his steps and labored breaths could be heard as he hurried up the stairs, down the halls, to their room, crashing into the safeguard of their bed, by the window, showing a beautiful starry night that his mother could have used for the beginning of a new tale. Tonight they didn’t hold that escape, that relief as they always did, their stories of adventure and heroism weren’t loud enough, didn’t extend a hand to dry the tears that fell down his cheek, coating the pillow he wished could sunk him down to the worlds of knights, faithful lovers and adventures away from the pains of this mansion.

 Somehow he found rest with such a storm lingering, yet weak, for when he heard her entering, the crash of the door, he startled himself immediately, to meet her as weakened as she usually came into the room, with ripped clothing, new bruises, new blood, new tears and her figure slumping slightly more. When her eyes fell on those of her son, of her same green, she managed to pull a smile as if all that was surrounding her didn’t hold the same potency anymore.

 “Antonio,” she wiped what she could in an easy rub of her hands. “What are you doing awake, querido? Come on, let’s go to sleep,” she managed to insist, to prepare their bed as she usually did, patted, warm and with the best fabric that she was given.

 As Antonio sat on that spot, waiting for her join, she changed into her night dress, the only item kept being the red handkerchief, still safe, still untouched by the devils who owned this place. She joined her little son, the red handkerchief like another pillow to rest between them, Antonio hugging it, as well as his mother with all the tightness and love they have poured over his life of only five years. She brought him close to her chest, her hands threading through his brown locks, enough to forget, enough to smile and for once find calm for a coming rest.

 “Do you still want to hear a story?” She suggested, knowing how eagerly Antonio would nod even in his tiredness, even after what he saw, but nothing could beat the tales, nothing could beat this chance of adventure and difference.

 “What would you prefer? The story of the Viking archer? Or of the skilled sword handling Spaniard with the red mask?”

 “The red mask one!” How he loved it.

 She chuckled, “very well then.”

 And there she went, the feat of tonight being how he saved the damsel from her wicked father who had caused calamity in the city, in amazing detailed fights that only his mother could alight in just the right action to bring suspense to the little boy. In the end, he saved the woman he made his lover and settled off into a sunset of promise, just the right touch to end a proper night with proper dreams.

  He shouted, he jumped, he slashed his old metal sword all around the fabrics that swayed in the new air, weakened movements that made his mother laugh from the distance as she hanged all the sheets around the wires for their drying.

 “Antonio! Remember your stance! Stance!” She reminded and Antonio made sure to keep it to consideration as he went on with his practicing, yet it still failed, he still missed movements and twirls that would make him trip or even let his old trusty sword fall.

 She had to step in and help.

 “Antonio, come, look at me.” She picked up her own sword from the pile her son had brought along with the basket of sheets. It was much glorious, shinning, with an artistic handle that had Antonio aweing instead of fearing. She skillfully moved the sword around her, for grace and for battle, Antonio spectating with shine and admiration.

 She presented the point of the sword before him, inches from his nose, his eyes hypnotized by the reflection of the sun on it, then her proud smile.

 “What did I say?” She chuckled.

 Antonio laughed as he brought his own sword, taking her very same stance, the old ruin thing he used as his weapon taking the very same levelling forward.

 “Very well, again, look at me and repeat.”

 She moved and he followed. Her footwork, her spins, her slashes, hearing her advices, her tricks, her teachings until he was ready for a practiced combat. With shouts, with meets that resounded well across the field and hill they fought, the woman saw that her son had bettered in his defense, in the proper holdings, not for a single moment letting his sword fall, slowly growing harsher stabs that actually made her worry that she would lose sight of as she taught. Luckily, she defended well herself and could take whatever forwards, whatever sudden surprises that made her prideful.

 Only seven years old and her son was the sword prodigy she had once been herself.

 Any smiles, any laughs, any learning was harshly interrupted by shouts, of many men, of coming footsteps that they both knew they had to stop at before it came any closer. They hid the swords at the bottom of the basket, the woman placing a protective cover to keep it more hidden, busying herself instead with the hanging as if it had been her sole duty for the whole day. Antonio sat by the hill and pretended to distract himself with a patch of blooming daisies, his eyes catching the commotion that had interrupted their moment.

 It was Mr. Montaje, the owner of the mansion his mother worked for, the hated man that made Antonio grasp harshly to the ground he sat upon, that brought shivers up his mother’s spine, trying to focus on only the sheets swaying before her, on their softness, on their colors, nothing, nothing else.

 “The routine was well explained, I have no need to repeat myself,” he shouted to all the men that followed behind him, all appropriately dressed in their white gears, paddings and swords hanging in their gloved hands, as straight, as strained as they pretended on acting like the statues that decorated the gardens.

 The only two allowed freedom was Mr. Montaje, who walked through every file, inspecting, while also strutting his own uniform, his power, command, even joy to take control of this group of men. The other was Keron Montaje, his oldest son, the heir, a boy of pale features but with intense dark hair, eyes and even personality, with the very cockiness his father wore. Only ten years old and he was already commanding, shouting and even hitting some of the men as he tested their perseverance to remain still as they were. Mr. Montaje laughed as if it was some childish game, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close to utter words of pride that only gave more bounce to the boy to continue as he wanted. Antonio glared, with memories of pushes, of laughs, of points and misery. All he could do was accept this field of tyranny that was his household.

 How unfair, how underserving.

 Keron took a frontal position, before all the men, as he considered himself to be, above whatever importance they might think they have. His father led, raising his own sword, shouting commands and thus every pair was formed, even Keron finding his partner and instantly all began their combat, their training, a show for Antonio to spectate. For their cruelty, him and his mother admitted that they did have impressive knowledge in the sport, to what they could add, to what they could learn from, watching and later in the night finding time to practice these very new techniques.

  Even at twelve years old, Antonio would find his time for that hill, for the continuing practices that happened before him, already calculating and omitting attacks on his mind as it went on.

 Keron had improved, his slashes harsh, unmerciful, it was common occurrence for him to draw blood out of his opponents, continuing on without a care of their shouts, strains and cries for care. Joaquina was in charge of dealing with their treatment and bandaging, as always, hiding her complains, ignorant to their demands as she tried her best.

 The household finding Antonio old enough, by now had forced him into the scheduling and working, but the young boy, no matter what the papers said, always stood by his mother’s side, to lessen whatever new loads Mr. Montaje placed newly on his mother.

 Every night, every escapade into their room, still ended with her having the same bruises, the same rip of her clothes, the same destroy in her eyes that Antonio tried to smooth away with his embraces and the kisses he laid on her head.

 As the years continued, Antonio feared it wasn’t working its relieve, his mother only continued to arrive worst, a spark dying each day that only Antonio resurrected with stories and with their occasional sword practice.

 On his laundry work, Antonio fifteen by this time, he caught the excitement about a swordsmanship tournament, the household calling Keron the sure championship to bring honor to the family, a sureness that he already strutted the halls with, as if he had already gotten his prize. It annoyed Antonio immensely, new furies igniting as he folded the fine pristine shirts of the members of this family, thinking that they were all underserving of this forced treatment he had to give them, all because of a stupid family accord that forced him and his mother there. If only they had-…a pamphlet then fell on the basket, announcing the very tournament the entire household was talking about. It listed the tournaments’ name, how it was one of the region’s most prestige competitions, approved by the very King and Queen of Spain, inviting all to participate, going on with all different kinds of honors, badges and seals that could be given to the winner, including an incredible price of two thousand reales. He took it, he ran over to his mother, exciting her in the prospect.

 “No,” she instantly denied, putting the pamphlet away.

 “But you’d easily win!”

 “Your belief in me is endearing, Antonio, but I cannot possibly risk ourselves by going against Mr. Montaje like this.”

 “But it says that everyone can participate. He has to let you!”

 “And risk us getting scolded, or worst, killed? He still has that power over us.”

 “Exactly, so you have to prove to him that he doesn’t, by showing that you’re better than whatever second hand swordsman he has here.” Antonio was confident, mad of such doubts, that these spoiled brats could get away with such honors ignorant of those who truly deserved it, chained to their shadows and meaning to forget them from whatever freedom and chances they could be granted.

 “With this money, we could leave this mansion once and for all!”

 “Even if I wanted to, he doesn’t let me out of the gates of the land, much less to participate on a tournament that can set me free from him as well as embarrass his family if I do manage to get far. How do you expect me to do this?” She seemed to challenge and oh was Antonio glad to take it. He grinned as his head went clearly through her tales, especially one of a figure which famously donned a red mask. He could picture the fabric on her face, along with a beautiful red uniform to go along with the moves that would surely prove regal than whatever master would fight there.

 “You don’t have to go as yourself,” he began to suggest, easing the idea. Joaquina raised an eye, questioning, following her son’s eyes to their treasured red fabric on their shared desk.

 It said enough, it detailed and seemed to tell the tales aloud for both to hear.

 “Are you saying…?”

 “Yes!” Antonio excited and to his surprise his mother returned the suggestion with a grin, a wink and thus that moment an idea began to take life.

  It was more crowded than both had expected, a center ring presented surrounded with groups of all kinds witnessing and spectating the battles. They shouted, they made clear either their distaste or wonder, seeing as many lost or as others came victorious, moving ahead in the chart that the committee had presented for all to see. Antonio, well covered by a darkened cloak his mother gave him, joined along in those jumps and screams, pointing out quite honestly those he liked…other than his mother.

 It was the last of the first round matches, many quite excited over a mysterious player that was to join, whispers already arising and Antonio smirking.

 Santiago Villalobos was called to fight, entering the arena with the usual cockiness all players took, raising his sword and earning a new roar from all. The noise was much that it did well to dull out the new participant’s entrance, just taking its own welcome into the stage, its interesting robes of black and red, the red mask that covered the top of its face tight, letting green eyes glow and elegant lips shine, enough of a capture for everyone to fall silent. That cocky smile, different, endearing to Antonio, for once one making him go along in these new shouts and screams, convinced in the easy shine this person made their sword rise, seeming to fly high and claim already the brightest star.

 Battle started at the moment the competitors’ eyes met, quick to let their swords meet in a loud clang that announced well to all, their dangerous dance starting of evasion, attack, jumps, even swirls, every moment a delight to all their eyes. To the masked contestant, this was simple, it saw victory as soon as their swords met and like that it was given, the other’s sword flying off into the crowd, enough proclaim for the masked swordsman to win.

 The crowd erupted so loud Antonio feared they would tumble the arena down.

 As the tournament continued, as the masked player kept enamoring them all with their amazing skills, known steps, defenses, fast and graceful movements to seem like a flight, people just jumped and shrilled the more, truly ready to crush the stage with pure excitement.

  All her competitors were wiped out from the tournament listing quick and sure, as easy as simply throwing their names away and watching the mysterious competitor rise and rise until she reached a final with only but the strongest of her enemies, Keron Montaje.

 When both their names were announced unto the stage, a thread of suspense easily hanged above the crowd, even the stage, especially to Antonio, who feared the teenager could recognize his mother if even just by the little skin she showed, her eyes, her movements, or just her voice. He was surely dramatizing, he and his mother did well to try and hide anything that could make her obvious. Besides, none of the Montaje had ever fought with them, they wouldn’t recognize even the skills that were so obviously Carriedo.

 As the judges prepared to announce what would be the last battle of the tournament, Keron and Joaquina settled in sending vengeance through their eyes, angering, pestering, anxious to start. Keron simply wanted the fame, to prove himself better before everyone, especially his family, and he was not going to let someone that wouldn’t even reveal his name or face to the crowds or himself that victory. To Joaquina, this was her chance on getting her name, a position away from the mansion, for honor, the best for her son and against years of being looked down on, abused and being stripped of her person.

 As soon as bells announced, along with shouts of the crowd, Joaquina was the first to strike and Keron was vigilant enough to defend against that rather strong blow that made him loose his balance, close from tripping to the sea of people. Quickly he tried a deadly slash to her face but she did well in defending through all the attacks that remained upwards, barely depending on their stance. It was forgotten, and so it was easy for Joaquina to find a moment of distraction to simply trip him by a mere slash of his leg, which had him on the ground, surprised and cringing. Impressive downward slashes continued and from the ground Keron still managed to defend against them, but it was becoming harder, the slashes so intense that he felt he was being buried into the stage. He managed a push and tried to get them back to the focus of upper attacks, but Joaquina moved by a mere inch, pushing him easily down and with an incredible dance of her sword, had Keron’s sword flying to the floor, momentarily trembling before it defeated itself by falling out of the stage. It was the decision that proclaimed the masked stranger the winner of the tournament. The crowd raged their unbelievable excitement, and Antonio couldn’t stop jumping and screaming along. The masked contestant raised her sword in thanks to their admirations and to acclaiming her triumph, with an ultimate pride that even made Antonio shine in the hiding of this mass approval.

  Even after her winning, the Red Mask never revealed themselves, which many were expecting. She simply headed to the judges to get her honors, money, looked for a young boy companion and headed off without a hint to where she was going. The event was well talked through the near towns, villages, word had even reached Madrid, much to the embarrassment of Old Montaje. The only bliss Joaquina and Antonio had received in the mansion was the constant scolds he would send his older son, his disappointments, using every sign, every chance to talk about his failure in the tournament and how he showed his disgrace to the family with a loss against someone who wouldn’t even dare show his real face. The Carriedo couldn’t hold their smiles, one time old Montaje noticing and sending them quite an angered shout that had them wary from doing it then on.

 They had to continue their usual farce, their preparations to leave silent, along with finding their contacts, their place of run away. His mother spoke of Valencia, her birthplace, her family, a place she was known and was sure could get them a new home easy. She managed the writings of a Patricio Gaspar, a friar who knew her from childhood and already offered her and her son refuge and protection.

 “Why didn’t you get us somewhere closer…like…Salamanca?” Antonio suggested one night after his mother had finished explaining well their plan of escape, to take action in a fortnight, their route and their stops, heavy, long, arduous and titanic. Antonio would sometimes remain awake truly wondering if they could make it to Valencia intact.

 “I didn’t know anything else but Valencia, hijo. Besides, they could have easily found us if we chose a closer city. I doubt Old Montaje would head to the other side of Spain just to find me.”

 “He’s always been really impatient when it comes to you, mamá. What if he still reaches us?” He feared.

 “Then this time we’ll fight,” she picked her sword from the cloth she had wrapped it well in for their travel of haste.

 This time she will defend well this chance of freedom.

  They had worked that day like they always did, yet silent, obedient, barely any words to other servants who they had small acquaintances with. By the last duties of the day, the mansion in dark silence, they got their things, sacks for each to hang over their backs and headed out through the floors and doors they knew wouldn’t cringe under their steps and push. They were out into the lands, through an old abandoned fence that Antonio had made an opening while others thought he was simply cleaning this area. Undetected, not a single guard noticing, they camouflaged with the shadows, avoiding light, other eyes or any of the more main roads. They took a hidden walked route through the forest and hills, one Joaquina was sure of, she knew and read. It would be hard but she was positive of arriving to the next town safe. They kept an arduous track during the night, finding only momentary rest at its darkest, short, to awaken at the early rays of sun and continue their walk.

 About half way, they met with a kind farmer who was heading to Astorga as they were and thus they hitched a ride on his carriage. They made a good friend of this man in their ride and were rather sad at wishing their goodbyes once they arrived. Joaquina paid for an inn to keep them for the least of two days, just to rest, regain energy, stock, prepare and try to settle as much as they could in the town as to not arise suspicion. Joaquina had met with the man who had given their ride and sometimes they spoke, admitting to him even of her and her son’s goal to reach Valencia. After an evening of a well spent together dinner, the poor man had been mugged and the thieves had run away with a high percentage of reals that the he had depended on. Antonio couldn’t stand it and was willing to go after them to get it back…just as Joaquina did.

 That night, she bore the mask, her capes, tunics, pants and boots and hunted for them in revenge. All the missing reals were returned to the man mysteriously, just as his new friends had fled in the dark early hours, with course to La Bañeza.

 When Joaquina and Antonio had arrived, the town was in the midst of a festival. It was active, it was full, it was easier to loose anybody who might come after them, but even crime was alive and no such joys was enough to stop it.

 Joaquina and Antonio had seen it all occur by the balcony of their inn, a gang disturbing peace by trying to kidnap a group of children. The wails of the families were too much to bear, so Joaquina took action. It was not a simple entrance, everyone noticed the deep red, how every fabric seemed to fly heightening the figure’s presence and stature, how so elegantly the figure moved, battling, fighting, capturing all the men, tied well for the authorities to imprison and for the children to run to their family’s arms in safety. They couldn’t risk it, they had to continue to run, this time to Benavente. There they saved an infant child from getting kidnapped in her own baptism. Of course, the crowds shrilled and celebrated, stories were told, they had to run, but it didn’t stop the word from spreading.

 In Villalpando they freed innocent captives from a soon hanging. When they thought they could have rest in Medina del Campo, they found themselves catching a mystery thief of the night. In Arévalo they stopped an entire gang that was terrorizing the town and had brought what the inhabitants called a time of peace.

 Finally, finally, finally, they had arrived to Madrid, for the first time seeing the magnitude of a city, beautiful, with large crowds to loose themselves between, so much going on and they could forget, they could finally have that rest they wanted. Confident they decided on remaining for a week, the action of the city they thought the police could deal with. Ignore it, they had to repeat to themselves as they dealt with a routine wanting to seem as normal and belonging as possible. It was hard, but with the time it had taken them to get there, knowing that surely the Montaje knew they had escaped by now, who knows if they had sent anybody, if they had reached Madrid with better speeds. They were weary, suspicious of every single gaze, any blackened robes or white seals having them running and panicking back in their inn.

 “We’re safe, it’s impossible for them to have reached us like this,” Antonio would try to lighten, enough to have his mother breathe and settle for whatever dinner they could manage.

 But that peace could not be held for long. Antonio had spotted them, this time the black and white one he knew, sure, unmistakable, he had to run and bring the dreadful news to his mother. She panicked, a crying figure of weakness that they both thought they had forgotten.

 “We’ll run,” Antonio had decided for them and so they packed quickly like they had used to in their journey. Joaquina managed to find and pay for a carriage that was heading to Tarancón, she and her son early for the appointment, their nervousness shown in the way they couldn’t stand still, couldn’t keep their eyes from wandering and wouldn’t dare let go of any of their bags.

 Yet even in this state they could not ignore a cry for help, could not just stand and let the wrong continue. This time it was a woman who was fighting off kidnappers, the famed Red Mask coming to the usual rescue that caught the big attention of the city, one that not even the scouting Montaje could ignore. Of course they recognized the masked hero that had beaten their young heir and it was a watch they tried to keep, forgetting their original goal of capturing the escaping Fernandez. Joaquina and Antonio had ended up missing their carriage in the saving, settling instead with running despite their fatigue and weakening bodies. They arrived to Tarancón sick, Joaquina especially, who had to be bedded and Antonio had to try his best by himself caring for her and trying to find any kind of medicine to help.

 Little did they know that their tracks were now targeted and hunted, little did they know of the Montaje presence in the town, of their plans of attack, of ending a too long a nuisance.

                                                                                                     Prolouge II >

#the red mask #spamano #spamano fanfiction #spamano fanfic #spamano fic

[acertaincritic]

Me: The standard length for books by not-yet-published authors is 70-80k. With high fantasy it can be a little longer, so 90-100k words is pretty good. Sure, it's not an instant disqualification if you're beyond this range, but better to play it save, eh?

Me: Oh, and the book I'm writing now should do well as a stand-alone, so let's just keep it below 100k, then it should be a pretty good material to debut with!

Me: Well, I'm about 1/5 through the plot, so let's see how many words I have already.

Google Doc: 20100 words.

Me: ...

Me: I'll be coming in pretty close, huh?

#I actually want this book to be about 90k words #But like #I don't know #writing #personal #kinda

[ryuusea-archive]

A Work of Art: Upcoming Misawa Mangaka AU

Overview of project:

@ryuusea​ and @xstonehill​ proudly present our upcoming collaboration: A Work of Art! It tells the story of the fledgeling manga artist, Sawamura Eijun, and editor, Miyuki Kazuya, who do not in any way agree on what romance is, and still have to work together to make Eijun’s new serialization a success, a story about friendships and love in and around the baseball field grow and influence the players and their beloved sport.

The story has evolved over a year, and should be finished within the next couple of months! It will be novel length (approximately 70-80k), with illustrations by Ryuusea every chapter and writing by Stonehill.

Summary:

"Shoujo manga isn’t about realism. It’s about creating dreams. It’s about holding out a hand to the reader and telling them a story that will make them happy.”

Sawamura Eijun’s career as a published manga artist begins with a shoujo manga, a dare, and an unimpressed editor. What he wants is an editor he can trust, somebody who can be his friend, but what he gets is Miyuki Kazuya, a cynical mystery editor, with very little interest in shoujo manga. In fact, Miyuki has no expectations for Eijun other than for him to fall over his hopeless romantic sensibilities and cliches, and drag his project down with it. But Eijun is a force to be reckoned with, and as their first meeting ends in an argument and an impulsive dare, the seeds for a precarious partnership is sown in rocky soil from which a romance neither could have imagined alone sprouts

Snippet:

“Whether I like it or not has no importance. It’s my job to make your story stand out to readers, to make it worth remembering, worth reading and re-reading. Isn’t that what you want too?” Miyuki catches his gaze and Eijun is startled to see the smile that tugs at his lips. “To create those scenes that make readers talk for weeks and months afterwards?”

Eijun opens his mouth to say something, finds he has no voice and closes it again. He swallows thickly.

Of course, he has.

But he can only dream, right? He doesn’t have that kind of talent.

“So… what exactly do you— Wait a minute!” He says, cutting himself off and pushing himself out of his chair so it balances precariously on its back legs before toppling back on all four. “That means you really don’t have any real experience! What kind of company sends somebody with no experience in the field?!”

“Sawamura, sit down,” Miyuki says, holding on to his own patience with everything he’s got. “And I have enough experience in other fields to handle you.”

Eijun squawks in indignation. “Handle me?! What are you, my babysitter?” “No.”

“So what exactly do you mean? If you don’t have any experience that just means you’re as out of your depth as I am!”

“Well, for one I obviously paid attention in my lit classes. And I know more about the reality of human relationships than you do.”

“Alright then!” Eijun yells, slamming his palms into the table so the spoon in Miyuki’s coffee clatters against the porcelain. “If you’re such a goddamn expert on relationships maybe you should show me.”

“Fine!” Miyuki snaps, rising to his feet so he can meet Eijun’s gaze on equal ground, patience obviously abandoned. “Maybe I will!”

I am YELLING in excitement over this! I’m still OVER THE MOON that Louie (@xstonehill) is working with me on this. LOUIE IS AMAZING AND IM HONESTLY SO BLESSED. It’s an honor and most importantly, so much fun! 

We’re both really looking forward to bringing this to everyone (soon!) Hope you enjoyed this little preview from both of us! HAPPY 2/18 EVERYONE!

#misawa #daiya no ace #miyuki kazuya #sawamura eijun #Y'ALL IM SHAKING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THIS #I CANT BELIEVE ITS BEEN A YEAR IT REALLY DOESNT FEEL LIKE IT #woa

[falsegoodnight]

hi ris! how is tangled au?

hi!! was going to wait till i had written a bit more of it this morning but idk if that’s going to happen because i must be productive *sigh*

anyways, she’s doing well!!! we’ve crossed the 10k threshold and things are going good!!! i am a bit concerned about the length for this fic because my outline has 46 scenes and... i’ve finished 4.5 😬 my calculations based on that is that this fic will be 100k which YIKES i need to cut some stuff out dhjkdkd

the range i want to get it to is 70-80k which is still really long but the double digits are typically more approachable than the triple ones, but again we’ll see!! maybe this really will be my first 100k+ fic in a while!!

thank you for your interest!!

#asks #wips #tangled au

[magickedteacup]

I just looked at my animation novel draft labeled 2008 draft and.... the ideas are there, but the writing was very clearly written by a teenager, I’m embarrassed. I mean! Look, even back then I knew it was ludicrous for a teenager to be writing about 20-something-year-olds starting work in the animation industry in the 1930s but I believed so strongly in the concept of it that I felt I just! had! to! try!!!

Wow though I basically knew nothing. I didn’t know how work worked, or renting apartments, or how adult relationships, romantic/platonic/workplace/etc. even really hypothetically worked; it was all; the most guessing of guess-works

and the crowning cherry on top was like, in hindsight I really probably am somewhere on the autism spectrum, which doesn’t mean I don’t get social things, it means I’ve historically gotten them slower than everyone else/ well after it was obvious to everyone else, so if you can imagine

You know, I had a reader back, friend of mine, but he was like. Ten years older than me and how he managed to read this without a mountain of secondhand embarrassment on my behalf as a know-nothing teenager is beyond me. beyond me

-

...But honestly it was really important for me that I did try writing this novel, because it took me around 3-4 years just to get comfortable with the animation field technical jargon and concepts, everything that they were developing at the time, and then then the period history--and then since then it’s been a gradual building on that with learning more sophisticated subtleties of social and social historical issues, race issues, gender and sexuality, adulting and how adulting works, neurodiversity issues, and then finally the last missing piece which is how to actual construct a compelling, coherent novel-length work of 70-80k words which by the way is quite difficult when you have to start thinking in that huge block of text...

This really has been a novel a decade in the making. :| ;;;;;;; oh boy. of course on the plus side looking at @chocotaur ‘s character designs give me new life so that’s something ahahaha

[drinkupthesunrise]

I have to say I adore your writing! Are you gonna be working on any other longer docs now that Any Distance Greater is over?

Hello anon! Thank you so much for the compliment, it’s LOVELY to hear Current fic plans don’t include anything quite the length of Any Distance Greater (at 78k it took me about ten months to write, and beat out my previous long fic title holder The Weight of Our Lost Bones for longest fic by about 2k, and OH GOD I usually top out at about 30k on any given project) but I’ve got lots of bits at work!

I’ve still got a half-dozen prompts from when I last opened up suggestions, so I’m tinkering away at those? I guess my main thing I want to write at the moment is my Wedge/Norra fic, which I think... might clock in about the 30k mark when I’ve actually done what I want with it?

@harusamemosuke and I have a verse going in which I could easily write another 70/80k if left to my own devices, but that’s sort of at the back of my mind right now?

I’m also signed up for the Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2017, which if past exchanges are anything to go by may generate somewhere between 10-30k of fic? Things get out of hand quickly with me!

Something else I am thinking about is trying to edit / finish writing Finn’s addition to the starlight series; I did the bulk of the writing over nanowrimo last year, it just needs SORTING?

So anon, I guess the answer is I have lots of writing projects on the go at the moment, but none of them at the moment are turning into SUPER long fic, but with me who knows what the next project will be. Any Distance Greater was supposed to top out at about 15k. It did not.

#fic writing #replies #ask #Anonymous