I really don’t know what to do. I shouldn’t have taken on kinktober this year. I knew my writing wasn’t going well and even though it’s seven fics I should have known better. I don’t know how I’m going to get done in time. This is either my complete breakdown before I finish two and half fics or I’m going to give up completely and skip this year…
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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again
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everybody’s always on writing prompts like “what if there was a world where everyone had a timer ticking down to their death… but you met someone whose timer said infinity!” or “what if everyone had their cause of death tattooed across their forehead… but you met someone whose forehead said THE CREATURE!” Enough -
enough. stop with the shock value. there is no need to insert THE CREATURE; the benign concept of such a world is horrifying enough. not even in urgency, but just in banal, everyday interaction. imagine you meet someone and their timer says two years. not tomorrow, not urgently soon, but two years. enough to do quite a lot. they could fall in love in that time - could they get engaged? have a baby? you might otherwise get to know them, befriend them, but perhaps you opt not to, make a conscious choice not to invest in your own grief. what balancing act would every individual person have to participate in - I have ten years, is that long enough to be a good mother to children? is that long enough to secure a caretaker for my own mother? my wife will die a few months before me. my newborn’s timer reads nineteen years.
and cause of death. you interview for a job and emblazoned across the healthy, smiling face of the HR lady is MALNUTRITION. your country is prospering, safe, but every person you meet on the street from the babies to the old women read BOMB. BOMB. what kind of havoc would fate wreak on the world? what about the loss of privacy? how would that shape our notions of hope? idk man I think a lot of those ancient poems were right, and the fates are monsters. I’m interested by the framing of these ideas as trite horror tales when the premises themselves are so much more disturbing if simply taken to their logical ends
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Daydreaming about my book:
Writing my book:
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tragedy enjoyers when a character perpetuates the cycle of violence they themselves were a victim of
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Ship trope I'd love to see more of: "Are we in love? I mean, yeah, probably, but that's a problem for future us. Right now we're just trying to make it through the Plot."
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Just doing this bc I'm curious/research reasons
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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BEFORE WRITING: Oh, this fic idea is so cute, and it won't take any time at all!
WHILE WRITING: Oh...oh, no...I Underestimated this. Again.
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feb 2, elle emerson (@transsextual)
text description under the cut!
[slashes indicate single line breaks. text description:
utah bans gender affirming care for people under 18. / south carolina is following suit and worse. / i'd cry but i can't anymore, not like i used to. / my girlfriend tells me they're so tired but she doesn't know why – / "i wasn't even doing anything today" / our anniversary is this month. / i feel like a puppy when i see her. / i get high and rearrange my friend's fridge magnets / queer sentences cover the freezer door. / "eat the skin and hearts of men it attracts dykes" / "i kiss fags" / "feel it up partner" / "you may do it but use condom" - / we laugh about that one. we watch star trek. / their roommate calls me cool; we grew up on the same books. / another friend of mine is taking a gap year to go to brazil, relearn portugese. / the boy i dated who is now my best friend is coming up with my family in a few weeks. / we're going thrifting together on the weekend, and i / am going to try to get an extension on my paper. / dance rehearsal on sundays. / my roommates want to go to ikea. /
my uber driver mentioned his husband when i asked about his day. / i thanked him for it at the end of the ride, and he laughed and pointed out the trans flag sticker on the dash. / on my way into the clinic i think i saw him crying. / i introduced myself to the lab tech and she asked me to say my real name. / she took six vials of my blood. /
so many of my friends are named after gods. / this has to be for something.
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As this year comes to a close I just wanted to thank everyone who supported my writing in any single way over the year. I know I have not put out a lot of content this year but I still appreciate every single note.
I hope in the new year I can write more and put more content out for all of you. I have so many ideas and wips going currently that I am very excited about.
I hope everyone has a safe and good new year. Here is to 2024✨
(Also I still have a lot of fics to get on ao3 that one of these days I’m going to do. So sorry for the extreme delay on doing that. I’m terrible at remembering to do it except at the worst times when I’m unable to😂)
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The Puerto Rican flag showing up when Rio snaps at Miles for getting a B in Spanish is such a fun little example of the incredible attention to detail in this movie
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Me just after opening a Word document
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When the unflappable character sees someone they care about in danger and the mask slips, it's great.
But when the unflappable character sees someone they care about in danger, and the mask DOESN'T slip.
Because they understand they need to be calm and unflappable now more than ever; if it protects them, it will certainly protect the person they care about. So their voice doesn't waver, their hands don't shake. They don't panic. From the outside looking in, they're as calm as could be. They handle it.
But after it's over-when the person they care about is safe, and the unflappable character is alone-they completely shatter. Gasping breaths, sobs, barely holding it together because someone they love almost DIED, and it was far, far too close for comfort.
(Optional: Character that they care about finds them in this state and comforts them.)
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nooo please don't give me a wicked little look before wrestling me onto the bed 😖
it would be so unfair if you pinned me down and bit me until i stopped squirming underneath you. more so if you started whispering all the ways you're going to ruin me, laughing while you watch my thoughts leave my head and leak down my thighs.
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