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Whenever i hear people say they feel weird about commenting on fics they really love because their brain is telling them some iteration of ‘i have nothing to say here that this writer actually wants to hear/it’s annoying!’ I really just want to assure them that there’s literally no feeling to compare with opening my inbox and finding a comment notification from ao3, especially on fics i wrote over a year ago. people who make art want you to interact with it! like yes i write for myself but i also write for every single person that takes the time to not only hear me out but tell me it made them feel something. feeling something is kind of the whole point of art actually! and feeling like i’m not just yelling into the void makes the weeks of work that go into writing something i’m proud of worth the effort! i’m so serious when i say you could literally just comment an emoji and i’ll love you forever

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WHAT ARE WE?!

WRITERS!!!

WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO?!

WRITE!!!!!

WHEN ARE WE GONNA DO IT?!

((Disgruntled muttering))

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a wonderful ao3 author note

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If there's one thing I've learned from Sunrise on the Reaping it's that I could do a lot worse to my characters.

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i get so happy when people that are new to fanfic writing, or just writing in general, post their work on ao3. despite their doubts, despite their fear of something so personal and vulnerable being perceived, they still press that button, and i turn into the equivalent to a proud mom cheering on the sidelines. like yes! you did that! your work is worth seeing! you deserve to share your passion for and be part of a community! i’m so proud of you!

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fic writers and fan artists be like

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get yourself a main character whos two primary emotions are "little cunt" and "catatonic with grief"

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every day I wake up and it’s fucking january

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i had a 4 hour drive today so i put on the revenge of the sith audiobook and the part where palpatine tells anakin to kill dooku came on right around the time that i saw a cybertruck and for a brief and beautiful moment when he said "do it" i had the urge to ram my honda full on into that shitty ass car

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Pansy is falling by florence and the machine, she thinks of Neville as my boy builds coffins, she is sharp and wicked with a tongue that lashes out at everything, she is too quick and too scared to stop moving, she is a shark who will die if she stops moving, if she slows down for even a second, and he is the ground. He is soft moss, and a spring morning defrosting the grass to a soft gentle dew, he is the beginning of bulbs when they are just sprigs that could be anything, he is a place to lay for a while and the world turns without him because he is at peace with it turning without him he has what he needs. He gives her the softest place she’s ever had to land and she would kill anything to protect him, but he doesn’t need that side of her, and he will let her be soft without setting herself on fire first. And the first time they kiss it isn’t gentle, it isn’t with kindness because that’s not what she’ll allow, so he grabs her by the hair and pulls her back to his chest and he kisses her like he wants to claim the air that is in her lungs. She doesn’t stop moving, she wraps her legs around him and pulls herself up until he pushed her into a wall firmly sandwiching her on all sides and she doesn’t feel trapped, she feels safe in the cage of his arms and he stares at her with fire and heat in his eyes.

“I’ll do this for you, because it’s what you need, but you deserve so much more.” And he kisses her before she can process that, and he leaves her a shuddering mess, and when she tries to crawl out of his arms later he refuses to. He holds her until she stops struggling and tells her, ‘but this is what I need.” and that’s all she needs to hear to stay, because how could she hurt him with herself, and she keeps waiting for him to tell her he needs her to leave, but he never does. He never tells her to dull herself, and he just waits, for her to not need to be grabbed for her to come and rest in his lap and his arms and to know whatever happens he is always a safe place for her.

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the rush of pride I get when I say, it's longer than dune, talking about my fanfiction

only to swept away in crushing defeat when people tell it's too long and I have to admit I haven't even gotten to the main conflict yet?

Yeah bottle that feeling and drop it like a bomb

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I used up all my talent for never getting writers block in the arrogance of being a teen and now I succumb to self doubt and a blank word document

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i have started this next chapter no joke six different times and I just can't get it right and I want to scream

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why must every finished chapter conclude with me rearranging my timeline? trying to squeeze too many plot points into one update and praying the right things get noticed

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i am still heartbroken, i am still in mourning

i still wake up every morning wishing it was the day before I got the news so I could do something to change how the world was altered

but I know that he spread joy with every part of his being

that he loved LOUDLY

and my being sad would only make him sad

so I am finding a way forward

i miss my friend

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Gregory Orr, from The Last Love Poem I Will Ever Write; Poems; "Song of Aftermath,"