#and we're still overusing metaphors and similes

[slveepyscwrs]

Tips for Newer (And Not-So-New) Fanfic Writers (Episode #2: Don't Try Too Hard)

Hello everyone! I noticed that my Episode #1 of this makeshift series got quite the handful of likes, so I decided to talk about another tip today!

Don't Try Too Hard

Before you misunderstand, by no means am I telling you to not put any effort at all into your first few works. It's amazing when new writers pour their passion into their story's world building and plot!

However, a lot of new writers (And even some seasoned writers still do this from time to time!) get stressed to the point where these efforts tend to fall apart all over the place.

Here are three examples of things that I've seen newer writers try too hard with:

Fancy Vocabulary: You're not writing a detailed literary analysis for your English class. No, we're not in Shakespeare's time either. Sprinkling some high-level vocabulary here and there, especially at important points in the story, can be a very effective tactic! That said, you probably shouldn't be pulling out your thesaurus every five seconds. One of the hallmarks of a good fanfiction writer (at least in my opinion) is being able to use simple enough language that readers will actually understand while still being able to get the memo across.

Overusing Literary Devices: One writing tip that I often seen thrown around is using similes, metaphors, personification, etc. Like a lot of things in writing, it's more of how you use them rather than how much you use them.

Inflated Word Counts: Admittedly, keeping my work concise is something that I still struggle with to this day. Managing word count honestly deserves its own post. Newer AO3'ers will see series that are hundreds of thousands of words long get popular and will immediately try to imitate that. What is more important to focus on is quality over quantity. Longer works do have an important place, but don't add filler on top of more filler just to achieve a certain word count.

Basically what all of this is trying to say, write in a way that feels natural to you. Take inspiration from experienced and popular writers you like, but don't go out of your way to be just like them. You will naturally develop your own writing style with practice. Don't hesitate, you've got this!

If you liked today's advice, don't forget to show some love to this post by leaving notes so I know that you all want more!

Love,

Your Gay Writing Bestie

[fic-request-blog]

A Welcoming Sea

This is inspired by @srapsodia  ‘s art here. I am, of course, still behind on about six requests, but I saw Jaskier’s little smile and have had nothing but it rattling around in my brain since. (I have fallen into the Witcher fandom over the last few months, in large part because of @srapsodia  ‘s art, though plenty of authors have also contributed to this.) To those of you still waiting on requests, I am swiftly getting my writing feet back under me. 

This post finally ends my roughly three year hiatus, so thank you to everyone in the Witcher fandom, most especially @srapsodia

Gen fic, just Geralt realizing something. 

A Welcoming Sea

Geralt looks up, scanning the clearing for any last supplies, hands busy strapping their bags to Roach for the day. It's not long after dawn, but the day is bound to be hot and he wants to get a few hours of travel in before he needs to give her a rest from the incoming heat. Jaskier, thank the gods, is actually up, though he's still a while from coherency. He's of no help in the mornings, but at least he's dressed and Geralt doesn't have to drag him from his bedroll. 

Geralt nods, finding nothing missing. 'Time to go, bard' forms at the tip of his tongue, but it washes away in an instant, the rest of his thoughts dropping from his mind just as quickly. 

Jaskier stands in front of a break in the trees, hands wrapping loosely around the strap of his lute case, looking off to his right. He is quiet for once, utterly motionless, his hands idle as he drifts outside of true wakefulness. A little smile is playing over his soft features, blue eyes still fuzzy with sleep, but warm with fondness. Their blue is all the deeper from the doublet fitted across his shoulders, the rich fabric seemingly reflecting its matching color in Jaskier's eyes. Geralt's breath stutters. The rising sun halos Jaskier's head and shoulders, the golden rays almost appearing to spill forth from his chest where the doublet splits, a bright yellow chemise peaking from underneath. Yellow wildflowers caught in the same golden rays of the sun dance in the open fields behind him. Jaskier is a motionless sea, risen over an easel of blinding gold. 

In the backdrop of morning light, he looks brilliant, looks like the sun has risen with the sole purpose of filling him with its rays. Everything else in the little clearing they've camped in remains dull, muted by the long shadows stretching from the surrounding trees. It is as though the sun filters through Jaskier alone, as though Jaskier brings forth its light, holding it out to wash joy and color into Geralt's grey world. 

And then, slowly, those blue blue eyes sweep across the clearing, moving with the inevitability of the rising sun, to land on Geralt. Suddenly, Geralt is the subject of that little smile, the object of fondness so clearly reflected in those eyes. Time seems to grind to a halt. Geralt is transfixed. He feels as though he is drowning, dropping slowly, endlessly, into two warm pools, no seafloor to be found in their depths. His lungs expand, but can fill only with the sweet softness rolling over him from Jaskier's gaze. 

Geralt has never been caught so thoroughly. The crinkles at the very edges of Jaskier's eyes are there because it is Geralt they have anchored upon. He is bound, trussed and tied tightly, by the realization that the fondness in his bard's sleepy eyes is for him. 

Jaskier loves him. 

There are no other words for the emotion swimming across his face. Jaskier loves him, and the sun rises as it always does. Jaskier loves him, and the sun rises as though the foundation of Geralt's understanding of the world, of himself and his place here, has not gently crumbled into a welcoming sea. Jaskier loves him, and the day moves on.

Geralt finishes tightening the straps on Roach without looking and, even as the sun continues inexorably to rise, he meets Jaskier's gaze. He feels an answering swell of fondness, as natural and powerful as the tides, and decides. 

Jaskier loves him, and this will not just be another day on The Path.