#because im a slow writer. and artist. and editor

[sadagios]

....sorry........................

LOL

gria would know.. very well . anyway tune in for the fic

[5ivebyfive]

Hiii i found u on ao3 originally when i found intoxicate me gently and im literally so in love with your writing, i just wanted to say that !!! I fully get enraptured everytime i read please dont stop writing

Thank you so very much for this ask! I’m glad you like img. I’m fairly in love with it as well.

I definitely don’t mean I’ll stop writing. I couldn’t stop writing these two idiots falling in love in an infinity numbers of ways if I tried. We’ll be celebrating the 10th anniversary of the film and I’ll be on my next idea and still be type-type-typing. (Or I’ll still be hacking away at Kim in shut up and drive, who knows.)

I just miss how fandom used to feel. When I felt like a contributor to a fun group and not a “content creator” who is nothing but a screen name making words for whoever, and “whoever” doesn’t care about me as a writer or themselves a fandom participant.

It’s funny. I used to have this trimberly discord server for writers, artists, graphics editors, etc and it was called Trimberly’s Creators Circle.

Back then, being a content creator felt like a good thing. Because content was more seen as a positive and an offering, almost. Now when I hear “content creator” I just feel like a robot with a ticking clock over my shoulder. And that’s because of the lack of actual fandom anymore. Not just this movie and ship, but all fandoms. Fandom wasn’t just consuming content. It was engaging with each other, making friends, taking turns to share things about the Thing you love, and encouraging each other on. And then for some people, it was about being the cheerleader, the admirer. The person to listen to an unhinged writer, ranting about one specific fic and their motivations and spoilers. Legit everyone had a role in fandom.

I’ve gone off on a rant, sorry. I just mean that….

I know I can be slow at replying to comments. I just communicate better, back and forth, on here or discord. And my memory is shit. But I still love hearing peoples thoughts. I want to talk to you about what I write, because I’m passionate about it. It’s in my brain bouncing around at all times, yearning to be free. Wanting to talk about it, for people to tell me their thoughts, to wanting you to ask me stuff about my works, isn’t me looking for an ego boost. It’s just me looking for fandom.

Idk. I’m honestly a little high right now and have completely forgotten where I was going with all of this or even what the ask was.

So.

Return Trimberly fandom. Return “fandom”. I miss you.

And no, I’m not quitting writing ever. Please keep reading img and thank you for loving something my brain made up.✌🏼

[anarchy-in-the-vent-blog]

looked at some of their messages again. i hate how condescending abbey is. despite financial troubles she's had maybe the most emotionally/spiritually fulfilling life of anyone I know and i hate when she goes "oh, X" like she knows so much. she's a horrible communicator. i know its ridiculous to care this much about this contest, i probably sound insane, and would sound insane to anybody i try to explain this to but i cant fucking take this anymore. how can i give so much time to something so simple and meaningless and still get it wrong. and on top of getting it wrong, how can i get so upset about it. i know im a good writer. im not incredible but im a lot better than 99% of the bullshit i read in other genre fiction magazines and comic books, so why am i being punished? surely i dont think im gonna get saved after my genius shines through in one dramatic brilliant piece, but i've been doing everything that im supposed to do. i try, slow and steady, i write dozens and dozens of stories, experimenting with style, writing to fit prompts, writing to please myself, writing with themes and morals in mind, writing things to just entertain. everything is fucking worthless, these industries only care if you have connections, and i guess because i wasn't born one of stan lee's many bastard children that means my writing will always be shit in the eyes of editors and nonexistent to the public. how the fuck do we live in a world where people like mark waid and brian michael bendis and scott snyder are considered top talent while i get spit on for stories i put literal years of effort into. i feel fucking deranged, i feel like this is something im never ever ever ever going to be able to overcome. and what the fuck do i do? pay for company? give money for someone's time? was hamboussi right when he told me to just pay some artists to illustrate my genre scripts so i can submit freely to anthologies? but where the fuck have anthologies ever gotten anybody? nobody reads the shit. i have to submit to someone important like 2000 AD. nobody reads most smaller genre zines. im really tired rn. im too exhausted from sadness to give into physical weariness though. im gonna die alone. all i have is the Dao. i attract nobody on dating apps, the concept of parties has been ripped from me, i dont go to bars, i get stepped on my all my female coworkers, im gonna fucking die alone and even worse im gonna live alone and itll be years before i can ever sleep while holding someone and itll be even longer, maybe even never, before i do that with someone i actually give a shit about and i wish i was a kid again w a stuffed animal listening to rain sounds. i want that but i sometimes think that if my mom were still alive she'd be disgusted with me too. im too afraid. im a cowardly person, im already incredibly alone i cant imagine moving out and having to become even more independent, but living with my dad drives me crazy. none of my friends-that-are-girls ever really understands me when i talk about how alone i've been. i talk to them sometimes about going literal weeks without saying a word to anyone, about random people just staring and roasting me when im walking in public places, unsolicited insults from strangers on dating apps. i try to tell them these things and its like they get so defensive about how hard it is to be a woman that they wont even consider the fact that i have problems that are gender specific. i tell them how lonely ive been, i tell them how i go months without even touching another person, even if thats a brief friendly hug or an accidental arm brush, i tell them about the disgust i feel in other people towards me, i say everything i feel just short of suicide and they tell me to just get off dating apps like thats an obvious solution. they dont know how much worse it feels to just give up altogether. its like that saetia song where the guy goes "its better to be stepped on than left alone". i hate dating with every fucking fiber of my being and i hate how cruel these people are, the way they think they can talk to me, the

way they dont understand what precious little human contact means to me. how im terrified that every single message i send might be the last they read before i get ghosted, because i cant imagine a text chain with anyone ending any other way. they just get mad at me for even saying that there's a problem- and then i see them swipe on tinder for 30 minutes and already get over 20 matches. i think its time for me to really admit, privately to myself, that i do hate women. almost every single one that i've ever met has been completely lacking in basic human empathy. the job i just got let go from (seasonal employment) was almost all female and after saygin good morning/how was your weekend, etc to all my coworkers every day for months i think i maybe got the same question in return just once. i cannot imagine how easy it must be to be a woman, companionship, not having to pay for things, not having social expectations in terms of maturity/independence/having to move out. none of them have ever had to work for social capital. none of them have ever had to go without human company for any significant portion of any of their lives, and i dont hate them for that. i hate them because every time that i've told them that those are problems that i actually do deal with sometimes, i get shot down by essentially being told that that never happened or that im pathetic/its my fault that my life is like that. i havent felt genuine empathy from a woman that wasnt just trying to get me off her back in years, not even from therapists, who also try to argue against my lived experiences somehow.

creating this at the behest of a friend who may or may not just want to stop listening to me. cannot entirely blame them as i wouldnt want to listen to me either always complaining but it really piles onto my feeling that im not that close to anybody. today, and i dont know if this is what im really upset about or just a broken shoelace, i lost a writing contest over a script that i've been working on and off on for about a year. i did not expect to win necessarily, but the year before this i was a finalist in the same contest with a script i had spent only a few days on. im pretty devastated rn. i thought this would be a chance to get a foot in the door of professional comics, or at least a big ego boost, and i got fucking nothing after months and months and months of work and honing this story. i cant even think of anything i should have done differently, my story was good my presentation was incredible there were fewer contestants this year than last year i went the extra mile and threw in an entire edited polished script along with my pitch document and pitch video, i did a fucking somersault at the beginning just to get these anglo fucks' attention and i got nothing. this creative shit isnt working out at all. ever since i was a kid i just wanted to be some kind of artist, the particulars changed every couple of years. i wanted to be a novelist for a while, a filmmaker, a musician, blah blah fucking blah. ive been working the last two years writing short stories and comics, over and over, i spend countless nights just writing and editing and reading more so i can get better ideas and for fucking what. the short story market out there is abysmal. i cant even submit to most anthologies bc theyre so idpol focused that only 1/3 of them accept manuscripts from straight white guys, and the ones that do accept have only 1/2 a chance of responding to you at all when they reject you, and maybe 1/20 of the ones that send a rejection email actually give a reason why, even if a brief one. i've sent out about 100 submissions for a dozen or so stories in the last few years and i've only sold two to two of the smallest magazines that nobody's ever heard of. one of them went bankrupt immediately after the issue in which they horribly misprinted my story (1/3 of it got cut somehow "accidentally"), and the other one is a small run new zealand gimmick theme publisher that i actually lost money on just ordering myself a copy of. maybe it was a fucking scam, idk. but they only made $5. I've made less than $30 selling fiction unless that haunted doll counts and i'm fucking miserable. I'm keeping up other creative hobbies that are going nowhere too. I just finished and released an hour long album a few weeks ago that i put two fucking years of my life into planning, writing, recording, editing, re-recording, mastering, promoting. I've worked harder on this album than anything else i've ever actually released and i think maybe only 4 people in total have listened to it. My closest friends have given it a cursory glance. i dont make art entirely for attention but how the fuck am i supposed to keep going if im getting kicked in the ribs any time i put anything out. nobody ever reads my stories, when i get rejected i never find out why, nobody ever listens to my music. the joy of creating in itself is really slipping from me. nobody really cares about me. my friends keep insisting that they do but i dont know if they do much to show it. im an obvious third wheel half the time. my dad broke a 3 year sobriety. i swipe on bumble every day and havent gotten a like in weeks even though friends have told me that i look good. my grades are slipping. i'm out of work. i have no job prospects or any sort of prospects in general for the future. i haven't been in a relationship of any kind in almost two years. i havent been in a happy relationship since fucking high school. i have neither the time nor money for therapy. therapy has never worked for me in the past anyway. i am really considering suicide for the first time in a long while. i dont really

take any joy in anything anymore. even momentary physical pleasure like masturbating and eating unhealthy food feels like absolutely nothing. i feel scared all the time. i feel like im gonna get screamed at or beat up at any second, mostly from my dad but also from strangers. i feel like im always about to be verbally chastised by my friends. it kills me that i cant see things objectively, only from this shakey nervous point of view that i know is most of the problem. i cant help it. i dont know if ive forgotten how to socialize with people or if i never knew to begin with and im only losing my illusions now. i really dont feel like living. i havent felt good in years. not truly good, maybe not since i was 12. the last time i felt generally vaguely happy like everything was mostly okay was when i think i was 16. im never going to be a great artist. ill probably never have a girlfriend i actually care about. i find most people incredibly boring or cruel. ill never really know if my friends like me, or why they even tolerate me. im writing this while putting off an important essay i've barely started. my friends seem to get so much love and notoriety for the smallest artistic efforts. i feel too stupid to read whatever theory and manifestos it is i have to read in order to make things like they do for the people they do, but i dont even want that for myself. i just want to write comic books and short sci-fi stories and im too fucking retarded or hopeless to even do that for an audience larger than myself. im really really fucking hopeless, i really dont want to keep living if this is all life is. i have no reason to believe that there is anything else. most people cant stand to be around me and i dont like myself either, i cant stand being in the same body with me, i hate having to think my thoughts. i hate being stuck inside myself. i think im going to cry again. i guess ill put off the rest of this important essay for tomorrow and collect my B- with all the other fucking midwit nobodies.