sunset-a-story

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Sunset (High Noon) Vol 2. Issue 62 is up for free!

In which they get their job assignment from Nikolas and Mackenzie knows Everything.

Sunset is available on:

Royal Road   |   AO3   |   Patreon

Sunset taglist. I try to keep it to release updates, long excerpts, and character profiles. Please comment/dm for +/-

@words-after-midnight @chayscribbles @elizaellwrites @theimperiumchronicles @thatndginger 

@clairelsonao3 @writeintrees @scribe-of-stories @stuffaboutwriting @cee-grice 

@ravenkake @covenscribe @sejedensekh @void-botanist 

@revenantlore @oc-writing-corner @rewritingrosie 

@jacqueswriteblrlibrary @ashirisu @asher-writes 

[sunset-a-story]

Sunset (High Noon) Vol 2. Issue 62 is up for free!

In which they get their job assignment from Nikolas and Mackenzie knows Everything.

Sunset is available on:

Royal Road   |   AO3   |   Patreon

Sunset taglist. I try to keep it to release updates, long excerpts, and character profiles. Please comment/dm for +/-

@words-after-midnight @chayscribbles @elizaellwrites @theimperiumchronicles @thatndginger 

@clairelsonao3 @writeintrees @scribe-of-stories @stuffaboutwriting @cee-grice 

@ravenkake @covenscribe @sejedensekh @void-botanist 

@revenantlore @oc-writing-corner @rewritingrosie 

@jacqueswriteblrlibrary @ashirisu @asher-writes 

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Writing isn't the hobby. Being insane about little fake people is the hobby. Writing is just the only outlet i have for that

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guys. i really like you. it's nice to be on this dashboard together

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remember when you’re writing a gross and terrible power dynamic that you should be asking yourself constantly how you could make it worse and sexier

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I've noticed a lot of people advise writers to read their stories aloud. And I absolutely agree. But I've also mostly seen people mention it in like a 'you'll better notice where there are little mistakes, and where the phrasing is awkward' way. Which, again, is absolutely true.

But that's a 'read the story aloud to see what's wrong with it' advice.

And I think there's maybe an even more important reason to read your fic aloud.

It will show you all the things that are RIGHT about your story.

Because there inevitably comes a point where you've read your own story in your head so many times that all the words are a bland mush that will leave you convinced that there's absolutely nothing interesting or good in your writing.

And if you go back to it many months later, you might realize... oh, this is a pretty interesting fic. And that's because the brain has had time to forget every tiny detail of phrasing you came up with, and you can actually read it like a reader, not the author.

But that road takes months, and until then, you might be inherently convinced that the story is literally the absolute worst thing you've ever written.

But... WHEN YOU READ ALOUD, you automatically start giving the words inflection, inflection that, when you're reading something that you haven't written yourself, you kind of hear even when reading quietly. But for your own story, all that inflection and weight has been sucked out by way too many rereads while you were looking for grammatical errors. The fastest way to be able to see it again? To hear it.

Anyway, read aloud to defeat the monster on your shoulder telling you your writing sucks.

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yayy bedtime!! *curls up in my blankies and thinks about my faves being tortured* ^_^

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I didn't realize how relatable was this meme until I recently came across it myself - it really is...

I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT MY BOOK IS ABOUT, THAT'S IT.

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The purpose of life is to get really into stories that drive you so crazy you sometimes feel the need to throw up from how much you love them

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*makes aus for own ocs* i am my own fandom

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girl i don’t know how to say this. that’s not a found family that’s a platoon of child soldiers.

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Yes, I’ve done the work analyzing this relationship’s problematic traits and I’ve come to the educated conclusion that I still want them to fuck

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big fan of stories that, while undoubtedly being about the power of friendship, acknowledge that the power of incredible violence is just as important

the love was there. the love changed everything. the crowbar helped also

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When people comment they're surprised I didn't cure a character I gave a disability to by the end of my fic

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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

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What do you mean "what age is my book targeted at" what are you on?? It's targeted for me and any other depressed goblin out there with a broken humour and a roulette wheel for a moral compass, age has nothing to do with this.

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love it when a queer character's identity is the least interesting thing about them. like yes she's trans but that's less plot-relevant than the fact she's a wanted fugitive on 6 different planets