#author stuff

[thebibliosphere]

I've had a couple of messages over the last few days from folks saying things like, "Sorry, I can only afford to get your book through the library," and I need you to know I am gripping you by the shoulders, I am shaking you gently, and I am begging you stop apologizing for using library services.

After Amazon and Payhip, the quarterly checks I get from Overdrive/Libby are my biggest and most reliable source of income.

My readers have been nothing but feral in their quest to get Hunger Pangs into as many libraries as possible, and while library lending pays an exceptionally modest amount, if enough people do it (which many of you evidently are), those pennies add up.

I am guaranteed at least $20 a month in library lending royalties. That might not sound like much to some folks, but to me, that's my b12 supplements covered for the month. That's the thing I need to keep me alive paid for.

I will never resent anyone who uses libraries instead of buying books.

I'm a disabled author who lives month to month at the mercy of my medical expenses. Even though I have incredibly generous patrons and supporters, I know what it's like to not be able to afford things.

Use the library. Please.

Use it guilt-free. You're helping the library and the authors, probably more than you realize.

And if you're in the US and haven't signed up for a @queerliblib free library card yet, you should! it doesn't matter what state you're in, the Queer Liberation Library offers free access to their catalogue of queer media across the US.

And if you've got the means, maybe help them out with a little donation. They're only able to expand their collection via the support of their patrons, and the work they're doing is hugely important.

[beritybaker]

(here, have some single parent eddie that got away from me)

Steve and Eddie drift apart after defeating Vecna. They don’t have a falling out or anything, it’s just a situation where Steve goes to Bloomington with Robin when she starts at IU, and Eddie tries his luck with the music scene in Chicago. Dustin’s still in contact with both of them, and he occasionally mentions them to each other, but they don’t really talk.

Eddie loves the city, but he spends a good ten years having little success in music. He doesn’t have much luck in love, either, and it culminates in a deadbeat baby mama who skips town before their kid is even old enough to talk. He gives up on late-night gigs for good to focus on his day job and take care of his daughter.

His little girl is the love of his life. He spoils her rotten every chance he gets, and they sing and read and play pretend together every minute he’s not working. He’s her whole world, too; he fills her life with so much love that she hardly notices she doesn’t have a mom.

When she’s six, he buys her a tiny guitar to teach her how to play, but even though she’s a natural (of course she is—she’s his kid), she kind of loses interest. He knows she’s entitled to her own passions, but he can’t help feeling a little disappointed when she asks if she can take dance lessons instead.

Still, he signs them both up for classes at the community center near their house. It’s not a fancy studio run by some ex-professional, but it’s what they can afford. Dustin was the one who suggested it—said he heard there was a teacher there who’s really good with kids, though when Eddie pressed him on how the hell he could know anything about a volunteer dance instructor in Chicago, he’s cagey about his answer.

When they show up for the first class, though, it makes sense. Because standing at the front of the room, in all his bespectacled, salt-and-pepper glory, is Steve.

Steve, who looks just as surprised to see Eddie there, with an excited little girl whose curls and big, dark eyes are unmistakable. He glances down at the clipboard in his hand, and he must see their names on the sign-up list, because he does a double take and squints at it.

Before either of them can say a word, Eddie’s daughter makes a beeline for Steve and tugs on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Lizzie—!”

“Are you gonna teach me and my dad how to dance? He says he’s real bad at it, but he’s gonna try super hard so he can keep up with me.”

Steve blinks down at her for a second, clearly startled, but he recovers quickly. Smiling, he says, “Sure thing, kiddo. But we’re not gonna slow down for him, are we?”

She giggles and shakes her head, shooting Eddie a mischievous look that he knows Wayne must have seen from him a million times.

Steve looks up, meets Eddie’s eye with an impish grin of his own, and adds, “We’re gonna have tons of fun.”

And just like that, Eddie’s dormant crush on the one who got away is alive and well. By the end of the class, he can’t tell if it’s lucky or terrifying that Lizzie loves her new teacher so much.

[eight-littlenightmares]

hey, writers. especially neurodivergent writers with anxiety or OCD.

if you see one of those writing advice posts that is literally just, ‘these tropes suck’, ‘this story idea sucks’, ‘this sucks’, ‘that sucks’, ‘all of this is horrible’.. don’t dwell on it.

these are just random people on the internet, okay? they’re just acting like they know everything and that their personal preferences are universal.

you don’t have to listen to them, write whatever you want, regardless of if dirtysocks574774757 on Tumblr/Pinterest doesn’t like it.

(ahem, if a user by the name of dirtysocks574774757 from Tumblr or Pinterest actually does see this.. sorry 😅 i’m sure you understand)

[pressplay-if]

Oooh only one more follower until 3k :D

Someone? Anyone? C'mon who will it be

who will complete the pile

[bunnie-tells-stories]

Having to change from first person to third person when editing your draft because you realize you were hindering yourself the entire time trying to write in first person-

This week I learnt that literally all of my best writing is in 3rd person and I can’t believe I’ve done this.

[wrenmkingsley]

Manipulating time flow is one of the more obscure skills in writing, but it's one you should definitely master.

A paragraph can describe a split second or a decade. The real magic happens when you start varying the word/time ration fluidly.

[shireenayache]

Actually WIP stands for ‘Why I Procrastinate’

[marshmallonkuribohs]

Look my book will be weird i have no control over it.

[authorsharonforester]

Organization of Multiple Story Projects Helps You Finish Your Writing 

There are countless times where the brain cannot handle juggling multiple writing/editing projects at the same time, but there are also days where switching between projects does the trick to keep you disciplined and not burn out with a single project that you end up rejecting for weeks to months at a time. At the end of the day, you have to do what works for you on most days so that you can keep the creative flow of your writing going. 

I have reached a point in my hobby where I needed to stop the messy editing routine I’ve been engaging in and organize all the stories I decided to prioritize for the editing process. This is what I did to make me feel good about the progress in my writing goal: I grabbed a blue binder and several sheet protectors, printed out all the projects I wanted to edit off my computer, then stuffed them inside the sheet protectors, and placed them into the binder. As I did this, I didn’t limit the number of writing projects I was going to edit. Instead, I pushed my brain aside and let my heart decide, and rolled with that. I have a list of unpublished stories, but nothing too crazy.

I have written a novella that has undergone two rounds of edits and is currently pending a third one. I have a copy of chapters 21, 22 and 23 for the novel I am writing based on my cartoon characters. The book has undergone two edits and is now pending a third one. I have a deleted chapter from this story that I need to add to the deleted scenes computer file. (I am setting these scenes aside so that I could one day publish this after people have read my book and I can show off my writing process with the world. This will be the most fun thing I do for myself and for others who feel they are alone or falling behind.) Lastly, I have written two separate episodes for the aforementioned cartoon characters that have already undergone one round of edits and are pending a second one. (I am planning to publish a show with them). On the first page of the binger (as you can see in the picture), I have a list of pending writing projects. That little list is there to keep me on track with the chosen writing material I need to finish before publication.

This blue binder isn’t the only thing I have. I also have other binders that hold other printed stories awaiting my attention, like the very first book I have written when I was ready to start 7th grade. I have journals that hold handwritten stories I produced when I was a little girl and a teenager. They are pending computer typing meanwhile I edit the rest of these stories.

This is a random strategy I am engaging in so that I can observe my thought process and determine which of my stories my emotions are taking me to. I think the reason I do this is because my brain gets bored and needs to zhuzh up my writing and editing routine before it can allow me to keep moving forward. This might sound like extra steps to some people, but others understand why I need to work with myself this way. I am sure there are others out there doing this exact thing.

It is a fact that we have different obstacles that stump us according to how our brains function individually as people. We see a lot of resources online that claim they have the ultimate method that works to get your writing done and published faster than expected. However, if I were to write a famous article, I’d tell you that there is no singular method that will work well for everyone to finish a project quickly. What works for you personally that you consider to be normal might be considered unorthodox to society.

Part of keeping yourselves grounded is knowing who you guys are as writers. I keep myself grounded on my writing and editing routines by making these blog posts. They make me happy. They allow me to connect with you guys out there in the world. They remind me that I am not alone as a struggler. I make the habit of occasionally reading about other people’s writing, editing and publishing struggles. Mentally, blogging helps me process my thoughts and feelings and helps figure out why I am or am not doing what I do or don’t do while I take the journey to make this writing dream come true. 

[elysiae]

cuteness aggression but it's writer's unexplainable need to drag their favorite characters through hell and back

[underdogs-if]

Super author update

 Hey heroes, this update was supposed to go out on Friday, but I got busy. But I’m fine and here on a beautiful Monday morning.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE AND LIKES, FOLLOWS, SHARES, REPOSTS, AND ALL THAT GOOD SHIT. I really appreciate all the love and am very, very proud of myself for making this dream into a reality.

I’ve been writing the prologue for about two months, and recently just learned how to code, and I am about ⅙ of the way done. I would probably be done sooner, but I want to add more content to the prologue so that you can do more with it. I’m estimating that I'll be done by late July, but hey, life might have other plans. I really don’t want to rush this. This game idea has been in my mind for about two years, so I don’t want to mess this up.

As for the mail, I see your questions. I will be answering a lot of them this week!!!!

coming soon list

Prologue coming out late July

Pinterest board is almost done( character appearances and vibes)

Lore is coming out early July (I have not been working on it as much because I wanted to focus on the prologue)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE. SEE YOU, HEROES, SOON.

[thebibliosphere]

That last ask made me check my Ingram Spark rates because I couldn't remember some stuff, and in case you're wondering what book distribution in Australia is like right now:

Country: Australia Recommended price: $ 29.99 Retailer Discount: 40% Compensation to author: $ 0.15

A thirty dollar book, and the author is earning 15 cents.

So, yeah. If you're ever upset that you're favorite author isn't available down under, we're so sorry. This is why.

We're being gouged left, right and center by the industry, and it's honestly not much better for the rest of the world either.

I'm earning just under $4 per book on US sales ($2.80 on Amazon because, lol, I was so stressed with Ingram I forgot to update the Zon. Price changes are pending.) for a book, I was forced to mark up to $24.99 because Ingram Spark made the 40% discount to retailers mandatory* as well as increasing the fee they take, and if I'd kept my books at $17.99, they would have taken it off the market because I would have been earning negative dollars.

In the span of a single year, my book went from $14.99 to $17.99 to $24.99 because of "inflation." And I'm earning, uh, well, in some cases, 15 cents.

Capitalism 🌈✨🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

----

*They are still pushing us to give retailers a 55% discount, or we won't be stocked in stores. Because, aha, fuck our lives, I guess. I also suspect Ingram are not actually giving that discount to retailers, but I can't prove it beyond a couple of book retailers reaching out to me and Ingram never acknowledged my emails, so doubly fuck my life I guess.

[beritybaker]

Somebody To Kiss It Better 💖

Rating: T | Word Count: 2,561 | CW: Injury, Language | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Flirting, Post-Vecna | ao3 For @steddiesportsau week two. Prompt: Sports Injury.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“It’s not funny, Robin,” Steve grumbles.

“You’re right. It’s hilarious,” she says, leaning across the counter at Family Video to get a good look at the stupid mask strapped to his face.

He shoves her away. “My broken nose is hilarious?”

Clearly struggling to contain her giggles, Robin attempts a more serious expression. “Right. Okay. So it’s not funny you broke your nose. But you have to admit that the circumstances are a fucking riot.”

“What, that I tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my face?” He was thinking a better descriptor for his situation might be mortifying.

“That, and the fact that you face-planted because Eddie—”

“For the last time, Rob, stop trying. It’s never gonna happen,” he interrupts, though he can feel his face heating up under his nose guard.

She scoffs. “Only because you’re a huge wuss.” With a smirk, she goes on, “He’s into you, too. I bet if you went over to his place right now and told him what happened, he’d ask you out just because he feels bad.”

“I don’t want a pity date!” Steve snaps. 

“It’s not a pity date if he’s wanted to do it since March.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so sure he likes me.”

“Uh, because I have eyes?” Robin snorts. “And Dustin said so, too—he told me Eddie keeps putting characters in his campaign that sound like super horned-up versions of you.”

“Yeah, well, Dustin doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Steve counters. He’s aware it’s a weak argument, considering the kid somehow managed to clock his crushes on both Robin and Eddie within a couple days of seeing him interact with either of them, but he’s not about to let Robin gain any ground in this discussion.

“Well, regardless…are you at least gonna admit to me that you were distracted, and that’s why you fell?”

Steve glares. “No, I’m not.” He doesn’t need to admit it; she knows the truth already. She just heard from his own mouth that he happened to look over and see Eddie, and that the next moment his legs tangled up under him and his face hit the court. He’d landed on his racket, too, bending it beyond repair and giving himself a nasty bruise on his hip.

He knows now that he shouldn’t have mentioned the detail about seeing Eddie, because Robin’s never going to let it go, and it’ll be added to her list of reasons he should just buck up and go for it (her own Vickie-based hypocrisy be damned). But what he’ll definitely, absolutely, never in his life admit is that what had really caught him off guard was Eddie in shorts.

It makes sense. Obviously he would be wearing shorts. It’s mid-July, and this week’s been a scorcher. But Steve is a simple man, with simple desires, and for months, one of those desires has been to see a little more skin from Eddie Munson. The fact that he happened to see it while he was playing tennis at the park with his dad was just unfortunate timing.

He’ll never forget that moment as long as he lives. It’s bound to be the most embarrassing thing that happens to him in his entire life, seared into his memory as a series of snapshots.

The hollow thwap of the ball against his racket as he returns the serve. His eyes instinctively darting to the parking lot at the short blast of a car horn. Doing a double-take as he recognizes a mop of hair and a brilliant smile a couple feet above a pair of denim cutoffs. And then…

Another thwap. A wide-eyed dive. A painful crunch.

The only blessing is that Eddie didn’t see it. He was ducking into Jeff’s car by the time Steve’s dad called out his name and rushed over. Eddie definitely didn’t hear it, because even if Steve isn’t about to agree that his crush is reciprocated, he knows by now that they’re good friends. If Eddie had noticed Steve wiping out and subsequently bleeding all over the place from a crooked nose, he would’ve sprinted right over, too.

“You’re impossible,” Robin scoffs, turning away from the counter to browse.

“And you’re annoying,” Steve counters. “Even on your day off, I can’t get away from you. Weren’t you and Nance supposed to have a sleepover?”

“I have to find something to watch! She needs an education, and she doesn’t have the privilege of getting one on the job.”

“So you’re holding her hostage now, too? And she’s not even getting paid for it?”

Robin makes a childish face at him. It’s one she knows he can’t return at the moment, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to sorting returns.

That’s where they stay for a few minutes. Both of them are silently absorbed in their tasks, until the bell chimes to signal someone else entering the store.

Steve automatically looks up. And just like he did at the park, he does a double-take.

“Hey, Eddie,” Robin calls from the thriller section.

Steve glances her way. Her eyes meet his, and even seeing only the top of her head, he can tell that god-awful smirk is back.

“Hey, Buckley! Thought you were off tonight,” Eddie replies.

“I am. Just here for the goods,” she explains, raising a couple tapes and waving them where he can see. “And keeping Stevie company.”

“But of course. There’s no separating you two,” he chuckles. Then he turns to Steve and freezes at the sight of him. “Oh, damn. Holy shit.”

Steve tries not to close his eyes, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s concerned gaze. It adds insult to literal injury that he’s wearing those goddamn cutoffs again—and they show off even more thigh than Steve remembers.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Broke my nose,” he mutters.

“Holy shit,” Eddie repeats. “How?”

“Fell.”

“You…fell? That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it,” Steve says. He shoots a warning look at Robin when he hears a derisive snort. She disappears behind the shelf.

“Man, that blows. How long do you have to wear that thing on your face?”

Steve shrugs. “Couple weeks. Doctor wants to make sure nothing knocks my nose out of place while it heals.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Oof. Sorry, man.”

Don’t apologize, Steve thinks, biting back the actual words. It’s not like I fell because you didn’t measure the inseam before you took scissors to your old jeans, or that your legs are way more toned than I imagined they would be, or that I want you to throw me up against the wall like you did in Reefer Rick’s boathouse, or—

“So, what’s new?” Eddie asks, cutting through Steve’s thought spiral. “Other than the broken nose.”

Steve clears his throat. “Not much.”

“Same here,” Eddie sighs. He approaches the counter and slumps against it, leaning forward on his elbows. Pursing his lips, he goes on, “What time are you off? You wanna hang out later?”

“I’m closing.”

“Isn’t Wednesday usually Keith’s night?”

“He’s busy, apparently. Asked me to switch.”

Robin reappears at Eddie’s elbow. She puts a few tapes on the counter and says, “He’s got a date.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Good for him.”

“Yeah. At least somebody around here can get one,” she jokes. Then, with a significant look, she adds, “Right, Steve?”

He glares back at her. “Yeah. Lucky guy.”

“I don’t understand how you’re free, Harrington,” Eddie muses. “You got more natural charm in your pinkie finger than I’ve ever seen from Keith. You should be taking somebody out every goddamn night.”

Robin snorts. “You should’ve seen him when we worked at Scoops. He was striking out left and right. It was so bad, I kept a running tally every day of how many girls rejected him. The record was twenty-two.”

This time, Steve is exasperated enough that he does close his eyes for a moment. He’s not sure what’s worse: Robin making pointed comments around Eddie or recounting past misadventures to him.

“Oh, there’s no way.” Eddie turns to him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. “You were striking out?”

“The hat covered up my best feature,” Steve huffs, vaguely gesturing at his own head.

“Oh, in that case,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. His smile remains, and it even softens after a moment. “Well, those girls didn’t know what they were missing.”

Steve’s lungs seize up. Once again, Robin catches his eye, her brows so high on her forehead they’ve disappeared behind her bangs. He narrows his eyes at her—a nonverbal warning to shut the fuck up—then turns to the computer to add her rentals to her account.

Out loud, he says, “I’ll take the hat over this damn thing.” He doesn’t have to point at his nose guard; he’s learned over the past few days that it’s the only thing anyone sees as long as he’s in the room.

Eddie tilts his head and shoots him a sympathetic grimace. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, it definitely is,” Steve says. His deadpan delivery draws a laugh from Eddie that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“Look on the bright side. Wearing that thing should keep your face lookin’ as pretty as ever, right?”

“Oh my god,” Robin mumbles. It sounds involuntary.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, interpreting her frustrated outburst as some startled realization.

She confirms that she hadn’t meant to say anything by turning to Steve in a panic and stammering, “I’m…gonna be late! I said I would meet Nancy at six-thirty, and it’s almost”—she looks at her watch and deflates a little—“a quarter to six.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He glances at Steve in clear is she okay? amusement, then says, “You got forty-five minutes, and you’re worried about being late? Where are you s’posed to meet her, Timbuktu?”

“Ah, no. Her house.” Robin lets out a nervous chuckle. “I just, uh…I have to pick up snacks, too! See you guys.” She’s already halfway out the door before the words are out of her mouth.

Eddie stares after her, looking bewildered. “What the hell was all that about?”

“No idea,” Steve lies.

There’s a quiet moment, where the only sound is the computer’s keyboard clacking under his fingertips. He figures Eddie must be lost in thought, because after spending enough time with him, he’s noticed that those are the only moments where Eddie stops talking—and sometimes not even then. Like with Robin, he finds it endearing. More than once, he’s caught himself grinning like an idiot as Eddie rambled about D&D classes or a Judas Priest album.

When Eddie does eventually speak, he says the last thing Steve expects. “You know, you kinda pull it off.”

Blinking rapidly, Steve looks up from the computer. He slowly turns to look at Eddie. “What?”

“The nose thing. It’s weirdly cute on you.” He sighs a laugh and shakes his head. “Listen to me. ’Course it is—you’re Steve Harrington. You could be wearing a goddamn bunny suit and you’d be able to make it work.”

Steve stares at him for another moment, at a loss for what to say. “Thank you?” he tries.

“It still sucks, though.” Eddie pauses. He’s leaning on the counter again, though now he has his hands splayed across it, fingers drumming idly. “Did they tell you how long it might take for the bruising to clear up, too?”

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, Steve stammers, “Uh, y-yeah. Few days, apparently.” He goes back to sorting tapes, desperate for something to distract him from the ongoing butterfly swarm in his stomach.

“Hm.” Another pause. “Think it’d heal faster if you had somebody to kiss it better?”

Steve fumbles with a small stack of tapes, dropping a couple. He has to take a deep breath to recover before he can lean down to retrieve them.

In that second, though, Eddie has already leapt over the counter. “Whoops! Allow me.” He squats and starts picking them up, and…

Holy mother of god.

This is too much. It’s too much for Steve to handle, having Eddie crouched on the floor in those fucking shorts, right in front of him, with his skin taut over his quads and the denim hugging his crotch, leaving very little to the imagination. All Steve can do is stare as his breath becomes hopelessly shallow.

Eddie doesn’t notice until he lifts his arm to hand the tapes over. When he does, his eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Whoa. Stevie. You doin’ alright?”

Steve swallows, trying to summon an answer.

“Um. Earth to Harrington,” Eddie says with an anxious smile. He waves the tapes across Steve’s field of vision. “You okay, man?”

“I saw you at the park,” Steve blurts. He isn’t sure why. The ER doc told him he didn’t have a concussion, but maybe his brain got a little banged around, after all.

Looking outright worried now, Eddie rises and sets aside the tapes.

“The other day. I was playing tennis with my dad at the park and I saw you.”

“Okay…”

“That’s why I fell and broke my nose.”

Eddie blinks and shakes his head in a startled little expression. “Okay, Stevie. You lost me.”

Finally, Steve has reached his breaking point. He whirls around and starts pacing away from Eddie, raising his hands to tangle in his own hair. “It’s those goddamn shorts.” He turns on his heel to face Eddie again, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why the hell do you have to wear those things?”

Eddie puts his hands up defensively. “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“‘What’s wrong?’ You look too good in ’em, that’s what’s wrong!”

Instantly, Eddie’s confused look melts into one of total understanding. A gradual smirk stretches his lips. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you fell on your face…broke your nose…because you saw me walk by in shorts?”

“Yes,” Steve hisses.

Eddie lifts both his gaze and his hands to the sky, as if overcome with religious passion, and cries out, “Holy fucking shit, finally!”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“Steve. Stevie. Harrington.” Eddie walks over and lowers his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders. “I’ve been tryin’ to get you to admit to checking me out for weeks. Gonna be honest, I was starting to think your stubborn ass was never gonna cop to it.”

“You—what?”

“Christ. I was worried I was gonna have to break down and ask you out before you did.”

Steve stares for another moment before demanding, “Why the hell didn’t you?!”

Eddie falters. His smirk morphs into a sheepish grimace. “I, uh…I may have bet Henderson that I could hold out until you admitted it.”

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. But he’s smiling. “I’m gonna kill that little creep.”

“At least let him pay up first,” Eddie says. Then he clears his throat, which gets Steve to open his eyes. “That said, through…you free tomorrow night?”

Steve meets his gaze, skeptical. “You wanna take me out looking like this?”

Eddie giggles and nods. “Technically it’s my fault. I gotta make it up to you somehow.”

[eight-littlenightmares]

hey authors :D so this post applies to EVERYONE, but especially those of y’all with anxiety or OCD

if you are writing something that has a stereotypical trope?? that’s perfectly okay. even if it’s a trope that you see a lot of people on the internet whining about.

it’s okay. it’s okay if you have a love triangle, or a miscommunication incident, or.. well i’m having a hard time thinking of more examples of tropes, it’s a little bit late and it’s been a long day, but i just want y’all to know that it is YOUR story. YOUR writing.

why tf would you want to spend all your time writing something you don’t even like??? if you want to write about something but most people think that it’s ‘cringe’ or ‘cliche’, you should still absolutely go for it!!!

because after all, your stories are for YOU. maybe other people can read them too, if you’re posting or publishing them, but at the end of the day they’re ultimately for you.

you CANNOT make everyone happy. so PLEASE do not cut out things that make you happy just so you can try to make your writing more palatable to snobs on the internet who don’t realize that they can just choose not to read things that they don’t personally enjoy.

this was kind of long. anyways i hope y’all have a nice day/night :D

[pressplay-if]

HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY LIZAAAA WISHING YOU THE BEST BEST BIRTHDAY MONTH EVER!!!!!!!!!

ahahaha I love that gif! Thank you <3

[coffeecat1983]

Gondor calls for aid!

Okay guys, windows updated and TOOK MY WORDPAD!

And Google Word 365 whatever is a mess. I am so uncomfortable and out of my element here. Notepad doesn't have some of the options I like.

So anyone got any suggestions for a writing program? I'm losing my mind over here without my wordpad.