#extremely long unimportant recount of my day

[mrghostrat]

i was hoping to stream this afternoon but i woke with my shoulders hurting so bad that i have absolutely zero capacity for anything. to the point where i experienced my first autistic rumbles in the supermarket 🥸 but i have adhd meds now so maybe we can try tomorrow.

zita's suspected i'm on the spectrum for a little while now, but i've always been on the fence about it. there's a lot i don't relate to. but most of that is bc i have so much learned behaviour, and i mask really well. when i try to break down how i think for autism diagnostic quizzes, my gut reactions DO fit the bill, but they are so so so buried under 30 years of life experience that feels like it comes naturally.

but i am an introvert. an extreme introvert. even while living alone with my best friend, who i get on perfectly with and feel zero need to mask around, i still need to excuse myself and be left alone in my room from 10pm at LEAST.

so i only really unmask when i'm dead alone. even though i dont feel like i'm putting up any kind of front around of zita, i still do, automatically. the only time i see myself completely bare is when i'm alone and it's silent and there is absolutely nothing challenging my comfort.

sooooo hoooooo boy waking up in pain, with zero capacity to even finish a thought, still empty of ADHD medication because of the fuckin manufacturing shortage (thankfully today's trip into town was to finally pick some up! but that wasn't until noon), i got to see a side of myself i don't know if i've ever actually seen before? maybe as a kid but i can't remember specifically that far back?

i've been short tempered and overwhelmed and exposed to sensory nightmares whilst home alone before, but it's usually so quick bc i'm at HOME and i can adjust the situation and i never think much of it. i felt like a bluescreen at that supermarket today, popping in for less than 10 things across 3 aisles.

it was so busy. there were so many people. i felt dread just to walk through it, so aware of my own body and the space i had to inhabit. but par for the course so far. what was less par for the course was having to stop and look at my list every 3 steps, unable to put together a course of action in my head: chicken is on the far left, so we grab that first and get broccoli on our way to the soup aisle. but the broccoli is right there. do i grab that first, go get the chicken, but then double back from where i just came? i might get myself some bananas too, how do i fit that into my path—

i had to keep stopping and looking at my list because every item i thought of made me forget the previous one i just looked at. eventually got fed up with myself and went to the closest thing and started there, regardless of whether i'd have to double back or not. that's what trips me when i take these quizzes n shit. i can get over the hump and do the task in the end, so that must mean i'm totally allistic! no autism here.

i remember thinking "jesus christ this is bad" when i was on my way to get zita's soup (if you've read this far, thank you and kisses to you, pls send some loving vibes to zita by reading her fic i just reblogged, bc she's got a cold and is miserable today) so i was kinda aware i was having a bad sensory day. as expected: there were a lot of people there, and i was in pain. but i just short circuited looking at soup. zita gave me the brand name and soup type of 3 cans she wanted. and i went to the aisle i've been to a thousand times, found the brand, and just stared. it was all stew. all chunky brothy things with bits in. not a single creamy soup in sight, so, the soup must be somewhere else.

i came to that conclusion immediately but i couldn't. process it? or like, what to do with that information. the soup is somewhere else. OR IS IT? keep looking at this shelf to make sure, your eyes are tired, you might've missed it. there's like 20 different cans of campbells here, just keep reading them left to right until soup appears. still no soup? read them again, you might've missed it. maybe campbell's is out of soup? read every other brand here until you Don't see soup, then you can walk away and try somewhere else. but if you don't see any soup, read it again because you might've missed it.

thankfully it took all of 30 fuckin seconds for a store employee who was shelving next to me to see my glazed fuckin stare and ask if i needed a hand with anything. and i stammered through some "haha my silly eyes today!! haha thanks! sorry, thank you!" as she happily pointed like 3 metres down the aisle for me, while my internal monologue immediately raged like "wtf why would they put the soup that far away but also barely far away at all, what's the point, bad design 😡"

got soup. check list: packet of gravy. zita told me the gravy was in the same section as the soup. it was not. i walked up and down that aisle five times and there was no gravy. i just. i had completely forgotten how to problem solve. it was the strangest, most frustrating experience. like i was looking at an empty word document in my brain, with a little flashing cursor and everything, so i knew it hadn't frozen over. it was just empty.

i even had the thought "just walk up and down the aisles until you find gravy; you have to do this all the time" and even had ideas of which aisles to start with. but my brain said no. we're not going to walk around aimlessly, even if we have a neat little structure and path to follow. we were told (by myself, too) this would be a quick in out trip, pluck the known items off the shelf and beeline straight for the checkout. so meandering down aisles was for some reason non negotiable. i wasn't in a rush. i had nothing to do today. i barely even felt a rush to get out of there, as busy as it was. it just wasn't an option.

so rather than start solving that problem i just jumped to the next thing on the list. strepsils. text to ask what kind she wants, have a whine about my broken brain, ask if she knows where the gravy is. remember when i pass the hair brushes that i broke my hairbrush this morning and need a new one!! oh and i've been wanting new hairclips too. look at me picking a new hairbrush and poking through the hairclips for one that i know will feel comfortable against my scalp, i'm not autistic because i can change my plans and make decisions on the fly.

oops didn't mean for this post to be an entire play by play of my thoughts through this extremely bland grocery shop. i cannot believe how long i stood there choosing soup. the line at the self checkout was so long and i felt the dread kick up again. barely/silently whispered "oh god" to myself when i realised the line, but repeated it about 20 times to feel the tap of my tongue against the roof of my mouth before i realised i was doing it. stop that, don't mutter to yourself. but i'm standing still in a line and there's nothing left to (ineffectually) problem solve, so the second i stop i notice a weird little slice in the plastic around the trolley handle that i can't stop flicking my thumbnail against.

OK. we need to stim. heard, chef. just click your piercing ffs. your mouth might look weird when you do it but at least everyone can see you're just clicking your teeth against your piercing, rather than talking to yourself or damaging public property.

something made a noise, can't even remember if it was a child or a trolley or what, some loud sharp single high pitched screech a few metres away, and i jolted so hard i thought i felt like i was going to throw up. finally think, fucking hell i'm autistic today. my back hurts. which is making my head hurt. i want to go home and take my vyvanse.

[ivadeshin]

Careful Steps (Essik/Caleb) (2/n)

(previous chapter here. Or, catch up over on ao3.)

“Scribe Indril.”

She looks up from a sheaf of papers, straightening as soon as she recognizes him. “Shadowhand. I trust you’re having a good morning.”

“I am, and wish you the same.” Essik pulls his report from his cloak, laying it respectfully on the side of her desk. “I have no doubt that the Empress is using your capabilities to their fullest, and that your schedule is quite full, but I still find myself requesting your specific review upon these documents.”

The reports of his co-mingling with defectors, he does not say. She does not say it either. Rather, she picks the report up by the corner, scanning the top for a few key words before nodding and filing it away in one of her many complex wooden slat organizers. “I will be happy to intake all of your reports for the foreseeable future, both of your interactions with the group and otherwise.”

Otherwise. “Thank you.” Essik bows very slightly at the waist, as much as one of his stature could to a Scribe, and takes a breath. “I knew you would understand the issue of discretion applicable here.”

Scribe Indril takes a careful moment to compose her words, giving Essik an uncharacteristically knowing look. “As long as the information exchanges are made explicitly clear on the documentation, I see no issues moving forward.”

Knowing the right people is everything. “I am in your debt.”

**

“The Kryn silhouette suits you,” Essik says as they enter the restaurant, indicating Caleb’s coat and noting a curious red tinge to the human’s ears. Caleb’s exotic pink-white skin is both extremely telling and extremely perplexing - such a flush may be indicative of pleasure, or perturbation at an inappropriate comment. Caleb’s expression offers no help at this moment.

“They are nothing special,” Caleb deflects, lifting his chin - this seems to be a common gesture for indication, however informal - toward Essik’s cloak. “I, we, you know. Dressing in our Emipre-styled clothes from back home did not seem... prudent.”

“A wise observation.” Essik sheds his outerwear and hands it off to one of the staff. “If you are interested in speaking with a tailor, I have one not far from the Marble Tomes Conservatory that has been in high regard for several generations now.”

Caleb smiles through what is definitely an embarrassed grimace. “I’ll get something nicer before the next time we go out somewhere,” he promises, and Essik internally berates himself for making this man feel self-conscious.

**

The first two courses go splendidly. The service is exquisite, although Essik notes that this is the first time in the last fourteen years that the owner has not come personally to visit his table.

In the delicately arranged candle light, the human’s exotic hair color is displayed at its best, capturing the rich golds and coppers and reflecting them with every movement of his head. Even the light stubble on his jawline catches the light. His eyes are, fascinatingly, the color of aquamarine stones.

“I don’t mean to press,” Caleb says. He sounds more stilted than he has the rest of the night. (Essik has been quite pleased with how much the human had seemed to relax up until now.) “And, I certainly don’t want to sound unappreciative of this good food or drink-”

“Please,” Essik says, lifting an open hand in invitation. If Caleb actually asks for something specific, that means that Essik will have an opportunity to provide him with it, and please him in some way.

“Only, my spellbook is in my coat in the cloak room down there, and I don’t know if you brought yours, or when we were meant to study tonight.”

Caleb is yet again focused on work. Essik suppresses a flash of disappointment. “Rather than copying new work, I thought it prudent that we practice tonight instead.” He collects some marinated pheasant on his fork, dipping it lightly in one of the sauce bowls. (Caleb has not repeated his error from the first night.) “I have had the front room cleared out so that we may have enough space to work.”

“The front room. Of your house.” Caleb sounds strange. Essik is unable to detect whether it is anticipation or just hesitance.

“I apologize that I do not have a larger space for us. A human using dunamancy, if seen by someone uninformed, could cause quite a panic.”

Caleb pauses, but then he inclines his head. “I’m very grateful that you’ve opened your home to me.”

“Please think nothing of it.” Essik lifts his chin just an inch, brushing a long strand of white hair away from his cheek. “You are most welcome in my home.”

**

Nothing comes of the evening practice.

**

Shadowhand Essik’s reports faithfully recount all relevant context. Caleb does not discuss much of his personal history with the Empire, nor anything of strategic value - Essik does not ask - but the human does recount several non-strategic details, such as the Zemni Fields’s changes throughout the seasons, common past-times, and specific festival foods. Essik finds the descriptions of the various dishes interesting, and finds it acceptable to give only very brief summaries of these discussions in his official documents.

Caleb’s questions must always be reported, but these are often summarized and grouped together very easily. Caleb is obviously very careful not to ask anything that would make him sound overly interested in military activities, ports, teleportation capabilities, etc. When he asks about Xhorhas, the questions are broad and simple, those of a tourist. Essik answers them happily. When Caleb asks about Essik’s personal experiences in the land, Essik is even happier to answer, and finds himself fascinated every time he is able to make those strange blue eyes light up in interest.

**

Other intel that is not necessary for the forms: which foods Caleb Widogast prefers (rice, white fish, oxtail, plum sauces, any roasted vegetables so far), which wines (red, as does Essik), or that Essik has reached out to the Marble Tomes for light sociology knowledge on Empire natives. He is very sure that the mixed messages he is receiving are a fault of his own, and that more effort is required.

**

It is several days later, after the fourth report, that Scribe Indril stands from her desk when Shadowhand Essik enters her office.

“Shadowhand,” she says respectfully. “I trust that this afternoon finds you well.”

“And you.” Essik’s hand hovers over the opening in his cloak, unsure if she wishes to receive anything from him. Indeed, she rounds the desk, opening the door Essik just shut and turning the small metal dial on the front to indicate that a private meeting is taking place. Essik’s heart goes perfectly still in his rib cage, not beating as Scribe Indril shuts the door, returns to her seat, and indicates for him to take a chair.

“In order to not be disturbed,” She explains, leaning to the side and unlocking a drawer in her desk. She pulls out what Essik recognizes as his most recently submitted report, and makes sure not to display any particular reaction. “I have no suspicions of maliciously exempted content, Shadowhand Essik,”

He can breathe once more.

“But I must also run checks for clarity of word, and I admit that I have some questions. I apologize as these may be a display of my own ignorance.”

Essik will endure any amount of nitpicking in this moment. He is just grateful that something has not led to a formal inquiry. “Please inquire as much as you need. I am still in your debt for making sure these are handled personally.” There are several Scribes, it is known, who keep operational knowledge very close to the chest, but are happy to gossip about matters considered unimportant to the mission. This would surely qualify.

Scribe Indril nods and pulls out a dark blue quill, hovering over a few lines halfway down. “Shadowhand Essik, in paragraph fourteen you state that you have again... please pardon me...”

“Speak freely.”

Scribe Indril adjusts the long silver pin keeping her hair back. In this moment, she looks very young, Essik thinks, although he would not be so disrespectful to her station as to say so. “You state that you invite Mr. Widogast to taste the wine you are drinking from your glass.”

“Correct.”

“You have done this in the past.”

Essik thinks back. “Since our second time eating together, I have done this.”

Scribe Indril nods and moves her quill further down the lines. “Mr. Widogast accepts the drink, thanks you, and does... not offer you the same?”

Essik keeps his back straight and his face impassive. “It is my understanding that many of the social norms we assume to be universal do not, in fact, reach as far as the Empire.”

Scribe Indril shoots him a very disbelieving and compassionate expression. “You also ordered his meal for him, and he accepted this. I’m not sure I understand why this was noted.”

“Ordering a meal for a dining partner is an Empire gesture. I recently gleaned this tradition from some texts.”

Scribe Indril considers this. “I suppose there are many customs which seem normal to those who live with them,” she says finally.

“Indeed,” Essik agrees, and does his best to keep the weariness out of his tone.

“Finally.” Scribe Indril clears her throat and glances at him with what appears to be an apology in advance. Essik steels himself. “There have been several visits to your home.”

“Yes.”

“If there has been....” Indril spins her quill between her fingers, lips pressed together. “Any sort of physical contact, I am obligated to inform you that it must be noted in your reports, and that omission of such content could be viewed as something that would require investigation. I understand that there is a specific sensitive nature to such encounters which requires brevity, but-”

“If such an event occurs, it will not be omitted from my reports.”

Scribe Indril looks at him with open surprise.

Shadowhand Essik remains perfectly still.

“No such event has occurred at this time,” Scribe Indril concludes uncertainly.

“Correct.”

Scribe Indril looks at Essik Theylas, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, then down to the report, then, after the uncomfortable silence as she unlocks another drawer to access his previous reports and scan them, back to him.

“I do not understand humans,” she declares in a stilted formal tone. “Thank you for your compliance, Shadowhand. I wish you a peaceful day.”

“And you.”

[pangtasias-atelier]

The Desolate Winds

Lewyn isn't necessarily my all time favorite from Genealogy, but he's at least probably one of my more preferred for kink stuff at least. Writing kink stuff about Jugdral is still extremely hard with how fucked up the setting is without just overhauling key components. So this definitely took a long time but I just want to write for the older games so I forced myself. And didn't take the easy way out with just using FEH

Also, gen 2 Lewyn is a bit of a mystery since his actual self is left to interpretation. But I think this kinda fit him? Even though it's very headcanony. It's also based on the way FGO does pseudo servants, where the servant is a mixture of the Divine being and also the person their possessing. Cause otherwise, it's very bitter and pissed off and cynical gen2 Lewyn which doesn't necessarily lend well to weight gain stuff.

This is way too nonkink, but oh well, it's at least a change of pace for everyone lol. Also, I love repetition cause I'm basic and a low level writer who shoves it in your face.

And, this is an absolute trainwreck ajshenks. But it's at least a trainweck I can enjoy. If you like it, great! If not, oh well. I just straight up have so much trouble writing about Jugdral in a non au sense. Plus, I got kinda tired of kink so it's literally just a couple of lines ajsnekss

I also forgot a title when I first published this ajsnsks was originally "idk title" and I still dislike coming up with titles and being all fake deep

_____

Spotting the town on the horizon once more, Lewyn sets his sight on it. Snow crunching under his boots, he tugs at his clothes as he wipes the smears of blood on his face. The outfit now snug where once it nearly felt as if would swallow him whole, he had taken up once more the act of traveling.

Having broken their tribe's pact of non-interference, it was best to try and enjoy it as much as he could. And with no more war on the horizon, Naga's power and foresight overcoming Loptous's, that meant he was free to do just that. Forseti having resurrected the Sillesian prince known as Lewyn, the two had become one; their personalities clashing at several times, their mannerisms had left many confused. Impassive and anger would wash away to tears or outbursts, the revelation of their death and nearly everyone else they knew too much for the person known as Lewyn to handle. Too much for any human being to handle. The problems with knowing another being resided in him offered no solace despite them being his savior. How much could he ascertain were his own memories? His own beliefs? His own thoughts? His own life? Everything felt sharper yet duller. Warmer yet colder. Better yet worse.

So he had done the only thing that he knew to do. The one thing that came naturally despite the clouds fogging up his every sense of self.

Run away.

Run away from it all once again. No more shock from different borders. No more shock from finding one more war buddy alive. No more shock from another recognizing him when he could barely recognize himself. "Was this how I acted? Was this how I talked? Was this how I looked?" He would question. Anything he could wonder, he did. And so he fulfilled the duty he felt he owed. He helped fix what Arvis had wronged, the only thing he knew to do upon his revival. And that was that. That was enough for his fill of Jugdral.

On a boat the very next day, he found himself unable to leave fast enough, the home once known to his a lone speck on the horizon as he went wherever the boat took him, Lewyn not even asking.

And as the distance and time grew, life worked its magic on him. It numbed the pain, the confusion, the anger. Self reflection led to self discovery. Memories of a world on the brink and memories of a snowy country organized themselves into different bins. One of Forseti's memories; the other of his own. Memories of traveling, of discovering the world and the plight of its citizens, of recounting stories, of his country, of Silesse. All his own.

And yet, he found himself too weak to return. For Jugdral has no use of him anymore. His own holy blood and weapon passed down and with Loptous gone, there was no place for him. No reason to pick up the thousands of shards that remained, to prick himself and bleed with each one he attempted to repair.

With such a life behind him, no one is going to miss him, for he had lived without a father, surely his offspring could do the same. They could at least thank their grandmother for having only one child, no conniving uncles for them to deal with like he had all his life.

The act of leading indeed far too much, it was simply best for him to leave. No need for an inept prince who had been murdered before he even had the chance. Not with the bitterness and cruelty of the world he had experienced. Jugdral was far better off with idealistic runts. All of them far to reminiscent of their parents. Before they had marched to Belhalla. Nearly all of them burned, skewered or impaled. The memory one he wished he could claim as Forseti's. The memory etched into his mind, having the misfortune to survive and witness it all. Only to be killed despite his pathetic struggling. Perhaps he'd have been better off with the Valkyrie Staff being broken on him. But that was impossible, Claud had been one of the very first. Arvis ensuring Bragi's descendant had been silenced, the power of resurrection and divination too fearful despite his false status as a traitor, political gain the most powerful tool of all.

But none of that was reversible. What had happened, happened. What he had rediscovered was his burden to once more deal with. So he continued to run away. And run even more, all of it merging into one large indistinguishable place. And yet, his sense of concern followed him wherever he ran.

He had first resumed his job as a bard, the ability to recount a multitude of stories with the mess of his memories actually aiding him. But even then that had grown dull. An impassive bystander once more, he grew distasteful of it too. Despite the small growth from his younger self, it mattered not when everything else had felt like it had taken twenty steps back.

With no responsibilities to speak of, he had partaken in eating to at least rid some of his free time despite no longer requiring such sustenance.

Next, he had been a mercenary. Forseti or not, his magic was deadly, a fact he wished he was able to demonstrate to Manfroy. Bandits were simple, far simpler than trained soldiers with clean equipment.

The pay better and lodging and food thrown in, the constant meals in his honor were soon adding up, his thin wiry frame dissapearing under an extra layer of pudge.

But handling bandits was ultimately fruitless. Strike one down, ten more took their place. Soon, lords were next. But even that was the same. Each all too eager to rise to power one step quicker. And those inept to lead would only remain as such with those who wished to take advantage of them.

Begrudgingly, he had decided to reclaim his role as an advisor. Unwilling to divulge his past, as if any would believe his claim to aiding the current king of Grannvale, he simply started small. Some backwater lord forgotten by her King, the area infested with bandits from subpar crop yields. Lucky in finally finding one who wished to better the people's lives, Lewyn's offer was happily accepted, only those on the brink of collapse willing to obtain help from a stranger.

Like he himself had been, and still is from his rubbing, a truth he can't deny, she had been ignorant of all her lackeys's personal agendas. Embezzlement here and there, purposeful destruction of farms for higher positions in other houses, Lewyn had quickly discovered them, all who wished to rise up on the social ladder the same. So he simply treated them how they treated those they felt beneath them.

He disposed of them.

A task he still relishes in. His first taste of it from murdering his uncles.

Despite his unsavory tactics, she had been impressed. And with the territory indeed improving with his actions and recommendations, a letter in his favor had been made to others.

With scheming usurpers in all corners of the world, his aid was in desperate need.

Walking past the town gates, neither of the guards pay attention to the small splatters of blood lining his clothes. Appearance's unimportant to him anymore, the tight white outfit yells his crime to all who see. But with the aid of the night's darkness, his deed's yell is inaudible, no one around to see him. Sneaking through the back of the castle, the layout with least servants or guards well known, he quickly escapes to his room.

Common sense aiding him, he at least disrobes. Placing them in his fireplace, he stands in his underclothes as he watches them turn to ash.

No pleasure found in drinking his woes away, he found the sense of comfort through food. A soft pale little bump on top of his stomach as his shirt lifts to reveal a bit of his lower pudge, Lewyn's extra snacks were now apparent with now being able to stay in one are for some time. His thighs a bit wider, his shorts stretch over the growing area. Arms a smidgen thicker, the extra bit of fat slightly creases by his biceps. Face barely rounder, his no nonsense attitude doesn't make him appear any friendlier.

Placing on the warm robes offered to him as part of his job, they too rest snugly on him. Fabric resting over his tum, the added flesh is apparent.

As soon as he places them on, he wastes no further time. Writing a note about his departure to his current employer, a Countess, he leaves it by his bedside. Signing it under his pseudonym, Daccar, his uncle's name, Lewyn can at least take pleasure in reducing his name in any sense of importance. Even being a footnote in the annals of history is too great for his uncle.

Money and food secure, Lewyn sets out once more. Light on his feet, he carries his trusty elwind in his other hand, no one spotting him.

Preferring the background, he simply follows the winds to whatever his next destination may be. Everyone else left behind constantly.

[dorothydelgadillo]

Every Content Marketer Should Read Margot Leitman's "Long Story Short: The Only Storytelling Guide You'll Ever Need"

One of my goals for 2019 was to prioritize... well, me. 

Being an only child, you'd think that would be something that comes naturally -- like breathing or hating the Dallas Cowboys with the fire of a thousand suns -- but, strangely enough, investing in myself is not something I do well.

Prior to this year, whenever I've been given a chance to do something purely for myself (specifically, anything in the realm of professional development), I've found a way to talk myself out of it. 

"I don't have enough time. It costs too much. I need to take my cat to the dentist. Etc."

You name it, I had an excuse why I couldn't do something.

So, about a month ago, I decided to make a change, and I signed up for a four-day keynote speaker intensive workshop and retreat called Speak with Confidence.

Even though my husband, Patrick, and I are closing on a new house on April 19, I'll be leaving to go on this retreat on April 3. Because I'm an insane person.

Anyway, leading up to this retreat, we've been given a lot of homework. In addition to a giant workbook, online discussion forums, and one-on-one coaching calls, we were each sent a copy of Margot Leitman's Long Story Short: The Only Storytelling Guide You'll Ever Need. 

Full disclosure, I'm someone who loves to talk a big game about all the books I'm totally going to read while I travel. But, in reality, once I'm done snapping an Instagram-worthy shot of my carry-on bag and whatever book I'm bragging about reading on the internet, I'll pick through a few pages before caving to my compulsion to read Reddit for many hours. 

That did not happen with this book. 

Yes, I still took the obligatory Instragram shot...

...but on my recent trip to Chicago, I found myself devouring this book after I posted it at my gate in the airport, then on the plane ride, and on the L train heading downtown, and basically any other spare moment I could catch. 

Not just because Leitman (an award-winning storyteller and comedian) had so many lessons for me as a would-be speaker, but also because so many of the insights and advice were transferrable to what I do as a content marketer. 

So, while I recommend that all of you content marketers out there need to read this book -- whether you want to be a speaker or not -- here are a few of the key nuggets of wisdom that jumped out at me that I think we can all take to heart as we create content for our brands. 

#1: Amazing Stories with Big Lessons Can Come from Anywhere

Back in my early days as a content manager, one of the most common objections I would get from a subject matter experts I was interviewing for content was, "But I don't really have anything interesting to talk about."

Lo and behold, with a little poking and prodding in the form conversational questioning, the very same people who said they had no stories to share that would be relevant to their (usually) B2B audience ended up putting their byline on some of the most compelling, shareable blog content their company was producing. 

According to Leitman, this is also a fear she encounters a lot from folks she coaches in her own storytelling class, so she called out the fear that most readers were probably also experiencing in the very first chapter:

"How do I unlock the incredible, emotional, and interesting stories within me? I'm not in a storytelling class, and I don't think there is anything interesting about me. I'm tired already, and we're only on the first chapter. What's up with that?"

Leitman's response? 

"You're numb to your own experiences. It's your life, you live it every day, and it's extremely boring to you. But it isn't boring at all. It's fascinating."

🙌 "Yes, this!!!" I scribbled in the margins after furiously underlining it three times.

Not only did I agree with this in principle and had been preaching it for years, it's also an important reminder.

Some of the best contextual storytelling I've seen done by content marketers and contributors are blog articles rooted in true, real life experiences.

Sometimes they're funny, like when MicroAutomation's Chad Wright infused a bit of subtle humor about being "that dad" going through his work email subscriptions while at an all-day dance competition for his daughters to tell a larger story about preferred methods of customer communication.

Other times, the stories can be serious.

For example, when our own Ramona Sukhraj shared the racist reply she received from a subscriber of THE LATEST back in December. She used that story to talk about the implications of putting yourself out there as part of a content marketing strategy and the larger discussion we need to be having as an industry around this kind of behavior.

Or when IMPACT VP of Services Brie Rangel shared her experience of being called nice at work as a platform to talk about the importance of owning and mastering your own style as a leader, no matter what other people say.

As a way to uncover those stories for yourself, Leitman includes a number of really helpful exercises in the book, including completing the following statements:

I am _____________________.

I was ____________________.

___________ is the story of my life.

...with as many answers as possible. (When I did these exercises, I devoted an entire 8.5"x11" sheet of paper to my answers to each of those statements.)

If you're looking for fodder for your next blog article for your company, try completing those fill-in-the-blank exercises from a person and work context to see what comes out.

And remember this gem from Leitman as you do it:

"We all have a story about the craziest thing that ever happened to us, but the best stories often come from everyday life."

#2: You Shouldn't Lie, but You Can Alter or Condense Certain Aspects of Your Story for Brevity or Privacy

The best stories are true stories. Period.

That's why in the second section of my Blogging Tips guide, I suggest stories that are clearly hypothetical in nature as a blog introduction formula as a good place to start if you don't have a story to tell of your own -- no one likes a fibber. 

However, there are a lot of reasons why someone might want to tell a story but may feel hesitant to share it publicly in a business blog article or piece of longform content:

What if I upset someone, because the story is about them?

Should I even be talking about clients?

There are a lot of extraneous details and characters, and that's going to bore a lot of people who want me to get to the point.

Of course, this is a question that comes up in Leitman's book, because telling stories that may be sensitive in nature is her bread and butter:

"Are there any legitimate ways to keep your story truthful while maintaining the privacy of others in your piece?"

Leitman says you absolutely can.

The key is to not change the actual plot of the story and its outcomes, but you can certainly:

Change the name and/or gender of a boss, colleague, or client you're referencing to keep their real identity unknown. (You can even call it out, Leitman says. "I can't tell you his name, but for the sake of the story, let's just refer to him as 'Kirk Cameron.'")

Condense multiple "supporting characters" from your real-life story into a single character for the purposes of keeping the story tight.

You can get a little fast and loose with timelines, either for the sake of brevity or privacy. You can choose to alter exactly when you say an event took place -- for example, a horrible experience at an unnamed conference that took place in the fall, but you say took place in the spring. Or events that took place over the course of a year, but you say took place over the course of a few weeks, should you choose to discuss the timeline of events at all.

The reasons why we may choose to alter certain details while telling stories will vary. 

Heck, you may not be concerned about privacy at all -- it may just be that it's been awhile and you've forgotten certain details. That's totally OK. 

Leitman says:

"...in order to recount the story to the best of your ability, keep whatever true details in there that you can remember. For dialogue you can't remember, add in what you think someone might have said ... Don't get caught up in the minutiae. If you're telling the story of the time you ate a lot of pancakes and you can't remember exactly how many it was, it's OK to say you ate 'seven' pancakes. No one is going to stand up and interrupt your whole story and yell, 'Liar! It was five!'"

Her golden rule?

"It's not OK to fabricate the plot of your story; it is OK to make the unimportant details more specific."

#3: You Need to Be Sure You're Ready to Tell a Story

Look, sometimes great stories happen to us that we know, at some point, will hold a lot of value as a morality tale or funny anecdote to share in our content. 

Often, however, it takes some distance to get to that point. 

But that's totally normal. As Leitman puts it, it can take a little decompression time to transform "life's mishaps" into "story magic."

That amount of time could be a single day, a month, or multiple years. It's up to you to realize when you're finally ready to tell a story. But Leitman offers three questions to ask yourself to determine whether or not it's time to let your story cat out of the bag:

Have you moved on? "You need to be over the situation, not knee-deep in it." Sometimes the true context of a story, and your ability to tell it effectively, will hinge upon whether or not you can actually reflect on it as if it were a separate time in your life that you've learned from. 

Is it actually over? Sometimes it might be tempting to talk about something that's happening to you while you're in the middle of it. For instance, Leitman uses the example of a lawyer who wants to open a pottery shop. If that's only just happened, the audience is going to be worried about you and what's going to happen next -- there are too many what ifs in play."There is no ending to this tale," she says. "We want to be inspired because you figured it out on your own ... there should be some closure to the situation."

Are you able to take a step back and see what the life event was really about? How many of you have had those moments in life that may have seemed too overwrought, painful, embarrassing, or emotional in the moment, but later on made sense as a chapter in your story? Yes, at that time, you could have shared it in a public format (such as a blog article), but it wasn't until time had passed that you could see what that true "moral of the story" was. This may not be the case all the time, but ask yourself about those big events to determine if you're at the right point to talk about it yet in a way that's valuable to others.

So, Yeah... Buy the Book

To be clear, I've never met Margot Leitman (sadly). Also, no one coerced me or offered me goods, services, or money to share this book with you today. 

I'm making this recommendation to you purely because Margot Leitman's book has been nothing short of transformative for me, and I genuinely believe you all can learn a lot from it. Yes, some of the advice she gives is specific to speakers or storytellers (like you'd hear on The Moth), but much of what she teaches in this book transcends form or context. 

(By the way, what I've shared here doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of all of the goodness Leitman gives away in this book.)

And given that your ability to establish trust as a business (or individual thought leader) will determine your success with inbound or content marketing in the digital world, you may want to make this small investment in yourself to become a better storyteller. 

We may live in a world where buyers are doing their damnedest to avoid talking to someone in sales, but those very same buyers are also demanding more human and authentic experiences and stories from the brands and people they follow.

from Web Developers World https://www.impactbnd.com/blog/margot-leitman-long-story-short-the-only-guide-to-storytelling-youll-ever-need-review

[3ezentrum3-blog]

Would You Listen to Your Doctor If He Said to You "I'm Sorry, But You're Beyond Cure So Give Up?"

That is the end result for me and I wasn't prepared to simply rests and surrender.

I'm a disease survivor. My name is Michael Mihalcic and It's been a long time since I recuperated from disease. I'm still here to recount my account of expectation, assurance and valor - the mettle I never knew I had until the point when I got disease.

I battled lymphoma and against the chances, beat disease when my specialists had abandoned restorative treatment.

I'll impart my story to you.

I've generally trusted your contemplations constantly go before your activities. I've additionally perused that you draw in things toward you, great and awful, just by the intensity of your contemplations. At that point it's nothing unexpected that I pulled in lymphoma disease into my life. I was always considering and (facetiously) saying "I wager I have leukemia or something". All things considered, I was entirely damn close, would i say i wasn't?

I share my story - not to awe you - but rather to urge you that even after impossible chances; you also can recoup from tumor and recover your life to typical.

I'll impart to you the indispensable advances I used to do only that. My conviction is that in the event that you have the capacity, at that point you have the obligation to impart your data to others. Furthermore, to have any kind of effect to other individuals' lives.

5 physical checkups later....

So here's my story - everything started with a unimportant and extremely irritating hack. This is what happened. I thought I grabbed an infection - thus did my GP, at first. In any case, after the fifth visit back to my GP with that bothering hack, my GP proposed we run more tests.

A x-beam uncovered a huge mass arranged between my heart and lungs. The mass was contacting my throat - that is what was causing the irritating hack!

Instantly worried by the mass he found, my GP requested a biopsy. Slicing through my rib confine, specialists found I had a dangerous development. Unfit to work because of the nearness to my heart and lungs, a course of chemotherapy took after by radiation treatment was recommended.

Give The Body A chance to recuperate Itself!

About part of the way through the chemotherapy treatment I built up a perilously high and hazardous temperature. Hurried to healing facility, we found that my resistant framework was essentially shot, exhausted, wiped out!

Inside two days the Director of Intensive Care suggested that I be put in a prompted comma. He stated, "We have to give the body a chance to mend itself". What he implied was - stop the strolling, talking, assimilation, everything - every real procedure. With the goal that the body could redirect all vitality into recuperating. Quit everything other than breathing and mending!

Little did I or my family realize that I'd be in a state of unconsciousness for two weeks.

Amid this time I had two close demise encounters.

Through The Tunnel of White Light

Experiencing a passage of white light, I had this unbelievable sentiment of euphoria. No more torment. No more stresses. Only a sentiment of unadulterated delight and bliss. I was free. Be that as it may, where was I?

Toward the finish of the passage of white light I saw two ways. One way was weighed down with roses and the other loaded down with thistles. Clearly I picked the appeal of the sweet noticing roses. Once on this way, out of the blue I was dreadful that I may have picked the wrong way... was this the way to salvation or to limbo?

I was welcomed by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates (which I assume takes after my religious convictions). I was informed that I had two options. The decision was basic - stay and be given a mystery, or return and finish your life's excursion.

Mystery? What secret????? Mmmm. I was revealed that the mystery was "a similar mystery that was imparted inside every single one of us during childbirth"

What's more, what precisely was that mystery?

I don't have the foggiest idea! I can't let you know. Gee golly. I returned and finish my trip. What's more, they didn't reveal to me the mystery!

Before my returning through the passage, I saw a huge screen show up before me. My entire life flashed before me on that wide screen - incorporating past, show - and future.

At that point I returned through the passage of white light and ecstasy where I reconnected with my body. Be that as it may, I had no clue where I was.

I Knew I'd Be Lead To The Information I Needed To Survive Cancer

Following my close demise encounters I knew I'd survive disease. I had an incomplete trip that I finished. I returned. I knew I'd find and take in the aptitudes I'd have to conquer malignancy. In any case, I'm bouncing ahead...

Reconnecting with the body turned out to be somewhat troublesome. As I was contacted by that flashing, widely inclusive, brilliant, upbeat euphoria, I thought that it was extremely hard to give up and overlook.

When I stirred I ended up in the best trial of my life. I was as yet not completely mindful of the end result for me. You see after the trance state I was intensely calmed for the following week, so my psyche was in an overwhelming mist - every one of those medications!

Following three weeks in a state of insensibility and substantial sedation, I lost the utilization of my muscles. Solid myopathy was the outcome. My muscles had lost the capacity to work. Whatever I could do was move my pointer. Furthermore, with awesome trouble, move my neck from side to side. There was a wrap reducing of my neck which was holding a tracheotomy tube.

After The Coma I Was 99% Incapacitated

When I got up from the extreme lethargies and recovered my faculties I discovered I was 99% crippled.

My test had started.

Reviewing my inward quality and direction, I set out on a trip of recuperation to energetic wellbeing and found various imperative keys to wellbeing and prosperity en route.

The indispensable keys I found consolidate the psychological, physical, enthusiastic and otherworldly parts of genuine wellbeing. I'll impart to you the imperative keys I found. The reason for tumor can't just be credited to one factor. What's more, in this way, neither can the fix.

The Vital Keys To Recovery

The crucial keys are:

Mental - It's critical to have the right outlook most importantly. I unequivocally trust that your musings represent your result. That is on the grounds that your musings affect your emotions or your activities and these thus inspire you or not to act in certain ways, these can be great or awful.

So on the off chance that you have negative contemplations these will lead you to negative emotions and activities and you'll get negative outcomes... You'll review my negative contemplations about tumor above?

Enthusiastic - Suppressed sentiments of outrage, dissatisfaction, unworthiness, and blame and so on, these add to pressure and awkwardness in the body and in this way put weight on your invulnerable framework.

Research proposes that by not managing successfully with your feelings contribute to a great extent to ailment inside the body. Louise Hay a prominent creator and proprietor of Hay House Publications, unequivocally trusts in the mind body association and that specific feelings can cause tumors and other ailment.

Physical - It is indispensable for disease sufferers to detox the body. This implies you have to dispose of all the harmful substances coursing through your body. These poisons trade off your insusceptible framework. The vitality that could be utilized to mend and scrub your body is occupied somewhere else and puts a huge strain on your invulnerable framework.

Next, you have to bolster your body for ideal insusceptibility. So you have to eat nourishments that mend your body and not hurt it. You have to eat nourishments that "starve" your disease. Ultimately you have to supercharge your body against malady. This alludes to devouring certain nourishments and supplements that are high strength sustenance.

Otherworldly - Spirituality is one of the keys I found. As I specified before I have reconnected with my otherworldly side.

Following my experience many individuals have asked me what I did to recuperate from tumor. I genuinely trust that there is no convenient solution here or an enchantment pill that will take out tumor until the end of time.

I do trust that an all encompassing methodology - mental, profound, physical and enthusiastic is the response to disease recuperation. It's no mishap that I survived tumor as well as have had no re-events of growth since. Trust me when I say it's no mischance.

I'm a disease survivor since I declined to surrender when my specialists came up short on options. I discovered characteristic choices that changed my life and I have never thought back. What's more, that is the reason I'm ready to impart my tumor story to you now. The regular options worked for me!

Michael Mihalcic is a disease survivor, persevering through a state of insensibility and close demise encounters. Michael and his significant other, Barbara King, put over the most recent 10+ years looking into elective wellbeing. Visit [http://www.LymphomaAdvice.com/articles] to peruse about how Michael beat tumor and how you can too with the 6 stage recipe.

Article Source: https://EzineArticles.com/master/Michael_Mihalcic/266254

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/2642868

[ocbungou]

Thank you, Lynth, for submitting your application! Both mods have gone over it and accepted it for approval into the ring. Please have your blog ready by September 2nd.

COUNTRY. THE COUNTRY YOU’RE APPLYING FOR.: OC APH Hamburg

NAME. FULL NAME AND PREFERRED NAME.: Kaspar Bäumer

PRONOUNS. SHE/HER/HE/HIM, ETC.: He/Him

AGE. HOW OLD THEY ARE.: 28

ALIGNMENT. ARMED DETECTIVE AGENCY? MAFIA? THE GUILD? THE RATS?: The Guild

APPEARANCE. 1-2 PARAGRAPHS DESCRIBING HOW YOUR CHARACTER USUALLY APPEARS TO OTHERS.

Kaspar measures at about 5'11" if not a bit smaller. His barely kempt auburn hair is maintained only to the point where it remains out of Kaspar’s field of view, but other than that, little regard is given to his ever growing head of hair. Despite this however, Kaspar does put significantly more thought into his wardrobe, often having 7-8 outfits for any given occasion. On most days, he can be seen wearing a collared shirt and slacks, along with a vest and a coat should the weather require it.

More noticeably, Kaspar is missing his left arm and the sleeves that would otherwise have housed it dangle freely. In order to maintain appearances and prevent shirts and coats from being awkwardly positioned, he oftentimes sews his garments together to ensure that his cloths hang from his body in a presentable fashion.

PERSONALITY. HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER INTERACT WITH OTHERS? WHAT DO THEY THINK ABOUT THEMSELVES? WHAT ARE THEY INSECURE ABOUT? WHAT ARE THEIR WEAKNESSES (3)? WHAT ARE THEIR STRENGTHS (3)?

Kaspar is a very straightforward person. Rarely keeping secrets or his thoughts to himself at all for that matter, he has landed himself in a spot of bother on more than one occasion. In his mind, life is too short to beat things around the bush and if something needs to be said, then it will be said, barring the most extreme circumstances. A pragmatist at heart, Kaspar does his best to avoid acting on his baser feelings, opting for more of a reasonable and practical solutions to problems rooted in the mires of emotion.

Oftentimes, Kaspar will view himself as a neutral constant in situations and is quick to deduce that those around him were the chaotic variables that upset an otherwise predictable situation, even if that is not even remotely the case. In that way, Kaspar quietly believes himself to be better than others. He believes, that while not exactly the perfect functional and rational machine/god of his fancy, he is more consistent than many of his peers, though he usually keeps those kinds of sentiments to himself.

Strengths: Adaptive, reasonable, cooperative

Weaknesses: Impatient, blunt, prone to violent outbursts if/when his past is discuss in great detail, will get annoyed if you point out his missing arm, maintains and nurtures feelings of superiority towards his fellow man

ABILITY. INCLUDE THE AUTHOR, THE LITERARY WORK THAT YOU ARE BASING YOUR ABILITY OF, AND (OPTIONAL) THE NAME OF YOUR ABILITY (THE NAME OF YOUR ABILITY CAN MERELY BE THE TITLE OF LITERARY WORK). PLEASE INCLUDE AT LEAST A TWO PARAGRAPH SUMMARY OF THE USAGE OF THE ABILITY AND THE DRAWBACKS.:

Author: Erich Maria Remarque.

The work: All Quiet on the Western Front.

Ability Name: Phantom Pains.

Kaspar is capable of conjuring a phantom hand from thin air and control it telepathically. The hand can move almost twice as fast as Kaspar’s other fist and is capable of exerting twice as much force. It is capable of being summoned and dispelled at any time in any place, so long as it is within 20 yards of Kaspar. The hand can be maneuvered into any orientation, regardless of its position in relation to the user and additionally, it need not be in view for it to be active and controllable.

Despite the utility Phantom Pains offers Kaspar, there are a few noticeable flaws. Firstly, should the hand be damaged, all pain is funneled to Kaspar and he would feel it as though it were a regular hand. In the case of grievous injury the hand must be given time to heal, similarly to a normal limb, although it does not need to be manifested in order for it to heal normally. Secondly, Phantom Pains cannot interact with Kaspar’s physical body in any capacity and should he attempt to have it do so, then the hand will simply go through him. Finally, the hand can grow tired and fatigued if used too rigorously for a long enough time and should Kaspar become too exhausted to move or is rendered unconscious while Phantom Pains is manifested, it shall remain corporeal.

BACKGROUND. 3-4 PARAGRAPHS GIVING A SUMMARY OF THEIR LIFE SO FAR. INCLUDE IMPORTANT EVENTS SUCH AS EXPERIENCES THAT HAVE INFLUENCED THEIR BEHAVIOUR AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF THEIR SPECIAL SKILL, AS WELL AS HOW THEY CAME TO PORT CITY.

As far as Kaspar is concerned, his life began during his tour of duty in Afghanistan. The 20 odd years leading up to his enlistment were nothing to him but a simmering cesspool of redundancy and unimportant events, all contributing to an unrepresentative worldview that featured humanity as a wondrous and beautiful wellspring of untapped potential. His parents, upbringing in Hamburg and academic years all amounted to but a singular lie that had his grasping for enlistment documents before he even understood what it was he was truly fighting for. He departed for the theatre of war as hapless and naïve as one could ever hope for. That perhaps is what he would look back most disdainfully upon.

With his brothers-in-arms by his side, Kaspar took to the killing grounds with wide eyed positivity. The kind of outlook that detailed only the best of intentions and the most humanistic of ideals. He and his unit were ambushed, only 2 days into his tour of duty. As the debris filled the battlefield and smoke clouded the skies, Kaspar threw himself in front of a hail of gunfire to protect the life of a comrade, whom only moments later, abandoned his bleeding frame. As his unit retreated, a sandstorm claimed whatever was left behind.

And thus, Kaspar Bäumer was borne anew from the burning sands, his powers awakening to dig him out of his former grave. After being medically treated, quietly taken home and discharged from the armed forces, Kaspar sought new employers. Over were the days of living for an ideal or his misplaced love of land and liberty. Over the next few years, he began to make a name for himself acting as the bodyguard for several powerful German politicians until he ran afoul of The Guild during an attempted assassination of one of his clients during which Kaspar executed one of The Guild’s agents.

Rather than resting Kaspar’s head on the chopping block, The Guild made him an offer to come and work for them. An offer that was readily accepted.

SAMPLE WRITING. 200+ WORDS OF WHAT A TYPICAL LIT RP RESPONSE FROM YOU (AS YOUR CHARACTER) WOULD LOOK LIKE! ANY TOPIC OR THEME IS FINE, WE JUST WANT TO GET AN IDEA OF YOUR WRITING ABILITY.

“I had nothing to do with it.” Kaspar folds his legs and stares down the police officer, who’s near foaming mouth was only inches away, “I’ve already given my alibi and I’m ready to leave, so why haven’t I left yet.” The officer snarls and snatches a photo of a corpse from the table, holding it just in front of Kaspar’s face. “You know damn well why not! The man’s been in protective custody for months, and suddenly he decides to break character and talk to you and now he’s dead!! How could anyone not suspect you had something to do with it, you armless freak!” The man jumps back as Kaspar slams the palm of his hand on the table and rises. “I suppose there are a few things I should inform you of, if you’re that thirsty for information. Firstly, you’re being emotional, and like most people that makes you stupid. It’s a bad look, especially when you don’t have looks going for you in the first place” The officer reaches up and touches his face self-consciously as Kaspar continues, “Secondly, as I am not under arrest, I’m leaving. That’s now this works in America, no? I’m going to walk out of those doors and not miss my flight, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

Minutes later, Kaspar sits behind the steering wheel of his car as he navigates his way towards the airport, his phone on speaker. “Yes…yes I understand….Yokohama, as in, the city in Japan? Very well, I’ll be there within 48 hours.” The call ends and he heaves a sigh. So many inconveniences, first the police, now another mission immediately after this one. “I wonder what it’ll be this time…” he muses to himself as he recounts all of the various tasks that he had performed for the Guild. Murder, arson, bodyguard duty, all miscellaneous tasks that he was well suited to. He reminds himself that things could be worse and continues on his way.